Page 9 of The Lyon’s Last Gamble (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #80)

“P ardon?” Christopher asked the mature woman standing in front of him. Once he’d won the game, he’d been ushered into what he assumed was Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s private quarters, which included a lavishly furnished office in which he now found himself sitting.

“The prize for winning your game is a wife,” she repeated as if he were daft.

He raised a brow, his mouth set into a frown. A wife was the absolute last thing he needed. How in the hell was a wife going to help him gain his brother’s favor again?

“She’s a lovely girl,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon continued. “From a good family. A wealthy family,” she emphasized.

His brows perked up. “Wealthy, ye say?” He asked, sitting up a little straighter.

The woman smiled as if she kenned exactly what she needed to tell him to draw him in.

“Yes, very wealthy.”

“Then why is she no’ married?” His stomach dropped. “Is she hideous? A beastly woman?” He was never one for making an affair of a woman’s looks, but surely there must be something wrong with the lass if she remained unmarried.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon pursed her lips as if she were growing agitated with him. “The young woman is very fair in looks. You will not be disappointed once you lay eyes upon her.”

“Again, I ask, then why is she no’ married?”

“Just as you have problems that follow you.” She raised her hand and arced it through the air. “Your gambling, in case you have any doubt of which I speak, for instance. But, as with you, behind her past discretions, there is a good woman that deserves to have a husband that sees her for what she is. A strong, independent woman that only wants to be loved.”

He scoffed. “Ye speak as if ye can just order me to marry a woman I have ne’er met.”

Pulling open the desk drawer, she withdrew a piece of paper that he recognized as the contract he had signed and pushed it toward him, tapping her finger on the page. “The contract is binding as you will recall. You cannot refuse your winnings.”

“I was under the assumption that my winnings, as ye call them, would be monetary. A wife doesna seem like much of a prize if ye ask me.”

The woman only smiled. “You may not see it now, but you will be marrying into a wealthy family, with an over abundant dowry that is much higher than what should be offered.”

Christopher mulled over the information he’d been given. With such a generous offering, what the hell had the girl done? And could he overlook it for the coin she would inevitably bring to the union?

He didn’t want to think himself a shallow man, and one that was only out for money, but being faced with this boon, and agreeing to it, he came to the conclusion that he was indeed shallow. That he couldn’t say nay to the legally binding contract didn’t change his evaluation of himself.

If the lass was indeed fair in face and had a body he could lose himself in, he was fine with that. Her coin would make up for any shortcomings that may have led her and her family to take such drastic measures to marry her off.

He only hoped she wasn’t an incessant whiner. He would be hard pressed to stay in her company if that was her countenance. Though the contract only dictated he had to follow through with his winnings. If he found her unpleasant, there was naught in the contract to say they couldn’t live separately if he deemed that necessary.

“Here.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon held out her hand, an envelope dangling from her wrinkled fingers.

He plucked the paper out of her hand, but didn’t open it. He would save that for later.

“Inside you will find the name and address of your bride to be. The names of her parents, as well, along with a brief summary of their family. Any other information you will need to garner from them yourself.” She nodded to the man standing at her office door, and he opened it, effectively dismissing Christopher.

He turned and started for the door.

“Lord Campbell,” she called from behind him.

He turned to look at the woman.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you,” she laughed.

Spinning on his heel, he exited the office, only to find Jensen waiting to go in.

The man scowled at him. “You’ve cost me my home, Campbell. Do not think this will be the last you hear of me.”

Christopher scoffed and cocked his head. “Dinna think the winning prize is any better. There is a reason why they doona tell us what the proceeds of our gamble are. If they did, surely, they wouldna have any patrons occupying their establishment.”

He pushed past the unpleasant man and exited the building.

It wasn’t until late that night, when he was in his study at Colthrop Hall, whisky in hand, that he broke the seal on the envelope and read its contents.

Whitney Louise Watkins. Both parents still alive. Her father was a wealthy businessman. The family owned several estates.

His eyes rounded at the amount of her dowry. Not only did it include coin, it also included a country estate. But the amount of coin?

It was enough for him to repay his brother for his past gambling debts and still be set up for the future. There was also a monthly amount he would be paid to keep Whitney living the lifestyle she was accustomed to.

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

It was the solution he’d been looking for.

And he hated the little voice inside his head that reminded him of how many games he could play in the hells for the amount of money that he would be coming into.

He shook his head, trying to get the voice to stop. He had vowed that the Lyon’s Den would be his last gamble, and he intended to, for once, stay true to his word.

Drinking the rest of his whisky in one long sip, he set the glass down and locked the letter in the top drawer of his desk.

It was too late to call on Whitney now. He would do so in the morning. After he slept off the whisky and bathed the smell of the gambling hell off of his body.

Tomorrow he would meet his wife. And he only hoped that she was pleasant enough in looks, stature, and personality. Someone he could see himself spending the rest of his days with.

Because like it or not, she was what his future held.