Page 8 of The Lyon’s Lass

In fact, the only thing Maisy found she was good at was looking after her brother.

“The game will begin. Do you wish to watch?”

“Watch as two gentlemen fall to their death? No, my lady, I think I should just stay here until it is decided.” Maisy took her seat and clenched her gloved fingers together in worry. “I didn’t wish for anyone to be hurt.”

The woman chuckled before turning to leave. “When I return, I will introduce you to your future husband.”

Maisy nodded, but the woman had already left. Maisy was on her feet pacing back and forth, wondering if she might hear a man’s scream at any moment as he lost the wager in the most horrific way.

Perhaps it would have been better to have watched, the anticipation was sure to kill her.

A half an hour later, Mrs. Dove-Lyon returned with her wolves. She turned to one of them before the door closed.

“Bring the captain.”

A captain? Would that mean Maisy and Jack would be forced to live on a ship? Maisy had never stepped foot on so much as a boat, but she’d loved watching the ships at her home near St. Austell in Cornwall as they’d drifted by with their majestic sails. She often wondered what adventures the men onboard would encounter.

Perhaps this would not be so bad. Then she heard footsteps and turned to see the man who entered behind the wolf.

She recognized him, and for a moment her mind struggled to remember where she knew him from. She had limited acquaintance with sea captains. But then he stepped closer and she saw the green of his eyes. The same bright, grass-color of the man she’d sullied the night before.

“You,” he said, his dark brows creasing his forehead.

“Oh, even better. It seems the two of you are acquainted,” the woman said before whispering, “Titan, go get the minister from the whist table. Tell him he has a wedding to perform.”

Maisy thought she might be sick all over this man yet again.

For a moment, Iain thought his eyes betrayed him. But it was indeed the woman who had vomited on him only the night before. He wondered why she was here at all. He only wanted to get his money and leave.

He turned as Hodge came in with a smile.

“I told you, you couldn’t lose, Capt’n. You did a fine job of it, you did.”

Iain nodded, though a good part of his winning the contest had fallen to luck. Had it just been standing on the banister, he could have done so for hours, but doing so while also balancing a teacup filled to the top with tea? That had been something he’d never needed to do.

He’d also worried over the other two lords, but only until Titan came forth and tied an elaborate knot in a length of rope around their chests. If they fell, they would not be killed.

“Bessie can’t have your brains sully her playing tables,” Titan had said with a smirk. In another situation, Iain might have asked the man to join his crew on The Rue, but it was clear the man was happy in his employment with the widow.

So the game was played with the two lords lasting longer than Iain expected, but eventually they moved and tipped until he was the last man standing.

In a show of excitement, he took the cup and drained it before hoping down to the third floor. It was only as he swallowed that he came to realize the brown liquid had not been tea, but whisky. The surprise of the burn made him cough for a moment before Hodge was there pounding him on the back in excitement.

And then they’d been brought to this room where he thought he would get his prize, but was now face to face with the woman who had been drunk the first time he met her.

Now, however, her golden eyes were sharp on his face. Her skin was creamy with a blush on her cheeks instead of the sickly green she’d been the last time they’d met. Still, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t there for her, but for his money.

“Miss Bennett, may I make known to you, Lord Kesson, your groom,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said.

“What? Groom?” Iain turned to her, but Hodge tugged on his arm.

“This is how it’s done. The lady is a matchmaker. She finds women who have coin but no means of obtaining a husband, and set up a game to determine who will take the lady’s hand.”

Iain frowned and shook his head. “The contract I signed said I would win a sum of thirty-thousand pounds.”

The lady tilted her head and Iain wanted to remove the veil so he could see what she was thinking.

“The contract said you’d be married to a lady whose dowry was the sum of thirty-thousand pounds,” the woman clarified and nodded to one of her wolves who came forward with the blasted document he’d signed. He’d not tell them he’d not been able to read it in full.