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 Mildr
ed,” 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’ings 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.
“Lady Raiford,” Ross said, looking from her to Giuseppe. “My mother sent me to inquire about your mysterious guest.”
“A friend of mine from Italy,” Lily replied easily, though inwardly she was humiliated at having to introduce him. “Lord Lyon,
may I present Count Giuseppe Gavazzi, a recent arrival in London.”
“How fortunate for us,” Ross said with such overdone blandness that it was an insult.
Giuseppe preened and smiled. “It is my ‘ope we will both profit from our acquaintance, Lord Lyon.”
“Indeed,” Ross replied in a regal manner reminiscent of his mother. He turned to Lily and asked politely, “Are you enjoying yourself, Lady Raiford?”
“Immensely.”
He regarded her with a thin smile. “Have you ever considered a career on the stage, Lady Raiford? I believe you may have missed your calling.” Without waiting for a reply, he strolled away in no apparent hurry.
Lily swore under her breath. “He’s going to my husband. Leave, Giuseppe, and put an end to this farce! Those seedy rags
won’t fool anyone into thinking you’re an aristocrat.”
That infuriated him—she could see the malevolence flaring in his ebony eyes. “I t’ink I stay, caro.”
Lily heard her name being called in greeting as more guests arrived. She threw them a smile and a little wave, and spoke quietly
to Giuseppe. “There must be a private room nearby. We’ll go somewhere and talk. Come quickly, before my husband finds us.”
*
Idly rolling a snifter of brandy in his hands, Ross stood by Alex, who had gathered with the other men in the gentlemen’s room. They were all engrossed in arranging objects on a table to illustrate points as they disputed military tactics. “If the regiments positioned themselves here …” one of them was saying, sliding a snuffbox, a pair of spectacles, and a small figurine to the
corner of the table.
Alex grinned and clamped the end of a cigar with his teeth as he interrupted. “No, it’s easier if they split and move here …
and here …” He positioned the snuffbox and figurine so that they trapped the enemy, represented by a small painted vase.
“There. Now the vase doesn’t stand a chance in hell.”
Someone else spoke up. “But you’ve forgotten the scissors and the lampshade. They’re in a prime position to charge from
behind.”
“No, no,” Alex began, but Ross interrupted, pulling him away from the table.
“You have an interesting strategy,” Ross said dryly, while the others continued the battle. “But there is a flaw, cousin. You
should always leave a path for retreat.”
Alex glanced back at the table assessingly. “You think I should have left the snuffbox where it was?”
“I’m not talking about the deuced snuffbox, cousin, or any sham battle.” Ross lowered his voice several notches. “I’m referring
to your clever little wife.”
Alex’s face changed, his gray eyes freezing. He removed the cigar from his mouth and heedlessly stubbed it out on a silver tray nearby. “Go on,” he invited gently. “And choose your words with care, Ross.”
“I told you Lawless Lily isn’t the kind of woman a man keeps forever. It was a mistake to marry her, Alex. She’ll make a fool
of you. She’s making a fool of you at this very moment.”
Alex regarded him with cold fury. He was going to beat Ross to a pulp for speaking of Lily so cuttingly, but first he had to find
out what was going on. She might be in some kind of trouble. “Where is she?”
“Hard to tell,” Ross said with a slight shrug. “Just about now I would imagine she’s
found a private corner, to share a passionate embrace with an Italian good-for-naught masquerading as a count. Gavazzi was the name, I believe. Sound familiar to you?
I didn’t think so.” Ross’s confidence was shaken as Alex gave him a look so darkly promising that it could have come from the devil himself. Then Alex left with silent swiftness. Ross leaned back against the wall indolently and crossed his legs, assured
once more that whatever he wanted in life would be his—as long as he had the patience to wait. “As I predicted,” he murmured pragmatically, “I’ll be the next to have her.”
“You’ll never put an end to this, will you?” Lily railed in the privacy of a small upstairs parlor. “It will go on forever. I’ll never
have her back!”
Giuseppe crooned softly, trying to pacify her.
”No, no, bellissima. It is over soon, very soon. I bring you Nicoletta. But first, you make me welcome to these peoples. You
make me friends ‘ere. This, this is what I work for all these years, to get the money for making me an important man in London.”
“I see,” Lily said dazedly. “You weren’t good enough for Italian society—Good God, you’re a wanted criminal there—and so
now you want a place here?” She stared at him in furious disgust. “I know how your mind works. You assume that you’ll be
able to marry some wealthy widow or some foolish young heiress and play lord of the manor for the rest of your life. Is that
your plan? You want me to become your sponsor and gain you entree? And you think these people will accept you on my recommendation?” She exploded with a bitter, mocking laugh, and then fought to control herself. “My God, Giuseppe, I’m
barely respectable. I don’t have a thimbleful of influence!”
“You are the countess of Wolverton,” he said in a hard voice.
“It’s only out of respect for my husband that these people tolerate my presence!”
“I tell you what I want,” he said inflexibly. “Now you do it for me. Then I give you Nicoletta.”
Lily shook her head wildly. “Giuseppe, this is ridiculous,” she burst out desperately. “Please, just give me my daughter. Even
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