The Lyon's Laird: The Lyon's Den

by Hildie McQueen

  “That makes this game even more interesting.” The youngest man at the table leaned forward with an expectant expression. “You, Sir, may have more to lose than the rest of us.”

  “My freedom is precious to me,” another said. “I am not sure I can risk it.”

  Mrs. Dove-Lyon approached with a smile stretched across her face. “I come to sweeten the pot, per se,” she said, waving a hand. Dangling from her fingers on a velvet ribbon was a key. “Whoever wins this game will get a beautiful townhouse in the most prominent of districts, St. James’ Square.” There was a collective intake of breath, except for Camren and Gideon who had no desire to own more property in England.

  The woman dangled the key for a moment longer. Her keen gaze moved to each man at the table. “The loser must marry a beautiful woman within a week.”

  The men eyed each other. It was probable that most of them could afford a townhouse, but the address the woman spouted out was, indeed, one of the most desirable of addresses.

  Camren wasn’t interested in owning the house. He would probably sell it upon winning. He eyed his competition. The men maintained a calm demeaner, but he spotted a faint line of sweat beads on the lip of one. Another swallowed hard, his nostrils spreading with nerves. From the easy to read signs, he could win the game easily.

  “What is the opening bid?” The lord, who Camren considered would be a valid opponent, asked.

  “Your home. Place the key to your current property on the table,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said.

  “So, the loser not only loses their home, but has to marry?”

  “No,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon replied with a smile. “You see, the last two will bid their homes in hopes to win this house.” She swung the key. “The loser will get a wife and I will allow him to retain his home. I must remind you, she is the loveliest of creatures.”

  His heart thundered and Camren was amazed that he considered entering the game. It was the most interesting and unexpected turn of events. Even Gideon seemed intrigued. He leaned forward, staring at the key intently.

  Four keys were placed in the center of the table. Gideon, who didn’t have a townhome in London, was asked to wager the cost of a home. He did so without complaint.

  “One deal, one replacement each round, no more than two cards.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon motioned to a man who dealt cards to each of them.

  The men studied their cards, each without expression, their eyes moving to the others in search of a clue to what they held. Several, including Camren, requested replacements of one or two cards.

  Camren began to wonder whether to bluff or keep his hand. It wasn’t a grand one, but good enough to win if he played right.

  Two men dropped out immediately and were obviously annoyed at how quickly they’d lost their homes. Camren figured they’d be entering another game in hopes of winning them back.

  Of the remaining three, they were once again allowed to replace a card. Lord Whitaker was the only one who did so and then threw his cards down with a look of disgust.

  However, he recovered quickly, watching as both Gideon and Camren exchanged incredulous looks.

  “This is not going to turn out well,” Gideon grumbled.

  “Do not think of me as your laird, but as your opponent right now,” Camren said, hoping to throw his friend off balance.

  Everyone in the room turned to watch as Mrs. Dove-Lyon offered them the opportunity once again to exchange a card. “This is your last chance,” she exclaimed theatrically.

  What was he doing? If he lost the game, he’d have to marry. As laird, the woman would have to move to Scotland, away from London. Had her father lost a wager and put his daughter up as payment? He had so many questions.

  Forcing himself to focus, he placed one card on the table. Not sure why, other than it would not hurt if he got a worse card. At least, he hoped it wouldn’t.

  Gideon did the same. They were too much alike.

  When he lifted the card, his spirits soared. He’d witness his roguish friend being married. His lips almost curved, but he managed to keep from it.

  “Show your hand.” The woman motioned to him.

  Camren placed his cards on the table face up. A feeling of satisfaction came over him while at the same time feeling a bit badly for his friend.

  When Gideon’s eyes widened, Camren wasn’t sure what to think. The expression of shock was hard to read.

  “Now show yours,” the woman said.

  Ever so slowly, Gideon lowered his cards.

  This time, it was Camren who paled.

  “Sorry, Laird,” Gideon said. “But I am thankful not to have to get married.”

  Camren had lost the game.

  There was a collective intake of breath around the room, several clearings of throats as it seemed most felt badly for him.

  How had it been that plans for an afternoon of gaming had garnered him the loss of the very first game he’d entered. Additionally, not only did he lose to his best friend, but the idiot was now grinning like a loon.

  “Whisky,” he said hoarsely, and a glass was pushed into his hand. He swallowed it and held it out to be refilled.

  The young opponent at the table gave him a pitying look. “You have a week to marry her or to figure out a way out of it.”

  “There is no way out of it,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon emphasized. “It is a house rule that you cannot bet away a prize gotten from a loss.”

  “A woman is not a prize to be lost or won. We are speaking of a human being.” Camren couldn’t believe they were playing for things like marriage.

  Mrs. Dove-Lyon didn’t seem affected by his statement. “You are correct and that is why we only gamble marriage at the woman’s request.”

  He looked to Gideon whose eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

  “Have these women asked to be prizes in these games? I don’t understand.”

  Mrs. Dove-Lyon had moved away, seeming bored with the conversation. So, an older gentleman answered his question. “The women who come to Mrs. Dove-Lyon in search of a husband are those with less than stellar reputations. A scandal or past misstep can ruin a woman’s chances for marriage in London society.”

