Tamed by the lyon, p.1
Tamed by the Lyon, page 1
Tamed by the Lyon
The Lyon’s Den Connected World
Chasity Bowlin
Copyright © 2021 Chasity Bowlin
Text by Chasity Bowlin
Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
P.O. Box 7968
La Verne CA 91750
ceo@dragonbladepublishing.com
Produced in the United States of America
First Edition August 2021
Kindle Edition
Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.
All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Additional Dragonblade books by Author Chasity Bowlin
The Lyon’s Den Connected World
Fall of the Lyon
Tamed by the Lyon
The Hellion Club Series
A Rogue to Remember
Barefoot in Hyde Park
What Happens in Piccadilly
Sleepless in Southampton
When an Earl Loves a Governess
The Duke’s Magnificent Obsession
The Governess Diaries
The Lost Lords Series
The Lost Lord of Castle Black
The Vanishing of Lord Vale
The Missing Marquess of Althorn
The Resurrection of Lady Ramsleigh
The Mystery of Miss Mason
The Awakening of Lord Ambrose
A Midnight Clear (A Novella)
Hyacinth
Other Lyon’s Den Books
Into the Lyon’s Den by Jade Lee
The Scandalous Lyon by Maggi Andersen
Fed to the Lyon by Mary Lancaster
The Lyon’s Lady Love by Alexa Aston
The Lyon’s Laird by Hildie McQueen
The Lyon Sleeps Tonight by Elizabeth Ellen Carter
A Lyon in Her Bed by Amanda Mariel
Fall of the Lyon by Chasity Bowlin
Lyon’s Prey by Anna St. Claire
Loved by the Lyon by Collette Cameron
The Lyon’s Den in Winter by Whitney Blake
Kiss of the Lyon by Meara Platt
Always the Lyon Tamer by Emily E K Murdoch
To Tame the Lyon by Sky Purington
How to Steal a Lyon’s Fortune by Alanna Lucas
The Lyon’s Surprise by Meara Platt
A Lyon’s Pride by Emily Royal
Lyon Eyes by Lynne Connolly
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Chasity Bowlin
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Prologue
March 7th, 1814
Madeline Keyes stared down at the posey in her hand as she stood at the altar before the assembled guests that filled the chapel at St. Paul’s Cathedral. She hadn’t wanted lilies. Specifically, she hadn’t wanted the overpoweringly fragrant yellow lilies from her soon to be mother-in-law’s hothouse. They always made her sneeze. One would think, after a years-long courtship and betrothal, Edmund would have remembered that little detail. As it was, she could feel the telltale itch at the back of her throat and the slight watering of her eyes.
The heavy brocade of her gown was stiff and uncomfortable. While her chemise and petticoats afforded some protection, in the places where the fabric touched her skin, it itched abominably. There was also one hairpin from the vast assortment that had been used to tame her dark hair that seemed determined to pierce her skull. In short, standing next to the man who would be her husband, she couldn’t think of her marriage. She couldn’t even think of being his wife. All she could think of was all the myriad of ways that she was uncomfortable.
The vicar was speaking, his nasal voice droning on endlessly. “If there is any man who can show just cause why they may not lawfully be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
There was a rustling sound from the pews behind them. Madeline wanted to look, but it would be terribly improper to do so when it was likely only someone shifting in their seat. Watching the bride craning her head around like some sort of gawking bumpkin would displease everyone—Edmund, Mrs. Wortham, her parents.
Then the whispers began. They grew to a roar. Even more telling, the vicar was no longer looking at them. His attention was fixed instead on a point behind them. A feeling of dread, deep and overwhelming, began to wash over her.
“I must speak, though I may never be forgiven for it,” a very familiar voice uttered. There was a tearful and anguished quality to that voice, one that sounded quite rehearsed.
“Hush, Child! What are you doing?”
That had been her father’s voice. Madeline couldn’t quite register all that was happening beyond knowing it was something horrible… and her sister was at the center of it all.
“I will not be silenced, Father,” her sister said. “I will not stand idly by while a good man is duped into marriage by a vile strumpet!”
Madeline did turn then, her head whipping around to take in her sister’s triumphant gaze. She wouldn’t! Surely, despite their often contentious relationship, her sister would not see her ruined for nothing more than spite.
“What is the meaning of this?” the vicar whispered, his tone scandalized and impatient.
