Then came you, by lisa kleypas.txt

by Then Came You (lit)

  sweetened biscuits. Enjoying a feeling of well-being, Zachary asked for a pot of tea and relaxed with the paper. As he

  finished the last of the biscuits, Burton opened the door.

  "Has she arrived?" Zachary asked eagerly, jumping to his feet.

  Burton regarded him implacably. "Miss Lawson will see you upstairs. If you will allow me to show you the way, Lord

  Stamford ..."

  Zachary followed him up the curving staircase, with its intricately turned balusters and highly polished banister. He entered

  the sitting room, where a lively blaze cast its light from a small marble fireplace, and illuminated the green, bronze, and blue

  silk wall hangings. After a minute or two, Lily appeared at the doorway that connected to her bedchamber.

  "Zachary!" she exclaimed, rushing forward and seizing his hands. Zachary smiled as he bent to brush her soft cheek with a perfunctory kiss. His smile froze as he realized that she was dad in a robe, her bare feet peeking out from beneath the floor-

  length hem. It was a circumspect robe, heavy and thick, the neck trimmed in swansdown, but it was still a garment in the

  category of "unmentionable." He stepped back in a startled reflex, but not before he noticed that her hair was drying in spiky clumps, and she smelled rather . . . peculiar.

  In spite of that, Lily was still strikingly beautiful. Her eyes were as dark as the center of a sunflower, shadowed by a thick

  sweep of lashes. Her skin had a pale, polished glow, and the line of her throat was delicate and pure. When she smiled as

  she did now, her lips had a singularly sweet curve, as if she were an angelic little girl. Her innocent appearance was deceptive. Zachary had seen her trade the subtlest of insults with rarefied dandies, then shout vulgarities at a pickpocket who had

  attempted to rob her.

  "Lily?" he asked tentatively, and he couldn't help wrinkling his nose as he got another whiff.

  She laughed at his expression and waved at the air in front of her. "I would have bathed first, but you said your concern was urgent. Pardon me for reeking of eau de poisson—the Thames was rather fishy today." At his uncomprehending stare, she added, "My hat was blown into the river by a gust of wind."

  ''While you were still wearing it?" Zachary asked in confusion.

  Lily grinned. "Not precisely. But let's not talk about it—I'd rather hear about the matter that brought you to town."

  He gestured to her attire, or rather her lack of it, uncomfortably. "Shouldn't you like to dress first?"

  Lily gave him a fond smile. There were some things about Zachary that would never change. His soft brown eyes, his sensitive face, the neatly groomed hair, all of it reminded her of a little boy dressed for church. "Oh, don't blush and carry on. I'm perfectly well covered. I wouldn't have expected such modesty of you, Zachary. After all, you did ask me to marry you once."

  "Oh, yes, well . . ." Zachary frowned. The proposal had been made and rejected so quickly that he had almost forgotten about

  it. "Until that day Harry was my best friend. When he jilted you in that dastardly manner, I felt the only gentlemanly thing to do was to act as his second."

  That provoked a snort of laughter. "His second? Good Gad, Zachary, it was an engagement, not a duel!"

  "And you turned down my proposal," he remembered.

  "Dear boy, I would have made you miserable, the same way I made Harry miserable. That was why he left me."

  "That is no excuse for him to have behaved so dishonorably," Zachary said stiffly.

  "But I'm glad he did. If he hadn't, I never would have traveled 'round the world with my eccentric Aunt Sally, and she never

  would have left me her fortune, and I would be . . ." Lily paused and gave a delicate shudder, "married."

  She smiled and seated herself before the fire, gesturing for him to do the same. "At the time, all I could think about was my

  broken heart. But I do remember your proposal as one of the nicest things that ever happened to me. One of the few times

  a man has acted unselfishly on my behalf. The only time, actually. You were prepared to sacrifice your own happiness and

  marry me, just to save my wounded pride."

  "Is that why you've remained friends with me over the years?" Zachary asked with surprise. "With all the elegant, accomplished people you know, I've always wondered why you bother with me."

  "Oh, yes," she said dryly. "Spendthrifts, wastrels, and thieves. Quite an assortment of friends I have. Obviously I don't exclude royalty and politicians." She smiled at him. "You're the only decent man I've ever known."

  "Decency's gotten me far, hasn't it?" he said glumly.

  Lily looked at him in surprise, wondering what had made Zachary, a perennial idealist, look so woebegone. Something must be very wrong indeed. "Zach, you have many wonderful qualities. You're attractive—"

  "But not handsome," he said.

  "Intelligent—"

  "But not clever. Not a wit."

  "Cleverness is usually born of malice, which I'm glad to say you don't have. Now stop obligating me to praise you, and tell me

  why you've come." Her gaze sharpened. "It's Penelope, isn't it?"

  Zachary stared into her fire-lit eyes. He frowned and gave a long sigh. "Your sister and your parents are staying with Wolverton at Raiford Park, making preparations for the wedding."

