Page 7 of The Lyon’s Last Gamble (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #80)
H ours had seemed to drag on before Christopher was finally called to the gambling hall floor. He perused the different tables, watching some men cheer and others look completely defeated at the outcome of their games.
His gut hitched. He hoped he didn’t find himself in the latter position.
He needed this win.
Though he didn’t know what exactly the prize was that he would win if successful. Was he daft to believe the invitation that it would be well worth his efforts?
As he suspected, when he had arrived, he’d found out what he would lose if he didn’t come out victorious.
Colthrop Hall, as he feared, was the price he would pay for his loss.
The price was huge. And he couldn’t afford not to win. Settling for anything less was not an option.
He could not lose the estate. And he had to keep ignoring the voice inside his head continuously questioning him. Asking if he kenned what he was doing? Reminding him of his horrible luck in past games. Telling him that he was a fool.
Mayhap it was right. But this was his last chance.
No matter what the outcome, he vowed that this would be his last gamble, and he had all intentions of keeping that vow.
With the contract signed, and Mrs. Dove-Lyon in possession of the deed to Colthrop Hall, all Christopher could do was nervously wait for the game to begin.
“Lord Campbell,” a dealer called to him. “This way, please.”
He followed the man and scoffed when he saw his opponent. “Jensen,” he addressed the man that he’d met earlier.
Jensen nodded stiffly, the prick, and then stuck his nose in the air.
If he’d lifted it any higher, Christopher feared he’d be sniffing the rafters.
“Gentlemen,” the dealer spoke up, drawing their attention to him. “The rules of the game are simple. The loser signs over the deed to his estate to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. The winner will be paid handsomely.”
Christopher rubbed his palms together, his tongue darting out and wetting his lips in excitement.
“This particular game is a game of chance. In front of you are six boxes. Three for each of you. Earlier, you each picked three numbers. Those are the box numbers you will open. To open a box, you will maneuver your arm into the cloth-covered opening and locate the item inside and remove it from the box. You will have to follow the included instructions for each item.”
Christopher smiled. This was something he could do. After all, what could be in the boxes? Surely, not anything that could be considered harmful. That would defeat the purpose of the gambling den, wouldn’t it? Or mayhap that was why everyone only got one chance to visit the Lyon’s Den?
“In one of the boxes there is a key,” the dealer continued. “Whoever draws the key is the winner. Any questions?”
He pierced each of them with a stern look and when they both shook their heads, he smiled.
“We shall do a coin toss to determine who goes first.”
The man tossed a coin in the air, and Jensen blurted out ‘heads’ as the coin landed in the dealer’s hand. “Lord Campbell wins the toss. You may go first or pass to Sir Jensen.”
Christopher rubbed his chin, deep in thought. He could go first and hope to get the key on the first try. Or he could let Jensen go first and test the waters to give him an idea of what to expect in the boxes. But that meant he could also pull the key.
“Lord Campbell, your answer,” the dealer prodded.
What to do? He blew out a breath and pressed his lips together, sweeping his arm to Jensen. “After ye.”
“Lord Campbell has given the first box to Sir Jensen,” the dealer called out to the gathering crowd.
Jensen stepped up to the table of boxes stacked in two rows of three. Gingerly, he reached out to the cloth covering the opening. The man looked a little pale. Christopher got the feeling he didn’t play games of chance very often.
Slowly, Jensen reached into the box, a couple of times, he jerked his hand back as if he was afraid that whatever was in the box was going to bite it off.
Finally, he closed his eyes and pulled out what was inside the box.
Christopher’s eyes rounded. The biggest, hairiest spider he’d ever seen was cupped in Jensen’s hand, and the man was practically in tears.
Mayhap the boxes could contain something harmful.
The dealer spoke up. “You have drawn a tarantula. You must allow it to crawl up one of your arms and down the other.”
“Pardon?” Jensen asked weakly.
Christopher shuddered. Apparently, Mrs. Dove-Lyon had connections that allowed her to bring in exotic creatures. He’d never seen such a thing in Scotland, and he doubted the spider was native to England.
“If you refuse to complete a task, you automatically forfeit the game.”
With a deep breath, Jensen opened his palm and outstretched his arms, trying to hold them steady, but he couldn’t stop shaking.
Christopher fought the urge to jump back in case the spider had any ideas to switch hosts. But he remained where he was and watched as the spider unfurled its hairy legs completely and started moving about.
Jensen’s breaths were short and fast. He looked like he was about to faint by the time the spider finally completed his route of traveling from arm to arm and the dealer scooped him into a small box with a lid.
Jensen sighed with relief and took a couple of steps back.
Stepping up to the table, Christopher rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbow. Surely they wouldn’t have two spiders in the boxes, would they? He took a deep breath and shoved his hand into the opening, tamping down his own rising fear. He needed to show a brave face. He smiled when his hand closed around something that felt much like a small pie.
He pulled the item out and studied what looked to be a tart of some sort. “You have drawn the special tart. Made of special ingredients including pig intestines and beetles. You must eat the whole tart to complete your task.”
Christopher studied the tart, it wasn’t overly large, smaller than most, but the pungent scent infiltrated his senses. He hadn’t any idea what else was baked into the crust, but he could only imagine how awful the taste would be. It didn’t matter. He had to eat it.
Not looking at the tart as he brought it to his mouth, he tried to ignore the smell as he took the first bite. Chewing as fast and as little as he could, he swallowed, fighting against the reflex to hurl up the disgusting-tasting contents and took another bite. He couldn’t describe the taste other than putrid and nothing like he had ever eaten before.
Three more bites and he was done. He was quite sure he had turned green. But he kept the tart down, and they moved on to the next round.
Jensen pulled a vial filled with a liquid that turned his stomach into a roiling mess, but he managed to drink it and keep the contents of his stomach down.
Christopher had pulled a snake that he had to allow to constrict his neck for thirty seconds. Just as he thought he was going to pass out, the time was up and the snake was pulled off of him. He gasped for air, fighting the stars that had appeared behind his eyes.
“You have both made it to the final round.” The dealer announced. “Since one of these boxes contains the key, and the other,” he paused, “not the key, you will both pull at the same time.”
This was it. He had a fifty percent chance of victory. Now that he could breathe normally again, his body hummed with excitement.
They each stepped up to their respective boxes.
“I will count to three and you both will reach in and pull out the item in your box. Understood?” He asked.
Both men nodded.
Christopher wet his lips in anticipation. He could almost taste the win. His fingers shook to reach in.
“Good luck,” Christopher offered.
“Keep it,” Jensen said in a clipped voice. “You’re going to need it more than I.”
“One. Two. Three!”
He shoved his hand in the box, not feeling anything at first, until his fingers closed around a small, metal object. “Aye!” He yelled in triumph as he pulled the key from the box, holding the key high above his head and waving it in victory.
At the same time Jensen howled in pain. Christopher glanced over and saw that he’d fisted a handful of stinging nettles.
Christopher grimaced, for a moment almost feeling sorry for the man, but then he remembered what a prick the man was and shrugged before turning to the dealer.
“Ye played a good game, Jensen.”
The man scowled. “No doubt it was rigged.”
“Congratulations, Lord Campbell. If you will follow me, you can claim your winnings.”
With one last look at Jensen, Christopher grinned. He’d taken one final gamble and it had paid off. Relief flooded over him. Not only did he get to keep Colthrop Hall, but he was also victorious.
Now to see what he’d won.