by Anna Bradley
“That’s not the worst of it. He said . . .” Robyn forced the words past stiff lips. “He had the gall to suggest any man who did marry Lily would be obliged to raise a Sutherland bastard.”
Alec snapped the quill between his fingers. “I’ll kill him myself.”
Robyn gulped air into his lungs to try and calm himself. “Not if I get there first.”
Alec paused for a moment and looked at Robyn, assessing. “So Mrs. Tittleton had the right of it, did she?”
Robyn sucked in another quick breath. Christ. Alec knew about Mrs. Tittleton? Lily had said—
“No need to look so shocked. Good Lord, you’re as bad as Delia. Impending fatherhood or not, I’m not so distracted I could fail to hear that piece of gossip. Bloody everywhere, it was. So it’s true, then?”
Robyn stared at him. Alec seemed to be taking this remarkably well. “Not all of it, no. At least, not at the start.”
Alec leaned across the desk. “And now?”
Robyn eyed the pistols and wondered whether they were loaded. “It’s all true now.”
Alec relaxed back against his chair. “Ah. I don’t suppose I need to ask your intentions toward her, then?”
Robyn’s body went rigid. “I intend to kill any man who lays a finger on her, or any man who even thinks to lay a finger on her, or questions her honor in any way. She’s mine, Alec. I love her, and I won’t give her up, no matter who—”
Alec held up his hands to stop the barrage of words. “Who said anything about you giving her up?”
If Robyn hadn’t known better, he’d have said his brother was amused. “She’s too good for me,” he muttered. “I know you think so, too—”
Alec’s amusement faded. “No. I think nothing of the sort. It’s you who thinks it, Robyn, not I.”
Robyn was surprised into silence for a moment. He did think it. He knew he wasn’t nearly good enough for Lily. He simply assumed everyone else would think so, as well. “Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it?”
Alec shook his head. “No. It’s never been true that you’re lacking somehow—that you’re not good enough. Why do you think I didn’t put a stop to this affair with Lily? I’ve known about it since the start, despite everyone’s efforts to hide it.”
Robyn rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Why didn’t you put a stop to it?”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t trifle with Lily,” Alec said simply. “I thought you deserved the chance to prove it, if only to yourself. Despite what you may think, I never once doubted your preoccupation with her meant you were in love with her. Christ—I probably knew it even before you did.”
Robyn’s mouth dropped open. It was astounding that Alec had so much faith in him. And Ellie, too—something she’d said at Almack’s came back to him then—something about his having a conscience.
If I believed you as callous as you wish to appear, I wouldn’t be such a fond sister.
Damn. If that wasn’t just like Ellie. If Alec was a step ahead of him, then Ellie was a step ahead of all of them.
Alec rubbed his fingers over his forehead. “I can see you’re shocked.” His face looked weary all of a sudden. “Sometimes I wish Father were still alive, so he could see the damage he’s done.”
“Father? What’s he got to do with it?”
Alec gave a bitter laugh. “You still don’t see it, do you, Robyn?” He tossed the broken quill across his desk. “Do you remember your second year at Eton? One of your tutors sent a note home to Father that first term about your extraordinary aptitude with numbers. Near-genius level, I believe he said.”
Robyn frowned. “No. I recall I never excelled in maths at Eton, though, or any other subject, unless you count drinking to excess and brawling.”
Alec’s face went tight. “Do you recall what Father did to you, that first holiday you came home in your second year?”
Something cold lodged in Robyn’s chest. “He thrashed me.”
“Do you remember why?”
Robyn nodded. He didn’t remember the maths tutor, but he remembered his father had thrashed him until he’d nearly lost consciousness. “I’d fought with the Earl of Huntington’s son, and the earl barred Father from the Whip Club.”
Alec’s face twisted. “He thrashed you until you could barely walk. He never said a word about the tutor’s note. You failed maths the following term.”