  “That is such English absurdity,” Gideon replied. “We allow our women more freedoms.”

  The man shrugged. “It is not fair, I agree.”

  Camren lost any interest to continue playing and went to the side of the room where a bar was set up. The man behind it poured him whisky without asking. He mulled over what to do while watching the games continuing. At one table, the men had placed daggers in the center. He wondered what losing at that table meant. At another, each man had a shot glass of green liquid in front of him.

  This was certainly the most unique of establishments.

  The man behind the bar placed a second drink in front of him. “You will call on her tomorrow. All the pertinent information will be delivered to your home tonight.”

  “And what if I don’t do it,” Camren said to the man who looked past him to where Mrs. Dove-Lyon stood.

  “You will, you are a laird and man of your word.”

  He couldn’t argue with that. He would do it, would marry and return to Scotland at the end of the season with an English wife.

  The consequences would be nominal if he were to be honest. His clan was not at war, nor did they harbor any resentments toward the English. Being connected to one of the larger and powerful Maclean Clans meant protection and being left alone by any would-be attackers.

  It was only by guarding the most northern border that his warriors found a reprieve from boredom. Other than that, training for competition in the games gave them have a reason to remain in shape.

  Gideon finished playing at the table with the green liquid and came to stand next to him. “That was vile. The excretion of some plant that is supposed to make one faint.”

  “You didn’t drink?”

  “Aye, I did. Still waiting.” Gideon remained upright and not seeming to feel badly. A thud sounded, followed by
a second as two men from that table collapsed. The third succumbed, leaving only the winner and Gideon standing.

  “Do you want to sit?” Camren asked.

  “Nay,” Gideon said and motioned to the bar. “Whisky.”

  They left an hour later. The men who’d drunk the green liquid had all been roused and carried out. Gideon swayed a bit, but Camren considered that he’d drank quite a bit of whisky, and that could be the cause not the green drink.

  After mounting, they headed in search of the townhouse Gideon had won. The Scot would be the target of many a mother searching for a rich husband. With an impressive address and a bank account to match, Gideon would soon be on London society’s map as the most eligible bachelor.

  If not for his current predicament, Camren would be gleeful about Gideon’s new status. Nonetheless, there would be a bit of satisfaction in knowing he wasn’t the only one about to fall into a trap set by London society.

  He’d inform his friend later that evening.

  Chapter Five

  “Mother, you can’t be seriously allowing me to marry a man neither of us have met.” Evangeline could barely believe the explanation her mother had just given her. She’d gone to a matchmaker. Mrs. Dove-Lyon, a woman who had a reputation for running a business that everyone whispered about.

  Her mother’s soft smile made Evangeline wonder if her mother had been drinking too much sherry that morning.

  “Wear the new lilac gown. It was delivered yesterday. The color is perfect for you. Your soon to be husband will arrive later this afternoon.”

  “I will certainly not.” Evangeline stomped over to her mother. “Has everyone lost their minds? Why would you and Father ever agree to something like this?”

  Her mother’s direct gaze was clear. “Because unless we get you married, you will find a lover and what will happen then? Living openly in sin? It would be disastrous for our family.”

  “A… lover?” Evangeline let out a breath in an effort to rein in her temper. “I am not a harlot to be kept away from men. I go out every single week to my book club and to the market with Martha or Fran. Since that horrible day, I have been nothing short of a nun.”

  When her mother chuckled, Evangeline had to press her lips together and bite back a cuss word. “Darling girl, that is why you need to be married. You are not the type to spend your days locked in this house or in a dusty bookshop. Just try to be cordial for me. Let us see what happens today.”

  Her mother was right. Every night, she dreamed of being carried away by a handsome stranger, being made love to until both were rendered breathless. Sometimes, she’d waken overheated and had to stand by the open window allowing the fresh breeze to fan over her nude body.

  The things she’d fantasized about had sent her reeling with want on some occasions.

  “Who is he?” she blurted.

  Her mother’s smile widened. “You will be pleased. However, I will not disclose his identity to you. I think it’s best you find out upon his arrival.”

  “Seriously, Mother, why all the mystery?”

  Without replying and having an impish grin on her face, her mother swept from the room, motioning for Fran to enter. “Help her into the lilac dress. Ensure her hair is swept up, allowing a few curls to fall onto her shoulders.”

  “My mother the fashion expert,” Evangeline grumbled.

  “Isn’t this exciting,” Fran exclaimed, hurrying over to help her out of her morning gown. “I wonder who your suitor is.”

  Evangeline frowned at her reflection in the mirror. “Probably a toad who no one will marry unless they are forced to.”

  “Oh, no,” Fran said with conviction. “He will be handsome and will sweep you off your feet the instant you meet.”

  The lilac gown fit her body perfectly. The bodice emphasized her plump breasts and closed in on her waist. The skirting fell effortlessly over her hips. Evangeline couldn’t believe how the dress transformed her body to look normal, unhindered.

