She shook her head and gave a small smile. “I was just thinking that it wouldn’t matter if your father agreed to go away. You wouldn’t be joining us. By the time winter rolls around, you will be married and living with your husband.”
Whitney’s heart sank. “You haven’t told me anything about my husband-to-be. Can’t you tell me something? Anything?”
Her mother remained silent.
“What if he’s a monster? How well do you know him? Of his character? Where did you find him?”
“Your father would never allow you to be married to someone of ill-repute, Whitney. You know that. But, also, you must understand that your, er, situation left us with few prospects. We don’t know exactly who your husband will be, but it is between two men.”
Whitney brightened. “So I get to choose?”
Her mother chuckled. “Unfortunately, no. Your father and I do not get to choose either. It will be left to the fates and a game of luck.”
“Pardon?” What did that even mean? “Surely you jest, mama. Something this serious should be given deep thought. Are you saying my marriage will be decided with a game of chance?” Whitney was mortified.
“That is exactly what I am saying. But rest assured. Your father and I have seen each of these men. We know of their backgrounds. Their reputations. Both are good matches. Now, how about that lemon fizzy you were so craving?”
Whitney allowed her mother to try to distract her with her favorite drink, but as she sipped, she couldn’t help but ponder the information she’d just been given.
Chapter Five
Standing in frontof the blue building that housed the Lyon’s Den, Christopher realized he had seen it before. He’d walked by it many times. However, the building was so unassuming, he had no idea it housed such a business. He thought it was just another establishment. It could have been personal or business. He’d never given it a second thought.
Until now.
Now his heart was nearly pounding out of his chest at the thought that in the next few minutes his life was going to change.
And no matter what, there was no going back.
He sent a quick prayer up to God to let the change be for the good.
The last thing he wanted to do was to head back to Scotland with his tail between his legs. Hell, if he failed at this, he didn’t ken if he would ever return home. He couldn’t face his brother as an even bigger failure than he had been when he left.
He pulled the watch from his pocket and glanced at the face. 5:59. He lifted his hand to knock, and the door swung open, a huge, burly man stood there on the other side assessing him.
Clearing his throat, he said, “I’ve an invitation for six.” He held out the invitation. The bouncer ignored the paper, but stepped aside, allowing him entry.
Odd. It was as if the man kenned exactly who he was.
Once through the door, the inside of the den came alive. As quiet as the building was from the street, inside it was a completely different story. He shrugged out of his overcoat and handed it to the coat check.
“If you would like a drink, the bar is open. There is a smoking room if you would like to enjoy a cigar before your game begins. We will collect you when it is time.”
“Thank ye,” Christopher nodded and wandered further in, unsure if he wanted a drink or a smoke. Or both. Mayhap a cigar with a nice glass of smooth scotch.
The first thing he noticed as he wandered through the main floor was that this was not the type of gambling hell he was used to. Nay. Not at all. Firstly, there were no women roaming about. Secondly, the games being played were games he’d never seen before.
For some, cards were involved, for others…did that man have a scorpion crawling up his arm?
Christ. He’d never seen anything like this place. And he’d visited his share of seedy establishments. Though he couldn’t say this one was seedy. It was anything but.
It was very clean with gorgeous woodwork throughout. Security was aplenty. Almost every door was manned by a bouncer. He supposed that a place such as this would need to be heavy-handed to make sure things didn’t get out of control.
Making his way to the smoking room, he looked over the offerings and settled on a Cuban import. The end was clipped off and he lit it, taking a slow draw. The deep, rich taste paired well with the scotch he’d ordered while making his choice.
There were other men in the room. Some milled about and a couple sat at a table. They called him over to join them.
“Are you ready for what’s to come?” An older man, with hair graying at his temples asked. “Thomas Grey,” he announced after.
