Then Came You (The Gamblers #1)(101)

Alex waited for her in the library, leaning over the papers on his desk. His golden head lifted as she entered the room. Lily smiled at the expression on his face, and turned to show him the rest of her ensemble. Golden pins adorned with diamond clusters were fastened in her hair, glinting among the dark curls. On her feet were small, flat gold slippers with ribbons that tied around the ankles. Alex couldn’t resist reaching out and brushing his hands over her slender body. She was exquisite and perfect, as if she were made of porcelain.

Lily came close and leaned against him temptingly. “Will I do?” she murmured.

“You’ll do,” he said gruffly, and planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. Any more than that would unravel his self-control.

The ball, held at the Lyons’ London home, was even more elaborate than Lily had anticipated. Built on medieval foundations and enlarged over several centuries, the cavernous home was filled with light and fresh flowers and expensive decorations of crystal, silk, and gold. A large orchestra sent rich melodies outward from the ballroom. The moment they arrived, Lady Lyon took Lily under her wing. Lily was introduced to great numbers of people—cabinet ministers, opera singers, ambassadors and their wives, and distinguished members of the peer-age. She despaired of ever remembering more than a handful of names.

Smiling and chatting, Lily sipped from a glass of punch and watched as Alex was dragged away by Ross and a number of men. They were demanding that he arbitrate some wager. “Men,” Lily remarked dryly to Lady Lyon. “I have no doubt the wager is over how quickly a particular raindrop will roll down the window pane, or how many glasses of brandy a certain lord can drink before he topples over!”

“Yes,” Lady Lyon replied, a teasing glint in her eye. “It’s astonishing what some people will do for a wager.”

Lily held back a mortified laugh, knowing the elderly woman was referring to the infamous evening at Craven’s. “That bet,” she said with an unsuccessful attempt at dignity, “was entirely your nephew’s suggestion, ma’am. I hope I may live long enough to put the entire episode behind me.”

“When you’re my age, you’ll tell your grandchildren all about that episode, in order to shock them,” Lady Lyon predicted. “And they’ll admire you for your lurid past. Time has given me great understanding of the old saying ‘If youth knew, if old age but could.’ ”

“Grandchildren…” Lily mused, her voice soft with sudden melancholy.

“There’s still plenty of time for that,” the elderly woman assured her, misunderstanding the reason behind her sadness. “Years, in fact. I was thirty-five when I bore Ross, forty at the birth of the last, my Victoria. You still have a great deal of fertile ground, child. I suspect Raiford will sow it very ably.”

“Aunt Mildred,” Lily exclaimed with a quick laugh, “you’re shocking me!”

Just then a servant approached Lily discreetly. “Milady, I beg pardon, but there is a gentleman in the entrance hall without identification. He claims to be here at your request. Perhaps you would deign to come and testify as to his credentials?”

“I invited no…” Lily began in surprise, but her mouth snapped shut as an ugly suspicion entered her mind. “No,” she whispered, causing the servant to regard her with confusion.

“Milady, shall we compel him to leave?”

“No,” Lily gulped, and manufactured a fake smile, conscious of Lady Lyon’s sharp gaze fastened on her. “I believe I’ll go and investigate this little mystery.” She stared directly at the elderly woman and forced herself to shrug blithely. “Curiosity has always been my downfall.”

“Killed the cat,” Lady Lyon replied, looking at her speculatively.

Lily followed the servant through the handsome house to the entrance hall with its ceiling of intricate plasterwork and painted rondels. A flow of guests came in the front door, each one individually greeted by the Lyons’ efficient staff. Amidst the incoming crowd, a still, dark figure was clearly distinguishable. Lily stopped abruptly, staring at him with horror. He smiled at her and made a shallow, mocking bow, accompanied by an elaborate flourish of his dark hand.

“Can you vouch for this guest?” the servant at her elbow inquired.

“Yes,” Lily said hoarsely. “He’s an old acquaintance, a-an Italian nobleman. Count Giuseppe Gavazzi.”

The servant eyed Giuseppe dubiously. Although he was dressed in the manner befitting a nobleman—silk breeches, sumptuously embroidered coat, a starched white cravat—there was something about Giuseppe that betrayed the crudity of his character. Compared to him, Lily thought silently, Derek Craven had the bearing and gentility of a prince.

Once Giuseppe had mingled freely with the nobility, had unquestionably been one of them. It was obvious from his smug expression that he still considered himself to be. But his charming smile had deteriorated into an oily smirk, and his striking handsomeness had turned hard and common. The black eyes that had once been so soft now contained an offensive rapaciousness. Even dressed in fine clothes, he was as distinct from the other guests as a raven would be in a company of swans.

“Very well,” the servant murmured, and left her quietly.

Lily stood still at the side of the hall as Giuseppe sauntered toward her. He smiled and gestured to himself proudly. “It remind you of the days in Italy, no?”