Then Came You (The Gamblers of Craven's 1)

“You know what you are,” Lily muttered, glaring at Derek.

“He wants thees one,” the aide insisted.

“ ’E can’t ’ave ’er,” Derek said, his voice pleasant. The gambling palace was his own private kingdom, his word the final one in all matters.

Lily saw the flash of uneasiness in the Spaniard’s gaze. Having once attempted to face down Derek, she knew exactly how daunting he was. As always, Derek was dressed in expensive garments—a blue coat, pearl gray pantaloons, and an immaculate white shirt and cravat. But in spite of his exquisitely tailored clothes, Derek had the rough, seasoned look of someone who had spent most of his life in the streets. Now he rubbed elbows with the cream of society, knowing as everyone else did that his elbows had originally been meant to occupy far less exalted places.

Derek motioned to his two most beautiful house wenches, who sped efficiently to the frowning ambassador, sporting lavish displays of cleavage. “No, I azure you, ’e’ll like those two better…see? ’Appy as a mouse in cheese.”

Lily and Barreda followed his gaze and saw that with the women’s expert attentions, Alvarez’s frown had indeed cleared away. Giving Lily one last frown, the aide retreated with a few mumbled words.

“How dare he,” Lily exclaimed indignantly, her face flushed. “And how dare you? Your special guest? I don’t want anyone to think I need a protector. I’m completely self-sufficient, and I’ll thank you to refrain from implying otherwise, especially in front of—”

“Easy, settle your temper. I should’ve let ’im ’ave a go at you, is that it?”

“No, but you could have referred to me with some respect. And where the hell have you been? I want to speak with you about someone—”

“I respects you, lovey, more than a woman should be respected. Now come ’ave a walk with me. My ear—what’s left ow it—is yours to chew.”

Lily was unable to prevent a short laugh, and she slipped her hand into the crook of Derek’s wiry arm. He often liked to take her on his strolls through the gambling palace, as if she were a rare prize he had won. As they crossed the main entrance hall and went to the magnificent gold staircase, Derek welcomed some of the arriving club members, Lord Millwright and Lord Nevill, a baron and an earl, respectively. Lily favored them with a bright smile.

“Edward, I hope you’ll indulge me later with a game of cribbage,” Lily said to Nevill. “After I lost to you last week, I’ve fretted for the chance to redeem myself.”

Lord Nevill’s pudgy face creased with an answering smile. “Most assuredly, Miss Lawson. I look forward to another match.” As Nevill and Millwright headed to the dining room, Nevill was heard to say, “For a woman, she’s quite clever…”

“Not too much ow a scalping,” Derek warned Lily. “ ’E touched me for a loan yesterday. ’Is pockets aren’t long enow to please a little rook like you.”

“Well, whose are?” Lily asked, causing him to chuckle.

“Try young Lord Bentinck—’is father takes care of ’is debts when ’e plays too deep.” Together they ascended the magnificent grand staircase.

“Derek,” Lily said briskly, “I came to ask what you know about a certain gentleman.”

“Who?’

“The earl of Raiford.”

Derek recognized the name instantly. “The nob what’s betroved to your sister.”

“Yes, I’ve heard some rather disturbing speculation on his character. I want your impression of him.”

“Why?”

“Because I fear he is going to be a cruel husband to Penelope. And there is still time for me to do something about it. The wedding is only four weeks away.”

“You don’t give an oyster for your sister,” he said.

Lily directed a reproving glare at him. “That shows how little you know about me! It is true that we have never been much alike, but I adore Penny. She is gentle, shy, obedient…qualities I think are very admirable in other women.”

“She doesn’t need your ’elp.”

“Yes, she does. Penny is as sweet and helpless as a lamb.”

“An you were born wi’ claws an teef,” he said smoothly.

Lily lifted her nose. “If something is threatening my sister’s future happiness, it is my responsibility to do something about it.”

“A bloody saint, you are.”

“Now tell me what you know about Raiford. You know everything about everyone. And stop snickering like that—I don’t intend to interfere in anyone else’s affairs, or do anything rash—”

“Like ’ell you won’t.” Derek was laughing, envisioning yet another scrape she might land herself into.

“Hell, Derek,” she corrected, enunciating the word. “You didn’t see Mr. Hastings today, did you? I can always tell when you’ve missed a lesson.”