Robyn put a hand to his forehead, as if he could pull the memory out with his fingers. Jesus. How could he have forgotten everything but the thrashing?
“Nothing you did was ever good enough for Father,” Alec said. “You held out for years, trying your best, but at some point you just . . . gave up. Where do you suppose you got the idea you’re such a disappointment to us all?”
Robyn stared at his brother. “I—I never thought about it. It’s just always been there.”
Alec looked him straight in the eyes. “It’s time it wasn’t anymore. It’s time it disappeared. Don’t you agree?”
Robyn tipped his head back against his chair and closed his eyes. He thought of Alec’s words, and warmth began to spread through his chest. His throat worked as he struggled to allow it to wash over him, to believe he might deserve his brother’s faith in him.
When he did open his eyes, he was able to face Alec without flinching. “I think it will have to, won’t it? I can’t allow Lily to marry a selfish, debauched rogue, after all.”
Alec let out a long, slow sigh, but he kept his voice light. “It wouldn’t be gentlemanly to do so, no. Speaking of gentlemanly . . .” He paused, as if not sure how to continue. “You have, ah, anticipated your wedding vows?”
Robyn had the grace to flush. He hesitated, then faced his brother again—the brother who’d always been more of a father to him, despite the closeness in their ages. “I suppose you’re ashamed of me. I’m ashamed of myself.”
Alec’s eyebrows shot up. “Ashamed? I’m not such a hypocrite as that. More than one high stickler will be counting off the months as soon as my heir makes his appearance. Or her appearance. Besides.” He gave Robyn a wink. “I well know the witchery the Somerset women weave. No mortal man can resist their allure. I think it’s the blue eyes.”
Lily’s eyes. Such a deep blue they put the ocean to shame. Robyn grinned at Alec. “Once you’ve drowned, there seems little point in resistance.”
Alec laughed and rose to his feet. “I’m off for Stafford’s, then. Will you await my return?”
Robyn nodded. “Oh, and Alec? You can’t tell Delia anything about this.”
Alec’s brow furrowed. “I can’t promise that. I think my wife will wonder when I disappear from our bed before dawn tomorrow.”
Robyn hadn’t thought of that. “Will she swear not to tell Lily, then? I don’t want Lily to know until after the duel. She’ll go mad with worry when there’s no need for it.”
Alec searched his brother’s face, his own expression serious. “See that there isn’t any need, Robyn, and I’ll see what I can do to secure Delia’s promise.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Lord Stafford offered a formal apology on Lord Atherton’s behalf, an apology which Alec, acting on Robyn’s behalf, just as formally refused. Robyn would meet Lord Atherton at Wimbledon Common at dawn the following day.
Tomorrow. It would come soon enough.
He had tonight, and he’d spend it with Lily in his arms. It had been hours since he’d last held her.
It felt like years. Decades.
Robyn glanced around the empty foyer. He’d hoped to find her waiting for him, but there was no sign of her in the entryway. The entire house seemed deserted, strangely silent, as if the occupants were in mourning.
Robyn felt a prickle of warning at the back of his neck as he walked down the hallway toward the parlor. He could hear muted voices within. He pushed open the door, entered, a
nd wished at once he hadn’t.
The despair in the room knocked him back a step. Three pairs of dark eyes turned toward him.
Eleanor and Charlotte sat by the fire with his mother. His sisters’ eyes were red from crying.
“Robyn.” His mother’s voice trembled over the word. She walked across the room to fold him in her arms, but her embrace felt desperate—the embrace of a mother fearful she’d soon lose her child.
They knew. Somehow they’d found out about the duel.
If his sisters and mother knew, then Lily knew, as well. It didn’t matter how they’d discovered it. All that mattered was to find Lily and try and explain it to her as best he could.
“Lily. Where is she?”
Lady Catherine looked stricken. “She’s in her bedchamber with Delia. She’s inconsolable, Robyn.”
Ellie rose to her feet and clutched the back of her chair for support. “Is there . . . is there no other way?”
