The possibilities were high that he could. He had at least a fifty percent chance.
No, no, no. Whitney spun around to see if her mother had returned, but she was nowhere to be found. After seeing the two men, couldn’t she just choose her husband?
Why the game of chance?
Worry had her biting at her nails. If her mother were here, she would scold her for the childish habit. With one look back at the floor, she hurried from the room in search of her mother.
Chapter Seven
Hours had seemedto 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.
