The Revenge of Lord Eberlin

by Julia London

  Mr. Morton turned and glanced back at Tobin. It appeared as if he was having second thoughts for his retreat, for he touched the brim of his hat with a nod. Tobin lifted a pair of fingers, acknowledging him. But the last-minute gesture did not appease him.

  He moved around his horse to mount him, and in doing so, his gaze caught a flash of blue. He paused; that was Lily standing on the walk with her two agents. She saw him, too, and fixed him with a look so glowering that he nearly laughed. She was wearing a dark blue gown and spencer that hugged her tightly, and a hat set at a slight angle and with as much plumage as the bloody coach. Just looking at her, Tobin felt a tug of something in his chest. A tic of . . . lust? Or a spell? Whatever it was, he clenched his hand in a fist, nodded at her, and swung up on his horse.

  Lily turned away from him and walked down the street, the two men casting dark gazes at him as they followed her.

  Tobin touched his horse’s mane. It was black, as black as Lily’s hair. He thought of her skin, like cream, with rosy patches of anger in her cheeks. He thought of her blistering green eyes with long, dark lashes. He thought of her hair undone, flowing down her back, and the curve of her waist into her hip. He thought of the pleasure he would feel if he had her in his bed—exquisite, wet, warm pleasure.

  A swell of physical discomfort reminded Tobin of just how long it had been since he’d lain with a woman. But he wanted to keep his need boiling just beneath the surface—that gave him the power to do what he needed here.

  Then discomfort extended up to his chest, tightening oddly and shooting painfully down his spine. These bloody thoughts of Lily Boudine were giving him one of his spells. His scalp was perspiring. He resisted the urge to take out his handkerchief and dab at his face, lest anyone notice. He grappled blindly for the reins of his horse and surreptitiously glanced about him to see if anyone saw him there, practically choking on his own innards, and his gaze landed on the village green. In a blinding flash of memory, Tobin could see his father hanging there, twisting helplessly at the end of a rope.

  He quickly dropped his gaze and focused on the reins, wrapping them tightly around his hand. He remembered the night before his father hanged, the last time Tobin ever spoke to him. Tobin had sobbed with grief, had railed against the people of Ashwood, and most especially against Lily Boudine. His father had embraced him, had held him tight. “She is a mere girl, Tobin. You cannot lay my fate at her feet. Look to God, son. There is no satisfaction in hate or anger. This is God’s will, for whatever reason, and you must accept it.”

  “Why aren’t you angry?” Tobin had demanded. “Why do you not speak out against them, against the lies?”

  His father had smiled sadly and had run his hand over Tobin’s head. “It would serve no purpose. It would change nothing. The die has been cast and it is no one’s fault but my own.”

  Tobin’s heart was pounding now, and he wheeled his horse about and galloped down High Street. He rode blindly, pushing the horse, heedless of the clouds darkening in a pale gray sky, heedless of anything but the need to be away from the village of Hadley Green and this bloody spell.

  When he felt the constriction in his chest easing, he was in a clearing along that seldom-used road he’d adopted as his own. He reined his horse to a stop, flung himself off its back and marched forward, his stride long and determined, drawing deep breaths. He strode to a rock and sat heavily, his elbows on his knees, pushing his hands through his hair. What was wrong with him? Was it madness? Was it a malicious cancer of his brain or his heart? He’d never felt anything like it; it was as if he were crawling out of his skin, as if his veins were constricting, drawing up, and restricting the flow of blood through him.

  He loosened the knot on his neckcloth, then straightened up to draw a deep breath—and looked right into the face of a little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes.

  She cocked her head curiously to one side, like a little sparrow. “Pardon, sir. Are you weeping?”

  “Weeping!” he scoffed. “Do I look as if I am weeping?”

  She studied him a moment, then shrugged.

  Tobin drew a breath, released it slowly as he took her in. She looked to be about eight years old. She was wearing a pink and white frock, but the sash had come undone. Her hair had been put up at some point, but it was mussed and a portion of it had come down and hung carelessly over her shoulder. He recognized her as the ward of Lily Boudine’s cousin, Keira Hannigan.