  “Your mother knows how to pick a gown for you, doesn’t she?” Fran teased.

  “Until I walk, I will admit it does make me look normal.”

  Humming the entire time, Fran pulled Evangeline’s golden hair up into a simple but flattering style, allowing several strands to fall naturally to her shoulders as her mother had instructed.

  Camren arrived at 29 Hart Street at precisely two in the afternoon as per his instructions. He was greeted at the door by a footman. Just inside the door stood an elegant blonde woman, the barely noticeable gray strands in her upswept blonde hair and soft laugh lines did little to distract from her beauty.

  “Welcome, Laird. I am Olivia Prescott.” She smiled at him and he bowed slightly to her. “Please come in. My daughter is in the drawing room.” He was just about to ask if she was the one he was to marry. He would not have minded getting to know the woman, although she was definitely older than him.

  She paused just a few steps further. “My daughter is not aware of your identity, but I did tell her you are the man she is to marry. I am hopeful that after spending time alone, you and she will find each other suitable.”

  “You are aware that I lost a game and that is how I come to be here?” Camren asked.

  The woman nodded. “Yes, fully. Each man at the table was handpicked by me.”

  Understanding dawned and he prepared himself for the woman in the drawing room, just on the other side of the slightly open doors. Whomever the woman was, was probably lacking in every way.

  “May I have a moment?”

  “Of course,” the woman replied, not seeming at all taken aback by his request. “Why don’t you go into my husband’s study and then enter through double doors that connect into the sitting room when you are ready?”

  She motioned to a doorway and then walked away.

  Camren paced the length of the small room, wishing to be anywhere but there. If only there was a way out of the predicament he’d gotten himself into. He was not a coward nor would he ever go back on his word. However, this was a situation that he’d never thought to be caught in.

  He blew out a long breath and reached for the doorknob.

  Upon opening it and stepping into the sunlit room, he did not see anyone right away. His first thought was that the woman had gotten upset at his hesitance and left.

  Then movement by a set of French doors caught his attention. Just outside stood a vision in lilac. The young woman was bent at the waist petting a huge, orange cat.

  “Lucille, how did you get out? What a sly little devil you are.”

  Camren studied the younger version Olivia Prescott. She was womanly, her breasts full and her waist slender. She was not a waif, which pleased him.

  Seeming to sense his perusal, she straightened and stared at him with wide, green eyes.

  “Miss Prescott, I am Laird Camren Maclean,” he said, bending at the waist.

  Her lips parted and she leaned to the side to look past him. When not seeing anyone, she met his gaze and then looked away. Her chest lifted and lowered and when she took a step and swayed, he reached out.

  “I’m fine. I am not about to swoon.”

  Then taking several more steps with a pronounced limp, she entered the room.

  Only English society would find a limp to be a reason for someone as beautiful as her not to be marriageable.

  “Would you like something to drink?” She went to a sideboard. “I need something…”

  She poured sherry into two glasses and held one out for him.

  Camren accepted it, noting she’d yet to give him her full name. “What is your first name?”

  “They didn’t give you any information either?” She looked surprised.

  “No, only the address and time to be here.”

  She drank the sherry down in two sips and motioned to a chair. “Would you please sit? Your height makes my neck hurt.”

  The young woman was outspoken. He liked that she did not hesitate to speak her mind. “After you.”

&
nbsp; They sat in chairs facing one another.

  “My name is Evangeline.” She didn’t elaborate as to whether there was a second name.

  “Your name suits you perfectly,” he replied, meeting her gaze. “It’s beautiful.”

  She let out a breath. “Thank you.”

  “Did you ask your mother to do this?” He tried to keep his voice even, not sure why he found fault in the idea of a woman forcing a man into marriage.

  She lifted her pert nose into the air. “No, Sir, I did not. Nor do I agree with this entire charade. I must ask, why would you?”

  Once again, Camren was intrigued by her reply. If she’d not put her mother up for it, then she was probably not willing to go through with it. That could mean a good ending to all of it. However, for some reason, he couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to have her in his bed.

  “It was not my best decision, I will admit.”

  “Hmph. I often wonder why men are supposed to be the superior sex.” She shrugged. “My mother met with the priest this morning. We are to marry in six days. Other than lightning befalling one of us, we will have to go through with it.”

  She didn’t seem overly unhappy with the situation. He’d describe it as put-off or annoyed by it.

  “You seem to have accepted it then?” he asked, studying where her fingers touched when she rubbed the base of her throat. His gaze lingered there for a moment and then trailed to the top of her creamy breasts. Not wishing to be caught, he quickly looked away.

  “Accepted it? No, but I am a realist. There is little way to stop it. However, I am sure we are intelligent enough to perhaps figure a way out of this… situation.”

  Her gaze moved from his face down his chest and followed the length of his outstretched leg. It was the most sensual thing he’d experienced in a very long time.

  “Tell me, Miss Prescott, why was there a need for your parents to go to such great lengths to marry you off?”

  She shrugged. “They seem to think I should not enjoy living here and remaining single. Which is what I’ve accepted. If no one offered for my hand when I was younger, it will not happen now.”