Page 3 of The Lyon and the Lass

The man with the scar on his face and a squashed nose that had probably been broken a couple of times grinned. “Yes, Laird. If you wish something stronger than tea, you may help yourself.” He gestured to the bar in the corner.

“Thank ye,” Kerrigan said. If he was going to move ahead with this scheme, he needed a drink or two. Being offered one was far better than he’d expected. The escort left the room and Kerrigan poured himself a drink. He no sooner took a sip then the door opened and who he assumed was Mrs. Bessie Dove-Lyon entered the room.

She was dressed in all black, with a veil of the same color hiding her face. With the clothing she wore, there was no way to ascertain her face, or even her age. He placed his glass on the table next to him and stood. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon, I assume?”

Chapter Two

“You assume correctly,Laird Lindsay.” Her voice was soft, but full of strength. This was a woman who had seen the harder parts of life. But somehow she’d made a good life for herself and based on what he saw, a wealthy one, also.

Almost as if she’d read his mind, she said, “Things are not always as they seem, Laird.” She took a seat, and he sat as well. “I have sent for tea, but please continue to enjoy your whisky.”

There was no doubt in his mind that she rattled him. He’d spent the past two weeks visiting various clubs with Lord Devon, gathering information about this infamous one. Although there was speculation, not much was known about Mrs. Dove-Lyon, but there was plenty information to be had about The Lyon’s Den. Everything from drinking blood as a dare to men being snared into marriage by passing or failing a test. He hoped his plea to find a wealthy wife would not involve any blood drinking.

The door opened and a male servant brought in a tea tray. As he’d learned to expect, it contained an excellent array of small sandwiches, biscuits, and tarts. His hostess fixed her tea and looked expectantly at him.

“No thank ye, I will enjoy my whisky.”

She nodded and took a sip of tea. “I understand from your letter to me, and from the recommendation I received from Lord Devon, that you are in dire straits.”

“Aye. Our clan’s entire sheep herd was wiped out by a disease. Our clans folk depend on the wool from the sheep to make clothing items to sell all over Europe. We have an excellent reputation, and our items bring in good money. Without sheep, my clan will starve.”

“And if you replace your animals, how do you know it will not happen again?”

A very smart woman, which was likely why she owned the most lucrative gambling den in London.

“Before the last few of our herd died, we brought in a specialist from Edinburgh who determined the cause of the illness. I willna go into boring details with ye, but we are now well prepared for a recurrence of that, and even other illnesses.”

She nodded and took another sip of tea. She placed the cup in the saucer, rested her very delicate, very white hands in her lap. “I have a woman who is in serious need of a husband. Fast. A lady who will need to be removed not only from London, but Britian.”

He took a sip of his whisky and nodded.

“Are you prepared to marry quickly and leave London immediately?”

“Aye.”

“Are you also prepared to keep your wife safe?”

“Aye.”

He did wonder what he was getting himself into, but at this point, he had no choice. He just hoped the woman was not wanted by the law.

Again, she guessed his thoughts. “She is not in trouble with the authorities.”

He shifted, growing uncomfortable with this veiled woman who seemed to read minds.

“Very well. I have arranged for the two of you to meet right here tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. If you both agree, a special license has already been procured and you may marry then, and I expect you to be prepared at that time to leave London.”

Kerrigan cleared his throat. “Will it be necessary for me to perform a task of sorts?”

Although he could not see if she smiled or not at his question, her voice held the sound of humor. “No, Laird Lindsay. You will not be required to drink blood.”

“Will I get to meet the lass before tomorrow morning?”

“No.” She was also a woman of few words. She stood, as did he. “My man will see you out and I will expect you at ten.” She turned and swept from the room like a queen, leaving him rattled once more. Before he had too much time to dwell on it, the same man who’d brought him up entered the room and waved him out.

Once he left the building, he headed to Brooks’s where he intended to meet Devon and have himself another—very large—whisky.

Christine had beenwringing her hands and pacing up and down in her room at the inn since before dawn. If all went well, she would be a married woman in a very short time and on her way to Scotland—of all places.