Then Came You (The Gamblers #1)(28)

Lily held his gaze defiantly, then continued up the staircase, muttering some obscenity sotto voce.

“What did you say?” he asked in a soft growl.

She threw a saccharine smile over her shoulder. “I wished you a perfectly splendid day, my lord.”

Retreating to her room, Lily requested a bath to be prepared. Efficiently the maids filled the porcelain-rimmed tub in the adjoining dressing room. One of the girls stoked the fire in the little fireplace, and set the towels on a nearby warming rack. Lily declined their assistance after that.

Easing into the tub, she idly splashed water over her chest. The walls were papered with scenery in the Chinese style, illustrated with hand-painted flowers and birds. The porcelain fireplace mantelpiece was decorated with dragons and pagodas. Outmoded. She would bet her last farthing that the wall had last been papered at least two decades ago. If I had my way around here, there would be some changes made, she thought, and submerged herself, head and all, in the steaming water. Coming up with dripping hair, she finally allowed herself to think about what was happening to her.

This sleepwalking business was occurring more frequently. Yesterday she had awakened in the library, this morning in the parlor, in back of the settee. How had she come to be there? How had she managed to descend the stairs without mishap? She might have broken her neck!

She couldn’t allow this to continue. Frightened, Lily wondered if she should begin tying herself to the bed each night. But how would that appear to anyone who might discover her? Well, Raiford certainly wouldn’t be surprised, she thought, and giggled nervously. He probably thought of her as the most depraved woman alive.

Perhaps she should try drinking before bedtime. If she were drunk enough…no, that would be the fastest course to ruin. She had seen it too many times in London, where people destroyed themselves with strong drink. Perhaps if she consulted a physician and asked for sleeping powders…but what if he declared her to be a madwoman? God knew what would happen to her then. Lily ran her fingers through her wet hair and closed her eyes. “Perhaps I am insane,” she muttered, clenching her hands into dripping fists. It would drive any woman mad to have her child taken from her.

After an industrious scrubbing of her hair and skin, Lily rose from the bath and patted herself dry with a length of towel. She donned a white lace-trimmed shift, embroidered cotton stockings, and a cotton gown printed with tiny pink flowers. The dress made her appear nearly as young as Penelope. Sitting before the fire, Lily ran her fingers through her damp curls and considered what her plan for the day should be. “First,” she said with a snap of her fingers, “I’ll have to convince Raiford that Zachary is courting me, not Penny. That will throw him off the scent.”

“Miss?” She heard a puzzled voice. The maid was standing in the door of the dressing room. “Did you say—”

“No, no, pay no heed. I was just talking to myself.”

“I came to collect the soiled linens.”

“You may take my nightgown and have it washed—oh, and tell me where Lord Raiford is. I wish to speak with him.”

“ ’E’s gone to London, miss.”

“London?” Lily frowned. “But why? For how long?”

“ ’E told Silvern ’e’d be back tonight.”

“Well, that’s a quick journey. What could he possibly accomplish in so short a time?”

“Nobody knows what ’e went for.”

Lily had a feeling the maid knew something she wasn’t telling. But Raiford’s servants were closemouthed and quite loyal to their master. Rather than press the issue, Lily shrugged indifferently.

Westfield was built on one of the three heights to the northwest of London. In good weather, it was possible to stand on the hill and obtain a view of nearly a dozen counties. The most venerable of public schools, Westfield had produced great politicians, artists, poets, and military men. As a youth, Alex had been a student there. Although he had memories of the strict discipline of the masters and the tyranny of the older boys, he also remembered the high-spirited days of close friendship and mischief. He had hoped that Henry would do well at the place, but evidently that was not to be the case.

Alex was shown into the headmaster’s office by a sullen-looking boy. Dr. Thornwait, the headmaster, stood up from a large multidrawered desk and greeted him without smiling. Thornwait was a lean man with stringy white hair, a narrow grooved face, and bushy black brows. His tone was thin and disapproving. “Lord Raiford, I would like to express my relief that you’ve come to collect our culprit. He is a young man of dangerously volatile temperament, quite unsuitable for Westfield.”

During this little speech, Alex heard his brother’s voice behind him. “Alex!” Henry, who had been seated on a wooden bench against the wall, rushed toward him with a few quick strides, then checked himself, trying to look chastened.

Unable to prevent a grin, Alex grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him near. Then he held Henry back, regarding him closely. “Why does he say you’re dangerous, boy?”

“A prank,” Henry confessed.

Alex smiled ruefully at that. Henry did have a lively sense of fun, but he was a fine boy, one that any man would be proud of. Although short in stature for a lad of twelve, Henry was husky and strong. He excelled in sports and mathematics, and concealed a secret love for poetry. Usually an infectious smile danced in his intense blue eyes, and his white-blond hair required frequent combing to restrain its unruly waves. To make up for his lack of height, Henry had always been daring and assertive, the leader of his group of friends. When he was in the wrong, he was always quick to apologize. Alex couldn’t imagine what Henry had done to require expulsion. Gluing the pages of a few school books, no doubt, or balancing a pail of water on top of a partially opened door. Well, he would soothe Thornwait’s ire, apologize, and convince him to allow Henry to stay.