Then Came You (The Gamblers #1)(87)

He did not reply for a long time, his avid gaze wandering over her. “For the first time you ask me somet’ing like a woman,” he commented. “So soft, so sweet. Per’aps you ’ave learn this in Lord Raiford’s bed, no?”

Lily froze. “You know about that?” she whispered painfully.

“I know you ’ave become Raiford’s whore,” he murmured, his voice silky. “Maybe you change since our time together. Maybe now you ’ave something to give a man.”

Her soul revolted against the note in his voice. “How did you find out?”

“I know everything you do, cara. Every place you go.” He touched her face, sliding his hot fingers beneath her chin.

Passively she accepted his caress, but inside she shrank with revulsion. The brush of his fingers on her skin was sickening. She suppressed a shiver of disgust. “Would you consider what I’ve said?” she asked unsteadily.

“Per’aps.”

“Then let’s talk about the amount you require.”

He chuckled at her bluntness and shook his head. “Later.”

“When? When will we meet again?”

“Fra poco. I send you a note to say.”

“No.” Lily reached for him as he drew apart from her. “I must know right away. Let’s agree on something now—”

“Patience,” he drawled, evading her hand, and grinned tauntingly. “A più tardi, Lily.” With a gesture of farewell, he left quickly.

“It’s been a real pleasure,” she said, bitterly wiping away her welling tears. She felt like falling to the ground, screaming and kicking in furious grief. Instead she stood like a statue, her fists clenched. Beneath her bleak despair, there was a flicker of exhilaration. She had seen her daughter, and there was no doubt it had been Nicole. Hungrily she remembered the beautiful little face, the doll-like fragility of her child. “God, keep her safe, keep her safe,” she whispered.

She walked back to the small Arabian gelding Derek had loaned to her, and stroked the horse’s shining chestnut hide. Her mind raced with frenzied thoughts. Blindly she swung onto the mount and arranged her skirts and cloak. On impulse she walked the horse along the route Giuseppe had taken, deeper into the no-man’s land where police never dared to patrol, night or day. The dark streets of the rookery were lively with gaming, whoring, and every criminal offense from pickpocketing to murder. With its multitude of hideaways, blind alleys, and shadowed corners, it was the perfect breeding place for corruption. This was the world her child was living in.

At the sight of the fine horse and richly cloaked figure, vagrants began to approach Lily, reaching their grasping hands toward her. As one of them gripped her riding boot, she recoiled in fear and spurred the horse to a trot. What a fool she was, venturing into such a place without weapons or protection, courting danger for no reason. She wasn’t thinking clearly. Turning the chestnut gelding down a side street, she headed back to the relative safety of Covent Garden.

The sounds of a violent tumult came to her ears, growing stronger as she approached the end of the street. Small groups of men, some of them in rags and some finely dressed, wandered between the rickety wooden buildings. They seemed to be attending some sort of exhibition. Lily frowned as she heard the muffled barking and snarling of dogs. Animal baiting, she thought in disgust. Men were fascinated and excited by the bloodthirsty sport, putting animals in a pen with vicious dogs and watching them destroy each other. She wondered what kind of beast was being slaughtered for tonight’s entertainment. The latest craze was to throw badgers to the dogs. The tough-skinned badgers, with their vicious bites and fierce resistance to death, provided an enjoyable spectacle for the brutish audience. Cautiously she cut between two buildings to avoid the spectacle, knowing that the men who attended such events were easily incited to violence. She wouldn’t care to be discovered by any of them.

The wild bellowing of the men at the animal baiting blasted through the wooden walls of a converted stable yard. Amid a crowded lot of carts, wagons, and empty stalls, a small boy crouched on the ground, his head resting on his bent knees. His shoulders trembled, as if he were crying. Against her better judgment, Lily eased her horse to a halt. “Boy,” she said, a questioning lilt to her voice.

He looked up at her, revealing a dirty, tear-streaked face. He was thin and pale, his features pointed. It was possible he was the same age as Henry, eleven or twelve, but his growth had been stunted by malnourishment or disease. At the sight of her on the gleaming horse, his tears stopped and his mouth fell open.

“Why are you crying?” Lily asked softly.

“I ain’t crying,” he returned, smearing the wet grime on his face with a ragged sleeve.

“Has someone hurt you?”

“Naw.”

“Are you waiting for someone in there?” She gestured to the wooden wall, which reverberated from the noise within.

“Aye. They’re coming soon to take ’im.” The boy pointed to the back of a painted wagon. The rickety vehicle bore the name of a traveling circus. A dappled gray nag was hitched in front of the wagon, a scrawny, wiry animal that did not look at all healthy.

“Him?” Lily asked in bewilderment, dismounting from her horse. The boy stood up, keeping a respectful distance from her, and led her to the side of the wagon. Lily gasped as she saw the bars on the side of the wagon, and the matted, furry face of a bear. “Damnation!” she couldn’t help exclaiming.