Page 11 of The Lyon’s Last Gamble (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #80)
C hristopher sat in the carriage outside of the Watkins’s estate and tried to get his nerve up. It wasn’t only his future wife that waited inside. He had no concerns in dealing with her. He was confident in his abilities to charm the lass.
But her parents? They were a different story. He was unsure how much they kenned about him, and it wasn’t as if every father was knocking down the door of a gambler to have them marry their daughter.
“My lord?” His coachman asked as he waited for Christopher to exit the coach.
“Aye. Thank ye.”
He took a deep breath and pushed off the bench. The estate that stood before him was grand. The beige stone was brushed clean. The drive’s pebbles matched the color of the walls and blended perfectly to make an attractive welcome. Colorful flowers of pinks and blues filled huge pots that lined the steps that led to the front door.
Not able to delay any longer, he climbed the steps and rapped the knocker against the door. It was but a moment before the door swung open and he was welcomed inside and then ushered into a room that looked like it must be Sir Watkins’s study. A huge desk was centered on one side of the room in front of sturdy bookshelves filled with everything from novels, magazines, papers, and statues.
“Lord Campbell,” a deep voice called from behind him. “I apologize for the mess of my study. I’m usually much neater than this.” He stuck out his hand for a shake. “Adam Watkins.”
Christopher accepted the man’s hand and shook it heartily. “Christopher Campbell, sir.”
“Ah, no need to call me sir. From what I understand, you are to marry my daughter Whitney.” The man’s eyes brightened with affection at the mention of his daughter.
“I am.” He wasn’t sure what he should say. Watkins was obviously aware of why he was here, seeing how he was paying dearly for it.
“A Scot, are you? That’s an interesting turn of events. Whitney has never been north of the border, but I am certain she’ll adjust.”
“’Tis a lovely land.” He felt like an imbecile, unable to come up with anything more than a few words to add to the conversation. He tugged at his cravat, leaning his head to one side. The air was suddenly stifling. He wasn’t used to such scrutiny, and the assessment made him quite uncomfortable.
“It is. My wife and I have been there. Not for quite some time, but we did enjoy our stay there. What part are you from?” The man carried on as if they were old friends and there was naught odd with the current circumstances they faced.
“Argyll.”
“Renowned for its wool, is it not?”
“Aye. My family is responsible for that.”
Watkins smiled. “Splendid. What part do you play in the family business?”
Christopher cleared his throat nervously. Now was the time when he would be run from the Watkins’s estate and ordered to never return. “At this time, none. My brother handles that business mostly. But I do intend to become more involved in the future.”
He wasn’t lying. He did hope to make that come to fruition.
“Well, I don’t suppose you would have found yourself in the Lyon’s Den if everything was going your way, now, would you?” His tone wasn’t sarcastic. It was more matter-of-fact.
And Christopher respected that. He kenned he had his shortcomings. But he also kenned he was trying to change that.
“I am sure my wife will enjoy the chance to travel north once again. Assuming we will be invited to your home?”
“Of course. I wouldna dream of denying your daughter access to her family.”
Watkins looked pleased with that answer and nodded. “The women will be down shortly. I assume you have had a chance to read through our offering?”
“Aye. ’Tis a verra generous offer ye made.”
Walking over to the sideboard, Watkins poured two glasses of what looked to be scotch and handed one to Christopher.
“Thank ye,” he said, accepting the glass.
“Whitney’s mother and I love our daughter very much. We only want the best for our Whitney. You seem like a nice, young man, Christopher. I understand there are things in your past. My daughter doesn’t have an innocent past either, so in that you are on common ground. I will leave it up to you two to decide when and what to tell each other. My only advice to you is to be honest with her. Whatever you have done, she will be more than understanding.”
Christopher took a sip of scotch, feeling the burn warm his chest, and nodded. The man’s words were comforting.
Watkins then pierced him with a fierce gaze and he felt the need to square his shoulders and straighten his back even more so than it already was. “And my only warning to you is you better not hurt my daughter in any way. I don’t care who your family is. The dire straits you will find yourself in if my daughter is harmed in anyway will have your head spinning.”
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he could only nod again and then confirm that he would not do such a thing. “I am not a violent man, sir. Your daughter will be safe with me.”
“That also includes her heart. Do not break it. She’s much too sweet and loves too hard to be hurt.”
That was something that was a little harder to promise. He hadn’t even met the lass yet. But he accepted the warning.
Fortunately for Christopher, he was saved having to provide an answer by a knock on the door. A servant made them aware that Whitney and Lady Watkins were waiting for them in the salon.
Watkins stood and clapped his hands together. “Are you ready to meet your bride?”
Was he? Nay, he couldn’t say he was. But it was time.
Watkins clapped him on the shoulder. “There is no need to look as if you swallowed a fly. Neither of them bite—unless you want them to,” he chuckled and then motioned for Christopher to exit to the left.
He took a deep breath and rubbed his hands together nervously. Here goes naught.