A Season of Ruin

by Anna Bradley

  Finally Lily stirred. “Well.” She looked at him and tried to smile. “At least there’s no reason to worry about Mrs. Tittleton anymore.”

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. Mrs. Tittleton could print a full retraction, but if Lady Chase cut Lily and her sisters, it would end any chance they had of being accepted by the ton. If one could judge by Lady Chase’s reaction when she saw Lily, it seemed more a question of when she’d cut them, than if.

  Robyn took a long swallow of his bandy. “Have you ever met her? Lady Chase, I mean?”

  “No. My mother wrote to her for several years after she and my father married, but Lady Chase never answered any of her letters. We didn’t talk about her much when we were growing up. I’ve never even seen her before tonight, but I knew right away who she was.”

  No doubt. Millicent Somerset must have inherited her looks from her mother.

  “It might not be as bad as you imagine,” he said. “She may cut you, but the Sutherlands will back you. It’s not over yet.”

  Lily pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “It is for me. Perhaps it’s just as well. I’m not destined for London society, it seems.”

  Robyn’s fingers tightened on his glass. He couldn’t deny she’d had a rough go of it, or that he was the cause of most of her problems. Blast it, how had it gotten to this point? He’d begun innocently enough, his only thought to tease her a little, perhaps have a little amusement—

  You’ll find something else to amuse you, and where will that leave me?

  He thought of the look on Lily’s face as she’d turned and fled tonight. Somewhere along the way, it had ceased to be amusing.

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to let Lady Chase frighten you off.”

  “I don’t see what choice I have. She can’t be dismissed as easily as Mrs. Tittleton. She’s a wealthy, influential countess, and the only family we have. If our own grandmother cuts us, and she will, the ton will take note of it and follow her lead.”

  Just when he’d decided she did have spirit, after all . . . “I never took you for such a coward, Lily.”

  He sat and waited for her to argue with him, to tell him she was no coward, but she said nothing. She kept her eyes on her glass, turning it around and around between her palms. “You don’t understand,” she whispered at last. “I can’t get into a battle with Lady Chase.”

  She’d just give up, then? Robyn drained his glass in one angry swallow. He reached forward, snatched her glass from her, and dropped it on the table. The brandy sloshed over the side and splashed his hand. “Why the devil not? Because it wouldn’t be polite? Because it’s not proper to row with one’s grandmother?”

  She shook her head. “Not because of that, but because . . . because—didn’t you see her, Robyn? Did you see her face? Her eyes?”

  “I saw her. What of it? You’re making excuses.”

  She lifted her hands to hide her face and Robyn saw they were shaking again.

  What in God’s name was wrong?

  “Jesus. What is it? Did she say something to you?”

  When she didn’t answer, he slid across the sofa, took hold of her wrists, and pulled her hands away so he could see her face. He sucked in a breath at the despair he saw there. She’d had that same look when she’d fled past him tonight—a look he’d hoped never to see again.

  He dropped her wrists and cradled her face in his hands. “Tell me.”

  Lily took a deep, shuddering breath. “She looks so much like my mother. Oh, she’s much older, and I know it sounds foolish, but when I saw her I thought, just for one brief second, I hoped . . . I haven’t seen my mother in so very long, and her eyes are the same . . .”

  Her voice trailed off then, but Robyn heard what she couldn’t say.

  To see her grandmother standing there, as if she’d been conjured out of thin air . . . it must have been a terrible shock for her, and even Robyn had noticed the resemblance between Lady Chase and Lily, who was said to be the image of Millicent Somerset.

  For the briefest moment, when she’d seen Lady Chase, Lily had hoped for the impossible. She’d hoped she was looking at her mother.

  He stared into Lily’s anguished face and something shifted painfully in his chest. He knew she’d lost both her parents in a carriage accident, had known it as long as he’d known her, but he’d never understood the depth of that loss until he saw it written on her face tonight.

