Lyon’s head snapped back.
A jolt of shock whipped through him. He wasn’t an easy man to catch off guard, but he hadn’t seen that coming.
Hell’s horses!
Not a madam, but a countess. And a widow at that. He mentally shook himself and swore quietly again. Flashes of old gossip raced through his mind at hearing her name, but there was no time to plunder his memory for the snippets.
He knew she was telling the truth the instant she’d said her name, though her manner of dress and his aunt’s assertions a brothel was being established in the neighborhood belied her words. No wonder he’d thought her too young, too beautiful, and too wholesome-looking to be working in a house of pleasure when he’d first seen her twirling in the drawing room like a lighthearted miss.
Now he knew why.
In his twenty-eight years he thought he’d seen, heard, and done most everything that was available to a man of his privilege and station in life. But this lady had just proven otherwise.
With unquestionable clarity.
For now, he was cautiously managing, with difficulty to be sure, to hold his anger in check. After all, why surrender to the madness of what she’d done and give her the satisfaction.
Lyon Marksworth, the Earl of Lyonwood, had never been slapped. By a madam or a lady. That garnered her his admiration and his ire. He was accustomed to calm and order in his life, and the countess had just upset both by not being who he thought she was.
“Lady Wake, I am Lyonwood. Your neighbor.”
The countess’s flushed face suddenly went ashen.
He bowed but offered no apology. At first. She’d had her justice in spades and aces—the whole damn deck. However, she looked appalled by her action upon hearing his name so he would take it on the chin and shoulder the responsibility. And he had been wrong, so he added, “For entering your house without an invitation and mistaking who you were, my apologies.”
So they were both in a deep dilemma. How did an earl and a dowager countess proceed now that their identities were made known after such an unforgettable first meeting?
“Lord Lyonwood,” she said, managing a begrudging, rigid, and very slight curtsy.
From his first memory, Lyon had been taught to be a gentleman. He knew all the acceptable rules of proper behavior and manners depending on whatever situation he found himself—a gentleman, a gambler, or a rake. There were certain values a man of honor followed no matter the situation. Above all, he protected his family and others when necessary. He respected life and loyalty, and he paid his debts. Whether or not warranted, he always gave a man he suspected might be cheating at cards the benefit of the doubt—once.
A gentleman lavished gifts, financial support, and satisfaction on his mistresses. Likewise, he bestowed sweet compliments, rides in the park, and when appropriate, flowers on proper young ladies in Society. Lyon had never muddled the two.
Until this afternoon.
Now that he knew who she was, he felt it incumbent that he should say something about her husband.
“It was tragic what happened to your—”
“Please stop.” She interrupted him quietly, lowering thick, velvety lashes over her golden-brown eyes and inhaling deeply. “It was a tragic event and a trying time for everyone who was touched by the tragedy. It’s been over two years now and no words are necessary.”
He could understand her not wanting to talk about that time, so he quietly said, “That long. I hadn’t realized.”
She lifted her head, as if she’d searched deep inside herself and gained new strength. “There’s no reason for you to. And I would appreciate no further mention of it.”
He nodded once.
“However,” she added, “you should have immediately told me who you were. This matter could have been settled much quicker.”
Perhaps he should have stated who he was when he first entered the drawing room, but he’d thought it wasn’t necessary. He was only too well aware of how many private pleasure houses were hidden among the cozy streets of respectable London and how easily and quietly they were established. He’d certainly availed himself of more than a few over the years, which was why he’d promised his aunt he’d deal with the one she believed was moving in next door to him and down the street from her.
Lyon could now see that Lady Wake’s earlier perplexed expressions and her sense of outrage had flashed warning after warning, which he’d ignored. That the countess didn’t immediately engage him with welcoming smiles should have been a swift indication all wasn’t as it seemed, but he was already in an irritable state of mind when he arrived at her house and unwavering in his thoughts not to be persuaded from his mission by a tempting woman.
He’d returned home from a laborious meeting with his unprepared solicitor, wanting only to get ready for an evening at White’s so he could get caught up on the latest news and indulge in a game or two of billiards, a few hands of cards, and an expensive bottle of brandy. Instead, he’d come home to find his aunt in his drawing room wringing her hands in misery over the possibility of unmentionable women setting up a forbidden business in their quiet neighborhood. And insisting he must do something about it at once.
