Then came you, by lisa kleypas.txt

by Then Came You (lit)

  Alex's gray eyes narrowed, his expression turning dark and ominous. "You think not?"

  "My God," Ross marveled, "you're actually angry. Livid, in fact. Hot as a Tartar. Ruffled, roiled, bridling up like a—"

  "Go to hell!"

  Ross smiled in wondering amusement. "I've never seen this much emotion from you before. What in God's name is going on?"

  "What's going on," Alex snarled, "is that I'll strangle any man who dares approach her with an offer."

  "You'll have to do battle with half the population of London, then."

  It was only then that Alex saw the cool enjoyment in his cousin's eyes, and realized Ross was intentionally baiting him.

  "Damn you!"

  Ross spoke in a quieter, more thoughtful tone. "You're beginning to worry me. Don't tell me you're beginning to have feelings

  for her. Lily's not the kind of woman a man keeps forever. She's hardly what one would call domesticated. Be reasonable.

  Don't make this interlude into something it was never meant to be."

  Alex schooled his features into a pleasant, self-controlled expression. "Leave, before I kill you."

  "Lily is a mature, experienced woman. She'll lead you a merry dance. I'm just warning you, Alex, because I saw what losing Caroline did to you. You've gone to hell and back—I shouldn't think you'd care to make that journey again. I don't think you understand what Lily Lawson really is."

  "Do you?" Alex asked softly. "Does anyone?"

  "Why don't we ask Derek Craven?" Ross suggested, watching closely to judge if the arrow had hit its mark.

  Suddenly Alex astonished him with a slow, lazy grin. "Craven's no part of this, Ross. At least not anymore. All you need to

  know is that if you make one advance to Lily, I'll take your head off. Now come back to the house with me. Your visit's

  drawing to a close."

  Ross strode after him quickly. "Just tell me how long you intend to keep her."

  Alex continued to smile, his stride unbroken. "Find your own woman, Ross. It will be a waste of time to wait for Lily."

  * * *

  St. James Street was congested with a long line of carriages as people arrived for the masked assembly at Craven's. The

  full moon shed its bright light on the street, causing the spangled costumes of the guests to glitter and their feathered, plumed masks to cast exotic shadows on the pavement. Music, ranging from sprightly polonaises to elegant waltzes, floated outward

  from the open windows down the length of St. James.

  Any ball would be an occasion for excess and exuberance, but the addition of masks gave the affair an exciting, even

  dangerous edge. People used the masks to do things they would never dream of in their everyday guises . . . and Craven's

  was ideally designed for uninhibited behavior. With the multitude of dark nooks and small, private rooms, with the mingling

  of house wenches, society women, rakes, scoundrels, and gentlemen . . . nothing was safe or predictable.

  Lily stepped from her carriage and walked carefully to the entrance of Craven's. Her bare feet tingled from the friction of the pavement. She wore a dark cloak that extended from her neck to her ankles, hiding her costume—or lack thereof. She was

  tense with excitement and determination. It wouldn't be difficult to win five thousand tonight, not with the amount of drinking

  and merrymaking going on. Not with the amount of skin she planned to expose. She would pluck the guests like pigeons ready

  for roasting.

  Slipping past the crowd of guests awaiting admittance, Lily nodded a greeting to the butler. He seemed to recognize her

  despite the green velvet mask and long, dark wig that came to her hips, for he made no protest as she stepped inside.

  Derek had been awaiting her arrival. As soon as Lily went into the entrance hall, she heard his voice behind her.

  "You're awright, then."

  Quickly she turned to face him. Derek was dressed as Bacchus, the god of debauchery. He was clad in a white toga and

  sandals, his head encircled in a wreath of grapes and leaves.

  He gave her a searching, perceptive stare, and Lily was chagrined to feel a blush rising beneath her mask. "Of course I'm all right," she said. "Why wouldn't I be?" She smiled coolly. "Excuse me, I'm in search of a game. I have five thousand pounds

  to win."

  "Wait." He touched her shoulder and regarded her in his old friendly, beguiling way. "Come 'ave a walk with me."

  She gave an incredulous laugh. "Do you expect me to resume our friendship as usual?"

  "Why not?"

  Lily spoke patiently, as if explaining a situation to an obtuse child. "Because last night I gambled with my body in a card game

  out of sheer desperation. And not only did you let it happen, you egged the whole thing on and used it to amuse and entertain

  the members of your club. That's not the behavior of a friend, Derek. It's the behavior of a pimp."

  He made a scoffing sound. "If you wants a little tail-tickle with someone, I don't gives a damn. I beds women all the time—

  it changes nofing between you an' me."

  "Last night was different," Lily said quietly. "I asked you to intervene for me. I wanted you to stop it. But you didn't care

  enough. You gave me away, Derek."

  Some dark emotion stirred beneath his calm, composed surface. Suddenly there was an uneasy gleam in his eyes, a betraying twitch of his cheek. "I care," he said evenly. "But you was newer mine to keep. What 'appens in a bed—that's nof-ing to do

  with us."

  "Whatever I do, it's no bread and butter of yours. Is that what you think?"

