Chapter Three
Maisy was still not feeling herself the next evening when Caroline’s footman helped her down from the carriage in front of a gaming hell in Whitehall.
“See? The Lyon’s Den. Just as I told you. Mrs. Dove-Lyon owns it and will see that you are spared. She will find you a husband.”
“I hope so, because after my performance last night, I’ll have no chance with a proper gentleman.”
“Proper gentlemen leave the ballrooms and turn up here for games. She’ll see you wed to a lord of your station.
I’m sure of it. Freddie has told me many tales of what happens inside.
” Caroline smiled and looked toward the door that was heavily guarded with men as large as the one she’d met the night before.
She shuddered at the memory. She’d never be able to remember the man without feeling her stomach dip and her cheeks warm.
“Very well, let’s go.” Maisy wanted to see it done.
“Oh. No. I cannot go in with you.” Caroline frowned. “I must not shame my husband by being caught in such an establishment. Freddie will have me sent away if I embarrass him. You’ll have to go in with Luke.” She nodded to the footman. “He’ll see you to the right person.”
The footman held out his arm and Maisy slipped her hand to his elbow. For whatever nerves were warning her not to step foot into a gaming hell, she was committed to this endeavor.
She did not much care about the man she married so long as he was honorable, and would accept Jack into his home.
Inside, Maisy blinked into the dim room filled to bursting with men who smelled of smoke, and women dressed in their shifts who had surely bathed in perfume.
This was no place she could have imagined with her upbringing, but Luke tugged at her arm and she continued deeper into the hell.
When he stopped she looked up to him to see that he was also looking up to where a formidable woman stood on the second-floor balcony as if appraising the happenings below her.
She was covered in widow’s weeds including a veil, but she still looked like a queen standing court over her subjects.
If her subjects were unruly lords that reeked of tobacco and drink.
Luke pulled his arm away.
“I will wait down here while you approach.”
Maisy frowned and looked up at the woman once more before squaring her shoulders and making for the stairs. On her way, a man stumbled into her path. She moved around him and only made it a few more steps before another man placed his arm across her shoulders to pull her into him.
She sidestepped and quickened her pace to get to the stairs.
But on the stairs she was stopped by another man. As large as the ones she’d seen outside. He lifted a brow that was bisected by a scar.
“Pardon me, but I have business with Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
He tilted his head slightly, looked her over and stepped to the side to give her access. Maisy let out a breath and hurried up the stairs.
As she approached, the woman turned and tilted her head as if studying everything single stitch and crease of Maisy’s countenance.
“Are you Mrs. Dove-Lyon?” Maisy asked.
“Who is asking?”
“Apologies. I am Mais—that is, Madalene Bennett. Daughter of Lord Prevose, sister of Lord Blakehell—er, Blakehall. I have come to beg your help in finding a husband.”
“You’ve not been able to procure one the usual way?” she asked, and Maisy wished the woman wasn’t wearing a veil so she could see her expression. The woman almost sounded… amused.
Right. She needed to explain why she was untouchable by society.
“I had the misfortune of being lured into too much drink by a friend, and now my reputation has been sullied.”
“Perhaps this is no friend after all.”
“Perhaps not.” So far Maisy was not certain Caroline had helped her situation or made it much worse.
Maisy shook her head and then got to the point. “Can you help me?”
“What is it you are looking for in a husband?”
In that, Maisy had a very short list.
“That he be kind and willing to take me as well as my younger brother into his protection.”
“Hmm. And I assume you have a proper dowry to bestow upon the gentleman and cover my fees?”
Caroline had mentioned a price to be paid, but Maisy hadn’t realized the woman would actually want money.
She’d been taught that money between women was unseemly, but she couldn’t care about any of that at this point.
She only needed to get her brother someplace safe.
Away from Nelson. When he inherited the title of Marquess Prevose, Jack would take on the honorary title of Blakehall, but there was no way Nelson would ever allow Jack to be his heir. He would send him away.
“Yes,” Maisy agreed quickly. “Thirty-thousand pounds. But I need to marry quickly. If I don’t wed before my father passes… well, I can’t be sure I’ll have any dowry at all.”
“Then let us see it done tonight, shall we?”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon turned to the imposing man standing behind her and nodded once.
“Titan, it is time for a game.”
“Let us find a table for the night. Perhaps I can win enough to cover the costs of my new title. I’d rather not have to ruin a woman’s life if it can be helped,” Iain said to Hodge that evening.
For a moment Iain thought Hodge would argue, but then his brow went up and a smile came to his lips.
“Aye. I know of just the place.”
Iain should have known better than to go anywhere with Hodge when he had that gleam in his eye, but unfortunately, he didn’t listen to his instincts on the matter.
Soon they were at an establishment called The Lyon’s Den. It was a fine place with a solid glass of drink and an honest game, from what he could tell. Iain didn’t play too deeply to make his situation worse, but he hadn’t won enough to avoid the parson’s noose.
Then a cheer went up when a woman with a stern fortitude and the respect of the room came forth. She wore widow black from her toes to the veil covering her face. He took from the whispers going around that this woman, Mrs. Dove-Lyon, was the proprietress.
Play stopped at the tables and the women wandering about paused their flirting with the patrons.
In fact, everyone turned as if in anticipation.
Excited to hear what the woman would say.
A number of men stood at her flanks. Soldiers if he was right.
No one in this room would dare insult the woman in their company.
“What a fine group of gentlemen we have here this night. But are you courageous as well?” the woman called out.
The men rumbled and a few shoved a friend.
“I seek a man of good balance. Whomever can outlast their peers by standing on the banister yon will win a coveted prize. But those who fall, will owe me.”
“What does she mean by that?” Iain whispered to Hodge.
“It’s of no matter because you can’t lose. These men have not spent most of their lives on a ship. I’ve seen you walk a rope between the masts on The Rue. Surely you can outlast one of these fops on a sturdy banister.”
Iain looked up to the second floor where a shiny beam of wood haloed into the room.
It looked to be six inches wide, which as Hodge had pointed out would give him no trouble at all.
He’d only had one glass of whisky so he’d be surefooted whereas many of the men around the tables were already swaying with drink.
“You’re right. This prize will be the answer to my matter of funds. I can’t lose.”
Iain called out, accepting the wager. He was escorted to a room with two other men who’d taken up the challenge. Iain frowned when each of them were handed a sheet of paper to read and sign.
A contract of sorts. One he would rather have Hodge read to him so he could be sure he wasn’t signing away more than he had. But Hodge was not invited to come with him to the imposing room. Iain would have to do this on his own.
He studied the words as best he could, but eventually skipped down to a number. Thirty-thousand pounds.
It would be enough to cover the repairs to Kesson Castle and still have enough to buy the cargo for his next voyage outright.
The winnings would be sufficient, but what if he lost?
He couldn’t find anything specifically on that, the words jumbled and twisted together, taunting him.
He remembered Hodge’s words and decided he was right.
It wouldn’t matter. Iain would surely win against Lord Daniels and Lord Sampson who were already scratching their names eagerly on the page.
Iain took up a quill and did the same.
As soon as the ink seeped into the parchment, the wolf—as the lady had called him—bellowed that they follow him from the room.
Rather than go down the corridor where the banister waited, Titan led them to another flight of stairs. They would not complete this challenge from the second floor, but the third. The stakes had just grown heavier. If he or the other lords fell…
Well, he wouldn’t need to worry about repairs to the castle if he lost. But he wouldn’t lose. Standing on a steady banister would be an easy feat for him.