A Season of Ruin

by Anna Bradley

Oh, why had she said it? Shame and an odd sort of misery lodged in her chest like a shard of glass. She seemed to forever be saying words she never intended to say when she was with Robyn.

  “What in the world do you have against Lord Atherton?” she rushed on, trying to distract them both from her hurtful words. “My goodness, do you even know the man?”

  “Do you?”

  Lily let her head tip back against the door. “Of course I know him.”

  He looked at her with skeptical dark eyes. “There’s something . . . not right about him, Lily. There’s something cold there.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Lily replied, but his words made her uneasy.

  She didn’t know Lord Atherton well, it was true, but surely that didn’t matter? She knew him as well as any young lady knows her prospective husband. Once she married him, she’d learn the feel of his hair and the beat of his heart and the press of his lips.

  She shut her eyes, but she couldn’t hide from the thought that burrowed into her brain and echoed inside her skull, awful in its raw truth.

  She didn’t want to know Lord Atherton the way she knew Robyn.

  What would it be like never to again feel the soft, curling hair at the back of Robyn’s neck, or his strong heartbeat against her cheek and the delicious pressure of his lips on hers? Never to feel that joyous exhilaration she’d felt when she’d danced with him at Almack’s, as though her feet didn’t touch the floor while she whirled dizzily in his arms, her belly jumping with an excited pleasure every time he looked at her.

  His hands on her, burning through her silk gown.

  When she danced with Lord Atherton, when he held her in his arms, she felt . . .

  Nothing. Oh, perhaps she’d felt a lukewarm triumph to have secured his notice at last. She was gratified by his polite attentiveness, but with Lord Atherton, she was as she’d always been. Just Lily, the child who got lost in a maze and hid under a bench and sobbed until her father rescued her.

  “Look at me.”

  She raised her eyes to Robyn’s face. His lashes, so long and dark they were almost feminine, and the rough prickles of black hair just visible along his jaw. His mouth, so serious now, but a mouth that could transform as quickly as a heartbeat into that wide, slightly crooked smile that made her knees collapse beneath her like a sandcastle swept away by the tide.

  What a coward she was.

  When Robyn kissed her or touched her, she felt like a doll caught in the palms of his hands, a doll whose limbs he arranged to suit his whim and pleasure. Maybe he did own her body then, as much as any man could ever own a woman. Maybe she did need him.

  But as intent as he was to make her admit it, Robyn had never said a word about her heart.

  Wasn’t it just as well? Surely it was better if she kept her heart in her own possession? Much safer than turning it over to any man. Robyn might be distracted with it for a short time, but he’d abandon it for some other, far more exciting plaything eventually, and then where would she be? Her heart couldn’t withstand another blow like the one it sustained when her parents died, and she didn’t know if she could trust Robyn not to squeeze that tender organ until it stopped beating.

  Perhaps Lord Atherton wasn’t worthy of her. Perhaps she did deserve better, but she wasn’t sure it mattered. If she married Lord Atherton, she’d have a peaceful life, her younger sisters’ futures would be secure, and she didn’t have to risk her heart for any of it.

  She’d never desire Lord Atherton the way she desired Robyn. She’d never love him.

  Wasn’t that the way she wanted it?

  Robyn leaned down to look into her face. “You don’t want him, Lily. I’m not sure you ever did.”

  No, but then that had been the point all along. She hadn’t wanted to admit it at first, but she’d chosen Lord Atherton because she knew she’d never feel any real passion for him, and she’d persisted in her choice even after she realized he believed the gossip about her. Even after he’d shown himself unworthy of her regard.

  She gazed up into Robyn’s face. He’d become so dear to her, it made her chest ache to look at him.

  He’d never said a word about her heart.

  “What do you want of me, Robyn? You don’t want me. Not really. And you never did—not until you believed Lord Atherton might.”

  Robyn stared at her. “You think I don’t want you?”

  “Perhaps you want me in the same way you want Lady Downes, or any nameless barmaid who happens to be sitting on your knee. You don’t want me.”