  Now that Lily had got those first words out, the rest poured from her as though a dam had given way. “Don’t you see? My mother wouldn’t want me to . . . hurt Lady Chase. For all my grandmother’s faults, my mother loved her still. She deeply regretted the estrangement between them. Lady Chase might despise me and my sisters, but I can’t despise her in return. I can’t hurt her. She may be a miserable old lady, but she’s all I have left of my mother, and—”

  “Hush, Lily. It’s all right. I understand.”

  But he didn’t. How could he? He loved his family, of course, but selfish as he was, he never put their desires before his own. He never put anyone’s desires before his own.

  Oh, perhaps he had as a child, but that had been a long time ago. He hadn’t the first notion how it felt to sacrifice anything for the people he loved anymore, much less to care for the feelings of someone he didn’t even know.

  But Lily did. Lady Chase would wrong her, would publicly repudiate her family, and yet still Lily wished to spare her grandmother pain.

  Lily—he’d always thought her beautiful, and since their kiss in Lord Barrow’s study he’d wanted her desperately, but even his desire for her was selfish. He wanted her for the same reason he wanted any beautiful thing. For his own amusement, his own gratification.

  He closed his eyes to shut out the sight of Lily’s face, still cradled in his hands, but he saw her, behind his eyelids, not as she was now, but as she might have been at age five, a small blond-haired child, lost in a puzzle maze.

  He didn’t want to see inside Lily’s heart; he didn’t want to see all she hid behind her tight lips and rigid propriety. He didn’t want to know that her beauty was the least remarkable thing about her. He wished he hadn’t seen any of it even now, even as her face still rested in his hands.

  He felt a drop of wetness touch his thumb and opened his eyes to see tears caught in her lashes. Pain, hot and sharp as a blade, slashed through him. “Don’t cry, love. Don’t . . .”

  He brushed his thumbs under her eyes to catch her tears, and then, somehow, his mouth was there. Her tears wet his lips, warm salt on his tongue. He pressed his lips to her eyelids, one at a time, and felt them flutter closed under his mouth.

  Her lips were a breath away from his. Just a few harmless kisses . . . nothing more.

  But even as the words echoed through him, he knew they were a lie. There was no such thing as harmless anymore, and there was no such thing as simple, either. Not when it came to Lily.

  She gazed at him with soft blue eyes for a moment. Her silk skirts rustled faintly as she slid toward him across the leather sofa, closing the distance between them.

  If she touched him now . . . “Don’t.”

  Her gown brushed against his legs. Robyn closed his eyes and dredged up every drop of his control. “You’re upset, Lily. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  Her hands settled on his chest. One fist closed around a fold of his waistcoat.

  He looked down at her parted lips and a strangled sound tore from his throat, either a groan or a sigh. He caught her around her waist, his fingers slippery against the bronze silk, and urged her forward until her hips were cradled between his thighs.

  He touched her then, with one long finger, just the lightest caress against her bottom lip.

  So gentle, the press of his thumb against her lip, just the slightest pressure, just enough to open her mouth the merest fraction. He stared at he
r, his hand cradling her chin, and eased his thumb down until it slipped inside her mouth to touch the wet warmth there.

  A tremor shook him. “God, Lily.”

  Long waves of her hair had come loose during her flight, and he brushed them aside so he could press his lips to her ear. “Put your arms around me,” he demanded in a whisper.

  She slid her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck, and his body shook with the urge to roll her beneath him.

  “Yes,” he murmured. “Just like that. Now kiss me.”

  She hesitated for what felt like an eternity. He held his breath and waited for her to choose, every cell in his body aching for her kiss.

  That first brush of her closed lips against his, so light, like the initial strokes of a brush upon a blank canvas. He remained motionless and let her learn the shape of his mouth with her lips and tongue, her shy kiss the sweetest torture he’d ever known.

  He held back until he could stand it no more, then his lips opened and his tongue darted out to taste the bow of her upper lip.