Robyn felt his face go hard and tight. “No. The offense is unforgivable.”
Charlotte buried her face in her hands. “When?”
“Dawn, tomorrow. Alec will act as my second.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry to put you through this.”
He turned away as he said it, for he couldn’t bear to see his sisters and mother in such anguish. He’d done this to them. Grief welled in his throat at the thought, but Atherton had gone too far. Robyn had no other choice than to demand satisfaction.
Lady Catherine put her hand on his shoulder and drew him a little away from his sisters. “Go to Lily. Try to make her understand. It won’t be easy, I warn you. Make it right with her, Robyn, before the . . .” Lady Catherine’s breath caught on a sob. “Before tomorrow morning. Make her understand, and ask her to forgive you.”
Robyn took the stairs at a dead run, and within seconds he stood outside Lily’s door. All was silent within. He knocked, and the door opened at once.
Delia stood there, her face pale. “It’s very bad,” she said without preamble. “She’s—”
“I know. Will you leave us alone for a few minutes? Please, Delia.”
Delia let out a long breath. “Yes, of course. If Lily asks, tell her I’ve gone downstairs to check on Lady Catherine.”
She squeezed his arm as she passed. “Robyn? You will take the utmost care of yourself tomorrow? You won’t do anything foolish?”
Robyn caught her hand and squeezed back. “I promise you. I’ll see Alec remains safe, as well.”
He closed the door behind her and entered the room to find Lily lying on her side on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest. A fist gripped Robyn’s heart and squeezed until every breath choked him. He wanted to fall to his knees before her, to beg her, but how did one beg for forgiveness for causing such pain?
“Oh, love. Please don’t . . .” he began, but he stopped when he realized he hadn’t any idea what to say, or how to comfort her.
She watched him cross the room but didn’t raise her head from the pillow. He stretched out beside her on the bed and shifted her gently so her head fell onto his chest. She didn’t resist him, but she remained limp and motionless beside him, a rag doll.
He ran his hands over her hair, her back, and whispered an endless stream of words into her ear: how much he loved her, how sorry he was. She didn’t move or speak. He couldn’t be sure she even registered his words, but he kept on just the same.
She’d understand—he’d make her understand.
At last she drew a long, unsteady breath. “You lied to me. You promised you’d never fight again.”
Robyn pulled her close against him. “Yes.”
She grasped a fold of his shirt tight in her fingers, a punishment, not a caress. “You broke your promise. How can I believe anything you say after this?”
He pressed his lips hard against her temple. He had to touch her—had to show her somehow. “I need you to trust me, Lily.”
Her body tensed against his. “No. There’s only one way I can trust you now.”
He couldn’t let her pull away from him. If she did, he knew in the deepest depths of his heart he might never hold her in his arms again. “How? I’ll do anything I can, love.”
She looked up into his face. “Keep the promise you made me. Don’t duel with Lord Atherton. Then there is no lie. No broken promise.”
Robyn closed his eyes. She asked him for the one thing he couldn’t give her. If Atherton were permitted to insult Lily so grievously, what would stop others from doing the same? She was the most precious thing he’d ever had—she’d chosen him, and he was already a better man for it. Would he repay her by allowing her name to be sullied? No. He wouldn’t stand by and see her hurt like that.
“I can’t do that, Lily.”
She twisted away from him, just as he feared she would, and rose from the bed. “You could if you wished to. Why not say the truth? It isn’t that you can’t. You won’t.”
Robyn sat up, every bone in his body aching with weariness. “I can’t. I won’t. It amounts to the same thing.”
She began to pace from one side of the bedchamber to the other. “What is so unforgivable you’d risk your life over it? In what way has he offended you?”
He dragged himself to his feet and stepped in front of her to force her to halt, to look at him. If she only looked at him, perhaps she’d see . . .
“I will not repeat what he said. Ever. I can only ask you to believe me when I tell you it’s unpardonable. I cannot, or will not, let it pass unchallenged.”