  “You look unwell,” she remarked. “Perhaps you should go to bed. That’s what I’m always made to do when I feel ill.”

  “I am perfectly all right,” he said. “Why are you here? Are you alone?”

  She nodded, but her gaze was fixed below his chin. “Your neckcloth has come undone.”

  “So has your sash,” he pointed out, and the girl glanced down, looking surprised by the discovery.

  “Look here, where do you live? It will be raining soon, and you have no coat.”

  The weather seemed to have gone unnoticed by her; she looked up to the sky with a frown.

  “Run along home,” he said, gesturing toward the woods. “Where is your house?”

  “Ashwood,” she said. “I live with the countess. The second countess. The first countess was only a pretend one, but this one is a real countess, and she’s quite pretty and very kind. She hasn’t a lot of friends, not like the pretend countess. She had squads and squads of friends. I am going to live with her in Ireland. Lord Donnelly is coming for the horses and for me and he is going to take me all the way to Ireland. They mean to adopt me, you know.”

  “That is happy news, indeed, but you’ll be no use to them if you are struck dead by cold. Run along home,” he repeated.

  “Where do you live?” she asked, ignoring his advice.

  “Tiber Park.” He looked up at the sky—the clouds were thickening and the girl was at least twenty minutes by foot from Ashwood. If she could be depended upon to walk a straight line. As much as Tobin despised the residents of Hadley Green, those feelings did not extend to children. That was the one part of him that hadn’t been entirely corrupted by the life he’d led thus far.

  “Come along. I’ll take you home.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you. It will rain soon and you have no cloak from the look of it, and I’ll not have your death on my conscience.”

  “People don’t die from rain,” she said stubbornly.

  “Are you quite certain of that?”

  She frowned, as if she was privately debating that, then looked at his horse. “Do you mean to take me on that?” she asked. “I don’t like horses. Once, a horse bit me.”

  “Indeed,” he said and stood.

  “Like this,” she said and snapped at him, her teeth bared.

  “I have never, in all my years, seen a horse bite like that,” he said skeptically. “Nevertheless, I assure you I am a competent horseman. You will not fall, and he will not bite you. Come.” He held out his hand to her.

  The girl eyed him warily before slipping her hand into his. “My name is Miss Lucy Taft. What is your name?”

  “Eberlin,” he said.

  “Oh! I know very well who you are,” she said breezily as they walked to where his horse was grazing. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

  “Have you,” he said wryly and lifted her up to sit before the saddle. “Hold onto his mane,” he instructed. She gripped the horse’s mane as he lifted himself up behind her.

  “The countess does not care for you, you know,” she continued.

  “Doesn’t she?”

  “Oh, no. She once liked you quite a lot, when you were a boy, but she said you became a horrible man when you grew up. You’re not really a lord, are you? Lady Ashwood says you are not really a lord, for you don’t have an English title. Perhaps you didn’t know you were to have an English title.”

  Tobin glanced heavenward and put his arm around her small middle, anchoring her to him. As he started his horse forward, Lucy Taft gasped and grabb
ed his arm that held the reins.

  “Miss Taft, you make it impossible for me to guide the horse. Let go of my arm.”

  “I told you I don’t like to ride.”

  “Let go,” he said again. “I have a very firm grasp of you.”

  She reluctantly let go and shrank back into his chest. “I don’t like riding in the least. I don’t know why everyone does, really. The pretend countess, she liked it very much. She raced about on horses, and she wanted me to do the same. I fear she’ll expect me to ride about all of Ireland. I rather like carriages, don’t you? I like the very big ones, for the smaller ones are quite close. Once, I went into the village with Mrs. Thorpe and Peter, the kitchen boy, in the old carriage, and it was quite close, and Peter didn’t smell very nice, and I had to hold my breath the whole way.”

  Lucy Taft continued to natter on and, much like his niece, Catherine, was either oblivious or uncaring that Tobin didn’t answer. When they reached the road to Ashwood, he sent the horse to a trot, and Miss Taft shrieked loud enough to wake the dead. But Tobin was anxious to hand her off to a servant and return to Tiber Park before the rains began in earnest.