  His voice, quiet, disbelieving. “You think I don’t want you.”

  No longer a question.

  He slipped his finger under her chin and tilted her face up to his.

  He was going to kiss her. He was going to kiss her, and she was going to let him.

  It was inevitable, his hot mouth descending on hers, as inevitable as the tide drawing the sand in its wake as it receded. A tide of desire, low in her belly, it drew her, pulled her toward him and swept everything before it. She’d waited for this, she realized then; had known she’d be in Robyn’s arms again, even as she’d sat straight-backed and rigid next to the man she planned to marry.

  Robyn wrapped his hands around her waist, and his warm breath bathed her ear. “Go to your bed, Lily, before I take you to mine.”

  His bed. A fierce need pounded through her at the thought of Robyn laying her across his bed, his hands against her thighs, opening her, his body over hers, primed to ease the ache he’d made there, an ache only he could satisfy.

  Perhaps she’d meant to push him away—to run away to her bedchamber like the coward she was, but instead her hands slipped inside his coat to skim over his lean waist and up his back to ease it from his shoulders. The coat dropped to the floor behind him as her fingers closed over the buttons of his waistcoat, pulling clumsily at them.

  Robyn groaned and reached down to clasp her hips and gather her tightly against him. His tongue teased at her lips and she opened them at once, her own tongue coming forward to stroke against his.

  “This is what a kiss should be, Lily,” he whispered as his lips trailed across her jaw. His mouth stopped at her ear, and his teeth closed on her earlobe.

  Lily shivered at the wet drag of his tongue as he moved to kiss her chin, her neck. He nibbled at her collarbone then settled at the sensitive flesh where her neck met her shoulder, left bare by her daring gown.

  Her breath stopped in her lungs at the sensation of his teeth against her, then returned in a gasping sob. It was almost too much, the desire between them. It grew, a canopy of dark leaves over her, then around her, until she feared she’d be lost inside it. “Robyn, I can’t . . .”

  He made a choked noise low in his throat. “It’s all right if you’re afraid, love. I’ll take care of you.”

  He was there, his warm body bracing hers, his knee against the blue silk of her skirts, between her legs.

  “Please . . . yes, that’s it, sweet,” he murmured when he felt her legs open to take his body between them. He pressed closer into her and Lily felt him, hard and insistent against her.

  His mouth closed over hers again, not as rough this time, but coaxing, soft, as he’d kissed her that first time in Lord Barrow’s study—the same kiss she’d found so erotic, she’d been unable to keep her lips closed against his tongue.

  She wasn’t able to deny him now, either. She had no wish to, but opened her mouth eagerly to take his tongue inside, her own tongue stopping long enough to taste his bottom lip, to make him moan before she slipped inside to kiss him for what felt like forever.

  Perhaps it was forever, or perhaps it was only minutes or seconds, but when he raised his mouth at last, she knew she was lost again, the branches thick above her head, each panicked breath more desperate than the last, her footsteps echoing in her ears as she fought to get back to a place she knew
. Oh God, she was afraid . . .

  But again he was there, his hands on her back, stroking her, steady and strong. “You’re safe, Lily. I’ve got you. It’s all right to take what you want.”

  “I—I want to touch you . . . now. Please, Robyn.”

  She began to struggle with his shirt, to rip at it in her haste to get to his skin underneath. It gave at last, baring a patch of his chest to her. She leaned forward to place her lips against the skin there, so smooth but for the dark hairs scattered across the bronzed skin, springy under her tongue.

  “Ah, God, yes.” He threw back his head, his hands going to where hers pulled frantically at the waist of his breeches, tearing the shirt away. He groaned again when her nails raked across his back.

  He dragged down the rough lace of her sleeve and she shivered a little in his arms. Robyn laughed softly, the sound a dark promise. “I’m going to kiss you here.”

  “Oh. Oh, that’s . . .” But the feel of his mouth against her bared shoulder stopped her words.

  “Does that feel good, sweet?” he murmured, his voice low and wicked.

