Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(75)

“I’m sneaking downstairs to look at all the pretty gowns,” Nicole informed him in a whisper. “Don’t tell Mama.”

“I won’t, as long as you go back upstairs to your room.”

“After I see what the ball looks like.”

He shook his head firmly. “Little girls shouldn’t roam through the house in their nightgowns.”

“Why?” Nicole looked down at herself, tucking her bare feet beneath the hem of the garment “It covers everything. See?”

“It isn’t proper.” Derek resisted the urge to smile grimly as he heard himself delivering a statement on propriety.

“Mama doesn’t have to be proper.”

“Neither will you, when you’re older.”

“But Uncle Derek…” Nicole pleaded, and then sighed heavily as she saw his brows lower threateningly. “All right, I’ll go back upstairs. But someday I’m going to have a ball gown of silver and gold…and I’ll stay up and dance all night!”

Derek looked down at her small face. Nicole’s features were slightly more exotic than her mother’s. With her lustrous black eyes and striking dark brows, she had the promise of stunning beauty. “That day isn’t long coming,” he said. “Someday you’ll have every man in London begging to marry you.”

“Oh, I don’t want to marry anybody,” she said earnestly. “All I want is my own stable full of horses.”

Derek smiled slightly. “I’m going to remind you of that when you’re eighteen.”

“Maybe I’ll marry you,” she said with a childish giggle.

“That’s very kind of you, sweet.” He rumpled her hair. “But you’ll want to marry someone your own age, not some old cheeser.”

A new voice interrupted from the foot of the stairs. “He’s right,” Lady Ashby said silkily. “I was forced to marry an old man—and look what became of me.”

Nicole’s smile vanished. With a child’s natural perceptiveness, she sensed the corruption beneath Joyce’s beautiful exterior. Warily she inched closer to Derek as Joyce ascended the steps in fluid, graceful movements. Pausing before them, Joyce regarded the little girl with distaste. “Run along, child. I want to talk with Mr. Craven alone.”

Hesitantly Nicole glanced at Derek. He leaned over and whispered to her. “Back to bed, miss.”

As soon as the child was gone, all warmth faded from Derek’s face. Raising his brandy glass, he downed the last of the warm amber liquid. He remained sitting, affecting no pretense of courtesy.

“Why the somber face?” Joyce purred. “Thinking about your tender scene in the garden with Sara Fielding?” She smiled as his gaze shot to hers. “Yes, darling, I’m fully aware of your preoccupation with that modest country violet—and so is everyone else. It’s provided a fair amount of amusement for all of us. Derek Craven falling for a timid little nobody. You should have told me you liked your women to play innocent—I could have obliged you.” Sinuously she draped herself against the balustrade and smiled at him.

Derek watched her, tempted either to shove her down the stairs or to tell her to go to hell…but something stopped him. He didn’t like the smug look on her face. Something was very wrong. Patiently he waited while she continued her speech. His hard green eyes didn’t move from hers.

“How does it feel to make love to a woman like that, darling? She can’t be very satisfying to a man of your robust appetite. I can’t imagine she would know the first thing about pleasing you.” Joyce sighed thoughtfully. “Men are such fools. I daresay you fancy yourself in love with her. Need I remind you that you’re not capable of love? You’re nothing but a great, lusty animal…and I wouldn’t have you any other way.” She pursed her red lips provocatively. “Leave the sentiments and the romantic foolishness to other men. What you have is much better than a heart…a nice, big cock. That’s all you’ve got to offer your country bumpkin. She probably doesn’t know enough to appreciate it…although now…at least she’ll have a basis for comparison.” She waited with a feline smile for her last words to register.

Comparison? Slowly Derek stood up, staring at her intently. A jolt of anxiety caused his heart to pump unpleasantly hard. His voice was scratchy. “What have you done, Joyce?”

“I’ve done her a favor, actually. I’ve enlisted someone to help her learn more about men. As we speak, she’s in her room ‘taking a flier’ as you cockneys put it, with our virile Lord Granville. Not so innocent anymore.”

The brandy snifter dropped from Derek’s hand and rolled, unbroken, down the thickly carpeted stairs. “Jesus,” he whispered, turning to lunge up the steps. He took them three at a time, while Joyce called after him.

“Don’t bother to charge to her rescue, my poor gallant. It’s too late.” She began to laugh wildly. “By now the deed is already done.”

At first Sara’s dazed mind could only recognize it as a nightmare. It couldn’t be real. She had been awakened by a huge hand clapped over her mouth. The bloated, ruddy face of a stranger was barely visible in the darkness. The weight of his body dropped over her as he joined her on the bed. She went rigid with terror and tried to scream, but all sound was smothered by his pawlike hand. His heavy bulk crushed her down, flattening her br**sts painfully and forcing the air from her lungs.