Then Came You (The Gamblers #1)(3)

“You’ve never met her before, have you?” he heard a scratchily amused voice nearby. Sir Evelyn Downshire, a fine old gentleman who had known his father, was standing nearby. “Men always have that look when they see her for the first time. She reminds me of the marchioness of Salisbury in her day. Magnificent woman.”

Alex tore his gaze away from the flamboyant creature. “I don’t find her all that admirable,” he replied coldly.

Downshire chuckled, revealing a carefully constructed set of ivory teeth. “If I were a young man I’d seduce her,” he said reflectively. “I would indeed. She’s the last of her kind, you know.”

“What kind is that?”

“In my day there were scores of them,” Downshire mused with a wistful smile. “It took skill and cleverness to tame them…oh, they required no end of managing…trouble, such delightful trouble…”

Alex looked back at the woman. Such a delicate face she had, pale and perfect, with fiery dark eyes. “Who is she?” he asked, half in a dream. When there was no reply, he turned and realized that Downshire had wandered away.

Lily climbed out of the carriage and made her way to the front door of her Grosvenor Square terrace. She had never been so uncomfortable in her life.

“Serves me right,” she muttered to herself, walking up her front steps while the butler, Burton, watched from the doorway. “What an idiotic thing to do.” The Thames, in which all of London’s refuse was dumped, was not an advisable place to swim. Her leap into the water had left her clothes and her skin tainted with a distinctly unpleasant odor. Her feet squeaked inside her wet slippers. The odd noise, not to mention her appearance, caused Burton’s brow to furrow like a millstone. That was unusual for Burton, who usually greeted her calamities without expression.

For the past two years, Burton had been the dominant figure in the household, setting the tone for servants and guests alike. When welcoming visitors into her home, Burton’s starched manner conveyed that Lily was a person of consequence. He overlooked her follies and adventures as if they didn’t exist, treating her as an impeccable lady although she rarely acted like one. Lily knew full well that she would not be respected by her own servants if it were not for Burton’s imposing presence. He was a tall, bearded man with a solid girth, his neat iron gray beard framing a stern face. No other butler in England had his precise combination of haughtiness and deference.

“I trust you enjoyed the water party, miss?” he inquired.

“A smasher,” Lily said, trying to sound animated. She handed him a wad of soggy velvet, adorned by a straggling pink feather. He stared blankly at the object. “My hat,” she explained, and squeaked into the house, leaving a wet path in her wake.

“Miss Lawson, a guest is awaiting your arrival in the parlor. Lord Stamford.”

“Zachary’s here?” Lily was delighted by the news. Zachary, Lord Stamford, a sensitive and intelligent young man, had been a dear friend for a long time. He was in love with her younger sister, Penelope. Unfortunately he was the marquess of Hertford’s third son, which meant that he would never inherit sufficient title or wealth to satisfy the Lawsons’ ambitious plans. Since it was clear that Lily would never marry, her parents’ dreams of social advancement were centered on Penelope. Lily felt sorry for her younger sister, who was betrothed to the earl of Raiford…a man Penelope reputedly did not even know very well. Zachary had to be suffering.

“How long has Zachary been here?” Lily asked.

“For three hours, miss. He claimed to be about urgent business. He stated that he would wait as long as necessary in order to see you.”

Lily’s curiosity was awakened. She glanced at the closed door of the salon, positioned between the arms of the double-sided staircase. “Urgent, hmm? I’ll see him right away. Er…send him to my upstairs sitting room. I must get out of these wet things.”

Burton nodded without expression. The sitting room, attached to Lily’s bedchamber via a small anteroom, was reserved for Lily’s closest acquaintances. Few were allowed up there, although an untold number had angled for invitations. “Yes, Miss Lawson.”

Zachary had found it no hardship to wait in Lily’s parlor. Even in his agitation, he couldn’t help noticing that something about No. 38 Grosvenor made a man feel extraordinarily comfortable. Perhaps it had something to do with the color schemes. Most women had their walls done in the fashionable pastel colors—cool blue, icy pink, or yellow, ornamented with white friezes and columns. Uncomfortable little gilt chairs with slick cushions were the mode, those and sofas with dainty legs that looked incapable of bearing any real weight. But Lily’s terrace was decorated in rich, warm colors, with solid furniture that invited a man to put his feet up. The walls were covered with hunting scenes, engravings, and a few tasteful portraits. There were frequent gatherings of writers, eccentrics, dandies, and politicians at her home, although Lily’s liquor supply was undependable—sometimes abundant, sometimes perplexingly sparse.

Apparently Lily was amply stocked this month, for one of the housemaids brought Zachary a decanter of good brandy and a glass on a silver tray. She also offered him a copy of the Times, ironed flat and stitched down the seam, and a plate of sweetened biscuits. Enjoying a feeling of well-being, Zachary asked for a pot of tea and relaxed with the paper. As he finished the last of the biscuits, Burton opened the door.