  “Yes. So good.”

  “I need to touch you, Lily—to stroke your breasts. Will you let me, love?”

  His hands moved slowly up her rib cage until his palms cupped her breasts. His thumb inched up to stroke against one nipple. He circled lightly, his eyes never leaving her face, then he began a rhythmic stroking, again and again over the hardened nub.

  His eyes left her face to drop to her breast, and he seemed transfixed by the sight of her nipple peaked against his stroking fingers. “Tell me how it feels.” His eyes dropped half closed as he continued to stroke her. “Don’t be afraid of your own pleasure, Lily.”

  She jerked in his arms with each pass of his thumb across the tip of her breast. “It feels . . . it feels as if you’re touching me everywhere.”

  He slipped her other sleeve down so both her shoulders were bare. “I want to touch you everywhere. Taste you everywhere.”

  Lily felt a rush of cool air across her heated flesh and looked down to find her breasts bare, his hand dark against her white skin, her nipples flushed pink and hard against his fingers, begging for his touch.

  Robyn’s breath left his lungs in a ragged sigh. “So beautiful. I knew you would be. I’m going to put my mouth on you here—it will feel so good, love. Don’t be afraid. Just let me . . .”

  His dark head bowed over her and his mouth closed over the tip of one of her breasts.

  Lily felt her knees buckle under her, saw the latticework of leaves above her head, heard the distant laugh of a child as she ran along the twisting pathways. But it wasn’t her laugh. It couldn’t be, because she was afraid of the maze . . .

  A panicked moan tore from her throat. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what to do.”

  He growled softly, and she felt the vibration of it against her breast. “Oh, love, you don’t have to do a thing. Just let me touch you. Let me give you pleasure.”

  He held her, murmuring to her all the while in that low, hypnotic voice, describing how he would touch her. She tensed for his hands, his mouth, so desperate for him she forgot the towering hedges and the darkness and the terror and knew only Robyn, his voice both soothing and erotic, his body warm against hers.

  Oh, it was so wicked, his hot tongue licking her nipple, rough and soft at once, and so wet against her flesh, his mouth sucking at her while his thumb continued to circle her other nipple lightly. She clasped his head, her fingers sinking into his hair to hold him tight against her.

  Pleasure. Oh, God, he gave her pleasure, pleasure such as she’d never felt before, his mouth and tongue relentless, wet and insistent against her, darting over her swollen flesh then suckling her until she thought she’d scream with the pleasure.

  Her core throbbed, as if her body were poised on the edge of something. Her center drew tighter and tighter as if straining toward some culmination. She didn’t know what, but she drew closer to it with his every touch, the crushed stones hard against her feet, the heart of the maze just around the next turn, mere steps away . . .

  Her fingers clutched at Robyn’s hair and she whimpered in need.

  He looked up at her then, his face flushed with a dark triumph. Without warning, he dropped to his knees before her. He laid his head against her belly for a moment, his breath sawing in and out of his chest. One strong arm wrapped around her thighs as he sank lower. His other hand reached under her skirts and closed around her ankle.

  “What do you need, Lily?” His hand inched up her skirts. “Can you tell me?”

  “I—I don’t know.” She panted as his warm hand moved up her calf and rested at the back of her knee.

  “You do know. Tell me what you want. Ask me to touch you.” His voice was low and thick with suppressed need.

  Her hands fell to his shoulders and she gripped them hard to keep from sinking to the floor beside him. “I want you to touch me—”

  She stopped on a choked cry as Robyn’s hands drifted up the backs of her legs to the curve of her buttocks, then moved to the insides of her thighs to press gently. “Open for me, love.”

  He meant for her to open her legs. Oh, God, could she do it? Could she trust him?

  He brushed his thumbs against her, the faintest touch, barely teasing the curls between her thighs.

  “Oh.” Her breath caught and her thighs parted.

  Robyn nuzzled his cheek against her belly as he found the slit in her drawers. He probed there, separated her cleft with gentle fingers.

