"You lost the lucky touch," Derek said flatly. "It's gone."
She felt as if he'd slapped her. "That's not true. There's no such thing as luck. It's numbers, a knowledge of numbers and chance—"
"Call it whatewer you wants. It's gone."
"It's not. I'll go back to the table and prove it to you."
"You'll only lose."
"Then let me lose," she said with desperate anger. "What do you think you're doing? . . . Trying to protect me? Is this a right you've recently bestowed on yourself? To hell with you! I have to win five thousand pounds, or I'll lose Nicole for good!"
"An' if you lose more tonight?" Derek asked coldly.
Lily knew there was no need for her to answer. He was well aware of her only choice—to sell her body to the highest bidder. "You'll get your bloody money. Or your pound of flesh. Whatever appeals to you most. Nothing matters to me but my daughter, don't you understand?"
All at once Derek's accent was pristinely perfect. "She doesn't need a whore for a mother."
"Let fate decide," Lily said tautly. "That's your philosophy. Isn't it?"
Derek was stonily silent, his eyes like chips of jade. Then he produced a mocking bow and a smile, setting her free. Suddenly
Lily felt lost, adrift, as she had on that night two years ago, before Derek had allowed her into the club. He was as fascinating
and changeable as the tide, but once more she realized she couldn't lean on him. One small part of her had always hoped that
he would be there to help her when she reached the end of her luck. Now that hope was gone for good. She couldn't blame
Derek for being what he was. She was on her own, as she had always been. Turning her back on him, she walked away
quickly, her skirts whipping around her ankles.
As she reached the hazard table, she pasted a smile on her face. "Gentlemen, please excuse the interruption. Now where—"
She stopped with a gasp as she saw the new addition to the gathering.
Alex lounged at the table with the others. He was dressed in black pantaloons, an embroidered silk waistcoat, and a dull green coat with gold buttons that emphasized his tawny coloring. He gave her a slow, easy smile. Her senses sparked with awareness. He looked different than usual. Even in Alex's best, most impressive tempers, there had always been something a little wooden about him, some part of himself that was always kept in reserve. Now the reserve was gone. It seemed as if he were lit with
an inner golden blaze. Lily had seen gamblers wearing that same look on a lucky tear, carelessly risking entire fortunes.
Her spirits sank even lower than before. She had known she would eventually have to confront him—but why now? First losing her money, then Derek's desertion, now this. It was rapidly shaping into one of the worst nights of her life. Wearily she picked
up the gauntlet. "Lord Raiford. How unexpected. This isn't your preferred sort of haunt, is it?"
"I prefer to be anywhere you are."
"A fool returneth to his folly," she quoted softly.
"You left before our last game was finished."
"At the moment I'm concerned with more important things."
Alex glanced at the table, where Banstead had just cast the dice. "Such as regaining your luck?"
So he'd heard she was having a bad night. Tad-worth must have told him, or perhaps Foka, the big-mouthed ox. Lily shrugged indifferently. "I don't believe in luck."
"I do."
"And I suppose it's on your side tonight?" she sneered. "Please don't let me stop you from placing a bet, my lord."
Foka and Banstead moved to clear a place for him. Alex didn't take his eyes from Lily. "I'll wager ten thousand pounds . . . against a night with you." He watched as Lily's eyes turned wide and her throat worked silently.
The action at the table stopped.
"What did he say?" Tadworth demanded eagerly. "What?"
As the news spread around the crowd at the hazard table, the other occupants of the room became alerted to the goings-on. Rapidly a multitude formed, all pressing inward, a hundred avid gazes centering on them.
"Very amusing," Lily managed to say hoarsely.
Alex pulled a bank draft from the inner pocket of his coat and dropped it to the table. She stared at the slip of paper in astonishment, then at his face. He smiled slightly, as if he understood the panicked thoughts that whirled through her mind.
Good God, he was serious.
The situation took on a dreamlike haze. Lily felt like an observer rather than a participant. She had to refuse the bet. It was
the ultimate gamble, with stakes unacceptably high. If she won, the money would save her daughter. But if she lost . . .
For a moment she tried to imagine it. Turning cold with fright, she gave a tiny shake of her head. Alex's gaze dropped to her trembling lips, and the amused gleam in his eyes dimmed. When he spoke again, his tone was oddly gentle. "What if I pledge another five?"
There were hoots and cheers all around them. "It's up to fifteen now!" Tadworth called. Men began to drift in from the dining
and smoking rooms. Onlookers scattered back and forth to spread the news.
Usually Lily relished being the center of attention. Her reputation for wildness had been well earned. She had laughed, danced, and cavorted, played pranks that were repeated all around London. But this wasn't a joke or prank . . . this was life or death. She couldn't throw the wager back in his face—she was too desperate for that. She needed help, and there was no one to turn to. There was only a pair of piercing gray eyes that saw through her bravado, her shamming, her fragile defenses. Don't do this to me, she wanted to plead. Mutely she stared at him.
