Excerpt: Protected by the Lyon

His gut deep need to protect her, has him walking into the Lyon’s Den.

Excerpt from Chapter One
*Unedited* Protected by the Lyon
©C.H. Admirand July 2026

Lieutenant Dean Lovecote Sampson, retired military surgeon, strode down the hallway to his good friend Gavin King’s office. It was not the first time he’d been summoned to Bow Street, and he wondered if one of the Duke’s Guard had been injured protecting one of His Grace’s family or relatives. Whoever dared to challenge one of the Duke’s Guard would be in for a surprise.

He raised his hand and knocked.

“Enter.”

Sampson detected an edge in his friend’s voice… Trouble. Anticipating anything from a wounded member of the duke’s family, to one of King’s elite team of men, he entered.

King looked up, set the file he’d been studying aside, and rose. “You normally answer my missives in a more timely manner.”

“I may have retired from the military,” Sampson reminded him, “but I have yet to retire as a physician.”

The flash of irritation in King’s eyes surprised the lieutenant. “Close the door and have a seat.” When he had, his friend studied him for a moment before saying, “I understand that you are acquainted with Madame Beaudoine.”

Sampson smothered the flash of interest that had been simmering close to the surface ever since he’d met the lovely modiste. He had been tending to one of the modiste’s seamstresses who had been injured and rescued by one of the Duke’s Guards, Sean O’Malley, when Madame Beaudoine swept in and tried to countermand his recommendations for her treatment.

The challenge she tossed down had invigorated him, even though he and the modiste were at cross purposes as to where Mignonette should continue to recuperate. She later married her rescuer.

“Madame is not easy to forget,” Sampson said smoothly.

“I need your assistance in a delicate matter if we are to prevent the scandal of the Season,” King said. “Time is of the essence.”

Sampson snorted. “Neither one of us gives a bloody damn about the Season. Tell me, how is Madame Beaudoine involved?”

King retrieved a missive from his desk, handing it to Sampson. “Sean O’Malley sent this.”

Sampson read the missive, and felt his gut clench, as he controlled the anger that threatened to erupt inside of him. The slander was vicious. Vile. It would not only destroy Madame’s good name, but her flourishing business as well. “How long has she been threatened?”

King studied Sampson for a few moments. “You know her better than I thought. O’Malley questioned his wife, but this was the first Mignonette had heard of a threat. Yvette, good friend and another of Madame’s seamstresses, had overheard the threat and told Mignonette.”

Sampson recalled meeting the women, and the life-threatening injury to O’Malley. He murmured, “O’Malley’s wife and Madame are more alike than either woman realizes. They believe they can handle their own problems themselves.”

“Aye,” King agreed. “By the time they realize they need assistance—”

Sampson interrupted “—they are up to their pretty necks in danger.” He handed the missive to the Bow Street Runner. “Any idea who is behind the threats?”

King grunted. “I have assigned two of my men to get to the bottom of this. Madame has excellent connections within the ton, among the merchants, and their servants.”

The lieutenant met King’s steady gaze. “Servants?”

“Aye. She prefers that her good works remain anonymous.”

“Are you going to tell me what they are?”

King hesitated, then said, “All I am at liberty to tell you that it has to do with young women coming to London seeking employment—most of them from France—if she is in a position to help them find work, she does.”

Sampson digested all that he’d been told. “Is anyone injured, or is there another reason you summoned me here?”

King selected a folded note from his desktop. “This arrived not a quarter hour before the missive from O’Malley.”

Sampson read the note and felt a painful stab in the vicinity of his heart. The lovely modiste had enlisted London’s most notorious matchmaker. “It is obvious the Black Widow of Whitehall is holding something back. What can Mrs. Dove-Lyon know that you do not?”

“Any number of things,” King replied. “Her web of connections is equal to my own. Accompany me to my meeting with Bessie.”

“Bessie is it?” Sampson asked.

“Only a chosen few know that I have been acquainted with Bessie Dove-Lyon for some time. It was Bessie who alerted me when Lucretia sought her aid in finding a husband. I wish Lucretia had trusted me enough to seek my help instead of going to Bessie.”

“With the interference of Mrs. Dove-Lyon, you were alerted in time to lend your aid, and offer for her hand,” Sampson added.

“I knew ahead of time that Bessie would not make things easy for me. She is well known for creating unusual challenges. At times, she tailors them to be extremely difficult, and has for a others of my acquaintance: Viscount Moreland, his brother Edmund Broadbank, and Earl Stansbury, to name a few. All were presented with challenges that were inherently difficult for them…as were those she chose for me.”

“Is there a specific reason you are telling me this?” the lieutenant grumbled.

“Aye,” King replied.

When the Runner fell silent, Sampson’s mind raced. Had he shown a hint of interest in the raven-haired modiste in King’s company? What other reason would King have sent for him? Why would the man ask Sampson to attend the meeting in the Lyon’s Den?

Concern for the fiery modiste had him contemplating the situation. What type of challenges would the Black Widow of Whitehall create for those vying for Madame Beaudoine’s hand? Would the modiste willingly accept whoever won?

Sampson had been intrigued by the modiste from the start, though the timing inapproriate to react to the spark of interest in the modiste’s eyes. Bloody hell! He admired her too much to let her future be decided by whoever could swill more brandy, win against a stacked deck, or whatever other ridiculous challenge the matchmaker came up with.

How could he trust that the victor was not a rogue, rake? A gentleman bearing a title did not guarantee he was worthy or that he’d give her the respect she deserved and treat her well. Staring into the emotionless face of his friend, the lieutenant sensed King had yet to confide all. “You know something, vital. Your men, and your contacts in an around the city are privy to information unknown to others. Out with it King.”

“Are you aware of how Madame Beaudoine’s husband died?”

“How would I be?” Sampson grumbled.

“There was a duel, Beaudoine aimed for his challenger’s arm. The man he challenged did not.”

“Why didn’t Beaudoine delope instead? It would have satisfied the challenge and signal that he had avenged his wife’s honor.”

“According to reports, the blackguard who slandered Madame Beaudoine accepted Beaudoine’s challenge on the condition that Beaudoine did not delope.”

“Highly irregular,” Sampson muttered. “What happened?”

“Beaudoine was shot through the heart.”

“What bearing does this have on the missives you received?”

“The slanderous lies about Madame are the same as before.”

The lieutenant stared at King. “How can you be certain?”

“She confirmed it. The vicious lies she endured in France that her husband challenged and gave his life for have been resurrected.”

“That could mean any number of things, King.”

The Runner agreed, “If not for the fact that Madame also gave me the man’s name.”

Sampson sensed there was more. “And?”

“My sources and connections have confirmed that he is in London.”

“Bloody hell!” Sampson met King’s steady gaze. “You know where he is?”

“I’m waiting for verification.”

“And Mrs. Dove-Lyon has it?”

“There is a distinct possibility that she can confirm the information I have received.” King motioned to the door and waited for Sampson to precede him. “Are you willing to step into the Lyon’s Den to protect Madame Beaudoine’s honor?”

Sampson glared at King and yanked open the door. “We’re wasting time!”

King nodded. “We’ll take my carriage. Bessie’s staff will be watching for it.”

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