A Season of Ruin (10 page)

Lily glared at him. “That's precisely why I tried to put an end to it! Because you
would
have kept it up all night. What was I supposed to do? Hit you over the head with my fan to make you stop?”

Robyn couldn't help grinning at the idea that Lily might forget herself so completely, she'd batter him about the head with her fan. “A blow would have put just the right touch on the business, don't you think? Miss Thurston would have been gratified.”

Lily wasn't amused. “For pity's sake! I hate to say it, but I agree with Miss Thurston. You can't speak of pirates and drunkenness and”—she glanced around and lowered her voice—“and exposed legs in front of well-bred young ladies.”

The color in her cheeks deepened when she said the
words
exposed legs
. He'd never found a blush charming before, but on her . . .

He cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon. Clearly I
can
speak of such things, because I just
did
.”

Lily pursed her lips. “Very well. If you wish to quibble over words, you
shouldn't
speak of such things to a lady.”

Robyn dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “I never quibble, and anyway, you're only angry because I put them in their place when you were too proper to do it yourself. Whether or not those two are well bred is another matter.”

Two bright spots of color bloomed on her cheeks. Ah, now they were getting somewhere. Robyn felt a surge of anticipation. What would it be like to see Lily in a temper? To see that ocean tempest released and all of Almack's patrons swept away in its sucking undertow?

Glorious, no doubt.

“Whether they're well bred or not isn't the point.”

“Oh? I'd wager neither of them spoke to
you
with respect tonight. Why do they deserve my consideration, then? I hope you're not going to say it's because they're welcome at Almack's. This room is fit to burst with people who don't deserve any respect.”

“Even Miss Thurston and her odious friend deserve to be spoken to with respect,” Lily insisted.

“Why? You don't have any affection for either of them, or any genuine concern for their feelings. At one point I would have sworn you were delighted to see them put in their places.”

Lily looked away—guiltily, he thought. “Because it isn't proper.”

“Damn propriety. You're not truly angry because I teased them, so what's all the fuss about?”

Lily huffed out an exasperated breath. “Because it isn't
done
, and you know it as well as I do. They'll gossip about you. They'll say you're a wicked rogue, and that will pale in comparison to what they'll say about me.”

Or what they'd already said. His voice gentled. “Weren't they already gossiping about you before I teased them?”

Lily dropped her eyes, but not before he saw a flash of pain there. He felt an echo of it in his chest. Damn it, he didn't want to hurt her, but it had become of the utmost importance, somehow, that she tell him the truth.

He touched her wrist. “This isn't about them at all, is it? You're hurt because I neglected to escort you to Almack's for no better reason than I was wrapping a cravat around a barmaid's exposed thigh with my teeth. Just say it, Lily.”

At last her smooth façade splintered apart and the tempest began to surge through the cracks. “Fine,” she hissed. “It isn't about them. It's about
you
. It doesn't matter what you were doing, or how many cravats you held between your teeth. You left me to face the
ton
alone.”

Robyn let out a slow breath. There it was. He'd had to goad her into saying it, but there it was. He opened his mouth to beg her pardon when she muttered something that made the words freeze in his throat.

“Well, you needn't worry about escorting me anywhere from now on. I've asked Archie to take your place, and he's agreed to help me. You're free to go back to your cravats and your barmaids.”

She'd asked Archie to take his place?
Robyn stared at her, speechless. Whatever he'd expected her to say or do, he hadn't expected this. He tried to scrape together a rational response, but a cold, bitter fury swelled in his throat and blocked his words.

He hadn't any right be angry, for he'd forced her to take matters into her own hands. He couldn't imagine why he hadn't seen it coming, in fact, as such a reasonable, rational solution was exactly what he'd expect from Lily. It made perfect sense for her to ask Archie to . . . replace him, for God knew he was sure to disappoint her again.

He
was
a selfish rogue, just as his father said he'd be. How gratified the old earl would have been to see it. Hart
Sutherland had
so
loved to be right, especially when he predicted the worst possible outcome.

