Page 19 of The Lyon’s Last Gamble (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #80)

W ith Whitney sleeping at his side, Christopher thought about the direction his luck had taken. He had an amazing wife. One that he couldn’t have imagined the skills she was hiding. Thankful he was for the skills.

She sighed in her sleep, and he studied her face, her long lashes, the faintest sprinkling of freckles across her small nose. Her full lips that, lord above, she kenned how to use.

He was tempted to wake her up and lose himself in her sweetness again, but that would be selfish of him. The sleep would do her good.

Carefully, he extricated himself from beside her, and careful not to wake her, he slipped out of bed. Grabbing his trews, he pulled them on and did the same with his shirt. He picked up his jacket and was going to drape it over the chair, when he felt the envelope he’d stuffed in the pocket at Whitney’s parents’ house.

Walking over to the window, he sat and broke the seal so he could see what was inside. His eyes blew wide at the amount of notes inside. It was more money than he handled in a very long time. Also included was the deed to a property in the English countryside. But his eyes kept focusing on the notes.

He could play a lot of games at the tables with what he was holding in his hand.

He shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking of such things. Not only had he made a vow to himself, but he’d also told Whitney that he would gamble no more.

But the amount of coin he could win…

They left for Scotland in the morning. He could be in and out of the gambling hell before Whitney kenned it.

Just one game. One game just to test his luck. No matter the outcome, that would be the end of it.

Just one last time.

He looked back at Whitney. She was sound asleep. She’d been exhausted before they worked each other up into a frenzy. She’ll be asleep for quite some time. He would just instruct the staff to tell her he had to run an errand should she happen to awaken and wander downstairs before his return.

Buttoning up his jacket, he took one last look at his beautiful wife before slipping out and shutting the door quietly behind him.

Giving his butler instructions for Whitney, he left, making his way to one of the many gambling hells in town.

Inside, the smell of cigar smoke and bourbon welcomed him in an intoxicating hug. The place was alive with almost all the tables nearly full.

Roaming the room, he searched for the table that would call out to him, letting him ken that that was the one he should take a seat at.

As he walked about, guilt overcame him. What the hell was he doing here? Had he seriously left his new wife home alone?

On their wedding day?

He blew out an exasperated breath, pushing his hand through his hair. What kind of man did that?

An arsehole. That’s who.

Realizing he was a fool, that awareness had him spinning on his heel to leave.

“Campbell,” a voice called to him. A familiar voice.

He closed his eyes. Jensen.

“After your win, I didn’t expect to see you frequenting the hells so soon. Were your winnings not enough?” He asked sarcastically.

“I was just leaving, if ye’ll excuse me.” He moved to push past the man, but he’d planted his feet.

“No. I don’t think so. Do you forget you cost me my home?”

Christopher cocked his head to the side. “Nay. ’Twas no’ I that cost ye that. ’Twas ye and your lack of luck.”

The man sneered. “That game was rigged from the start and you well know it.”

At no point had that thought come across Christopher’s mind. Mayhap he would have thought different if he had lost.

“I dinna ken about that, Jensen. I’m sorry ye lost your house, but one of us was going to when we agreed to play the game.

His hands balled into fists at his sides. “It wasn’t supposed to be me.”

Christopher shrugged. “What can ye do? We both signed a binding contract. If ye have an issue with it, mayhap ye should take it up with Mrs. Dove-Lyon. She made the rules, not I.” He pushed past the seething man. “If ye’ll excuse me. I’ve somewhere I need to be.”

He left the hell, and once on the street, he leaned against the wall, breathing in some air to calm his nerves. He was a fool to leave Whitney.

Never again, he vowed. And this time he meant it. He had no reason to even attempt another gamble. He had all the money he needed. A beautiful wife at home. And once they returned to Scotland, he would pay back Alexander any coin that he had lost in his reacquisition of the Campbell sheep. He’d learn the family business and make an honest man out of himself for once.

Glancing at his watch, he grimaced. He needed to hurry home and hopefully he would arrive before Whitney awoke. Cursing at himself for the stupid decision he’d made, he pushed off the wall and rounded the corner—only to be met with Jensen and two men.

“You should have left when you had the chance,” Jensen chided and the two men advanced on Christopher.

A fist shot out and connected with his jaw in a meaty smack. He briefly saw stars, but he swung back, feeling the connection of his own fist against one of the men’s noses. The sickening crack rent through the air. But it only seemed to anger the man further.

With two against one, Christopher didn’t have a chance. He defended himself as best as he could, but kenning it was a losing battle, he opted to protect himself from the barrage of blows that wouldn’t stop. He dropped to the ground and a kick to his gut had him grunting in pain. He tried to curl into a fetal position to protect himself further, but not before another booted kick landed in his ribs, and he felt several crack on impact.

Breathing hurt. His vision was blurred. He could hear Jensen laughing nearby. The bastard.

He’d kill him was the last thought he had before a beefy fist came smashing down on his face, knocking him into oblivion.