  Ashwood looked almost foreboding in the gloomy light. Tobin thought he saw a movement of light in one of the windows of the upper floor, and he imagined Lily looking out that window fifteen years ago.

  Whatever had happened that night, he could scarcely bear to think of it without fearing another attack.

  “Why do you suppose it rains in summer? It rains all the time in winter, and I think that should be enough rain for the year, wouldn’t you?” Lucy Taft asked.

  They had reached the drive, and Tobin reined his horse to a halt. “Here we are.” He swung off his horse, then lifted her down, and as he was putting her on the ground, the Ashwood coach barreled into the drive.

  Tobin looked down at the girl. “Mind you go straight inside.”

  “Will you come in for tea?” she asked. “The countesses always serve tea when someone comes to call.”

  “I would hardly term this a call,” he said, watching the coach door swing open and Lily fairly leap out of it. She rushed toward them, Mr. Fish close behind. “Lucy! Lucy, come here at once!” she called.

  Lucy smiled up at Tobin. “Thank you,” she said and scampered forward to meet her guardian.

  Lily looked the girl up and down before handing her off to Mr. Fish, then came striding toward Tobin, her expression furious, and apparently heedless of the rain that was beginning to fall.

  “Well, Lady Ashwood, it would seem we meet yet again,” Tobin said.

  “What do you think you are doing?” she demanded.

  “Obviously, I am delivering your ward. She was wandering about the woods without a cloak.”

  “Please!” she scoffed. “Do not take me for a fool!”

  “What, then? Do you think I was spying? Preying on children?”

  “What do you expect, Count Eberlin? You have stolen land and tenants from me—why should I think you above spying and kidnapping?”

  “My, my,” Tobin said, trying as best he might to keep his voice even. “You are accusing me of any number of things today—stealing, spying, abduction. I sound quite vile even to my own ears.” He stepped forward, so close that she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eyes. “Let me assure you, Lady Ashwood, that I am merely righting a very deep wrong. I do not need to spy.”

  The color in Lily’s cheeks deepened, and her dark brows dipped in a deep V of displeasure. “Is that so? Then tell me, how else would you know which tenants are ripe for the picking? Be forewarned—I will fight you at every turn.”

  Tobin arched a brow with amusement. “Fight me? If you want to fight, I will not stop you. If anything, it ought to make things interesting.”

  “Go on, then,” she seethed. “Underestimate me. I will find a way to stop you, and I will show you no mercy.”

  He didn’t know the meaning of the word. Tobin could feel the band tightening around his chest, and he knew he should leave her to stew in her juices, but he could not help letting his gaze casually wander her lush form. She surprised him. He’d expected her to topple into a crying heap of crinoline, but she had responded with determination. In another place or time, he might have appreciated it more than he did at present.

  “I do not wish for mercy, Lily. That will make it all the sweeter when I bring you to heel.” His gaze met her pale green eyes. “And let me be perfectly clear.” His gaze fell to her lips. “I will bring you to heel.”

  He expected a maidenly gasp, but Lily brazenly stepped closer to him, her eyes glittering with undiluted ire. “Do you honestly think you will intimidate me with innuendo? Let me be perfectly clear, sir. Do not step foot on Ashwood soil again. And stay away from me and mine!” She whirled around, marching toward her house.

  Tobin watched her go in, ushering Miss Taft before her. The butler wasted no time in shutting the door at her back. The rain was falling harder, but Tobin scarcely noticed it. His body was hard from tension and desire. His fist was clenched, and his breathing labored. He made himself turn away and mount his horse, then spurred it to a run, pulling his hat low over his eyes to keep the rain from them.

  Lily Boudine was bloody beautiful.

  More was the pity.

  FOUR

  Lily was still outraged as she marched Lucy into the library to find out how the girl had come to be in that man’s presence. “Foolish girl!” Lily scolded her and wrapped her arms tightly around her. “Where did you go? Where have you been?”

  “I didn’t want my music lesson. I went for a walkabout in the woods,” Lucy said into her chest.

