Then came you, by lisa kleypas.txt Page 33

  "No, Penny, it's nothing. I thought I saw a familiar face."

  She managed to dispel the dark feeling enough to enjoy the rest of the performance, but she was definitely relieved when it

  was over. Reading the expression on her face, Alex refused several invitations to gather with friends after the play, and he

  took Lily back to Swans' Court.

  Lily stared hard at Burton as he welcomed them inside and took Alex's gloves and hat. It was the same look she gave him whenever she asked if a particular message had arrived for her that day. In response to her silent question, Burton shook his

  head slightly. The negative motion sent her heart plummeting. She didn't know how much more she could take, how many

  more silent nights of waiting for news of her daughter.

  Although Lily made an effort to chat lightly about the play, Alex sensed her bleak mood. She asked for brandy, but he told the maid to bring up a glass of hot milk instead. Lily frowned at him but didn't argue. After downing the milk, she undressed and climbed into bed, nestling in Alex's arms. He kissed her, and she pressed against him willingly, but for the first time she couldn't respond when he made love to her. Gently he asked what was wrong, but she shook her head. "I'm tired," she whispered apologetically. "Please just hold me." Alex relented with a sigh, and she rested her head on his shoulder, desperately willing

  sleep to come.

  The image of her daughter floated around her, dancing before her in darkness and mist. Lily cried out her name and reached for her, but she was always a few steps away, just out of her grasp. Eerie laughter echoed around her, and she recoiled from an evil, mocking whisper. "You'll never have her . . . never . . . never ..."

  "Nicole," she called out in despair. She ran faster, her arms outstretched, she stumbled and fought against vines that crept

  around her legs, pulling her down, keeping her from moving. Sobbing with anger, she screamed out for her daughter, and

  then she heard a child's frightened wail.

  "Mama ..."

  "Lily." A calm, quiet voice cut through the mist and darkness. She swayed dizzily, flailing with her arms. Suddenly Alex was

  there, holding her steady. She relaxed and leaned against him, breathing unevenly. It had been a nightmare. Pressing her ear against his solid chest, she listened to the strong beat of his heart. As she blinked and wakened fully, she realized they weren't

  in bed. They were standing by the wrought-iron balustrade at the top of a long flight of stairs. She exclaimed softly, her brow furrowing. She had been sleepwalking again.

  Alex tilted her head back with his hand. His face was remote, his voice almost detached. "I woke up and you weren't there,"

  he said flatly. "I found you at the top of the stairs. You almost fell. What were you dreaming about?"

  It wasn't fair of him, asking questions when he knew she was disoriented. Lily tried to dispel the grogginess that still clung

  to her. "I was trying to reach something."

  "What?"

  "I don't know," she said unhappily.

  "I can't help you if you won't trust me." he said with quiet intensity. "I can't protect you from shadows, or keep you safe

  from dreams."

  "I've told you everything ... I ... I don't know."

  There was a long silence. "Have I ever mentioned," he said coldly, "how much I hate being lied to?"

  She averted her gaze, looking at the carpet, the wall, the door, anywhere but his face. "I'm sorry." She wanted him to hold

  and cuddle her as he always did after her bad dreams. She wanted him to make love to her, so that for a little while she

  could forget everything but the powerful warmth of him inside her. "Alex, take me back to bed."

  With impersonal gentleness, he eased her away and turned her in the direction of the bedroom. "Go on. I'm going to stay

  up for a while."

  She was surprised by his refusal. "And do what?" she asked in a small voice.

  "Read. Drink. I don't know yet." He went downstairs without looking back at her.

  Lily wandered to the bedroom and crawled beneath the rumpled covers, feeling guilty and annoyed and worried. She buried

  her head in a pillow, making a new discovery about herself. "You may hate being lied to, my lord," she muttered, "but not half

  as much as I hate going to bed alone!"

  * * *

  The slight chill between them persisted the next day. Lily took her morning ride in Hyde Park without him, accompanied by a groom. Later she busied herself with correspondence, a chore she detested. There were piles of calling cards, announcing at-home times at which she would be welcome to call, and lightly penciled requests for when she planned to receive visitors. There was a stack of invitations to balls, dinners, and musical evenings. They had been asked to join the Clevelands in

  Shropshire for autumn grouse shooting, to stay at the Pakingtons' shooting lodge on the moors, and to visit friends in Bath.

  Lily was at a loss to know how to respond to the requests. How could she accept invitations for a future she wouldn't be

  part of? It was tempting to let herself pretend she would always be with Alex, but glumly she reminded herself that it would

  all end someday.

  Putting the invitations aside, Lily shuffled through a sheaf of paper on Alex's desk. He had penned a few notes that morning, before leaving at midday to attend some meeting concerning parliamentary reform. She smiled as her eyes moved across his decisive handwriting—strong, bold marks made with a forward slant. Idly she read a letter he had addressed to one of his

  estate agents, declaring his wish that the tenants be allowed multiyear leases that would be more beneficial to them instead

  of the more expensive yearly tenancies. Alex had also instructed the agent to install new ditching and fencing on the land at

  his own expense. Thoughtfully Lily set the letter down and smoothed the corner with her fingertip. From what she knew of

  most wealthy landlords' selfish greed, she was aware that Alex's sense of honor and fairness were rare. Another letter caught

  her eye, and she skimmed over it quickly.

