Then Came You (The Gamblers #1)(52)

A light rain began to fall, drops pattering on her hair. Lily closed her eyes and lifted her face, letting the water trail down her cheeks in cool rivulets. Suddenly she remembered Nicole at bath time, making the discovery that she could wet her tiny fists and shake them in the air and splash them in the tub.

“Look what you can do!” Lily had exclaimed with a laugh. “How dare you splash your mama, you clever little duck…water is for the bath, not the floor…”

Stubbornly Lily wiped away the raindrops and tears. She squared her shoulders. “It’s only money,” she muttered. “I’ve gotten it before. I’ll get it again somehow.”

The clock chimed nine times. Alex had been staring at it for nearly an hour. It was a sentimental figured bronze clock, adorned with porcelain roses and a shy shepherdess glancing over her shoulder at a nobleman proffering a bouquet of flowers. The rest of Lily’s bedroom was just as feminine—the pale sea green walls decorated with delicate white plasterwork, the windows hung with rose silk, the furniture upholstered with soft velvet. Now that he thought of it, the brief glimpse he’d caught of Lily’s house had been very different from this—dark, rich, and almost masculine. It was as if she had saved her private room for all the feminine indulgence she hadn’t allowed herself elsewhere.

As the last chime sounded, the bedroom door opened. The butler. Burton, she had called him.

“Good morning, sir,” Burton said impassively. “I trust you had a restful night?”

Alex glowered at him.

After Lily had left him, he had been alone with nothing but silent hours ahead. Until then he’d made a habit of filling every waking moment with distractions. Work, sporting, social amusements, drinking, women, countless ways he had devised to avoid being alone with his thoughts. Unwittingly Lily had forced him to face what he was most afraid of. In the quiet darkness, he hadn’t been able to stop the memories from swooping down on him like vultures, tearing at his heart.

At first it had all been a jumble—anger, passion, regret, grief. No one would ever know what he had gone through in those hours of confinement. No one would ever need to know. All that was important was that the jumble had somehow sorted itself out, and things had become clear in his mind. He would never see Caroline in another woman’s face again. She was part of his past, and he would leave her there. No more grief, no ghosts. And as for Lily…He devoted a good deal of thought to what he was going to do about her. Sometime during the early morning hours he’d drifted into a sleep of pure, dark velvet.

The butler came to the bedside bearing a small knife. “Shall I, sir?” Burton inquired, gesturing to his bound arms.

Alex gave him an incredulous look. “Oh, by all means,” he replied in a sarcastic show of politeness. Deftly the butler sawed at the finely woven rope. Alex grimaced as his right arm was released. He brought it to his chest, flexing the aching muscles with a quiet groan, and watched as Burton went around the bed to the other side.

Silently Alex had to admit that Burton was impressive. He had the most authentically butlerish appearance Alex had ever seen. He wore a beautifully trimmed beard, and a look of intelligence and authority. All this wrapped in a package of impeccable deference. It took aplomb to approach this situation with dignity, and yet Burton was untying him from the bed in the same stoic manner with which he might have poured tea or brushed a hat.

Burton’s brows twitched in what might have been dismay as he saw Alex’s blistered wrists. “My lord, I will bring a salve for your arms.”

“No,” Alex growled. “You’ve done quite enough.”

“Yes, sir.”

Painfully Alex drew himself to a sitting position, flexing his cramped limbs. “Where is she this morning?”

“If you’re referring to Miss Lawson, sir, I have no knowledge of her whereabouts. However, I have been instructed to remind you that Master Henry is at Mr. Craven’s establishment.”

“If anything’s happened to him, I’ll hold you every bit as responsible as Miss Lawson.”

Burton looked unruffled. “Yes, sir.”

Alex shook his head in amazement. “You’d help her with murder if she asked, wouldn’t you?”

“She hasn’t requested it, sir.”

“Yet,” Alex muttered. “But if she did?”

“As my employer, Miss Lawson is entitled to my absolute loyalty.” Burton regarded Alex politely. “Would you care for a paper, my lord? Coffee? Tea, perhaps. For breakfast we can provide—”

“To begin with, you can stop behaving as if this is a commonplace occurrence…or is it? Could it be the usual thing for you to offer breakfast to guests who’ve been tied hand and foot to Lily Lawson’s bed?”

Burton considered the question carefully, as if reluctant to betray Lily’s privacy. “You are the first, Lord Raiford,” he finally admitted.

“What a hell of an honor.” Alex put a hand to his sore head and probed gingerly. There was a tender bump a few inches above his ear. “I’ll take a headache powder. She owes me that, to start with.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And have my driver bring my carriage around—unless you and Miss Lawson have him bound to a stable rack or hitching post somewhere.”

“Yes, sir.”