"Your choice, Miss Lawson," he said quietly.
What choice? Her mind buzzed. What damned choice? She had to put her trust in fate. Perhaps this entire bizarre proposition was divine providence—she had to win, she would win, and use the money to buy more time for Nicole. "N-not with dice," she heard herself say.
"Our usual game?" he asked.
It was hard to gather enough breath for a reply.
"We'll go to one of the card rooms. Th-three hands?"
Alex's eyes flickered with satisfaction. He gave a short nod.
"The wager is accepted!" someone cried.
There had never been such an uproar at Craven's. The noise of the crowd was a roar in Lily's ears. The men gathered closer
in a crushing mob. Lily found herself pinned uncomfortably against the table. Those closest to her tried to withstand the pressure from outside, but the men on the fringe of the gathering were all righting to reach the table for a good view.
Lily half-turned in confusion, wincing as the curved edge of the table cut into her side. "Stop pushing, I can't breathe—"
Alex moved swiftly. He reached out and pulled her against him, his arms forming a protective cage around her.
Lily gave a muffled laugh, her heart thudding violently. "Look what you've started. My God."
He spoke softly underneath the din of exclamations. "It's all right."
She realized she was trembling, though whether it was from shock, fear, or excitement she didn't know. Before she could ask what he meant, she heard Derek's commanding voice.
" 'Ere now," Derek was calling loudly. He moved forward, pushing his way through the mass as he spoke. " 'Ere now, all fall
back. Let Miss Gypsy 'ave a little air. Fall back, so as the game can start." The crowd loosened a little, the crush easing as
Derek shoved his way to the middle. Alex let go of Lily. Automatically she turned to Derek, her eyes pleading.
Derek wore the same implacable expression as usual. He didn't look at Alex, but focused on Lily's small, tense face.
"Worvy tells me we 'as a little wager."
"Three hands of vingt-et-un," Lily said shakily. "We . . . we need a card room—"
"No, do it 'ere." Derek's snarl of a smile appeared. "More convenient, as all
of us can't 'erd into a card room."
Lily was stunned at the betrayal. Not one word of caution or concern. Derek was simply going to let it happen. He was even going to take advantage of the spectacle! If she were drowning, he would have offered her a drink.
A flare of anger braced her, gave her strength. "As always," she said coldly, "you're not above a little showmanship."
"I'm not Derek Craven for nofing, gypsy." His gaze searched the room for his factotum. "Worvy," he called, "bring a new deck. We'll see what the devil's bible 'as to say."
For the first time in the history of the gambling palace, the action at the hazard table was interrupted. Waiters scurried to bring fresh drinks. Money and markers exchanged hands until the air was filled with a clutter of paper. Voices rose as bets were
made and doubled. Lily heard some of the bets with offended horror. Bitterly she realized that most of the men she had gambled with would like nothing better than to see her lose. It would put her in her place, they thought. It would serve her right, for daring to invade the sanctity of the men's club. Disgusting barbarians, the lot of them.
"Shall I deal?" Derek asked.
"No," Lily said sharply. "Worthy is the only man I trust."
Touching his forehead with a mocking salute, Derek cleared the way for Worthy.
Soberly the factotum polished his spectacles with a handkerchief and replaced them on his face. He broke the seal on the
deck. The crowd settled with an expectant hush. Worthy shuffled expertly, the cards flying and snapping in his small hands. Satisfied that it was thoroughly mixed, he placed the deck on the table and looked at Lily. "Cut, please."
She reached out and cut it with a trembling hand. Worthy took the top half she'd indicated and placed it beneath the other cards. With a precise gesture, slow enough that everyone could witness, he removed the top card and set it aside. Lily felt comforted
by his steadiness. She watched every move he made, certain he was dealing a fair game. "Three hands of vingt-et-un," Worthy said. "Ace valued at one or eleven, at player's discretion." He dealt two cards to each of them, one faceup, one facedown.
Lily's card was an eight. Alex's, a ten.
Worthy spoke quietly. "Miss Lawson?" Being the player to his immediate left, it was her lot to play first.
Lily turned her facedown card and bit her lip as she read it. A two. Looking at Worthy, she gestured for another. He placed it
next to her original cards. A nine. There was an audible reaction from the gathering—whistles and exclamations. More money changed hands in the crowd. Lily began to relax, surreptitiously pressing a gloved hand to her sweat-beaded forehead. Her total was nineteen. The odds were in her favor.
She watched as Alex turned his card. A seven, bringing his total to seventeen. He signaled for another card. Lily gave a quiet exclamation as Worthy dealt him a jack, which put him well over twenty-one. She'd won the hrst hand. She grinned as she felt
a few impulsive slaps of congratulations on her back and shoulders. "Cheeky bastards, I haven't won yet." There were a few chuckles, the patrons welcoming the temporary respite from tension.