  . . . regarding your new tenant, I will assume responsibility for all of Pokey's monthly expenses for the

  duration of the animal's lifetime. If any particular item for his diet is required, please inform me and I will do what is necessary to ensure a steady supply. With all assurance and respect for your excellent care of him, occasionally I would like to visit and ascertain the bear's condition myself. . .

  Lily smiled thoughtfully, recalling the scene a few days ago when they had gone to Raiford Park to send Pokey to his new

  home. Henry had sat in front of the cage in the garden all morning, looking as dejected as the servants were relieved.

  "Must we give him away?" Henry had asked when Lily came out to join him. "Pokey's no trouble at all—"

  "He'll be so much happier at his new home," Lily replied. "No more chains. Lord Kingsley described the pen they've constructed for him, cool and shady, with a little stream running through it."

  "I guess he'll like that better than a cage," Henry conceded, rubbing and scratching the bear's head. Sighing peacefully, Pokey closed his eyes.

  Suddenly they were interrupted by Alex's quiet voice. "Henry. Get away from that cage—slowly. And if I catch you with

  him again, I'll thrash you until your experiences at Westneld are a pleasant memory by comparison."

  Henry stifled a grin and obeyed at once. Lily also repressed the urge to smile. As far as she could tell, Henry had been

  threatened with dire beatings for years, and so far his older brother hadn't once laid a finger on him.

  "He's not dangerous at all," Henry mumbled. "He's a nice bear, Alex."

  "That 'nice bear' could take your arm off with one snap of his jaws."

  "He's tame and too old to be a threat."

  "He's an animal," Alex
replied flatly. "One that's been subject to mistreatment from humans. And it doesn't matter that he's old.

  As you'll eventually learn, boy, age does little to soften anyone's temperament. Think of your Aunt Mildred, for example."

  "But Lily pets the bear," Henry protested. "I saw her do it this morning."

  "Turncoat," Lily muttered, giving him a damning glare. "I'll remember this, Henry!" She faced Alex with apologetic smile, but it was too late.

  "You've been petting that damn animal?" he asked, advancing on her. "After I made it clear that you were not to go near him?"

  Pokey lifted his head with a grumbling whine as he watched them.

  "But Alex," she said contritely, "I was feeling sorry for him."

  "In a minute you're going to be feeling sorrier for yourself."

  Lily grinned into his stern face and made a sudden dodge to the left. Catching her easily, he swung her in the air, and she

  shrieked with laughter. Alex lowered her to the ground, clasping her snugly against his body. His gray eyes flickered with amusement as he stared at his rebellious wife. "I'll teach you what it means to disobey me," he growled, and kissed her in

  front of Henry.

  Remembering it now, Lily finally understood the feeling that had rushed over her that day, the feeling that had taken root with startling insistence and permanence since the first moment she had met him. "God help me," she whispered. "I do love you,

  Alex Raiford."

  * * *

  Lily dressed with care for the ball they were attending that night, a celebration of Lady Lyon's sixty-fifth birthday. There

  would be six hundred guests, many of them coming from their summer estates in the country for the occasion. Knowing that speculative gazes might turn her way, Lily decided to wear a new gown from Monique's, modest but delicately beautiful. The garment, with all its intricate stitchery, had taken days of ceaseless labor by two of Monique's talented assistants. It was made

  a filmy material of the palest pink, thickly embroidered with gold. The layered skirts of the gown, cut long enough to form a

  slight train, seemed to float behind her as she walked.

  Alex waited for her in the library, leaning over the papers on his desk. His golden head lifted as she entered the room. Lily

  smiled at the expression on his face, and turned to show him the rest of her ensemble. Golden pins adorned with diamond

  clusters were fastened in her hair, glinting among the dark curls. On her feet were small, flat gold slippers with ribbons that

  tied around the ankles. Alex couldn't resist reaching out and brushing his hands over her slender body. She was exquisite

  and perfect, as if she were made of porcelain.

  Lily came close and leaned against him temptingly. "Will I do?" she murmured.

  "You'll do," he said gruffly, and planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. Any more than that would unravel his self-control.

  The ball, held at the Lyons' London home, was even more elaborate than Lily had anticipated. Built on medieval foundations and enlarged over several centuries, the cavernous home was filled with light and fresh flowers and expensive decorations of crystal, silk, and gold. A large orchestra sent rich melodies outward from the ballroom. The moment they arrived, Lady Lyon took Lily under her wing. Lily was introduced to great numbers of people—cabinet ministers, opera singers, ambassadors and their

  wives, and distinguished members of the peerage. She despaired of ever remembering more than a handful of names.