  She froze for a moment, then melted into his chest. “Robyn,” she murmured. “Please . . .”

  With that breathless plea, his control snapped. He took her mouth hard, crushing her lips beneath his until she opened them. He thrust inside on the first stroke, tasting her deeply, desperate to feel the heat of her tongue against his. “Kiss me back.”

  She did, her tongue hesitant at first, then bolder, a hot stroke inside his mouth.

  “Oh.”

  Her soft, wondering sigh undid him.

  Time slid sideways and spun away as his lips explored hers. The kiss lasted only seconds; or was it hours? Long enough for her mouth to open eagerly under his.

  He had to stop.

  Even as the warning echoed in his head, he pressed his fingers into the arch of her back.

  Not yet. Not yet.

  He was fully, achingly aroused for her, and some feral, wild part of him wanted her to feel it. He wanted her to know.

  He held her against him, groaning aloud at the feel of her warm body between his thighs, her soft belly cradling his hard cock. “This is what you do to me, Lily.”

  He half hoped she’d be shocked, that she’d slap him or at least scramble away from him and take the decision out of his hands. Instead she gasped and arched her body into his.

  You can never have her.

  He knew it, but she lay against him, trembling and eager, and he couldn’t make himself stop.

  Warm silk slid under his palms as he traced his hands up her back and cupped her face to still her and take her lips again, slowly this time. He tasted her bottom lip, tested the softness there, and tugged it gently between his own to suck on it.

  Yes.

  He let his hand skim down the front of her neck and his lips followed, lingering at the soft skin just under her chin before he moved to her neck. She shivered as his tongue traced that long line, and he shifted lower so he could press his lips to the place where her pulse beat against her throat.

  “Robyn . . .”

  Desire rushed through him at the sound of his name, so breathless on her lips. She wanted him. He could hear her desire in her short, panting breaths, but he heard uncertainty there, too.

  “Shhh, love,” he whispered against her throat. “Just let me . . .”

  He hooked his fingers under her flimsy lace sleeves and slid them down just a little—enough to reveal the tops of her breasts only. His pulse leapt at the sight of her skin, so smooth and white and bared for him. Only him, for he knew no other man had ever seen her like this.

  “Lily,” he breathed. “You’re so beautiful, love.”

  He spread his hands across her back and lifted her to him, nuzzling the soft, soft skin of her neck before he dragged his open mouth across her breasts, nipping at the lovely swells that rose from the bodice of her gown.

  She gave a breathless whimper and clutched at his hair to hold him against her.

  Oh, dear God—her scent was strongest here, between her breasts, over her heart. His tongue darted out to taste her there, but he knew—he knew, even before her skin met his mouth, what she’d taste like.

  It maddened him, that scent of sweet green grass and sun; that taste of wild strawberries.

  Pure, distilled innocence.

  It would be so easy to snatch that innocence for himself. He never denied himself whatever, or whoever, he wanted.

  But not this time. Not tonight.

  He allowed his mouth to linger against her skin for a heartbeat before he set her away and retreated to the other side of the sofa. He sat, unmoving, his head tipped back, his breaths quick, harsh. “I think I’ve gone mad.”

  Lily put a hand to her lips, dazed. “Robyn? What—”

  “Go to bed,” he said hoarsely.

  She didn’t move.

  He looked at her, hoping the shadows in the room hid his eyes. “This isn’t the time or place, and you don’t really want this.”

  The time and place for this didn’t exist. Not for him and Lily. He’d disappoint her, just as he did his mother, and Alec and his sisters. Just as he’d disappointed his father. He wouldn’t set out to do it, but it would happen nonetheless, and she deserved better than that. Better than him.

  Her voice brushed against him, so soft. “I don’t think you know what I want.”

  Robyn closed his eyes.

  Wasn’t it better to get it over with now? Before he really cocked it up?

  He couldn’t look at her when he said it. “Very well, then. I don’t want this.”

