Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(27)

Derek hesitated. It was a rare occasion when he confided in anyone—but if there was one man he trusted, it was Alex. “I knew better,” he admitted, “but I didn’t care. I met Joyce at Lord Aveland’s wedding reception. We talked for a while. I thought she would be entertaining, and so…” He shrugged. “The affair began that night.”

Alex began to ask something, hesitated, and looked disgusted with himself. “What was she like?” he finally asked, unable to hold back the question of purely masculine interest.

Derek smiled wryly. “Exotic. She likes tricks, games, perversions…There’s nothing she won’t do. I enjoyed it for a while. The trouble began when I’d finally had enough of her. She didn’t want it to end.” His mouth twisted. “Still doesn’t.”

Alex sipped some brandy and then swirled the liquid in the snifter, regarding it with untoward interest. “Derek,” he murmured, “before my father died, he had a close friendship with Lord Ashby. Although Lord Ashby is an old man now, he’s lost none of his mental agility. I’d like to approach him discreetly and ask him to put a stop to Joyce’s antics before she does something worse than she already has.”

“No,” Derek said with a short laugh. “I’d be lucky if the old codger doesn’t hire someone to finish me off. He wouldn’t take kindly to the idea of flash gentry humping his wife. Don’t interfere, Raiford.”

Alex, who had always been fond of solving others’ problems, was annoyed by the refusal. “What makes you think I’m asking for your bloody permission? You’ve damn well manipulated and interfered with my life for years!”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Then at least take my advice. Stop having affairs with other men’s wives. Find your own woman. How old are you? Thirty?”

“I don’t know.”

Alex registered the statement with a blink of surprise, and then regarded him speculatively. “You have the look of a thirty-year-old. That’s high time for a man to marry and produce legitimate offspring.”

Derek raised his brows in mock horror. “A wife? Little Cravens underfoot? God, no.”

“Then at least find yourself a mistress. Someone who knows how to take care of a man. Someone like Viola Miller. Were you aware that she and Lord Font-mere have recently broken off their arrangement? You’ve seen Viola before…a graceful, intelligent woman. She doesn’t bestow her favors lightly. If I were you, I’d do whatever was in my power to become her next protector. I think you’ll agree she’s worth whatever price you have to pay.”

Derek gave an irritable shrug, wanting to change the subject. “A woman never solves anything. She only causes more problems.”

Alex grinned. “Well, you’d be safer with your own wife than someone else’s. And you have little to lose by throwing in your lot with the rest of us.”

“Misery loves company,” Derek quoted sourly.

“Exactly.”

Their conversation drifted to other matters, and Derek asked if Alex and Lily were planning to attend the assembly ball at the club.

Alex laughed at the idea. “No, I’m not fond of that crowd of scoundrels and whores called the demimonde—though my wife does seem to enjoy such gatherings.”

“Where is she?”

“At the dressmaker’s, having some new gowns fitted. Lately she’s worn her damn breeches about the estate so often that our son asked why she didn’t wear gowns like all the other mothers.” Alex frowned. “Lily left in a hurry this morning. She wouldn’t explain why. Received some note she wouldn’t let me read. She’s up to something. Damn that woman—she drives me to distraction!”

Derek suppressed a grin, knowing that Alex wouldn’t change a hair on his wife’s head.

“S. R. Fielding!” Lily exclaimed with a soft laugh, seizing Sara’s hand and holding it tightly. Her dark eyes glowed with delight. “You have no idea how much I admire your work, Miss Fielding. I felt such kinship with Mathilda. She could have been modeled after me!”

“You’re the woman in the portrait,” Sara said in astonishment. “In Mr. Craven’s gallery.” The painting had captured the countess faithfully—except that on canvas she had looked far more serene. No artist’s skill could ever completely capture her radiant self-confidence and convey the lively sparkle of her eyes.

“The little girl in the painting is my daughter, Nicole,” Lily said proudly. “A beauty, isn’t she? The portrait was completed a few years ago. The artist refused to sell it, but Derek offered him a ridiculous sum that he couldn’t refuse. Derek claims anything can be had for a price.” Her lips quirked. “Sometimes I think he’s right.”

Sara smiled cautiously. “Mr. Craven is far too cynical.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Lily said wryly, and dismissed the subject with a motion of her hands. Suddenly she was all business. “As Worthy described the situation, we are in dire need of a ball gown.”

“I had no intention of putting you to such trouble, Lady Raiford. Thank you for agreeing to help me.”

Worthy had arranged for Sara to be conveyed to Madam Lafleur’s, the most exclusive dressmaker in London. Lady Raiford would meet her there, Worthy had said, and further made it clear that Sara was to allow her complete authority. “Lady Raiford knows all about this sort of thing. You must trust her judgment, Miss Fielding.” Privately Sara suspected that Worthy was far from impressed by her own fashion sense. However, it was lack of funds, not taste, which had always determined her wardrobe.