your own sake as well as hers." Her hatred of him was thick in her throat, nearly choking her, but she managed to keep it from showing. Seeing the interest in his eyes, she continued quietly. "We could agree on an amount that would satisfy your needs.
The three of us would be better off—you, me, and most importantly our daughter. Please, Giuseppe." The word was bitter on
her tongue, but she repeated it softly. "Please."
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 everyt'ing you do, caro. 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' 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 piu 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.
The bear rested his great head on his paws. His brows quirked at her, giving him a mournful, questioning expression. "'E won't
hurt you," the boy said defensively, reaching in and rubbing the creature's head. "E's a good old fellow."
"Old, indeed," Lily said, staring at the bear in fascination. His fur was rough and filthy, liberally strewn with gray. There were several large bald patches on his neck and body, gleams of white-less among the dark fur.
The boy continued to rub the bear's head. "You in touch 'im."
Cautiously Lily reached between the bars, ready to snatch her hand back at any second. The bear breathed placidly, his
eyes half-closed. She gave his broad head a gentle stroke, and regarded the massive creature pityingly. "I've never touched
a bear before," she murmured. "Not a live one."
The boy sniffled beside her. "Not for long, 'e won't be."
"You're from the circus?" Lily asked, reading the side of the wagon.
"Aye. My father is the animal master. Pokey don't remember 'is tricks no more. My father told me to bring 'im 'ere and
sell 'im for ten pounds."
"So they can bait him?" Lily asked, her indignation rising. They would chain him to the floor and let the dogs tear him to
pieces.
"Aye," the boy said miserably. "First they start with rats and badgers, to whip the dogs up. Then it's Pokey's turn."
Lily was outraged. "There'll be no sport in it. He's too damned old to defend himself!" She stared at the bear and realized
that the bald patches were shaved spots, indicating the vulner-able areas where the dogs would be drawn to attack and
tear with their teeth. He had been prepared for slaughter.
"I can't go 'ome without ten pounds," the boy sobbed. "My father would beat me."
Lily looked away from his miserable face. There was nothing she could do, except hope the dogs would make short work
of the bear, so th
at his suffering wouldn't last long. "What a night," she muttered. The world was filled with brutality. It was useless to try and fight against it. The sight of the defeated, helpless animal filled her with bitterness. "I'm sorry," she said in
a low voice, and turned back to her horse. There was nothing she could do.
" 'Ere's the gundiguts now," the boy muttered.
Lily stared over her horse's back at a huge, slovenly man approaching them. He had the neck of a bull and arms the size of tree trunks. His face was covered with black bristle and his thick lips opened to reveal broken teeth clamped on a cigar. "Where are ye, little rumper?" he demanded in a booming voice. His eyes slitted in curiosity as he saw the fine Arabian horse. "What's this?" He strode around the animal, staring at Lily. His gaze took in her elegant cloak, the soft folds of her yellow skirts, the lustrous sable curls that fell over her forehead. "What a fine bit o' fluff," he said, setting his lips. "Are ye a giver, milady?"
Lily gave a crude reply that made him laugh uproariously. His gaze alighted on the boy. "Brung the meat, did ye? Give us a
look." The sight of the docile bear huddled inside the wagon caused his thick lip to curl disdainfully. "Big lump o' dog paste . . . looks like he's already been through a baiting! And yer father asks a tenner for this?"
The boy's face quivered with repressed emotion. "Yes, sir."
Lily could tolerate no more of the man's bullying. There was enough cruelty and needless suffering in the world. She'd be
damned if she'd let him torture a tired old bear. "I'll pay ten pounds for him. It's obvious the poor animal wouldn't be of use
to you, Mr. Gundiguts." With a businesslike expression that matched her crisp tone, she fashed discreetly in her bodice for
a small money pouch.
" 'Is name is Rooters," the boy said beneath his breath. "Nevil Rooters."
Lily winced, realizing that gundiguts was a gutter-cant insult.
The man's sneering laugh cut through the sound of the roaring crowd inside the makeshift arena. "We got more than two hundred men in there," he said, "and they's already paid for the sight o' blood. Keep yer mumper's brass, milady. I'm taking the bear."
Lily glanced quickly around the area. Her gaze lingered briefly on a length of heavy chain piled on top of some stacked crates.
"If you say so," she murmured, and let the money pouch slip through her fingers. It fell to the ground with a rich-sounding dink. "Oh, dear, my gold and jewelry!" she exclaimed.
Rooters stared at the pouch with patent greed. "Gold, is it?" He licked his lips and bent low to the ground, reaching a meaty
hand toward the pouch.
There was the brief clatter of metal and the muffled jangle of a heavy blow. Rooters gasped and dropped neatly to the dirt,
his mammoth form unmoving. Lily dropped the massive chain and dusted her hands together with satisfaction. The boy's jaw dropped as he regarded her in amazement. Swiftly Lily scooped up the pouch and gave it to him. "Take that home to your
father. It will more than compensate him for the horse and wagon."
"But what about Pokey—"
"I'll take care of him," she promised. "He won't be mistreated."
