To Claim A Lyon’s Heart

To Claim A Lyon’s Heart
Lyon’s Den Connected World

A gambler’s bet. A widow’s burden. Will one game of chance change their lives?

Vincent St. John, Marquis of Saxton, knows full well his duties to the duchy. His responsibilities have been drilled into him since his birth. He has no chance of finding a bride who will see him for who he truly is; they only see the title, not the man. A bet with Mrs. Dove-Lyon, the Black Widow of Whitehall, is just a diversion. Losing may win him everything.

Mrs. Moriah Henshaw has known her fair share of despair. The death of her parents and later her husband left her destitute with no option but to become a man’s mistress. Years later, her tarnished reputation outweighs her excellent birth, and keeps her from being accepted back into society. When her friend pays an outrageous sum to Mrs. Dove-Lyon to find Moriah a husband, Moriah cannot believe she will win anything.

When Vincent meets Moriah, he becomes determined to return her to her rightful place in society. But one accident after another threatens Moriah’s life, and neither of them will win in the game of love unless he can find out who is out to harm her.

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Excerpt:

She found herself on the gallery looking over the gentlemen who were already deep into their cups and placing their wagers. Soft music from a harp and violin came from the far end of the room filled with candlelight. Most of the tables were filled with eager men ready to place their bets.

Cassandra leaned over to whisper in Moriah’s ear. “The table hosts, or dealers, are all men who are attracted to other men…”

“Interesting…” Moriah replied.

“And all have made-up names from Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s favorite play, A Midsummer’s Night Dream. This includes the bouncers and dealers.”

Moriah burst out laughing. “Surely you’re joking.”

“You’ll learn the ins and outs of the place quickly, depending on how long Mrs. Dove-Lyon takes to find the perfect man for you.”

“Do you think he’s really here, Cassie?” Moriah asked, almost holding her breath as her gaze swept the room. Her eyes traveled to one gentleman, and she almost dropped the wine glass she held in her hand. Moriah could hardly mistake the man who had watched her from a window of a neighboring house today. With the glaring sun, she highly doubted he had seen her clearly, but she certainly saw enough of him to know he had been utterly handsome.

His head bent forward as he perused his cards. A lock of his dark black hair fell rakishly over his forehead, giving Moriah the sudden urge to push back those silken locks from his face. From this distance, she couldn’t tell, but she thought his eyes might be blue. He appeared perhaps a year or two older than her own one and thirty years of age. Long fingers held his cards close to the table edge, causing Moriah to wonder how his palms and fingertips would feel caressing her skin.

Her face flushed at the thought and Moriah moved back from the railing of the gallery. She wanted to hide behind the curtain, too, but that would only make her distress more obvious. Good heavens…had it really been that long since she had a man in her bed that a perfect stranger could elicit such sudden urges in her body? She stole another glance at him, and when her heart flipped end over end, she realized that it had indeed been that long.

Sherry Ewing

To Claim A Lyon’s Heart