“Indeed, I’d like to know myself,” Edmund, her groom, said. “What is the meaning of this, Madeline?”
“Beyond Coraline’s pettiness, I cannot say,” she replied honestly. Coraline had forever resented anything Madeline had that she did not.
“We shall all retreat to a more private location to continue this,” the vicar said, beckoning Madeline’s father forward. Coraline and their mother came as well, as did Edmund’s mother.
Led to a small room just off the central chapel, the vicar began by addressing Coraline directly. “Now, what is this all about? It is scandalous and will not go unremarked. Think, Girl, before you speak!”
“My sister is not chaste!” Coraline all but shouted, loudly enough that the gathered guests would be certain to overhear. “She has been having inappropriate relations with a footman for the last six months!”
It was a blatant lie. But it had been uttered so theatrically and with such volume that, even from the small chapel, everyone who was anyone in society had heard. Truth no longer mattered. Whatever the outcome of the day, Madeline’s reputation would forever bear the stain.
Her father collapsed onto a chair, clutching his chest. Her mother wailed piteously. Coraline stood triumphantly beside those broken people—broken by humiliation and not by concern for her—as what had been whispers amongst the gathered guests erupted into buzzing and shrill conversation not muted in the least by the wall between them.
“Is this true, Miss Keyes?” the vicar demanded.
“It is not true,” Madeline said, appalled at the suggestion. “I have never behaved improperly!”
“I require proof,” Edmund said. His tone was intractable and colder than she’d ever heard him.
“Proof,” Madeline repeated. “You wish to speak with the footman in question?”
“Do not be coy, Madeline. This is not the time!” Edmund’s mother snapped.
Edmund sneered again, more disapprovingly than before. “You will submit to an examination by a doctor who will be able to confirm whether or not you are chaste,” Edmund said, sniffing disapprovingly. It was an affectation so like his mother that it made her cringe.
“I have been betrothed to you for four years, Edmund. And in that time, I have never behaved inappropriately. I will not permit such an indignity when you, of all people, should know me better,” Madeline said.
“Then you must release me from my promise. I cannot marry a woman I cannot trust,” he said. Even as he said it, his gaze slid past her to the exact spot where Coraline stood. It softened almost imperceptibly. Had she not been watching him so closely, it might never have been noted at all.
“Then you are released,” Madeline replied. “For I will not marry a man who would take the word of a petty and vindictive child over that of a woman he knows and has professed to love.”
“There are contracts,” her father protested. “This is far more than a simple verbal agreement! Money has changed hands.”
“I will marry Edmund,” Coraline said. “That will fulfill the contracts, will it not?”
Madeline watched all of this happening as if she were no longer inside her own body. It was almost as if she were staring down on the horror of her life falling apart around her. She was ruined. Coraline’s pettiness had ruined not only her, but everyone else, as well. Their father and stepmother would never recover socially from this. And if Edmund refused to exchange one Keyes sister for another, then they would be ruined financially, as well.
She looked back at her father, who appeared resigned and broken. He nodded.
Madeline turned back to Edmund. “I will not interfere if that is your wish.” It hurt to utter it. It wasn’t even that she particularly wished to marry Edmund anymore. In the last few moments, she’d seen something in him she did not recognize. A coldness and casual cruelty that both shocked and appalled her. It was the notion that she was giving Coraline precisely what she wished. She was ceding the field.
Edmund looked away from her to his mother. The woman sniffed, a gesture that Madeline was growing to despise.
“She is the more attractive of the sisters, at any rate… and at least this one is not a harlot,” Mrs. Wortham sneered.
No one in the room defended her. No one protested the assassination of her character. Looking at her father and mother, they were simply allowing Coraline her way, as they always did, at the expense of anyone and everyone else.
“There is the matter of the license,” the vicar protested.
“It is a common license and does not specify Miss Madeline Keyes. Only Miss Keyes,” Edmund stated. “It should not signify as we have parental consent.”
And with that, the vicar nodded. Edmund and his mother walked out of the small room. Coraline preened. “Are you ready, Father?”
“Aye,” William Keyes said, his Scottish accent creeping in, thick and heavy. “I am ready, though God help us all for what has been wrought here today.”
Madeline was alone then with her mother, Alice. The older woman rose from the chair she’d taken and smoothed her skirts. “I cannot think what possessed her to do this.”