But Robyn didn't care if he'd just been handed the very thing he'd asked for—on a silver salver, no less. He didn't care that he was now free of any obligations to anyone; free to search under the skirts of every barmaid in London, with Lily's blessing. Never mind that he was acting with stunning perversity, like a child who shoves a toy away and then screams because he no longer has it.

He didn't care.
He'd changed his bloody mind, hadn't he?

For a long moment neither of them said a word. They stood there and stared at each other, her gaze defiant, as if she dared him to protest.

They were still staring at each other when the dance ended. There was a flurry around them as couples moved off the floor and others took their places.

The music began to swell around them.

A waltz.
A waltz
at Almack's
. And here he was, standing on the edge of the dance floor. With Lily.

Why, fate practically
begged
him to do it.

He studied her face. It would cause a scandal.
Another
scandal. Mrs. Tittleton would get wind of it. She'd gleefully report it to all of London, and the
ton
would as gleefully devour it.

And there wouldn't be a damn thing Archie could do about it.

One sin against propriety was bad enough, but two? No—a second sin, and with the same gentleman? That was far stickier, like trying to pull one's foot out of quicksand. Archie would never be able to extricate Lily from it.

She'd need
him
to get her out of this one.

He took hold of her arm. Before he could reconsider the wisdom of his actions, he led her onto the dance floor, laid one hand on her waist, and rested the other on her shoulder.

And swept her into the dance.

Robyn's fingers felt warm against the cool silk of her gown. His other hand cradled the curve of her shoulder and the tip of his gloved thumb just grazed the bare skin of her collarbone. It was difficult to think of anything but the heat of his hand, as if that one touch somehow had the power to melt away her anger.

Or draw it out of her like a leech drew blood from the diseased. Well, she'd been bled enough for one night, thank you.

Lily struggled to steady her breath. She didn't want to lose any more of herself to Robyn, but whenever she got near him, the dizzying kiss they'd shared in Lord Barrow's study rushed back at her the way the floor rushed up to smack one in the face during a faint.

She'd spent the past few days trying to forget what it felt like when he'd kissed her. It should have been easy enough to do. She'd hardly seen him since then. He avoided the town house, and now that she'd released him from his obligation
to her, he'd be off with Lord Pelkey, his mouth full of starched linen.

Or off with Lady Downes, his mouth full of . . . well. She didn't want to think about what his mouth would be full of then.

Robyn guided her into a turn. “How does Delia get on?”

It was an innocent enough question, but she didn't want to talk to Robyn any more than she wanted to touch him. He'd charm her right out of her satin slippers, and she'd be right back where she started—on his lap in Lord Barrow's study. Or worse.

Lily threw back her shoulders and stiffened her spine. “Fine.”

“
Fine
. She's fine, and you're having an enjoyable evening. Damnation—doesn't all this
fine
and
enjoyabl
e exhaust you? Wouldn't it be easier to admit sometimes things are in a bloody mess?”

Lily sniffed. “Easier for you, perhaps, as chaos is your natural state.”

He only grinned at that. “Come now, Lily. If Delia's fine, then why does Alec look as though he's been dragged behind a horse every time I see him?”

She sighed. No sooner had she decided she didn't care to talk than Robyn decided nothing would do but conversation.

Perverse man.

“Delia's ill a good deal of the time. Lady Catherine says there's no cause for worry, that illness is common for ladies who are increasing, but Alec worries for her nonetheless.”

Robyn snorted. “Alec would worry if Delia stubbed a toe or had a sliver in her thumb.”

Lily glared at him. “Well, what of it? A decent husband is concerned for his wife's well-being. It's just as it should be.”

Robyn's tone was light, but his dark eyes glittered strangely. “It's so much easier when things are just as they should be. If only everyone would stay in their proper place.”

You can't arrange your life like those dolls, Lily. You can't line people up neatly on your bed . . .

She missed a step and stumbled against him. The muscles in his arm flexed against her waist, keeping her upright, and Lily's toes curled inside her slippers. “As to that, I hardly remember when things were just as they should be.”

She hoped her snappish tone would discourage him from further conversation. And further flexing.

It didn't work. “I'm sure you worry for Delia, as well.”

“I don't like to see her ill, if that's what you mean.”