  Smiling and chatting, Lily sipped from a glass of punch and watched as Alex was dragged away by Ross and a number of men. They were demanding that he arbitrate some wager. "Men," Lily remarked dryly to Lady Lyon. "I have no doubt the wager is

  over how quickly a particular raindrop will roll down the window pane, or how many glasses of brandy a certain lord can drink before he topples over!"

  "Yes," Lady Lyon replied, a teasing glint in her eye. "It's astonishing what some people will do for a wager."

  Lily held back a mortified laugh, knowing the elderly woman was referring to the infamous evening at Craven's. "That bet,"

  she said with an unsuccessful attempt at dignity, "was entirely your nephew's suggestion, ma'am. I hope I may live long

  enough to put the entire episode behind me."

  "When you're my age, you'll tell your grandchildren all about that episode, in order to shock them," Lady Lyon predicted.

  "And they'll admire you for your lurid past. Time has given me great understanding of the old saying 'If youth knew, if old

  age but could.' "

  "Grandchildren . . ." Lily mused, her voice soft with sudden melancholy.

  "There's still plenty of time for that," the elderly woman assured her, misunderstanding the reason behind her sadness.

  "Years, in fact. I was thirty-five when I bore Ross, forty at the birth of the last, my Victoria. You still have a great deal

  of fertile ground, child. I suspect Alexander will sow it very ably."

  "Aunt Mildred," Lily exclaimed with a quick laugh, "you're shocking me!"

  Just then a servant approached Lily discreetly. "Milady, I beg pardon, but there is a gentleman in the entrance hall without identification. He claims to be here at your request. Perhaps you would deign to come and testify as to his credentials?"

  "I invited no . . ." Lily began in surprise, but her mouth snapped shut as an ugly suspicion entered her mind. "No," she

  whispered, causing the servant to regard her with confusion.

  "Milady, shall we compel him to leave?"

  "No," Lily gulped, and manufactured a fake smile, conscious of Lady Lyon's sharp gaze fastened on her. "I believe I'll go and investigate this little mystery." She stared directly at the elderly woman and forced herself to shrug blithely. "Curiosity has

  always been my downfall."

  ''Killed the cat," Lady Lyon replied, looking at her speculatively.

  Lily followed the servant through the handsome house to the entrance hall with its ceiling of intricate plasterwork and painted rondels. A flow of guests came in the front door, each one individually greeted by the Lyons' efficient staff. Amidst the incoming crowd, a still, dark figure was clearly distinguishable. Lily stopped abruptly, staring at him with horror. He smiled at her and

  made a shallow, mocking bow, accompanied by an elaborate flourish of his dark hand.

  "Can you vouch for this guest?" the servant at her elbow inquired.

  "Yes," Lily said hoarsely. "He's an old acquaintance, a-an Italian nobleman. Count Giuseppe Gavazzi."

  The servant eyed Giuseppe dubiously. Although he was dressed in the manner befitting a nobleman—silk breeches, sumptuously embroidered coat, a starched white cravat—there was something about Giuseppe that betrayed the crudity of his character. Compared to him, Lily thought silently, Derek Craven had the bearing and gentility of a prince.

  Once Giuseppe had mingled freely with the nobility, had unquestionably been one of them. It was obvious from his smug expression that he still considered himself to be. But his charming smile had deteriorated into an oily smirk, and his striking handsomeness had turned hard and common. The black eyes that had once been so soft now contained an offensive rapaciousness. Even dressed in fine clothes, he was as distinct from the other guests as a raven would be in a company of

  swans.

  "Very well." the servant murmured, and left her quietly.

  Lily stood still at the side of the hall as Giuseppe sauntered toward her. He smiled and gestured to himself proudly.

  "It remind you of the days in Italy, no?"

  "How could you?" she whispered, her voice shaking. "Get away from here."

  "But 'ere is where I belong, caro. I come to take my place now. I 'ave a money, blue blood, every-t'ing to belong. Like when

  I meet you first in Florence." His black eyes narrowed insolently. "You make me very sad, bella, not to tell me you 'ave marry Lord Raiford. We 'ave many t'in
gs to talk about."

  "Not here," she said through her teeth. "Not now."

  "You take me in there," he insisted coolly, gesturing to the ballroom. "You introduce me, you become my, ah . . ." He paused

  and searched for the word.

  "Sponsor?" she asked disbelievingly. "My God." She put her hand over her mouth, struggling to maintain her composure,

  aware that people were glancing at them curiously. "Where is my daughter, you insane bastard?" she whispered.

  He shook his head tauntingly. "There are many t'ings you do for me now, Lily. After, I bring you Nicoletta."

  She choked back a frustrated, hysterical laugh. "You've said that for twenty-four months." She couldn't stop her voice from

  rising. "I've had enough, enough—"

  He hissed at her to be quiet and touched her arm, making her aware that someone was approaching them.

  "This is Lord Raiford?" he asked her, noting the man's golden hair.

  Lily glanced over her shoulder and felt her stomach throb sickly. It was Ross, his handsome face alert with curiosity.

  "No, his cousin." She turned to face Ross, masking her torment with a bland social smile, but not quickly enough.