  Lily dug her fingers hard into his shoulders as pleasure flooded through her.

  “Yes. You want me right here. So wet for me, Lily.” He stroked a finger between her parted folds, just once, then stopped and looked up at her, waiting for something.

  Lily pushed against the hand between her legs. Oh, she was shameless, but she’d do anything, say anything, to feel him move against her again. “Robyn, please . . .”

  His finger stroked again, once, twice, his eyes never leaving her face. “You want me to touch you here, don’t you? Tell me.”

  “Yes, right there . . .”

  Lily cried out as his finger drifted lightly over the tiny nub of flesh between her legs, then circled for the briefest of moments before he stopped again. She arched her back, and her hips began to move, seeking that delicious friction. “I want you . . . harder. Faster.”

  A harsh groan tore from his throat. His head fell forward and he opened his mouth against her belly. She felt his bite through the thin silk of her gown just as his fingers began to move again.

  Lily’s breath came in short, panting gasps as he circled her, oh, so slowly still—maddeningly slowly, but relentless now, harder, his clever fingers never leaving her wet, aching flesh and his mouth still working against her belly. He licked and nipped and sucked at her as if he tasted something far more delicious in his mouth than a damp fold of her gown.

  Her gasps turned to whimpers and then pleas as his fingers began to circle more quickly. “Oh, please, oh please . . .”

  His groan was muffled by a mouthful of silk. “Come for me, Lily. Now.”

  The tight knot he’d drawn inside her body began to unravel. Lily’s knees shook as wave after exquisite wave of pleasure swept her into a whirling vortex. Her body shuddered and convulsed in his arms, and he held her throughout the storm of sensation, one arm tight around her thighs. His fingers never ceased circling, but after a moment they grew gentler, slower.

  Dear God.

  She went limp in his arms. He lowered her to the floor and smoothed her skirts down over her legs. Lily laid her head on his chest and felt his heartbeat, strong under her ear, and an image drifted into her mind. Not a dream, and not a memory, but a moment that had never happened. A young child in a puzzle maze, lost but unafraid, the sun flashing on her fair hair, smiling as she wander
s from one turn to the next, until at last the heart of the maze unfolds before her.

  Robyn gazed down at her, his hand brushing the hair away from her forehead. He was whispering to her, she realized then, but she didn’t try and make sense of his words. She let his voice flow over her, warm and low, and stared into dark eyes still hot with desire.

  He hadn’t . . . there was more, wasn’t there? He hadn’t taken his own pleasure.

  Lily shifted closer to him and felt his heated length jerk against her. Oh, there was more. So much more.

  She reached for him, laid her hand on his thigh. The muscle twitched under her touch and a groan tore from his chest.

  Desperate to give him the same pleasure he’d given her, she brought his ear close to her lips with a touch against his cheek and whispered, “Show me how to touch you.”

  Robyn hesitated, then shook his head. He caught the hand resting on his thigh and brought it to his lips. “No.”

  Disappointment pierced her. Didn’t he want her to touch him? “But I want to . . .”

  His breath snagged in his chest and he seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, but then he shook his head again. “No, Lily.”

  “But why?”

  Robyn shifted away from her. Only a sliver of space opened between their bodies, but to Lily it felt like a chasm.

  “Atherton will propose to you tomorrow,” Robyn murmured. “I won’t have you answer him with the memory of my body moving inside yours. For your sake, I also won’t take what belongs to him. Tonight is about you, Lily. It’s just for you.”

  Just for her. Lily felt a sob rise in her throat, but before it could break free, Robyn rose to his feet and held his hand down to her. She stared at him for a moment, then accepted his hand and rose up beside him.

  He pressed his lips against her forehead. “Go to bed, before I change my mind.”

  He turned from her, walked to the window at the other end of the room, and spread his arms wide against the sill, his dark head bowed. He didn’t move as Lily backed toward the door, then slipped into the hallway. The patter of her slippers echoed dully against the carpeted floor as she fled to her bedchamber.