“No, I imagine you don't. You're a devoted sister. As devoted a sister as Alec is a husband. It warms my heart, all this devotion.”

He took pains to keep his voice casual, but Lily detected a subtle edge, hard and unmistakable. She darted a quick look at him under cover of her lashes and noticed a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Whatever is the matter with you, Robyn? You haven't any cause to be angry with me—”

Robyn widened his eyes at her. “Angry? Who says I'm angry with you? I'm
fine
. I'm having
such
an enjoyable evening.”

Lily sealed her lips closed, determined not to notice his teasing. Since all Robyn ever did was tease, this conversation was over.

She couldn't imagine why the dance wasn't. It seemed interminable.

“What of your other sisters?” he persisted. “Alec says they'll arrive in London soon.”

Lily's feet began to ache. Or was it her head? “They will, as soon as they can put things in order in Surrey and close up the cottage. We expect them in a month or so.”

His inched his fingers around her waist to press them against her back. “I'm afraid you're tense, Lily. I can feel it right here.” He stroked her lower back, his touch light, like the tip of a feather drifting down her spine. “It feels like a steel rod is laced into your corset.”

Lily caught her breath. If she hadn't been tense before, she was
now
.

Panic began to creep up on her. She didn't want her skin to leap up to meet his fingers every time Robyn touched her. She didn't trust him. He'd proved himself as wicked as his sisters said he was. More so, even, with his black eye and his barmaids and his knowing, teasing fingers.

She tried to squirm away from him. “I'm not tense. Why should I be? I look forward to my sisters' arrival in London.”

“Just what London needs—three more young ladies with the Somerset blue eyes. I can hear gentlemen's hearts break even as we speak.”

Lily frowned. “My goodness. I hope not.”

“Why not? It's what every young lady dreams of, isn't it? To come to London, become the belle of her season, and break every heart in the city?”

Perhaps every
foolish
young lady dreamed of such things. “No. I hope my sisters don't wish for that. I'd much rather each of them settle quietly with a respectable gentleman than tear around London like furies, causing upheaval wherever they go.”

“A respectable gentleman like Lord Atherton, you mean?” He gave her a sly grin. “That sounds dull.”

Lily's heart fluttered strangely in her chest at that grin. It wouldn't do, that flutter. She preferred dullness over heart palpitations. “Yes. He's just the type of man I'd wish for my younger sisters.”

“And for yourself, of course. But there is only one Lord Atherton, and
you're
going to marry him, so whatever will your sisters do?”

“There
is
more than one respectable gentleman in London, though one might not know it from the company
you
keep.”

He leaned toward her so his voice was a low rumble in her ear. “There's no help for it, you know. Your sisters
will
break hearts. One glance from those famous Somerset blue eyes and the gentlemen of London will fall to their knees.”

Lily just prevented a shiver from the soft drift of his breath against her ear. She jerked her head back. “What nonsense.”

After all,
sh
e had the Somerset blue eyes, and
Robyn's
heart appeared to be intact. Not that it mattered in the least to her. She didn't want his heart, or his lips at her ear, or his hand on her waist. She didn't want him to kiss her ever again, either.

“Wait and see,” he murmured.

Lily said nothing. She didn't wish to discuss blue eyes and broken hearts with Robyn, and especially not gentlemen falling to their knees. How did he manage to make everything sound so wicked?

“Hyacinth is quite young still,” he said after a moment. “She may feel overwhelmed at first. London is nothing like Surrey.”

Lily nodded, relieved. This seemed a much safer topic of conversation. “No, indeed. I expect all three of them will feel as though they're lost in a maze.”

Robyn frowned. “Maze? What maze?”

“Oh, never mind. It doesn't matter.”

He didn't say anything for a while, then, “Is that how
you
feel? As if you're lost in a maze?”

Lily glanced up at him, surprised by his serious tone. “Rather, yes.”

He appeared to consider this. “Do you mean in the sense that London is a grand adventure and you anticipate with joy the surprise around every corner?”

“No.” But there wasn't any point in explaining it to him, for he'd never understand. No doubt he adored mazes, had probably chased his lady friends through dozens of them.