Derek gave her a warning glance.

Lily alone knew that for two days every week Derek employed a special tutor who tried to soften his cockney accent into a more genteel one. It was a hopeless cause. After years of devoted study, Derek had managed to elevate his speech from the level of Billingsgate fish vendor to that of…well, perhaps a hackney driver, or a Temple Bar merchant. A slight improvement, but hardly remarkable. “His h’s are his downfall,” the tutor had once told Lily in despair. “He can say them if he tries, but he always forgets. To him I’ll be ‘Mr. ’astings’ until he draws his last breath.”

Lily had replied with a mixture of laughter and sympathy. “That’s all right, Mr. Hastings. Just have patience. He will surprise you someday. That h won’t stop him forever.”

“He doesn’t have the ear for it,” the tutor said glumly.

Lily had not argued. Privately she knew that Derek would never sound like a gentleman. It didn’t matter to her. She had actually come to like the manner of his speech, the mixed up v’s and w’s, the imprecise consonants that fell rather pleasantly on the ear.

Derek led her to the carved, gilded balcony overlooking the main floor. It was his favorite place to talk, for he could watch every move at the tables, his mind never ceasing its intricate calculations. Not a farthing, cribbage-counter, nor a card flicking through nimble fingers ever escaped his vigilant gaze. “Lord Raiford,” he murmured thoughtfully. “Aye, ’e’s shook the elbow ’ere a time or two. Not a pigeon, though.”

“Really,” Lily said with surprise. “Not a pigeon. Coming from you, that’s quite a compliment.”

“Raiford plays wise—follows runs but never goes deep.” Derek turned a smile on her. “Even you wouldn’t be able to rook ’im.”

Lily ignored the taunt. “Is he as wealthy as the rumors claim?”

That produced an emphatic nod. “More.”

“Any family scandals? Secrets, trouble, past affairs, any misdeeds that would reflect badly on his character? Does he seem like a cold, cruel sort of fellow?”

Derek folded his long, well-tended hands over the balustrade, looking down at his small kingdom. “ ’E’s quiet. Private. Especially since the woman ’e loved was knocked off a year or two ago.”

“Knocked off?” Lily interrupted, both amused and appalled. “Must you be so vulgar?”

Derek ignored the reprimand. “Miss Caroline Whit-more, Whitfield, somefing o’ the sort. Broke ’er neck on an ’unt, so they say. Damn little fool, I say.”

“Hunt,” Lily said, irritated by his meaningful glance. She loved to ride to the hounds, but even Derek didn’t approve of such a dangerous activity for a woman. “And I’m not like other women. I can ride as well as any man. Better than most.”

“ ’Tis your neck,” he replied casually.

“Precisely. Now, that can’t be all you know about Raiford. I know you. You’re keeping something from me.”

“No.” Lily was caught by Derek’s steady gaze, transfixed by the cool depths of green. His eyes contained a spark of humor, but also a warning. Once again she was reminded that despite their friendship, Derek would not be there to help her if she landed herself in trouble. His voice was shaded with a quiet force that was as troubling as it was rare. “Listen to me, gypsy. Let it be—the marriage, ewerything. Raiford’s not a cruel sort, but ’e’s no rum cull. Stay clear ow ’im. You ’as problems enow to ’andle.” His lips twisted wryly, and he corrected himself. “H andle.”

Lily considered his advice. Derek was right, of course. She should be preserving her strength, thinking of nothing but getting Nicole back. But for some reason, this question of Raiford’s character had taken root inside her, nagging until she would not have peace without seeing him. She thought of how docile Penny had always been, never misbehaving or questioning their parents’ decisions. God knew Penny had no one to help her. The image of Zachary’s pleading face came before her. She owed this to him. Lily sighed. “I must meet Raiford and see for myself,” she said stubbornly.

“Then go to the Middleton h unt this week,” Derek said, taking special care with his vowels and consonants. Suddenly he almost sounded like a gentleman. “Most likely h e’ll be there.”

Assembling at the stables with the others, Alex waited while a small army of grooms brought the horses out to their masters. There was excitement in the air, for all participants knew it would be an exceptional day. It was cool and dry, the course would be challenging, and the Middleton pack was renowned for its quality, reputedly worth more than three thousand guineas.