  "That's right," he muttered. "It has to be."

  "Oh, Derek," Lily whispered, looking at him as she never had before. She was beginning to understand things that had puzzled

  her for two years. Derek had known for a long time about her desperate struggle for money, and yet he had never offered to

  help her, though it was easily within his power. All this time she had thought it was miserly greed. It wasn't greed, but fear. He preferred a mock friendship to anything real. The brutal deprivation of his youth had crippled his heart in some terrible way.

  "You let us all do what we wish, don't you?" she asked softly. "All you want is to sit back and observe, as if you were watching some endless puppet show. So much safer than becoming involved. Much safer than assuming risks and taking responsibility.

  How unchivalrous of you." She deliberately used words he couldn't understand, knowing he hated that. "Well, I won't ask for

  your help again. I don't need it anymore. It's strange, but after last night I feel as if I've shed all my . . . scruples." Gracefully

  she slipped off her cloak and stared at his face, enjoying his reaction.

  The guests just arriving in the entrance hall abruptly fell silent, all gazes arrowing to her.

  At first Lily's costume gave the impression of nakedness. Monique had created a gown of diaphanous, flesh-colored gauze

  that wrapped loosely around her. Artfully they had added large, green velvet "leaves" that in truth covered a good deal. Those patches of green velvet and the long locks of the dark wig were somewhat concealing. But there were tantalizing flashes of

  soft skin through the transparent fabric, and the outline of her slender, finely toned body was clearly visible. Most startling of

  all was the painted design of a serpent that wound around her body, starting from one tiny ankle and twisting its way up to her shoulder. It had taken three hours for a friend of Monique's, a female artist, to paint the serpent.

  With a taunting smile, lily lifted a shiny red apple in her hand and held it under Derek's nose. "Care for a bite?" she asked silkily.

  Chapter 9

  After his initial astonishment, there was no expression on Derek's face. But Lily's sense of perception seemed to be newly sharpened. She knew the
re was some well-governed corner of his mind that wanted to prevent her from wearing the

  revealing costume in front of so many people. He would make no move to stop her, however.

  Giving her a cold, speaking glance, Derek turned his back and strode away. " 'Appy 'unting," he said over his shoulder.

  "Hunting," Lily muttered, watching him slink off like some betrayed lover. The sight of him made her feel guilty, responsible

  for some harm done to him, though she didn't know what. With a sparkling, determined smile, she handed her cloak to a

  waiting servant and strode in through the central gaming room. A pleased laugh escaped her as she saw how cleverly it was decorated, giving the impression of a ruined temple. The walls were hung with long blue banners to resemble the sky, while towering wood and plaster columns were painted to simulate aged stone. Statues and altars were positioned in the corners and along the sides of the room. The hazard table had been moved to clear an area for dancing. Musicians were seated on the balconies above, sending sweet strains through the gambling palace. House wenches were draped in silver and gold, playing

  the part of Roman dancing girls as they moved among the guests with veils, gaudy lyres, and fake musical instruments.

  An audible gasp went through the room as Lily appeared. She was able to go no farther as a horde of costumed men gathered around her—jesters, monarchs, pirates, and a fantastic assortment of fictional characters. Women glared discreetly from a distance as every man in the place tried to gain Lily's attention. She blinked in surprise at the multitude of urgent voices.

  "It's her!"

  "Let me by, I must speak with her—"

  "Lady Eve, may I bring you a glass of wine—"

  "I've reserved a place in one of the card rooms for you—"

  "The most enchanting creature—"

  At the sound of the growing tumult in the central room, Derek made his way to Worthy. The factotum was dressed as a small, bespectacled Neptune, a long trident clasped in one hand. "Worvy," Derek muttered in a seething tirade, "you plants yourself

  on Miss Gypsy, an' don't leave 'er. A bloody miracle if she ain't raped 'alf a dozen times tonight, with every bastard in the

  place itching to join giblets with 'er—"

  "Yes, sir," Worthy interrupted calmly, and pushed his way through the crowd, putting his trident to good use.

  Derek's hard green eyes swept over the crowd. "Wolverton, you bastard," he said in a quiet, biting tone. "Where the bloody

  'ell are you?"

  * * *

  Alex arrived at the assembly shortly before midnight, when the dancing and merrymaking had gathered considerable

  momentum. Taking advantage of their unique opportunity to gamble at Craven's, the scantily dressed women sauntered from

  room to room, giving feminine squeals of dismay as if they lost thousands of pounds or crowing with delight if they won. Concealed by masks and costumes, married women felt free to flirt with scoundrels, while distinguished gentlemen made

  overtures to demimondes. The charged atmosphere made it easy, almost mandatory, to engage in heavy-handed fondling,

  loose talk, and reckless behavior. Wine flowed like water, and the crowd became unruly with inebriated glee.

  As Alex's entrance was noted, there were a few cheers and a rapid string of toasts in his honor. He acknowledged them with

  a distracted smile. His gray eyes searched the room for Lily, but her small form was nowhere to be seen. As he paused to stare

  at a weird assortment of dancing couples, a group of women approached him. They all sported alluring smiles, their eyes

  gleaming invitingly behind feathered masks.

