Page 12 of The Lyon’s Last Gamble (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #80)

W hitney wrung her hands together incessantly as she waited for the man that would soon be her husband to join her and her mother in the salon.

They’d been made aware of his arrival a short time ago, and since then, her heart had been stuck in her throat.

Her mother patted her hand. “All will be well, dearest. You have nothing to worry yourself with.”

“What if he finds me harsh on the eyes? What if he sees me as an ogre? A troll?” She asked quickly.

Her mother rolled her eyes. “You are being ridiculous. You are none of those things and you know it well. Always, you have been the envy of the other girls your age. Why do you think they were so cruel?”

She thought about that for a moment. It was actually something she had not considered before. Was that really the reason? Or were the words just her mother’s way of trying to calm her nerves and her over-active mind?

More than likely, the latter.

The men entered the room, and all the air rushed out of her lungs.

Dressed in a dark coat and a white shirt with a ruffled collar, the man she would marry stood before her, his massive height making her feel small. He was even taller than her father, who wasn’t short in stature himself. His tan trews hugged his thighs and his knee-high black boots were polished to a shine. He looked devastatingly handsome, and she noticed that he looked upon her with trepidation.

It made her stomach do a flip flop and instinctively, she stood. Apparently, he was as nervous as she was. That awareness made her feel a little better.

“Whitney,” her father addressed her. “May I introduce you to Lord Christopher Campbell. Christopher, please meet my daughter, Whitney.”

He bowed gallantly and she immediately dropped into a curtsy.

“’Tis lovely to meet ye, lass,” he said, stepping forward and capturing her hand for a kiss.

Oh my. He certainly was chivalrous. Charming.

And Scottish.

That was something she hadn’t anticipated. She just automatically assumed he would be English.

He let go of her hand and stood straight, but the warmth from his lips lingered on her skin.

“Lady Watkins.” He greeted her mother.

The woman smiled as if he was there to meet her. Whitney was certain that if her mother had been holding her fan, she would be waving it in front of herself. She might even have feigned a fainting spell. Whitney had to refrain from rolling her eyes.

They all sat. Papa in his favorite chair by the fireplace. She and mama on the sofa and Christopher in a chair facing them. His manners were on point as he waited for her to sit before taking to his own seat.

A servant entered, pushing a wheeled cart that contained teacups, a pot of tea, and finger sandwiches made of cucumbers with a dill dressing.

Christopher remained silent as he watched the servant leave then focused his gaze on her again.

Her mother nudged her with an elbow to her side. “Mayhap Lord Campbell would like some tea or food,” she urged gently.

“Oh,” Whitney exclaimed, embarrassed that she in turn had lost all semblance of her manners. “Of course. Lord Campbell, can I offer you some tea? A cucumber sandwich as well?”

“Please, call me Christopher, and I would enjoy some, thank ye.”

He flashed her a smile that nearly had her knees buckling as she walked over to the cart. “How do you like your tea?” She managed to eke out, her voice cracking. God above. It was as if she were in the presence of a man for the first time in her life. What was wrong with her?

“A splash of milk would be perfect.”

Preparing the tea as he stated, she also filled a small plate with a few of the sandwiches. He was a large man, certainly, one small sandwich would not satisfy his hunger.

He accepted the plate and saucer holding the teacup with another devastating smile and she found herself only able to nod.

Her father furrowed his brow. “Well, it seems our daughter has come upon a rare instance of silence. She is usually much more talkative than this. Not so much to be an annoyance,” he added quickly. “But enough to let you know she is there.” Her father chuckled as if he had just delivered a funny jest, but she felt her cheeks flame.

After what seemed like hours of awkward silence, her mother finally stood. “I am sure you two would like to become acquainted. Your father and I will take our leave. We’ll be in the parlor if you need anything.” She held her hand out to her husband. “Come now, Adam. Let’s leave them alone for a bit.”

Whitney watched her parents walk out of the room, surprised that they would leave her with Christopher with no chaperone. Granted, they were to be married, but there should still be some semblance of protocol afforded them.

Oh, who was she kidding? It wasn’t as if she could ruin her reputation. That had already been done.

The room was quiet for a few minutes after her parents had left. She couldn’t stop wringing her hands as she looked toward the door of the room, trying to think of something to say. But she didn’t know where to begin. She wanted to ask him why he needed a wife so desperately, but she found it an odd way to start a conversation, so she remained mum.

“I wasna sure what to expect when I arrived,” Christopher said, finally breaking the silence. “But I must say I am pleasantly surprised.”

She lifted a brow. “About what?” She asked, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

“Ye.”

Turning in her seat to face him more fully, she said, “Pardon?”

He nodded, a smile on his face. “Ye are verra beautiful, lass,” he said in that Scottish brogue that sounded so very foreign to her ears. Odd, really, seeing how the two countries neighbored each other. It never ceased to amaze her how people so close, could be so different.

“Oh,” she responded, bringing her hand up to her mouth to cover the small smile he brought to her lips. “That is very kind of you to say, my lord.”

“Christopher,” he insisted. “Or I’d e’en settle for Chris if ye rather.”

How very informal it would be of her to call him by a nickname.

He leaned in close, his eyes dancing with mischief. “We are to be married after all. ’Twould seem strange for ye to call me Lord Campbell dinna ye think?”

“You are right, I suppose. But don’t you find this all a bit strange? Disconcerting, even?” She asked, curious as to what he thought of the situation they found themselves in.

He set the saucer on a nearby table, his lips pressed together in thought. “I must admit, ’tis no’ a position I e’er believed to find myself in. But here we are.”

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “I do agree. It is not something I could have ever imagined.”

His brows creased, concern darkening his eyes. “I must say I am surprised to find ye here. How does a such a beautiful lass as yourself no’ have men breaking down your door asking for your hand?”

If only that were the case. Once, in what seemed like a lifetime ago, these halls had seen their fair share of suitors calling upon her. Harold being one of them, of course. The men would line up early in the morning and she would tire of having to entertain and make small talk with each one of them. Mayhap that was why she’d fallen for Harold’s charm so easily. He was an easy escape. Conversation with him flowed effortlessly and he had a knack for saying exactly what she wanted to hear. And that was what she had needed at the time.

An escape from everything, especially the pressures being forced upon her to marry, not so much from her parents, but society in general. It was as if a girl that had come of age had nothing to look forward to in life other than marrying. She supposed that was sort of true. What else could she do with herself? It wasn’t as if she could get employment. Her parents would never allow it.

Even so, she never felt comfortable with men calling on her. She just wanted to put a stop to it.

Not answering Christopher, she countered. “I could say the same to you. Why were you at the Lyon’s Den in search of a wife?”

He sputtered, causing the sip of tea he’d just taken to splash out of his mouth. Grabbing a handkerchief, he unfolded it and wiped at the tea dribbling down his chin.

“Pardon me for that. But that is no’ why I was at the establishment.”

Whitney raised a brow. “Why do you say such a thing? It was the reason we were both there.”

He shook his head. “It absolutely wasna. I didna learn of the marriage piece until after I had won the game.”

Her mouth dropped open in shock. If he hadn’t been there for a wife, why was he there? “You don’t want to get married?”

“I didna say that. I will marry ye, just as I said I would. I am no’ one to go against my word. But ’twas no’ the boon I was after when I agreed to accept the invitation.”

She jumped up from her seat, shock making her stomach turn. “If you’ll excuse me. I believe I need some air.” Rushing through the salon doors, she hurried down the hall, and made her way out to the garden. Once outside, she clutched her chest, heaving in a deep breath.

It was a trap.

She refused to be a person that forced someone into a life they did not want.