It was a trap.
She refused to be a person that forced someone into a life they did not want.
Chapter Thirteen
Christopher watched Whitneyrush from the room as if she had the devil himself chasing her heels. What possibly could be her issue? He’d obviously upset her, but he didn’t ken how.
He waited but a moment before he stood and walked into the hallway. Looking in both directions, there was no sign of the lass. A servant appeared, her arms stacked high with linens.
“Do ye ken where Miss Watkins has gone?” He asked.
“I believe she is outside, my lord.”
He nodded. “Thank ye.” He exited the front door, the same one he’d entered and paused to look around. She wasn’t here so he made his way around the side of the estate. Surely, she wouldn’t have run to the front. She would be in the back.
Rounding the corner to the back of the house, he spotted Whitney sitting on a stone bench near some potted flowers that matched the same ones that were on the front steps.
He took a deep breath. Thinking about how to approach her. Clearly whatever he had said regarding the Lyon’s Den had upset her, though he didn’t ken why.
The gravel walkway crunched under his boots as he approached the lass. “May I join ye?” He asked, pointing to the empty space on the bench beside her.
She shrugged but scooted over to the very edge of the seat.
He sat, but remained quiet for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. “I am no’ sure if ye’re aware, but I wasna familiar with the Lyon’s Den before I stepped foot into the building.” He chuckled. “I had e’en passed by it numerous times and hadna the faintest idea of the secrets held inside.”
“But you were invited to participate.”
He nodded. “I was. ’Twas all a mystery to me.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
He picked at a piece of lint on his trews. “I received an invitation. It promised grand winnings. Something that I could really use, so I couldna turn down the opportunity.”
“You thought you would be winning a monetary prize.”
He dipped his head and smiled, trying to put her at ease, unsure of why he cared so much for someone he’d just met—future bride-to-be or not. “Aye. In the end it wasna, but I am a man of my word. I signed a contract and will follow-through with that.”
She blew out a breath, her hands grasping the edges of the seat. “I also had to sign a contract stating that whoever won the game, well, you know. That we would marry.”
“I apologize if I am a disappointment. But do believe me when I say I will do all in my power to make ye happy.”
She laughed, but it held a somber undertone. “It is not that. I was watching the game from above. Mrs. Dove-Lyon has an observation room up there. When I saw you and the other man that would be playing, I was immediately rooting for you,” she confessed shyly.
He couldn’t stop the smile that broke across his face. “Do ye ken of Jensen as well?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, her brown waves swaying in the air. “I didn’t know either of you. Still don’t really. But I had seen you before.”
This was an interesting development. “Ye had? When?” Surely, he would remember seeing her previously.
“It was just for a brief moment. My mother and I were at the modiste shop and you had happened to pause in front of the window I was looking out of. I’m sure you don’t remember. It was just a brief glance.
He kenned exactly the moment she was referring to and now he realized those beautiful blue eyes he’d seen that day belonged to the lass sitting beside him. The window had reflected the street back to him, so he couldn’t see the face they belonged to, but he remembered.
“I actually do. But I could only see your eyes through the window. But they were memorable indeed.”
Her cheeks flushed in the most becoming way, but she didn’t say anything.
“So, since we are to be married, I think it only makes sense that we learn about each other. Why do ye no’ have men knocking down your door on a daily basis to grovel for your hand?” She was a bonny lass he had to admit. From a respected family. Well mannered. He couldn’t see any reason why she hadn’t been whisked away yet.