“It's more like tearing blindly down path after path, only to become more desperate for a way out with each step.”

For pity's sake!
Where had that explanation come from? Now he'd laugh at her.

But he didn't laugh. “That sounds awful.”

“It
is
awful. I don't care for mazes. My family visited one when I was a child, and I suppose I've never recovered from it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You had to
recover
from a visit to a maze? I'm almost afraid to ask, but what happened?”

“I got lost.”

This time he did laugh. “Isn't that the point?”

I was very young. I was lost for a long time. I was alone.

Lily opened her mouth, but she closed it again before the excuses could escape. She stared up at Robyn. Yes, being lost
was
rather the point, wasn't it? Odd, but she'd never thought of it quite that way before. She felt the ghost of a smile lift the corners of her mouth. She supposed it
was
rather funny.

He grinned back at her. “I remember visiting a maze when I was six or so. I got lost, too, and had a grand time of it. I climbed under the hedgerows or clambered over them until I got to the center of the maze.”

“But that's against the rules!” she exclaimed. “You're not supposed to cut through the hedges.”

He didn't look the least repentant. “No, but I did find my way to the heart of the maze. How old were you when you got lost?”

“Five, or thereabouts. I never did find my way out on my own. My father found me curled up under a stone bench near the middle, sobbing. I suppose I must have believed I was lost forever.”

Robyn's smile faded, and his fingers tightened suddenly at her waist.

By the time her father had gathered her into his arms, she'd been beside herself. The worst part of that day, though, wasn't that she'd been lost. The worst part was that Delia, and even Iris, who was younger than Lily, had been delighted with the winding pathways and the clever animal topiaries. They'd spent the rest of that day talking excitedly about what fun they'd had in the maze.

Only she had detested it. Only she had been terrified.

Lily shrugged. “I'm sure my sisters will do very well in London, provided they avoid the notice of Mrs. Tittleton.”

She glanced up at him to see how he took this set-down, but it seemed to amuse rather than annoy him. His smile returned as he looked down at her, and she felt her breath stop in her lungs again.

Blast him
. Why must he be so very handsome, and at the same time such a hopeless rogue? It was the smile—the contrary man had the devil's own smile. At first just the merest quirk at one corner of his lips, and then, as if it were sneaking up on his mouth, the smile crept, oh so slowly, to the other corner until at last it took possession of his entire face and his eyes lit up with it.

Robyn's smile wasn't really a smile at all. It was an event.

A young lady didn't have a chance against that smile, and never mind the velvety dark eyes framed with lashes so thick and sooty, they seemed to weigh down his eyelids. A young lady who didn't know better could be mesmerized by those sleepy eyes, and she'd have to be blind not to see the way his thick dark hair waved across his forehead and curled against the bronze skin at the back of his neck.

Her fingers fairly itched to touch his hair, to stroke his neck. Oh, why were the respectable gentlemen never as devastating as the rogues?

“There you go again,” Robyn murmured. “One mention of Mrs. Tittleton and you've gone as stiff as Lord Atherton's upper lip.”

Lord Atherton's upper lip?
Lily resisted the mad giggle that rose to her lips. “What an awful thing to say.”

Robyn chuckled. “Awful, yes, but true nonetheless.”

He swept her into a turn, and for a moment she thought her feet had left the floor altogether. Robyn danced beautifully, just as he did everything else. Once he made up his mind to do it, that is, which happened seldom enough.

“Forget about Mrs. Tittleton,” he whispered. His lips were right next to her ear again, but this time she didn't pull away. “Relax.”

Lily's rib cage expanded with a deep unsteady breath as he pulled her closer against him and wrapped his arm tighter around her. He rested his forearm at the curve of her waist and opened his hand on her lower back.

“Surely you've waltzed before, Lily?” His breath stirred the wavy tendrils at her temple.

“I—that is, yes, of course.”

She'd waltzed a few times, but never like this. She and Robyn moved together like the springs and wheels and pins inside a grandfather clock, each tiny piece fitted precisely, balanced against its fellows, the tension finely calibrated, all clicking and whirring in perfect harmony.