"He has to," Lyon told his wife. "He wants to make Diana happy. And the only reason I'm going to give into your request is because I want to make you happy. Got that?" he muttered before slamming out the front door.
Christina didn't laugh until he'd left, knowing that if he heard her, his bluster would turn into real anger.
Her husband found the undisciplined puppy about an hour later. The dog was curled up under the overhang behind the stables.
Once Lyon was warm and dry again, his mood improved.
After a pleasant dinner he, Rhone, and Richards all retired to the library to share a bottle of brandy. Christina was thankful for the privacy. She wasn't feeling well. She'd been unable to keep down the rich meal she'd just eaten, and her stomach was still upset.
Lyon came upstairs around midnight. Christina was curled up in the center of their bed, waiting for him.
"I thought you'd be asleep," Lyon said. He began to strip out of his clothes.
Christina smiled at him. "And miss the chance to see my handsome husband disrobe? Never. Lyon, I don't think I shall ever get used to looking at you."
She could tell by his arrogant grin that he liked her praise. "I shall show you something even more handsome," Lyon teased. He walked over to the mantel, lifted a black lacquered box from the center, and carried it over to the bed. "I transferred the jewels from the old box to this one. It's more sound," he added.
Christina waited until Lyon was settled in bed beside her before she opened the box. A small square cloth covered the gems. She seemed hesitant to remove the covering and look at the jewels.
Lyon didn't understand her reticence. He took the cloth, unfolded it, and poured the assortment of precious jewels in the middle.
They were the colors of the rainbow, the sapphires and rubies and diamonds. They numbered twenty, and their value by anyone's standards would have kept a gluttonous man well fed for a very long while.
Lyon was puzzled, for Christina continued to show no outward reaction.
"Sweetheart, do you have any idea of the price these gems will bring?"
"Oh, yes, I understand, Lyon," Christina whispered. "The price was my mother's life. Please put them away now. I don't want to look at them. I think they're very ugly."
Lyon kissed her before he complied with her wish. When he got back into their bed he pulled her into his arms. He briefly considered telling her that Baron Stalinsky was in London, then decided that tomorrow would be soon enough to give her that ill news.
He knew Christina thought they had more time before setting their plan into motion. Her birthday had passed two weeks before, and she'd made up her mind that her father must have had other business to keep him away from England.
Lyon blew out the candles and closed his eyes. He couldn't remember when last he'd been this tired. He was just about to drift off to sleep when Christina nudged him.
" Lyon? Will you promise me something?"
"Anything, love."
"Never give me jewels."
He sighed over the vehemence in her voice. "I promise."
"Thank you, Lyon."
"Christina?"
"Yes?"
"Promise me you'll love me forever."
"I promise."
He caught the smile in her voice and suddenly realized he wasn't nearly as tired as he thought he was. "Tell me you love me," he commanded.
"My Lyon, I love you, and I shall continue to love you forever."
"A man can't ask for more than that," Lyon drawled as he nudged her around to face him.
He thought he'd make slow, sweet love to his wife, but in the end it was a wild, undisciplined mating, and thoroughly satisfying.
The blankets and pillows were on the floor. Christina fell asleep with Lyon as her cover. He was so content he didn't want to sleep just yet. He wanted to savor the moment, for in the back of his mind was the thought that this night could well be the calm before the storm.
Chapter Seventeen
Forgive me for not writing in this journal for such a length of time. I have been content and haven't wanted to remember the past. But we are now preparing to leave our safe haven. I shall not be able to speak to you again through this journal for long months, until we are both settled. My plan is to catch up with another wagon train. The way west is crowded with newcomers. The valley below is the only way the wagons can go to get into the mountains. Surely someone will take pity on us and offer us assistance.
Is it a fantasy for me to think that you and I might survive?
I will finish this entry with one request, Christina. I would beg a promise from you, dear child. If you do survive and one day chance upon this diary, have a kind thought for me.
And remember, Christina, always remember how very much I loved you.