  Lily let Lucy go, leaning back to have a look at her. “A walkabout? And why didn’t you tell anyone?”

  The girl looked contrite. “I wanted to tell you, mu’um, but there was no one about and Linford said you’d gone into the village. I didn’t think there was any harm.”

  “Well, there was,” Lily said. “Look at the rain! You might have caught your death.”

  “That’s what Count Eberlin said as well when he made me come home,” Lucy said morosely.

  Lily exchanged a look with Mr. Fish, who stood quietly across the room. Lily waited for Lucy to say more, but she merely fidgeted with her sash. Lily put her arm around Lucy’s slender shoulders, then smoothed her mussed blonde hair from her face. “Darling, you must have a care. Not everyone you may meet is kind, and Eberlin especially not! Have I not warned you about him?”

  “But he was kind to me.”

  Dear God. Lily led Lucy to a divan and sat her down. “Where did you happen upon him? In the park?”

  Lucy shook her head. “In the woods.”

  “The woods! What on earth were you doing in the woods?”

  “I only went to the cottage!” Lucy cried. “I’ve been there lots before—”

  “What cottage?”

  “The one by the river. By the church that’s falling down. It’s boarded up, and part of the roof has come down. But there are two chairs and a cat that lives inside, and sometimes I go round to see that he’s fed. He likes rotten potatoes, can you imagine?”

  Uppington Church. Lily knew it well. There was hardly anything left of the church. The cottage on its grounds had been abandoned many years ago, and Lily had played there as a child, pretending it was a castle, and she its chatelaine. The memory gave her a curious twist in her belly; she suddenly recalled her aunt Althea standing in the foyer of Ashwood, smiling brightly, telling Lily to go on with Tobin and play. Behind her, Mr. Scott, looking so admiringly at her aunt …

  Lily closed her eyes a moment to banish the image. “Was Eberlin in the cottage, Lucy?” She wondered if he remembered their excursions to Uppington Church. She did. She remembered him vividly.

  Lucy shook her head again. “No, mu’um. He hadn’t gone as far as that. He was sitting on a rock. I think he was weeping.”

  Weeping?

  “He was sitting on a rock thus,” Lucy said, perching on t
he edge of the divan and propping her elbows on her knees. “And his head was down just so,” she said, and put her hands on either side of her head. “I saw him, but he didn’t see me. He took great gulps of air and I thought perhaps he was sad, and I said, are you weeping? And he looked at me strangely and said he was not, that he was quite all right, and that I would catch my death and I was to go home at once, and then he asked where I lived, and I told him I lived here with you, but that I would leave for Ireland soon, for the first countess wishes to adopt me and make me Irish, just like her, and he said he should take me because it was too far to walk before it rained. I didn’t want to go, because I do not care for horses, really—that is, I do not care to ride them. I do like to pet them. Mr. Bechtel lets me feed apples—”

  “Darling, what happened then?” Lily asked, bringing her back to the point.

  “What? Oh yes, he brought me home. I invited him for tea. I should have, should I not? But he said no.”

  “That’s all there is?” Lily prodded.

  Lucy shrugged. “I wonder why he should be weeping. Perhaps he lost his dog.”

  “I hardly think he was weeping,” Lily said with a wry smile. Plotting his next act of malice was more likely. “Now see here, young miss, you are not to wander off without telling someone where you are going. And if you think to wander all the way to Uppington Church, you must have someone with you. That’s very far!”

  “It’s not so far,” Lucy protested, but Lily touched her finger to her lips to keep her from saying more.

  “An escort,” she said again.

  Lucy slouched against the back of the divan. “Very well,” she said, resigned.

  “Go and ask Mrs. Thorpe to draw you a bath, and tell Ann she must wash your hair,” she added at the sight of Lucy’s tangled locks.

  With a great sigh, Lucy stood up. “I don’t like baths,” she muttered as she went.

  When Lucy had gone, Lily looked at Mr. Fish. “What was he doing in the woods, with his head between his hands? He looked rather triumphant this morning, did he not?” she demanded. “I do not trust him at all.”