too busy to covet that which others have."
As Lily entered the shop with her usual brisk stride, she was greeted by one of Monique's assistants, Cora. The girl paused with an armful of silk and muslin swatches and stared at her strangely. "Miss Lawson! . . . Wait, I shall tell Madame Lafleur you are here. She'll want to know at once."
"Thank you," Lily said slowly, wondering at Cora's unusual animation. It couldn't be that they had already heard about her wager with Alex. Not even a day had passed, for heaven's sake!
But as soon as Monique burst through the curtains that separated the front of the shop from the work area in back, Lily was certain. Monique knew.
"Lily, cheriel" the designer exclaimed, embracing her fervently. "Once I heard what had happened, I knew you would come here as soon as possible. There is so much work to be done—with your new status, you will need many new gowns, n'est-ce pas?"
"How did you find out so soon?" Lily asked dazedly.
"Lady Wilton was just here. She told me all about it. Her husband was at Craven's last night. My dear, I am so pleased for you! What a brilliantly clever move! A magnificent coup! They say Lord Raiford appeared to be completely besotted with you. And what's more, every man in London will surpass himself to be the next. You've been sought after for years. Now that it's known you're available, you can name any price, and any one of them will pay gladly to be your protector. No woman has ever had such a luxury of selection! Oh, think of the jewels, the carriages and houses, the riches that will be yours! If you play your
cards right—no pun intended, cherie—you could be one of the wealthiest women in London!" She pushed Lily into a cushioned chair and dropped a pile of sketches into her lap, as well as a copy of La Belle Assemblee, a book containing pictures of the latest fashions. "Maintenant, perhaps you would like to glance at these while we talk. I want to hear every delicious detail. Trains are coming back, if you'll notice. Somewhat inconvenient, having them drag across the floor, but so picturesque. Cora? Cora, put down those samples and bring Miss Lawson some cafe at once."
'There isn't much to tell," Lily said in a strangled voice, sinking lower into the chair, fixing her eyes on the top sketch.
Monique gave her a speculative but friendly glance. "Don't be modest, dear. This is a great triumph. You're the envy of many.
It was quite sensible of you to accept Mr. Craven's protection for a while—after all, he is rich enough that one can manage to overlook his commonness—but it was high time for you to make a change. And Lord Raiford is an extraordinary choice. So well-bred, so handsome and influential, so authentic. He descends from a true ancient landed family, not like these dandies with easily gotten titles and questionable fortunes. Have you already made an arrangement with him, my dear? If you like, I could recommend an excellent lawyer to represent you—he negotiated the 'understanding' between Viola Miller and Lord Fontmere ..."
While Monique chatted and showed her pictures of the new, heavily ornamented style of hems, Lily silently reflected on the
events of the morning. She had dressed and left stealthily at dawn, while Alex was still sleeping. He had been exhausted, his tawny body stretched out among the white sheets in a long, unguarded sprawl. Ever since then, she had been wavering between uneasiness and a strange elation. It was indecent to have such a feeling of well-being. Undoubtedly she was being gossiped
about in every parlor and coffeehouse in London.
But, amazing as it was, she had no regrets. She couldn't help thinking about last night with a sense of ironic wonder. She
would never have expected that Alex Raiford, with his cold eyes and remoteness, would have turned into such a tender lover,
so erotic and gentle . . . even now, it seemed like a dream. She had been convinced she understood him, and now she was
utterly confused on the subject of the earl of Wolverton. The only thing she knew for certain was that she had to avoid him
until her head was clear. Thank God Alex would probably return to his familiar life in the country, satisfied that he had
received payment for his loss of Penelope.
Now she had to turn her attention to the matter of five thousand pounds, which she had to have by tomorrow night. There
would be high-stakes gambling at Craven's this evening. If she didn't win the money there, she would pawn all her jewelry,
and perhaps some of her gowns. She might be able to scrape enough together.
"... Can't you tell me a little something about him?" Monique wheedled. "And without meaning to pry indelicately, cherie,
what about the betrothal between Wolverton and your sister? Does that matter stand as before?"
Ignoring the questions, Lily smiled wryly. "Monique, enough about this. I've come here to ask a favor."
"Anything," Monique said, instantly diverted. "Anything at all."
"There is a masked assembly tonight at Craven's. It is very important that I have something special to wear. I know there is
no time, that you have other things to work on, but perhaps you could throw together something—"
"Oui, out, I quite understand." Monique said emphatically. "This is a great emergency—your first public appearance since
le scandale. All eyes will be upon you tonight. You must have something extraordinary to wear."
"I'll have to buy on credit," Lily said uncomfortably, not meeting her eyes.
"As much as you desire," came the immediate response. "With Lord Raiford's wealth at your disposal, you could comfortably purchase half the city!"