  "It's only a few weeks away." Lily mused, warming her bare toes before the crackling blaze. "I wasn't invited. Mother is terrified that I would make some sort of scene." The sound of her laughter was tinged with melancholy. "Where would she get such an idea?"

  "Your past doesn't quite recommend you—" Zachary tried to explain, and she interrupted with amused impatience.

  "Yes, of course I know that."

  She hadn't been on speaking terms with her family for some time. Those ties had been cut years ago by her own careless hands. She didn't know what had driven her to rebel against the rules of propriety her family held so dear, but it didn't matter now. She had made mistakes for which she would never be forgiven. The Lawsons had warned her that she would never be able to come back. At the time, Lily had laughed in the face of their disapproval. Now she was well acquainted with the taste of regret. Ruefully, she smiled at Zachary. "Even I wouldn't do something to embarrass Penny. Or heaven forbid, endanger the prospect

  of having a wealthy earl in the family. Mother's fondest dream."

  "Lily, have you ever met Penelope's fiance?"

  "Hmm . . . not really. Once I caught a glimpse of him in Shropshire during the opening of grouse season. Tall and taciturn,

  that's how he appeared."

  "If he marries Penelope, he will make her life hell." Zachary intended the statement to be shocking, dramatic, spurring her into immediate action.

  Lily was unimpressed. Her dark, slanting brows drew together, and she contemplated him with almost scientific detachment.

  "First of all, Zach, there's no 'if' about it. Penny is going to marry Wolverton. She would never disobey my parents' wishes. Second, it's hardly a secret that you're in love with her—"

  "And she loves me!"

  "—and therefore you may be apt to exaggerate the situation for your own purposes." She raised her eyebrows significantly. "Hmm?"

  "In this matter I couldn't exaggerate! Wolverton will be cruel to her. He doesn't love her, whereas I would die for her."

  He was young and melodramatic, but it was clear he was sincere. "Oh, Zach." Lily felt a surge of compassion for him. Sooner

  or later everyone was driven to love someone they could never have. Fortunately, once had been enough for her to learn that particular lesson. "You will remember, I advised you long before now to coax Penny to elope with you," she said. "Either that

  or dishonor her so that my parents would have to consent to the match. But it's too late now. They've found a fatter pigeon

  than you to pluck."

 
"Alex Raiford is no pigeon," Zachary said darkly. "He's more like a lion—a cold, savage creature who will make your sister miserable for the rest of her days. He isn't capable of love. Penelope is terrified of him. Ask some of your friends about him.

  Ask anyone. They'll all tell you the same thing—he doesn't have a heart."

  Well. A heartless man. She had met her share of those. Lily sighed. "Zachary, I have no advice to offer," she said regretfully.

  "I love my sister, and naturally it would delight me to see her happy. But there's nothing I can do for either of you."

  "You could talk to your family," he begged. "You could plead my cause."

  "Zachary, you know I'm an outcast from the family. My words carry no weight with them. I haven't been in their good graces

  for years."

  "Please. You're my last hope. Please."

  Lily stared into Zachary's anguished face and shook her head helplessly. She didn't want to be the source of anyone's hope.

  He own small supply had been exhausted. Unable to remain sitting, she sprang up and paced around the room, while he

  remained deathly still in his chair.

  Zachary spoke as if he feared that one ill-chosen word would be his ruin. "Lily, think of how your sister feels. Try to imagine

  what it is like for a woman without your strength and freedom. Frightened, dependent on others, helpless . . . oh, I know that

  is a feeling utterly foreign to someone like you, but—"

  He was interrupted by a caustic laugh. Lily had stopped pacing and was standing near the heavily draped window. She rested

  her back against the wall, one leg bent until the point of her knee showed through the thick ivory robe. Regarding him with

  bright, mocking eyes, she gave him a smile shadowed with irony. "Utterly foreign," she repeated.

  "But Penelope and I are both lost . . . we need someone to help us, guide us to the path we were meant to walk together—"

  "Dear, how poetic."

  "Oh God, Lily, don't you know what it is to love? Don't you believe in it?"

  Lily turned away, pulling at a few strands of her short, matted hair. She rubbed her forehead wearily. "No, not that kind of love," she said in a distracted manner. His question troubled her.

  Suddenly she wished he would go, and take his desperate gaze with him. "I believe in the love a mother has for her child. And

  the love between brothers and sisters. I believe in friendship. But I've never seen a romantic match that lasts. They're all

  destined to end out of jealousy, anger, indifference ..." She steeled herself to look at him coolly. "Be like every other man, my

  dear. Marry advantageously, then take a mistress who will supply all the love you need for as long as you're willing to keep her."

  Zachary flinched as if she had slapped him. He stared at her as he never had before, his soft eyes accusing. "For the first time," he said unsteadily, "I can believe some of the things that others say about you. F-forgive me for coming here. I thought you

  could provide some help. Or at least comfort."