  "My lord," one of them purred, her voice distinguishable as that of Lady Jane Weybridge. The young, beautiful wife of an

  elderly baron, she was dressed as an Amazon. Her opulent breasts were barely concealed by a flesh-colored bodice.

  "I know it's you, Wolverton. . . those remarkable shoulders give you away . . . not to mention that blond hair."

  Another of the women pressed close to him and laughed throatily. "Why does your costume seem so appropriate?" she asked.

  Alex was dressed as Lucifer—his coat, breeches, waistcoat, and boots all dyed a glowing scarlet red. A severe, demonic

  mask with two curved horns concealed his face, while a scarlet cloak covered his shoulders.

  "You must have been hiding devilish impulses for years," Lady Jane murmured. "I always suspected there was more to you

  than met the eye!"

  Frowning in bemusement, Alex nudged the clinging woman away from him. He'd been pursued by women before, been the recipient of seductive glances and pointed flirtation—but he'd never been the focus of such a direct assault. The thought that

  their interest was caused by his game with Lily was astonishing. They should be repelled by his scandalous behavior, not

  excited by it! "Lady Weybridge," he muttered, pulling at her hand, which had crept inside his coat and slipped around his

  waist. "Pardon me, I'm in search of someone—"

  She flung herself at him with a brandy-scented giggle. "You're quite a dangerous man, aren't you?" she murmured in his

  ear, and seized his earlobe with her teeth.

  Alex gave a perturbed laugh, quickly pulling his head back. "I assure you, I'm quite harmless. Now if you'll let me—"

  "Harmless my foot," she countered seductively, pressing her lower body to his. "I heard all about what you did last night. No

  one knew you were such a dark, wicked, vengeful brute." Her red lips drew closer, pouting and whispering. "I could please

  you a hundred times more than Lily Lawson. Come to me and I'll prove it."

  Somehow Alex managed to pry himself loose from her insistent grasp. "Thank you," he muttered, stepping back to avoid her possessive hands, "but I'm occupied with . . ." he floundered and finished uncomfortably, "... something. Good evening."

  Hastily he turned and nearly knocked over a slim woman dressed as a milkmaid. He reached out to steady her, and she

  trembled. The blue eyes regarding him through the rosebud mask were soulful and awestruck. "My lord," she murmured

  fearfully. "You don't know me, but . . . I ... I think I'm in love with you."

  Alex stared at her dumbly. Before he could reply, a temptress disguised as Cleopatra—but possessing a round face and high

  voice that betrayed her as the countess of Croydon—threw herself into his arms. "Gamble for me!" she cried. "I'm at your

  mercy, my lord. Cast your passions to the whim of fate!"

  With a harassed groan, Alex pushed through the room, pursued by a coterie of eager women. He headed for the door, where Derek Craven appeared. For a man who was supposed to represent the god of merrymaking, he looked rather morose, his

  face dark and surly underneath a crown of grapes and leaves. They exchanged a scowling glance, and Derek tugged him

  aside, blocking the women from following.

  Derek adopted a twisted smile as he spoke to the fretful, excited ladies. "Easy, loveys. I beg your pardons, but the prince of darkness an' I wants to talk. Go on, now."

  Alex watched with an incredulous stare as the women departed. "Thank you," he said feelingly, and shook his head. "After

  last night, they should be denouncing me as a scoundrel."

  Derek's mouth twisted sardonically. "Instead you became the prize bull-beef o' London."

  "That was never my intention," Alex muttered. "Women. God knows what goes on in their minds." He didn't care about any woman's opinion of him. All he wanted was Lily. "Is Lily here?"

  Derek regarded him with cool sarcasm. "I would say so, milord. She's sitting naked at a table o' drooling bastards, trying to

  scalp five frigging fousand pounds off 'em."

  Alex's face went blank. "What?"

  "You'eardme."

  "And you've done nothin
g to stop her?" Alex demanded in explosive fury.

  "If you wants 'er safe," Derek said through his teeth, "you 'as to take care ow 'er. I'm through with this 'ole crack-brained business. Keeping 'er from trouble—like trying to milk a pigeon, it is."

  "Which card room?" Alex snapped, tearing off his mask and tossing it to the floor impatiently.

  "Second on the left." Derek smiled bitterly and folded his arms across his chest as he watched Alex depart.

  * * *

  "Discard two," Lily said calmly, and picked up the necessary cards from the deck. Her luck seemed to have improved ten times over since last night. In the past hour she had accumulated a meager stash of money, which she would now begin to build on.

  The other five men at the table were playing clumsily, their leering gazes wandering over her transparent costume, their faces registering every thought.

  "Discard one," Lord Cobham said.

  Lily took a sip of brandy and studied his face. She smiled slightly as she noticed his gaze moving once more to the green velvet leaves that covered her breasts. The small room was crowded with men. Lily knew they were all staring at her. She didn't care. By now she was beyond shame or modesty—her only thought was money. If flaunting herself would help her get the money Giuseppe had demanded, so be it. She would do anything to save Nicole, even sacrifice the last few shreds of her pride. Later