He thought she might touch him then, but she wrapped her arms around herself instead. “But I don’t believe you, Robyn, because you break your promises—to your family, and now to me. I never can believe you again, about anything.”
Robyn’s shoulders sagged. “You don’t mean that, Lily.”
Her chin shot up. “I do mean it. I can never trust such a selfish man.”
He said nothing. He couldn’t speak.
Lily’s control seemed to slip farther away with every word she uttered. “You’d continue these games with Lord Atherton, even with your very life at stake? Haven’t you a care for your mother and sisters? For Alec?”
He gripped her hard by the shoulders. “Of course I care for them. Listen to me—”
“Haven’t you a care for . . . me?” Her voice broke on the last word, and tears flooded her eyes.
Robyn sank to his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Lily, please. You know I care for you. I love you. I am selfish, but I love you more than I love myself.”
“Then do this for me,” she whispered. “I—I can’t watch you die, Robyn.”
Her hands were on him, her fingers sliding into his hair to pull his head up and force him to look at her, but he couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear to see the despair there.
He pressed his face against her soft belly. “I can’t. Don’t—don’t ask it of me, Lily.”
She remained still and silent. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he waited, a dull thud, a death knell.
Her hands slid away from him. When she spoke, it was as if she did so from a great distance. “I leave tonight. I’ll stay with Delia and Alec until they go to Bellwood next week, and then I’ll go with them.” She reached around to grasp his wrists and pull his arms away from her waist. “You won’t see me again for some time, Robyn.”
His arms fell away from her, but he stayed on his knees. Perhaps he’d never rise. Perhaps he’d never have the strength to rise again. He heard the soft rustle of Lily’s silk gown, then the sound of the door as it opened and closed, but he didn’t raise his head.
* * *
“Lily? Lily, wake up!”
Her lungs ached and burned with each of her panicked breaths. Her gasps echoed inside her head—her gasps and the frantic pounding of her feet on the gravel pathway. She ran as fast as she could,
but the tunnel of trees narrowed around her, closed in. The end of the tunnel blurred and receded with every step until the weak light she’d glimpsed ahead grew dim, and dimmer still, then vanished into the dark mist. No way out. She fell to the ground with a sickening thud and the leaves slithered over her, first her body, then her face. Her eyes. She tried to scream but the leaves crept into her mouth; they gagged her, choked her, suffocated her . . .
“Wake up, Lily! You’re having a nightmare.”
Delia’s voice. A hand shook her shoulder. Hard. Lily opened her eyes.
Delia hovered over the bed, her face white. She brushed the damp, tangled hair from Lily’s eyes. “It’s all right—you’re awake now. It was only a bad dream, Lily.”
Lily rolled over onto her back and threw an arm over her eyes. A bad dream. Delia had snatched her from one nightmare into another one.
Except this one was real.
Delia drew the covers back, took Lily’s hand, and led her to the chairs by the fire. “Come. There’s no point in trying to sleep.”
Lily glanced at the window, her breath trapped in her lungs. No—it was not yet dawn, but the eastern sky showed the barest hint of light. An hour. Perhaps two. No more than that.
What had she said to Robyn before she’d left him there on his knees, alone in her bedchamber? You won’t see me for some time.
Strange—a strange thing to say to a man who might not live past the dawn.
“Oh, my dear,” Delia murmured as Lily fell to her own knees and let her head fall into her sister’s lap.
“I dreamed of the maze.” Lily’s words were muffled against Delia’s nightdress.
Delia began a soothing caress over Lily’s hair. “It’s been some time since you had that nightmare, hasn’t it?”
“Weeks. Not since we arrived in London.”
Delia continued her rhythmic stroking. “I used to dream about the carriage accident, as if I’d been there with Father and Mother. I could feel it as it happened. Hear it, even. It was . . . quite awful.”
A tremor passed through Delia at the memory.