  He didn’t open his eyes. For a moment there was no sound, then he heard a soft rustle of skirts as Lily rose from the sofa, and felt the edge of the blanket fall over his leg as she let it drop.

  His eyes were still closed when the door shut quietly behind her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I’ve got it.” Eleanor entered the drawing room waving a scandal sheet over her head.

  Charlotte looked up from her embroidery with a frown. “Well, that was quick. What, did one of the ton leave it on our doorstep? It’s one way to make sure we see it.”

  “No.” Ellie hesitated. “Actually, I had it from Robyn.”

  Charlotte dropped her embroidery into her lap. “Robyn! How strange. I wouldn’t have imagined him even awake at this hour, much less in possession of Mrs. Tittleton’s latest slander.”

  Eleanor took her seat. “Awake? It’s nearly one o’clock, Charlotte. Still, his behavior was rather odd. Did you go straight to bed when you arrived home last night, Lily?”

  Lily had sunk low in her seat the second Robyn’s name was mentioned, but at this, her head snapped up.

  Bed? How would she know anything about Robyn’s bed? What in the world could Ellie mean by such a question—

  “Ouch!” She looked down to see a drop of blood on the tip of her finger where she’d driven her needle into the pad of flesh there. The blood welled, then dripped onto the white ground of her needlework.

  Splendid. Blue violets in a straw basket on a bloody white background. If it was the only blood she shed today, she’d count herself lucky.

  Ellie looked at her expectantly.

  Lily’s face grew warm. “I did lie down almost immediately upon my return home, yes.” There. That would do. It wasn’t a lie, after all. There was no need to mention she’d lain down on top of Robyn.

  No need to mention it or even to think about it, and certainly no need to spend all day dwelling on each and every moment of it to the exclusion of every other thought in her head. It had amounted to nothing. Less than nothing.

  “What’s the matter with Robyn, then?” Lady Catherine set her work aside and chose a biscuit off the tray on the table in front of her. “You said his behavior is odd?”

  Ellie tapped the scandal sheet against her knee.
“Quite odd, yes. He’s in a foul mood, for one thing. Rather bearish. He even looks bearish. A fright, really.”

  Charlotte snorted. “So far I haven’t heard anything out of the ordinary.”

  “He says he fell asleep in Alec’s study. Indeed, he told me he spent the night there.”

  Both Lady Catherine and Charlotte exclaimed at this.

  “Now, that is odd,” Charlotte said. “He has an aversion to studies and places of work of any kind. I’ve never known him to go anywhere near one if he could avoid it.”

  Lily kept her eyes on her embroidery and did her best to look uninterested in the discussion, but her brain began to churn. Robyn had been very much awake when she’d left the study. Had he fallen off to sleep after she left, like an innocent babe in arms?

  She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised to find their encounter had meant so little to him. Very likely he’d drifted off into a blissful sleep the moment she left the room, while she’d thrashed in her sheets and pummeled her pillow until dawn lit the sky outside her bedchamber window. She’d fallen into a fitful sleep at last, but even then she’d dreamed of him, his tongue tasting her lips, his hands on her back, pressing her against him—

  Yet Robyn had similar encounters nearly every night, didn’t he, and with a wide selection of eager partners. Lady Downes, for example, or any barmaid with a bare leg. Why should she be any different?

  Yet she was different, wasn’t she? Lily doubted he’d ever sent any of those other ladies away without . . . well, without. How he must have laughed at her awkward kisses and clumsy caresses as soon as the door closed behind her last night.

  “Even odder,” Ellie continued, “he’s still dressed in his evening clothes, but I know he’s been up for hours, for he told me he rose early to search out the scandal sheet.”

  “What’s he been doing all morning, then?” Charlotte asked.

  “Sitting in Alec’s study.” Ellie glanced at Lily, a strange look on her face. “I know he escorted you home last night, Lily. I hope you two didn’t quarrel. Was he still downstairs when you retired?”