Then Came You (The Gamblers #1)(9)

Derek motioned to his two most beautiful house wenches, who sped efficiently to the frowning ambassador, sporting lavish displays of cle**age. “No, I azure you, ’e’ll like those two better…see? ’Appy as a mouse in cheese.”

Lily and Barreda followed his gaze and saw that with the women’s expert attentions, Alvarez’s frown had indeed cleared away. Giving Lily one last frown, the aide retreated with a few mumbled words.

“How dare he,” Lily exclaimed indignantly, her face flushed. “And how dare you? Your special guest? I don’t want anyone to think I need a protector. I’m completely self-sufficient, and I’ll thank you to refrain from implying otherwise, especially in front of—”

“Easy, settle your temper. I should’ve let ’im ’ave a go at you, is that it?”

“No, but you could have referred to me with some respect. And where the hell have you been? I want to speak with you about someone—”

“I respects you, lovey, more than a woman should be respected. Now come ’ave a walk with me. My ear—what’s left ow it—is yours to chew.”

Lily was unable to prevent a short laugh, and she slipped her hand into the crook of Derek’s wiry arm. He often liked to take her on his strolls through the gambling palace, as if she were a rare prize he had won. As they crossed the main entrance hall and went to the magnificent gold staircase, Derek welcomed some of the arriving club members, Lord Millwright and Lord Nevill, a baron and an earl, respectively. Lily favored them with a bright smile.

“Edward, I hope you’ll indulge me later with a game of cribbage,” Lily said to Nevill. “After I lost to you last week, I’ve fretted for the chance to redeem myself.”

Lord Nevill’s pudgy face creased with an answering smile. “Most assuredly, Miss Lawson. I look forward to another match.” As Nevill and Millwright headed to the dining room, Nevill was heard to say, “For a woman, she’s quite clever…”

“Not too much ow a scalping,” Derek warned Lily. “ ’E touched me for a loan yesterday. ’Is pockets aren’t long enow to please a little rook like you.”

“Well, whose are?” Lily asked, causing him to chuckle.

“Try young Lord Bentinck—’is father takes care of ’is debts when ’e plays too deep.” Together they ascended the magnificent grand staircase.

“Derek,” Lily said briskly, “I came to ask what you know about a certain gentleman.”

“Who?’

“The earl of Raiford.”

Derek recognized the name instantly. “The nob what’s betroved to your sister.”

“Yes, I’ve heard some rather disturbing speculation on his character. I want your impression of him.”

“Why?”

“Because I fear he is going to be a cruel husband to Penelope. And there is still time for me to do something about it. The wedding is only four weeks away.”

“You don’t give an oyster for your sister,” he said.

Lily directed a reproving glare at him. “That shows how little you know about me! It is true that we have never been much alike, but I adore Penny. She is gentle, shy, obedient…qualities I think are very admirable in other women.”

“She doesn’t need your ’elp.”

“Yes, she does. Penny is as sweet and helpless as a lamb.”

“An you were born wi’ claws an teef,” he said smoothly.

Lily lifted her nose. “If something is threatening my sister’s future happiness, it is my responsibility to do something about it.”

“A bloody saint, you are.”

“Now tell me what you know about Raiford. You know everything about everyone. And stop snickering like that—I don’t intend to interfere in anyone else’s affairs, or do anything rash—”

“Like ’ell you won’t.” Derek was laughing, envisioning yet another scrape she might land herself into.

“Hell, Derek,” she corrected, enunciating the word. “You didn’t see Mr. Hastings today, did you? I can always tell when you’ve missed a lesson.”

Derek gave her a warning glance.

Lily alone knew that for two days every week Derek employed a special tutor who tried to soften his cockney accent into a more genteel one. It was a hopeless cause. After years of devoted study, Derek had managed to elevate his speech from the level of Billingsgate fish vendor to that of…well, perhaps a hackney driver, or a Temple Bar merchant. A slight improvement, but hardly remarkable. “His h’s are his downfall,” the tutor had once told Lily in despair. “He can say them if he tries, but he always forgets. To him I’ll be ‘Mr. ’astings’ until he draws his last breath.”

Lily had replied with a mixture of laughter and sympathy. “That’s all right, Mr. Hastings. Just have patience. He will surprise you someday. That h won’t stop him forever.”

“He doesn’t have the ear for it,” the tutor said glumly.

Lily had not argued. Privately she knew that Derek would never sound like a gentleman. It didn’t matter to her. She had actually come to like the manner of his speech, the mixed up v’s and w’s, the imprecise consonants that fell rather pleasantly on the ear.

Derek led her to the carved, gilded balcony overlooking the main floor. It was his favorite place to talk, for he could watch every move at the tables, his mind never ceasing its intricate calculations. Not a farthing, cribbage-counter, nor a card flicking through nimble fingers ever escaped his vigilant gaze. “Lord Raiford,” he murmured thoughtfully. “Aye, ’e’s shook the elbow ’ere a time or two. Not a pigeon, though.”