Journal entry May 20, 1796
The time had come to face the jackal. Christina was nervous, though not nearly as nervous as her husband. Lyon 's expression was grim. The ride from their London townhouse to Porter's home was silent. Yet once they'd reached their destination, Lyon seemed disinclined to let Christina out of the carriage.
"Sweetheart, you're sure you're all right?"
Christina smiled up at her husband. "I'm fine, really."
"God, I wish there had been a way to keep you out of this," he whispered. "You look pale to me."
"You should be complimenting me on my new gown, Lyon. You chose the fabric, remember?" she asked. Christina pushed open the door of the carriage.
"I've already told you how beautiful you look," Lyon murmured.
He finally got out of the carriage and turned to help his wife. He thought she looked quite beautiful. The royal blue velvet gown was modestly scoop-necked. Her hair was curled into a cluster with a thin blue velvet ribbon threaded through the silky mass.
Christina reached up to brush a speck of link off Lyon 's black jacket. "You also look beautiful," she told him.
Lyon shook his head. He pulled her matched blue cloak over her shoulders. "You're doing this deliberately. Quit trying to ease my worry. It won't work."
"You like to worry, husband?" she asked.
Lyon didn't bother to answer her. "Give me your promise again," he demanded.
"I'll not leave your side." She repeated the vow she'd already given him at least a dozen times. "No matter what, I'll stand next to you."
Lyon nodded. He took her hand and started up the steps. "You really aren't frightened, are you, love?"
"A little," Christina whispered. "Richards has given me his assurance that justice in England is equal to that of the Dakotas. He'd better be right, Lyon, or we shall have to take matters into our own hands." Her voice had turned hard. "Strike the door, husband. Let's get this pretense of joyful reunion over and done with."
Richards was waiting for them in the foyer. Christina was surprised by his enthusiastic reception. Lyon had lost his grim expression, too. He acted as though he hadn't seen his friend in a long while, which was exactly what they wanted everyone to believe.
After greeting their host, a dour-faced man with a portly figure, Christina asked if Baron Stalinsky was in the receiving room.
"I can imagine how eager you must be to meet your father," Porter announced, his voice filled with excitement. "He's still upstairs, but he will certainly be joining us in a moment or two. I've kept the list of guests to a minimum, my dear, so that you may have time for a lengthy visit with your father. You must certainly have a book's worth of news to exchange."
Lyon removed Christina's wrap, handed it to the butler waiting beside them, then told Porter he'd take his wife into the drawing room to await the Baron.
Her hand was cold when he clasped it in his own. He could feel her trembling. The smile never left his face, but the urge to take Christina back home and return to face her father alone nearly overwhelmed him.
The Dakotas had the right idea, Lyon decided. According to Christina, verbal slander was all that was needed for an open challenge. What followed next was a battle to the death. Justice was swift. The system might have been a bit barbaric, yet Lyon liked its simplicity.
There were only eighteen guests in the drawing room. Lyon counted them while Christina had a long conversation with their hostess. Although his wife stood next to him, he paid little attention to what the two women were discussing. Richards had walked over to join him, and he was trying to listen to his friend advise him on the merits of the changing weather.
When their hostess left, Christina turned to Richards. "Are you aware that our host previously worked for your government in the same manner as you?"
"I am."
She waited for him to say more, then let him see her displeasure when he failed to comment further. " Lyon, Mrs. Porter surely exaggerated her mate's position, but she did mention a fact I found most enlightening."
"What was that, love?" Lyon asked. He draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him.
"She's a gossip," Christina began. "When she saw the way Richards greeted you, she boasted that her husband held the same favor when he was a younger man. I asked her why he'd retired, and she told me she didn't know all the facts but that his last assignment had soured him. It seemed he handled a project that caused a good friend of his some discomfort. Yes, she actually used that word. Discomfort."
"Discomfort? I don't understand. Do you, Richards?" Lyon asked.
Richards was staring at Christina. "You would do well to work for us, Christina. You have ferreted out what took me hours of research to ascertain."