  "Damnation!" Lily exploded, using her favorite curse. Zachary winced but remained in his chair. In astonishment, Lily realized

  that his need was that great, his hope that stubborn. And she, of all people, should understand the hell it was to be separated

  from the one you loved. Slowly she went to him and pressed a kiss to his forehead, smoothing his hair back as if he were a little boy. "Forgive me," she muttered remorsefully. "I'm a selfish wretch."

  "No," he said in confusion. "No, you're—"

  "I am, I'm impossible. Of course I'll help you, Zachary. I always repay my debts, and this has been long outstanding." Suddenly

  she leapt away and strode around the room with renewed energy, chewing on her knuckles as if she were a cat frantically grooming itself. "Now let me think ... let me think . . ."

  Dazed by her swift change of mood, Zachary sat there and watched silently.

  "I'll have to meet Wolverton," she finally said. "I'll assess the situation for myself."

  "But I've already told you what he's like."

  "I must form my own impression of him. If I find that Wolverton is neither as cruel nor as horrid as you paint him, I'll have to

  let the matter alone." Her small fingers laced together and she flexed them up and down, as if making them more limber before seizing the reins of a palfrey and charging off on a hunting course. "Go back to the country, Zach, and I will notify you when

  I've made a decision."

  "What if you discover that I'm right about him? What then?"

  "Then," she said pragmatically, "I'll do whatever I can to help you get Penny."

  Chapter 2

  The lady's maid entered the room with an armload of evening finery. "No, Annie, not the pink gown," Lily said, gesturing over

  her shoulder. "Tonight I want something more dashing. Something wicked." She sat at her dressing table, peering into a gilt-

  framed oval mirror and running her fingers through her unruly sable curls.

  "The blue with the slash-and-puff sleeves and the low neck?" Annie suggested, her round face wreathed in a smile. Born and reared in the country, she had a fascination for all the sophisticated styles to be found in London.

  "Perfect! I always win more when I wear that one. All of the gentlemen stare at my bosom instead of concentrating on their cards."

  Annie chuckled and went in search of the gown, while Lily tied a silver and sapphire bandeau around her forehead. Artfully

  she coaxed a few curls to fall over the sparkling ribbon. She smiled into the mirror, but it looked rather like a grimace. The

  daring grin she had once used to great effect had disappeared. Lately she couldn't seem to manufacture anything but a poor imitation. Perhaps it was the strain she had been living with for so long.

  Lily frowned at her reflection ruefully. Were it not for Derek Craven's friendship, she would have become far more bitter

  and hardened by now. Ironic, that the most cynical man she had ever known had helped her to retain her last few shreds

  of hope.

  Lily knew that most of the ton believed that she was having an affair with Derek. She was not surprised by such speculation—Derek was not the sort of man who had platonic relationships with women. But there was no romantic

  attachment between them and there never would be. He had never even made an attempt to kiss her. Of course, it would

  be impossible to convince anyone else of that, for they were seen together, cup-and-can, in their favorite haunts, places that ranged from the most prized seats at the opera to the dingiest Covent Garden drinking establishments.

  Derek never asked to visit Lily's London terrace, and she did not invite him. There were certain lines they did not cross.

  Lily liked the arrangement, for it kept other men from making unwanted advances to her. No one would dare intrude on what

  was considered to be Derek Craven's territory.

  There were things about Derek that Lily had come to admire over the past two years—his strength and utter lack of fear. Of course, he had his faults. He was lost to sentiment. He loved money. The clink of coins was music to him, sweeter than any

  sound a violin or piano could produce. Derek had no taste for paintings or sculpture, but the perfect shape of a die—that he appreciated. As well as his lack of cultural refinement, Lily also had to admit that Derek was selfish to his very marrow—the reason, she suspected, that he had never fallen in love. He would never be able to put another's needs before his own. But if

  he had been less selfish, if he had possessed a sensitive and kind nature, his childhood would have destroyed him.

  Derek had confessed to Lily that he had been born in a drainpipe and abandoned by his mother. He had been raised by pimps, prostitutes, and criminals who had shown him the darkest side of life. In his youth he had made money by robbing gr
aves, but found his stomach was too unsteady for it. Later he had turned to laboring on the docks—shoveling dung, sorting fish, whatever would yield a coin. When he was still just a boy, a highborn lady had caught sight of him from her carriage as he carried boxes

  of empty bottles out of a gin shop. In spite of his unkempt and filthy appearance, something about his looks had appealed to her, and she had invited him into her carriage.

  "It's a lie." Lily had interrupted in the middle of that particular story, watching Derek with wide eyes.

  "It's the truf," he countered lazily, relaxing before the nre in his apartments, stretching his long legs. With his black hair and

  tanned face, and features that were neither chiseled nor coarse but somewhere in between, he was handsome ... almost. His strong white teeth were slightly snaggled, giving him the appearance of a friendly lion when he smiled. Nearly irresistible, that smile, although it never reached his hard green eyes. "She took me in 'er carriage, she did, an' brung me to 'er 'ome in London."

  "Where was her husband?"

  "Away to the country."

  "What would she want to do with a dirty boy she had just plucked from the streets?" Lily asked suspiciously, and scowled as