Lily shrugged and smiled lamely, refraining from telling her that she had no intention of being Alex Raiford's—or anyone else's—kept woman. And that she had precious little wealth at her disposal. "I want to be wearing the most daring costume
at the assembly tonight," she said. "If I must brazen this out, I'll do it with style." Her only choice was to flaunt herself without
a hint of shame. Moreover, she wanted a costume so completely distracting that none of the men she gambled with tonight
would be able to concentrate on his cards.
"What a clever girl. Bien, we'll make you a costume that will set the city back on its heels." Monique regarded her with a calculating gaze. "Perhaps ... it would do very well if we ... ah, yes."
"What?"
Monique gave her a pleased grin. "We shall dress you, cherie, as the very first temptress."
"Delilah?" Lily asked. "Or do you mean Salome?"
"Non, ma petit ... I am referring to the first woman, Eve!"
"Eve?"
"Bien stir, it will be talked of for decades!"
"Well," Lily said weakly, "it shouldn't take long to put that costume together."
* * *
Alex went to Swans' Court on Bayswater Road, an estate that had been in the Raiford family since it had been acquired
by his great-grandfather William. The mansion was designed in the classical style, with symmetrical wings, Greek columns,
and cool, wide halls of marble and white sculpted plaster. There was a large stable yard and a coachhouse that could accommodate fifteen carriages. Although Alex seldom stayed there, he had employed a nominal staff to maintain the place
and see to the comfort of occasional visitors.
The door was answered by Mrs. Hodges, the elderly housekeeper. Her pleasant face, surrounded by white wispy curls,
registered surprise at the sight of him. Hurriedly she welcomed him inside. "My lord, we received no word of your arrival,
or I would have made ready—"
"That's quite all right," Alex interrupted. "I wasn't able to send advance notice, but I'll be staying the week. Perhaps longer.
I'm not certain."
"Yes, my lord. I'll inform the cook—she'll want to stock the pantry. Will you be having breakfast, my lord, or shall I tell her to leave for market straightaway?"
"No breakfast," Alex said with a smi
le. "I'll have a look around the house, Mrs. Hodges."
"Yes, my lord."
Alex doubted he would be hungry for quite some time. Before he had left Craven's apartments, a housemaid had brought up
a tray laden with eggs, breads, puddings, ham and sausage, and fruit. A man identifying himself as Craven's personal valet had brushed and pressed his clothes and gave Alex the most precise shave of his life. Servants had filled a hip bath with hot water
and stood by with thick towels, soap, and expensive cologne.
None of them had answered his questions about where Craven had spent the night. Alex had wondered at the man's motives,
and why he would make no claim on Lily when he obviously cared for her. Why would he push her into the arms of another
man and even insist upon providing his own apartments for their use? Craven was an odd man—wily, crude, avaricious, and unfathomable. Alex was intensely curious about Lily's relationship with Craven. He intended to make her explain just what
their strange friendship entailed.
Sliding his hands into his pockets, Alex strolled through the mansion. Owing to his sudden arrival, much of the furniture was
still concealed with striped linen covers to protect it from dust. The rooms were painted in icy pastels, the floors either covered with fitted carpet or polished with beeswax. Each bedroom possessed a marble fireplace and a large adjoining dressing room,
and was decorated with floral paper and chintz bedhangings. Alex's room was exceptionally large, with a ceiling painted to resemble a blue sky and clouds. The centerpiece of the mansion was an elegant gold and white ballroom with tall marble
pillars, ornate chandeliers, and opulent family portraits.
Alex had lived here during some of the months of his courtship of Caroline. He had hosted balls and soirees that Caroline had attended with her family. She had danced with him in the ballroom, her amber hair gleaming in the light of the chandeliers. After her death, he had avoided the place, flinching from the memories that seemed to drift through the rooms like faded perfume.
Now as he wandered through the house, the shadowy memories brought no more pain, only a barely tangible sweetness.
He wanted to bring Lily here. It was easy to imagine her presiding over a ball, moving among the guests with her sparkling
smile and lively chatter, her dark beauty emphasized by a white silk gown. The thought of her invigorated him, filled him with eager curiosity. He wondered what was going on in her unpredictable mind, and what her mood had been this morning. It had been damned annoying to wake up to her absence. He wanted to see her naked body in the daylight and to make love to her again. He wanted to hear his name on her lips and feel her fingers in his hair and—
"My lord?" Mrs. Hodges had come in search of him. "My lord, there is someone here to see you."
The news caused his pulse to quicken in anticipation. Brushing by the housekeeper, Alex descended the central stairway
with its wrought-iron rococo balustrade and landings illuminated by large windows topped by fanlights. Rapidly he strode
through the inner hall to the entrance room with its delicately painted panels. He stopped short as he saw the visitor.
"Hell," he muttered. Not Lily, but his cousin Roscoe, Lord Lyon, whom he hadn't seen in months.