Worthy moved the cards to a discard pile and dealt a new hand. The crowd settled immediately. Lily's total was eighteen this
time. It would be folly to request another card. "Stay," she muttered. She frowned as she glanced at Alex's faceup card, which was a king. He turned his card in the hole, and Lily's heart dropped. A nine. Now they'd each won a hand. She looked at Alex, who was watching her with no trace of smugness or worry, nothing but a quiet certainty that bothered her profoundly. How
dare he look so composed when her entire life was poised on the fragile turn of a card?
Worthy buried the played-out hands and dealt once more. The room was unnaturally quiet, breaths held tightly. Lily looked at
her card, a queen, and turned the second one. A three. She gestured for a third. Worthy dealt her a seven. Her total was twenty!
"Thank God." She grinned at Alex, silently daring him to beat it. She was going to win. With relief and joy, she thought of the fifteen thousand pounds. Perhaps that large a sum might even be enough to bribe Giuseppe to relinquish Nicole for good. At the very least, it would buy her time. And she would be able to rehire the detective she had been forced to dismiss for lack of money. She was flushed with triumph as she watched Alex. His first card was a ten. Gently he flipped over the second.
Ace of hearts.
His gray eyes lifted to Lily's astonished face. "Twenty-one."
A natural.
There was absolute silence. Derek was the first to speak. " 'Oisted with 'er own petard," he observed mildly.
Then the multitude raised a cry that sounded as if some primal jungle rite were taking place. "End of play, game to Lord
Raiford," Worthy said, but his pronouncement was lost in the uproar. The guests behaved like a tribe of primitive savages
rather than civilized English gentlemen. Spilled liquor and wadded paper covered the carpet. Alex was subjected to crushing handshakes and vigorous blows to his back and arms, while Foka tried to anoint him by pouring vodka on his head. He ducked
to avoid the splash of liquor, then came up in search of Lily. With a muffled sound of denial she had slipped through the gathering, making her way to one of the massive doorways. "Lily!" Alex tried to follow, but the tightly packed crowd made it impossible.
He swore as she disappeared from sight.
Lily fled with bone-shaking, stomach-heaving haste, too terrified to watch where she was going. Suddenly she slammed into
a hard object that knocked the breath from her. She made a sick sound and gasped for air, beginning to collapse to the floor. Derek, who had blocked her mad flight with his own body, seized her and held her upright. He stared at her with eyes like
green ice.
"Let me go," she wheezed.
"Women 'as no pride. Trying to cut an' run, are you? Chicken 'earted wench."
Lily grasped imploringly at his unyielding arms. "Derek, I can't do this, I can't—"
"You will. Nofing to it. You'll honor your bet, gypsy, if I 'as to drag you to bed myself. An' if you leaves, I'll bring you back. Now go to my apartments an' wait for 'im."
"Why here? I ... I'd rather go to my terrace."
"You does it 'ere so I know you 'asn't welshed."
"No." She shook her head dumbly, tears ready to fall. "No."
Suddenly Derek changed, bewildering her with a tender smile. "No? Too late for that, gypsy. 'Tis a big lump, but you 'as to
take it." His voice turned quiet and kind, as if he were speaking to a headstrong child. "If you don't honor the bet, no place in London would let you play—not Craven's, not even the lowest gaming 'ell in Thieves' Kitchen."
"Why didn't you stop me back there?" Lily burst out, her teeth chattering. "If you cared anything about me, you wouldn't have
let it happen! You should have kept me from getting into this mess—he's going to hurt me, Derek, you don't understand—"
"I understand ewerything. 'E won't 'urt you. All 'e wants is a little knock with you, darlin', that's all." He astonished her by
bending to kiss her forehead. "Go on. Go pour a drink in yer guts, an' wait for the jack." He tried to shake her hands from
his sleeves, but she clutched tighter.
"What do I do?" she choked, staring at him with huge eyes.
Derek's black brows knitted together. Abruptly his gentleness disappeared, replaced by an insolent smile. "Get into bed, an' lay
flat as a flounder. Simple. Now go, an' don't ask me which side to turn up." His derisive laughter was the only thing that would have dislodged her.
Lily let go of his sleeves. "I'll never forgive you!"
Derek responded by pointing down the hall toward the stairs that led to the private rooms. She gathered the tattered remains
of her dignity and squared her shoulders, striding away without looking back. As soon as she
was gone, Derek's smile vanished. He plunged into the hazard room. Catching Worthy's eye, he mouthed the question Where is he? Worthy motioned to the edge
of the mob, where Alex Raiford was shoving a few unruly patrons aside in an effort to reach one of the exits.
* * *
Ignoring the raucous congratulations being thrown at him, Alex fought his way through the crowd to the hall. He hesitated as
he glanced in the direction of the coffee rooms and libraries, wondering where Lily had gone.
"Lord Raiford?"
Alex turned to see Worthy emerge from the riot in the gaming room.
Derek Craven appeared at the same time. There was something coarse and hard in his expression that made him look more
than ever like "flash-gentry," a thief who had flourished but could never escape his sordid past. Green eyes locked with gray in
Then came you, by lisa kleypas.txt Page 19