Given all that was put before him, including the countess’s attire, what else could he have possibly done other than assume she was a paid woman preparing to fulfill some lucky man’s fantasy for the evening?
“The mistake was mine. I thought this was the kind of house where a man is always free and welcome to come and go as he pleases without hindrance, and not have to reveal his name or wait around to be announced. If I had known you were a lady and not an angel of the evening, I wouldn’t have acted so freely.”
“An angel of the evening?” She puffed out a breath of exasperation. “What rubbish. Clever words or phrases won’t hide what you thought when you entered or how you spoke to me. Now that you know who I am, you are still free to speak to me as before.”
That she would suggest he continue to speak so openly with her surprised him and was downright refreshing. Most of the ladies he knew would have fainted when he made the remark about paying her fee for the evening and pray to never hear such a vile comment again.
“Nevertheless, I will give you the respect you deserve and watch my language now that I do know, my lady.”
He watched her breathing ease and calmness settle over her as they each assessed the situation. That her recovery was quick and solid was a testament to her strength.
“I heard you were out of Town when I moved into the neighborhood a few days ago,” she continued in a calm and confident voice.
“I returned last evening.”
“That doesn’t absolve your actions tonight. You should have checked with someone before you came charging over with uncivil actions, assumptions and untrue allegations.”
Lyon’s jaw clenched tighter. No doubt about that. He should have questioned his aunt more about her suspicions, but he wasn’t about to explain that to the countess and implicate his aunt and her friend. “I was reasonably certain I had good cause to act as I did.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.” What else could he say?
“And earl or not, sir,” she added valiantly, “you are an ogre as I’ve found most of your ilk are.”
He couldn’t argue with that either.
“Before you go, I’d like to know what made you think this was a house of pleasure for men.”
Lyon shook his head slowly. She was unbelievable. Asking him to explain what she’d just slapped him for. He wasn’t going to get caught in that snare again. “I’d rather not say, my lady.”
“Of course you don’t want to, but you must. I need to know what caused you to act as you did. Others could make the same mistake.”
Something settled in Lyon’s chest. A feeling that he’d never had before. Lady Wake was no shy or simpering female. She was courageous, impassioned beyond belief, and probably too strong-willed for her own good.
That intrigued him. It made him want to answer her with candid freedom, but every fiber of his being as a gentleman warned against such talk with a proper lady.
Yet, after only a brief hesitation, he responded, “If you insist.”
“I do.”
“It was brought to my attention that there have been some peculiar things going on over here while I’ve been out of Town.”
“Peculiar?” Concern resurfaced in her expression. “What do you mean? There is no reason for us to stand on ceremony, my lord. We are quite familiar with each other now. Speak to me as you would a madam and tell me what made you think my home was a house of ill repute.”
“Very well. An abundance of deliveries of bedchamber furniture going into the building behind this house.”
“Why would that be strange, sir?” she asked him crisply. “Beds are necessary for everyone.”
“And women coming and going at all hours of the day and night.”
“Ah, yes,” she said on a breathy sigh as the meaning of his words became clear to her and she relaxed once again. “Now I understand. Beds and women. What else is a man to think of other than pleasure?”
Lyon felt the only thing he could reasonably do at this point was lift his brows, and say, “For that I can offer no apology.”
“It’s true, there have been many beds delivered. The building behind this house is being furnished as a boarding school for girls, my lord. The women who have been seen coming and going will be their tutors. Currently, some of the women have different jobs they must return to each day. They are free to leave at whatever time they deem necessary to make their other duties and commitments.”
“A boarding school?” he repeated, wondering why the hell his aunt didn’t know that. She was usually one of the first to hear the latest gossip.
“Yes. So whatever tawdry vision you’d imagined would be taking place between these walls tonight or any other won’t be happening. My home is not what you thought it was, and anyone else who assumed the same will have to look elsewhere for his decadences.”
The countess opened the door for him.
Lyon felt his expression softening, his admiration growing. For a number of reasons, including the truth of her words, there was no repairing their inauspicious meeting.
He nodded without further words, turned, and walked out of her house.