Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(26)

“ ‘Tiddle’?” he repeated dazedly. “Where did you learn that word?”

“That’s not important. The point is, I want to attend the ball tonight. No one will know. Not even Mr. Craven. I’ll be wearing a mask.”

“Miss Fielding, the mask is more of a danger than a protection. It’s only a scrap of leather and ribbon and paper, but it leads people to discard their inhibitions, and then…” He paused to dean his spectacles. Vigorously he rubbed the lenses with his sleeve. Sara suspected he was stalling for time in order to think of a way to dissuade her. “May I ask what has caused this sudden determination? Does it have something to do with Mr. Craven?”

“Absolutely not,” she said, a shade too quickly. “This is strictly for the purposes of research. I…I’m considering writing a scene in my novel which includes an assembly ball, and since I’ve never been to one, this is my only opportunity to gain an accurate perception of the people, the atmosphere—”

“Miss Fielding,” he interrupted. “I doubt that your family—or your fiancé—would approve of this.”

“Mr. Kingswood isn’t my fiancé yet. And you’re right, he wouldn’t approve. No one I know would approve.” Sara smiled in delight at the thought. “But they’re not going to know.”

Worthy contemplated her for a long time, reading the determination on her face. He gave a reluctant sigh. “I suppose I could have Gill and one of the croupiers to keep an eye on you. But if Mr. Craven had any suspicion of this—”

“He won’t. He’ll never, ever find out. I’ll be utterly discreet. I’ll avoid Mr. Craven like the plague. Now about the dressmaker…could you possibly recommend a reputable shop?”

“Yes, indeed,” Worthy murmured. “In fact, I believe I can do better that that. I think I know someone who will help.”

Derek strode edgily about his apartments, trying to ignore the fever that coursed through his body. He hungered for a woman…for her. He had been fascinated by her since the first morning she had come here, with her fancy words and her ladylike manners, and her gentle wilfulness. What would it be like to wrap her in his arms and hold himself deep within her? Savagely he wished he had never met her. She should be married to her country suitor, and located well out of his own reach. She belonged with a decent man. A stab of violent jealousy for Perry Kingswood caused Derek to scowl.

“Mr. Craven?” came a steward’s voice from the doorway.

The servant approached with a card poised on a silver tray. Derek recognized the Raiford crest at once. “Is it Lily?”

“No, sir. The caller is Lord Raiford.”

“Good. God help me if I have to see any more women today. Bring him up.”

There was no man in England more different from Derek than Alex, Lord Raiford. Alex possessed a self-assurance that could only come from having been born to a family of nobility. He was an honorable man with an inherent sense of fairness. There had been struggles in his life, grief and loss, which he had overcome handsomely. Men liked him for his sportsmanship and his sense of humor. Women adored his easy masculine charm, not to mention his looks. With his rich blond hair and rangy build, he possessed a distinctively lion-esque appearance. Raiford could have an affair with any woman he wanted, but he was passionately in love with his own wife, Lily. His devotion to her was a source of amusement for the sophisticated members of the ton. In spite of their mockery, many secretly wished for the kind of loving and faithful union the Raifords had, but in these days of arranged matches that wasn’t possible.

Alex tolerated Derek’s friendship with his wife because he knew that if the need ever arose, Derek would protect Lily with his own life. Throughout the years, a friendship had evolved between the two men.

“I came to see if Lily had exaggerated about the scar,” were Alex’s first words as he entered the library. He studied Derek’s dark face impassively. “It’s not what I’d call an improvement.”

Derek grinned briefly. “Piss off, Wolverton.”

They sat down before the fire with snifters of brandy, and Alex accepted one of the cigars that Derek offered. After snipping and lighting it carefully, Alex inhaled with great enjoyment. His gray eyes appeared silver in the haze of smoke. He gestured to the scar. “How did it happen? A dozen rumors are circulating—none of them particularly flattering to you, I might add.”

Derek gave him a level stare. “It doesn’t matter.”

Alex sat back and regarded him thoughtfully. “You’re right. The scar is of no import, and neither are the rumors. What matters is that Lady Ashby did this to you—and having gone this far, she’ll likely do worse.” He held up his hand as Derek tried to interrupt. “Let me finish. There’s good reason for concern. Joyce is a dangerously unpredictable woman. I’ve been acquainted with her for a long time. Fortunately I managed to avoid the mistake of becoming involved with her. But you—”

“It’s over now,” Derek said flatly. “I can handle Joyce.”

“I’m not so certain. I hope you don’t believe that by ignoring the problem, she’ll go away. As far as I can tell, Joyce has made life hell for every man she’s ever taken as a lover—though this seems to be the first time she’s ever resorted to physical maiming.” Alex’s mouth tightened with distaste. “For all Joyce’s beauty, I would never have the desire to lie with her. There’s something emotionless about her. She’s like a beautiful, deadly serpent. Why in God’s name did you become involved with her? Surely you knew better.”