The same devil that has possessed her all of her life, Madeline thought bitterly. “It doesn’t matter.”
“No,” Alice said sadly. “I suppose it does not. Under the circumstances, I think it best that you leave the church by the side door and return home. There is no need to face that pack of wild jackals. They’ll turn on us sure as the world.”
No, there wasn’t. Not yet, at any rate. But Madeline would correct that soon enough.
Chapter One
Three Weeks Later
“There is nothing left, my lord.”
“Surely that is an exaggeration,” Oliver offered dismissively. How could there be nothing, after all? Their father had not made the best of business decisions, but surely even in his incompetence, he had not been able to squander the entirety of the family fortune. And Sebastian had assured him, prior to his untimely passing, that things were well in hand.
“Your father’s investments were very costly,” the solicitor said. “They all but emptied the family coffers. The taxes levied on the estate upon his death were also… problematic. You might have been able to rebuild the accounts over time, with that alone. But now, close on the heels of his passing, your brother has passed as well and those taxes, my lord, will be due again… and as the estate is passing from sibling to sibling this time rather than father to son, the tax rate will increase! If enough remains in the accounts to cover such an amount, it will leave you entirely penniless. Or near enough to it that it will not matter.”
“And if there is not enough in the accounts?” Oliver asked, the stark reality of his situation hitting him with the full force of its severity.
“There is always Rosehill,” the solicitor offered. “It could be sold off, though that will incur additional taxes, as well.”
“Rosehill has been my grandmother’s home for decades. And when she passes on, my Aunt Clementine will continue to reside there. I cannot—I will not—simply sell that estate out from under them!” It had been his mother’s home, after all. The place where he’d spent his only truly happy moments in life.
“There is the inheritance from your grandfather that is yours contingent upon your marriage. Alone, it would cover most of the costs, but it would not provide true solvency.”
“And who would wish to marry me? As you have said, I am hovering on the brink of impoverishment,” Oliver quipped. “Death taxes and the toll they take are not unknown to the ton. The merest hint that I am looking for a bride will have me labeled as a fortune hunter and quickly eliminated as an option for any young ladies of fortune!”
“Then you must come up with another solution and do so quickly, my lord.”
“Sebastian stated that he had everything in hand… that he’d taken steps to secure the future of the family’s holdings,” Oliver prodded. “Do you know what he meant by that?”
“Perhaps he did, my lord, but if so, he never disclosed his plans to me.” With that, the solicitor offered a curt nod and left, likely to report to all the gossips that the new Earl of Foxmore had pockets to let and begin scouting for new clients.
Leaning back in the chair, Oliver scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed heavily. There had to be some clue in Sebastian’s things that would tell the truth of whatever his plan of action might have been. It was that thought which spurred him on, which had him tearing the study apart systematically. Every book, ledger and journal was searched. Every drawer in the desk. But it yielded no results. It wasn’t until his own frustration got the better of him and Oliver kicked the desk angrily that the letter was dislodged from its hiding place beneath one of the drawers and fluttered toward the floor to land lightly upon the Aubusson carpet.
Picking up the missive, he caught the faintest scent of a woman’s perfume. But he didn’t dismiss it as a love letter. Sebastian would not have taken such pains to hide such a thing. Opening it carefully, he read the note penned in the most precise hand he’d ever seen.
Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon had agreed to act as a marriage broker for his brother, to find him a wealthy bride, on one condition. He could not be choosy about the bride’s reputation or the manner in which they were to be wed. It was all thinly veiled to hint that, perhaps, if he was willing to overlook the idea that his firstborn might not actually be his firstborn, there were rich brides for the taking.
It was a solution. One that would permit him to take advantage of his own small inheritance and whatever settlement the bride brought with her. It was bloodless and cold, certainly, but effective. Could he live with that? A greater question might be whether or not he could live with the outcome if he could not.
Oliver considered it. He didn’t care one way or another, he decided. It was a matter of priorities. He needed to save the estate. He needed to save Rosehill for his grandmother and aunt. He needed to save it for himself, though he’d likely never cross its threshold again. A glance around at the elaborate library of Easton House brought a sigh to his lips. He needed to save it, as well. It housed his conservatory and the years of work that were enshrined within its glass walls. Priorities.
