BLURB:

Enter the world of the most notorious gambling den in London, where matches are made… unusually. Welcome to the world of THE LYON’S DEN: The Black Widow of Whitehall Connected World, where the underground of Regency London thrives… and loves.

What’s a young lady to do when a powerful lord tries to abscond with her and make her his mistress?

When you’re Miss Honoria Quinn, you leap from his carriage and run like the wind to find some place to hide. Trouble is, Honoria mistakenly chooses The Lyon’s Den, a disreputable gambling house as her sanctuary, a move that ends up with her having to make another choice at the hands of the Den’s match-making proprietor Mrs. Dove-Lyons: wed a complete stranger or become the lord’s mistress.

No good deed goes unpunished…

Thomas, Lord Braeton agrees to attend a wager at The Lyon’s Den only to keep his brother-in-law out of trouble. What he doesn’t count on is becoming embroiled in one of Mrs. Dove-Lyons’s schemes to marry him off. But when he tries to come to the aid of another peer, Thomas finds the only honorable thing he can do to save Miss Quinn’s reputation is put aside his hopes for a love match for himself and instead offer to marry her.

As Thomas and Honoria set out on a wary journey to matrimony, can they learn to live together and hope love will grow between them? Or are they doomed to a loveless marriage of convenience from which one or both will want to escape?

I’ve skipped ahead a few chapters, to the meeting of Miss Honoria Quinn and Thomas, Lord Braeton in Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s office.

EXCERPT:

“This way, Miss Quinn.”

Afraid to disobey, Honoria continued into the room, furnished with expensive chairs, a comfortable looking chaise longue, and an over large wooden desk, piles of papers neatly stacked all over it. Now what did Mrs.— Honoria stopped dead, all the air rushing out of her lungs at the sight of Lord Danford standing before the fireplace.

“Honoria!” The earl all but leaped toward her, prevented, thank God, by the efforts of a taller, blond-haired gentleman, who grabbed his arm and tugged him backward. A second gentleman, with dark hair and a huskier build, moved to Lord Danford’s other arm and grasped it in a strong grip. Once more able to breathe, Honoria turned to Mrs. Dove-Lyon, outrage bubbling up. “What is he doing here? He cannot be the opportunity you spoke of?”

“No, my dear, he is not,” she whispered.

And a little more for good measure…

The woman turned toward the earl and stretched out her arm, her finger pointing directly at him. “However, Lord Danford has made the unfortunate mistake of announcing to all my patrons within shouting distance, that he was searching for you. Worse, he called out for you by name, several times.”

The sinking sensation in the pit of Honoria’s stomach might have been due to the wine, but more likely to the horrible realization that now a great many people suspected Lord Danford was trying to debauch her. It didn’t matter that nothing had happened between her and the earl. In the eyes of the hearers, it was a fait accompli. Her knees buckled and she clutched the back of the brightly flowered chaise.

“Please have a seat, Miss Quinn. Lord Longford,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon shifted toward the dark-haired gentleman, “although you were not originally invited to this meeting, you may make yourself useful and pour Miss Quinn a brandy.”

“No, I’ll be fine.”  Honoria put her head in her hands. In her current state, more spirits might make an end to her.