Alex glanced at the brightening sky, his mouth twisting with impatience. The hunt had been scheduled for six o’clock. They would be late getting started. More than half the hunting party hadn’t mounted their horses yet. He considered walking over to someone and striking up a conversation. Most of the men here were familiar to him, some of them old classmates. But he wasn’t in a sociable mood. He wanted to ride, lose himself in the chase until he was too tired to think or feel.

He looked across the field at the cool mist that hung over the yellow grasses and edged the dark, gray-green woods. The nearby covert was thick with spiny, gold-flowered gorse. All at once a flash of memory assailed him…

“Caro, you’re not going on the hunt.”

His fiancée, Caroline Whit-more, laughed and pouted playfully. She was a lovely girl, with peach-colored skin and bright hazel eyes, and hair the dark amber of clover honey. “Darling, you wouldn’t deprive me of such fun, would you? There’s no chance of danger. I’m a superb rider, a clipping one, as you British would say.”

“You don’t know what it’s like, riding to a leap in company. There are collisions, refusals, or you could be thrown or ridden down—”

“I’ll ride with the utmost discretion. What do you suppose, that I’ll ride neck-or-nothing across every hurdle? I’ll have you know, dearest, that common sense is one of my strongest virtues. Besides, you know it’s impossible to change my mind once I’m set on something.” Caroline sighed melodramatically. “Why must you be so difficult?”

“Because I love you.”

“Then don’t love me. At least not tomorrow morning…”

Alex shook his head roughly, trying to clear away the haunting memories. God, would it always be like this? It had been two years since her death, and still he was tormented by it.

The past engulfed Alex in an invisible shroud. He had tried to move beyond it, but after a few futile attempts, he had realized he would never be free of Caroline. Of course there were others like her, women of spirit, passion, and beauty, but he did not want that kind of woman anymore. Caroline had told him once that she thought no one would ever be able to love him quite enough. There had been too many years in which he had been bereft of a woman’s nurturing care.

His mother had died in childbirth when Alex was a boy. Her death was followed a year later by the passing of the earl. It was said that he had willed himself to death, leaving behind his two sons and a mountain of responsibilities. Since the age of eighteen Alex had been occupied with managing business interests, tenants and land agents, household staff and family. He had property in Herefordshire, set among fertile wheat and corn fields and rivers filled with salmon, and a Buckinghamshire estate poised on a tract of harshly beautiful land that included steep Chiltern chalk hills.

Alex had devoted himself to caring for and educating his younger brother, Henry. His own needs had been neglected, put aside to be taken care of at some future date. When he had found a woman to love, the feelings he had pent up for so long were overwhelming. Losing Caroline had nearly killed him. He would never subject himself to such pain again.

That was why he had deliberately sought Penelope Lawson’s hand. A demure blonde girl, quintessentially English, she had attracted him with her gentle manner at many of the society balls in London. Penelope was what he needed. It was time to marry and produce heirs. Penelope couldn’t be more different than Caroline. She would share his bed, bear his children, grow old beside him, all in safety and peace, never becoming a part of him. Alex found ease in Penelope’s undemanding presence. There was no spark or vivacity in her pretty brown eyes, no sharp wit in her comments, nothing that threatened to touch his heart in any way. She would never think to argue with him or contradict him. The distant friendliness between them was something she did not seem to want to bridge any more than he did.

Suddenly Alex’s thoughts were interrupted by a remarkable sight. A woman was riding past the edge of the crowd, a young woman mounted on a high-strung white palfrey. Alex dropped his gaze instantly, but the vision blazed across his mind. A frown knotted itself between his brows.

Exotic, hoydenish, startling, she had appeared from nowhere. She was as slim as a boy, except for the gentle rise of her breasts. Her short, curly black hair was held back from her forehead with a ribbon. Incredulously Alex saw that she straddled the horse the way a man did, that she was wearing breeches underneath her riding gown. Breeches the color of raspberries, for God’s sake. Yet no one seemed to find her as astonishing as he did. Most of the men seemed to be acquainted with her, exchanging laughing comments with her, everyone from the fresh-faced Lord Yarborough to crotchety old Lord Harrington. Alex watched expressionlessly as the woman in raspberry breeches rode around the clearing where the bagged fox was to be loosed. There was something strangely familiar about her.