The boy's eyes glittered, and he gave her a wobbling smile. Daringly he reached out and touched a fold of her fine woolen
cloak. "Thank you. Thank you.'' He scampered away into the darkness. Lily watched him go, then hastened to tie her
Arabian to the back of the bear wagon. Aware of the activity outside the iron bars, the bear mustered a half roar sending
the horse into nervous fidgets. "Quiet, Pokey," Lily muttered. "Don't ruin your own rescue." Gingerly she climbed into the wooden seat of the rickety vehicle and reached for the reins.
She started as she felt something close around her ankle. Looking down, she saw Rooters's enraged, bristled face. Clasping
her leg in his meaty hands, he dragged her bodily from the wagon. She fell on the hard ground with a shocked cry, her rump smarting from the impact.
"Steal my bear, will ye?" He stood over her, his face crimson with rage, flecks of spittle falling from his mouth. "Come here
from yer high-kick mansion, riding on your fine horse, looking for trouble . . . Aye, you'll get it, milady!" Dropping over her, he began to paw roughly at her bodice and pull at her skirts.
Lily screamed and tried to wriggle free of him, but he had pinned her down with his bulky weight, crushing the breath from her. She felt her ribs compress from the pressure of his body, and she thought they might break. A curious ringing began in her ears. "No," she wheezed, struggling to breathe.
"Fancy thieving West End bitch," he said viciously. "Ye gave me a frigging hard knock on my head!"
A new, eerily calm voice interrupted the scene. "A bad habit of hers. I'm trying to break her of it."
"Who's this—her pimp?" Rooters stared at the newcomer threateningly. "Ye'll have her when I'm done with her."
Lily turned her head. With disbelief she saw the blurred shape of her husband. But it couldn't be. It was an illusion.
"Alex," she whimpered. She heard his low, deadly voice through the dull roaring in her ears.
"Get the hell off my wife."
Chapter 11
Rooters stared at Alex as if trying to assess how much of a threat he presented. The bear moved restlessly inside his cage
with grumbling whines, stirred by the palpable fury in the air. But the animal's disquieting noise was nothing compared to the odd, frightening snarl that came from her husband as he lunged at the man on top of her. Suddenly the punishing weight was gone, and Lily gasped in relief. Pulling in lungfuls of air, she clasped her hand to her sore ribs. She tried to comprehend what was happening.
The two men grappled and fought a few yards away, moving so quickly that all Lily could detect of Alex was the flash of
blond hair. With murderous grunts, he smashed his fists into Rooters's face and sank his hngers into the bull-like neck, closing off his windpipe. Rooters's jowls puffed with scarlet rage. He reached up to grab Alex's collar and kicked up with his legs, flipping Alex over his head. At the sound of her husband hitting the ground with a heavy thud, Lily shrieked and tried to scramble over to him. He was up before she could reach him. Ducking underneath a swinging fist, Alex seized Rooters and threw him against the stack of crates. The wood cracked and splintered beneath him.
Lily's mouth fell open. Her eyes were dark and round as she watched Alex. "My God," she breathed. She hardly recognized
him. She would have expected a little civilized boxing, some articulate insults, the brandishing of a pistol. Instead he had turned
into a bloodthirsty stranger, intent on tearing his opponent apart with his bare fists. She had never dreamed he was capable of
such violence.
Staggering to his feet, Rooters lunged at Alex again, who sidestepped, twisted, and buried his fist beneath the man's ribs. He finished him off with a solid blow to the back. Rooters collapsed to the ground with a bellow of pain. He spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, tried to rise again, and crumpled with a moan of surrender. Slowly Alex unclenched his fists. He turned his head
and looked at Lily.
She fell back a step, half-frightened by the savage gleam in his eyes. Then the harsh lines of his face seemed to soften, and
she ran to him without thinking. She flung her arms around his neck, trembling and laughing wildly. "Alex, Alex—"
He folded her in his arms and tried to soothe her. "Take a deep breath. Another."
"You came just in time," she gasped.
"I told you I'd take care of you," he muttered. "No matter how difficult you make it." Pressing her close against his large,
sheltering body, he murmured against her hair, alternating between curses and endearments. His hand pushed beneath the muddied cloak to the tense line of her back, and he kneaded her rigid spine. Lily was more overwrought than he had ever
seen her. More wild laughter
bubbled up from inside her.
"Easy." he said, afraid she would fly apart in his arms. "Easy."
"How did you know? How did you find me?"
"Lady Lyon wasn't at home. I went to Craven's and discovered that although the carriage and driver were still there, you
were gone. Worthy admitted that you had left unaccompanied for Covent Garden." He nodded to the open end of the alley,
where the driver, Greaves, waited with a pair of horses. "Greaves and I have been combing the streets to find you." He
eased her head back, his gray eyes penetrating as they stared into hers. "You broke your promise to me, Lily."
"I didn't. I took outriders a-and a groom to Craven's. That was all you asked of me."
"We're not going to play at semantics," he said grimly. "You know what I meant."
"But Alex-"
"Hush." Alex stared over her head at a pair of burly men who had just come from the arena. They glanced from him to
Rooters's unmoving form on the ground.
"What the bloomin 'ell . . ." one of them exclaimed, while the other scratched his head in be-fuddlement. "Get the bear—the dogs're near done with the badger."
Then came you, by lisa kleypas.txt Page 29