A handsome and unusually jaded young buck, Ross was one of Alex's first cousins on his mother's side. Tall, blond, blessed
with wealth and charm, he was a favorite of aristocratic women with inattentive husbands. He'd had a multitude of affairs, traveled throughout the world, and accumulated a variety of experiences, all of which had served to make him excessively
cynical. It was said throughout the family that Ross had been bored with life since the age of five.
"You never visit unless you want something," Alex said brusquely. "What is it?"
Ross grinned easily. "I sense a lack of enthusiasm, cousin. Expecting someone else?" Ross was fond of answering questions
with questions—one of the reasons his stint in the army had been so short.
"How did you know I was here?" Alex demanded.
"Common sense. You had to be in one of two places . . . here, or nestled in a certain pair of lovely arms, against a small but charmingly piquant bosom. I decided to try here first."
"It seems you've heard about last night."
Ross seemed unaffected by Alex's forbidding scowl. "Is there a soul in London who hasn't heard about it by now? Allow me
to express my most profound admiration. I never suspected it was in you."
'Now
"Thank you." Alex indicated the door, leave."
"Oh no, not yet. I've come to talk, cousin. Be congenial. After all, you see me only once or twice a year."
Alex relented and smiled reluctantly. Since childhood, he and Ross had maintained a relationship of friendly bickering.
"Dammit. Come walk about the grounds with me."
They walked through the house to the parlor and opened the French doors that led outside. "I couldn't believe it when I heard about my straightlaced cousin Alex and Lawless Lily," Ross commented as they strolled across the smooth green lawn.
"Gambling for a woman's favors . . . no, not our dull, conventional earl of Wolverton. It had to be someone else. On the other
hand ..." He studied Alex closely, his light blue eyes glinting. "There's a look about you ... I haven't seen it since Caroline Whitmore was alive."
Alex shrugged uncomfortably and crossed into the small but beautifully landscaped garden, with walks bordered by strawberry beds and flowering hedges. They paused at the center of the garden, where a large weathered sundial provided the necessary focal point.
"You've been a near-recluse for two years," Ross continued.
"I've made appearances," Alex said gruffly.
"Yes, but even when you bothered to attend some gathering, there was something rather hollow about you. Damned cold,
actually. Refusing any condolences or expressions of sympathy, keeping even your closest friends at arm's length. Have you troubled yourself to wonder why your engagement with Penelope was received in such lukewarm fashion? People can see
you don't give a damn about the poor girl, and they pity the both of you for it."
"There's no reason to pity her now," Alex muttered. "The 'poor girl' is happily married to Viscount Stamford. They've eloped
to Gretna Green."
Ross looked startled, then whistled in surprise. "Good old Zachary. Did he really manage that by himself? No, he must have
had help from someone."
"He did," Alex said wryly.
A long moment passed, while Ross considered the possibilities. He turned a laughing gaze to Alex. "Don't say it was Lily?
That must have been the reason for your performance at Craven's last night, to even the account. Lex talionis."
"That news isn't for public consumption," Alex warned quietly.
"By God, you've done the family proud!" Ross exclaimed. "I thought the old Alex was gone for good. But something's happened . . you've rejoined the ranks of the living, haven't you? This proves my suspicion that Lily Lawson's charms could wake the dead."
Alex turned and leaned his weight on the stone sundial, crooking one leg slightly. A breeze rifled through his hair, lifting the lock
on his forehead. He thought of Lily nestled in his arms, her lips pressed to his shoulder. Again, the absurd feeling of happiness
and completeness swept over him. Staring at the ground, he felt one side of his mouth pulling upward in an irrepressible smile. "She's a remarkable woman," he admitted.
"Aha." Ross's blue eyes gleamed with a lively interest, quite different from his usual laconic boredom. "I intend to be the next
to have her. What's the opening bid?"
Alex's smile vanished in a flash. He looked at his cousin with a threatening frown. "There's no auction taking place."
"Oh, really? For the past two
years, every man under the age of eighty has wanted Lawless Lily, but everyone knew she
was Derek Craven's domain. After last night, it's clear she's on the market."
Alex reacted without thinking. "She's mine."
"You'll have to pay to keep her. Now that word of last night has been spread around London, she'll be neck-deep in offers of jewelry, castles, whatever bait she'll snap for." Ross gave him a self-assured smile. "Personally, I think my promise of a string
of Arabians will do the trick, though I might have to throw in a diamond tiara or two. And Alex, I would like you to put a word
in her ear for me. If you want to maintain her for a while, that's fine. But I'm going to be her next protector. There's not a
woman in the world like her, with that beauty and fire. Any man who's ever seen her at a hunt in those legendary red breeches has imagined her riding on top of him, and that's—"
"Pink," Alex snapped, pushing away from the sundial and pacing around it edgily. "They're pink. And I'll be damned if I'll let
you or anyone else come sniffing at her heels."
"You can't stop it from happening."
Then came you, by lisa kleypas.txt Page 22
