A Season of Ruin (12 page)

She shouldn't. Robe or no robe, the image of her in her white gown, hair streaming down her back, was seared into his brain. He'd never forget it, not even if she were wearing her nun's habit. Or a suit of armor.

She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him, her lips tight. “Well? What's so earth-shattering you felt the need to charge into my bedchamber this morning?”

Robyn opened his mouth to say that after today he'd
happily charge into her bedchamber on the merest pretense, but for once his brain was one step ahead of his mouth. He held out the scandal sheet. “This.”

She didn't take it. Instead she eyed it as though it were a pistol, cocked and loaded. “I don't understand. There's nothing for her to tattle about. Is there?”

She raised troubled blue eyes to his and just like that she was a little girl again, a sobbing five-year-old child lost in a maze.

Robyn felt a strange, empty sensation near his chest. “Well, there may be one very minor thing.”

“What? Has she written about how I was a wallflower at my first Almack's ball?”

God, if only it were just that. What would she do when she found out it was so much worse? “Not exactly. Perhaps you'd better read it yourself.”

He held the paper out and this time she took it. She scanned the first few sentences. “‘Lapse in propriety'? What lapse?”

Robyn said nothing, just watched as she continued down the lines of text.

“‘Passionate enthusiasm for each other's company'? I don't understand this.”

He could tell to the very second when she began to suspect what had happened. “‘Waltzing without express permission from our esteemed hostesses.'”

She folded the paper into neat thirds and balanced it carefully on the side of her dressing table. “Young ladies need permission to waltz at Almack's?” Her voice was quiet, as if she were whispering an obscenity in church.

Robyn took a deep breath. “Yes. But you're new to London, and you didn't know. No one can blame you for it.”

Silence. Then, “But
you
knew. Didn't you, Robyn?”

If only she'd just fly into a rage. He could easily soothe an outraged woman. But she didn't. She simply gazed at him, her blue eyes filled with a hurt she didn't bother to hide.

Admit nothing
. If ever there was a time to obey that rule, it was now. It would be so much easier if he just told her he hadn't known. He opened his mouth and the lie hovered on the edge of his tongue, but much to his horror, the truth slipped out. “Yes. I knew.”

A small sound escaped her—something between a laugh and a sob. “I confess it never occurred to me you'd go out of your way to publicly humiliate me.”

Robyn's mouth fell open. Is that what she thought? It wasn't as if he'd hatched some nefarious scheme to humiliate her. It had just . . . happened. “I didn't intend to humiliate you. I got angry when you told me you'd asked Archie to replace me as your escort, and . . .”

He trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence. He hadn't thought it through, damn it. He'd reacted with pure instinct, much as he always did. He didn't
want
to be replaced, and he'd seized an opportunity to make sure it didn't happen.

“You were angry,” she repeated in disbelief. “You never wanted to act as my escort this season to begin with. I arranged it so you didn't have to. That made you
angry
?”

He opened his mouth to explain—to charm and cajole and wheedle until her fury dissolved. “I wanted . . .”

What
had
he wanted? He hadn't any idea. He closed his mouth. He couldn't explain it to her because he didn't understand it himself.

Lily didn't even notice his hesitation. “You were so angry you've ruined any chance I might have had to redeem myself with the
ton
. So angry”—and now her voice had begun to shake—“you've seen to it I will never be accepted in society.”

“Ruined your chances? No. That's not—”

But she appeared not to hear him. “You did it all with a single dance, as well. It's brilliant, actually. Machiavellian, even.”

Robyn reached her in one stride. Lily's lips parted in a gasp as he grasped her shoulders.

His eyes dropped to her mouth and his body flooded with heat. “Stop it, Lily. I never wanted to ruin you, and you won't
be
ruined. It's nothing as hopeless as all that. I'll make it right.”

She gave a brittle little laugh and tried to twist away from him. “I don't see how.”

He held her fast, his fingers tight on her shoulders. “We'll go along with Ellie's plan. It will still work. It's only a waltz, for God's sake. I'll be the very model of the faithful escort, and the
ton
will forget all about this. We'll brazen it out, just as we discussed.”

Lily stared at him for a moment, her eyes going darker with each breath. “No.”

Her silk robe dragged against his palms as his hands slid down her shoulders. He closed his fingers around her upper arms and pulled her closer to him. “What do you mean,
no
? This is the only way. You haven't any other choice.”

She jerked her chin up. “I do have a choice. I've asked Archie to escort me and he's agreed. I don't see any reason to change plans now.”

Robyn stared at her smooth white throat and his breaths came harsher, quicker. “Don't you? Then you're a fool. Archie can't help you out of it—not when both scandals involve you and me. If you're seen with Archie all over London now, it will only make matters worse.”

A flush rose from her throat into her cheeks. “Perhaps it will. But I'd rather have Archie, even so.”

She'd rather have Archie.

Robyn felt the familiar fury begin to gather in his throat. It continued to swell until it threatened to choke him. He pulled air into his lungs and forced himself to calm. “You'd rather have Archie, would you? I hope you'd rather be ruined than marry Atherton, as well. I told you—Archie can't do a thing for you anymore.”

She moistened her lips with her tongue and swallowed. “I don't care.”

A deep, hot ache twisted inside him, low in his belly. He snatched her wrists and dragged her hands to his chest and held them there, forced her to feel his heart slam against her palms. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “You need
me
.”

Her eyes widened with shock, but she didn't pull away. She stilled, her hands flat against his chest.

Robyn held his breath.
Was there a chance, then?

Her eyes never left his as she shook her head. “No. You're wrong. I'm not ever going to need you, Robyn.”

He stared at her. The twisting ache turned hard and cold, a ball of ice in his stomach.

Last night, when they'd waltzed, he'd felt it the instant she gave in to him. For a few brief moments she'd ceased to worry and strategize and plan. She dropped it all into a haphazard pile at her feet and she'd gone soft, boneless. She'd melted against him, and for those brief moments she'd felt perfect in his arms.

He had only to look at her now to see she'd begun to gather the pieces together again. As soon as he left the room, she'd sit on the floor, pull them into her lap, and try to reassemble them, only this time she'd leave out a piece.

Him.

He forced himself to release her before he could give in to the urge to drag her against his body and hold her until she admitted she
did
need him, that Archie could never do for her what he could. He stepped back, away from her, feeling as though he'd been hit with one of Pelkey's enormous fists.

He opened the door. “We'll see.”

Once he gained the hallway, he turned back to look at her, but she'd closed the door behind him.

To think, she'd been worried the
ton
would label her a wallflower.

Casual insolence . . . indecent . . .
what else had Mrs. Tittleton said? There had been something about an improper display of affection, hadn't there?

And that dreadful picture! The gentleman, with his hand on the lady's . . . and then the bodice of the lady's gown, with her . . . Lily's reflection in the mirror went scarlet.

It certainly put the term
wallflower
in perspective.

“Would you like the gold combs, Miss Lily?” Betsy asked.

Lily sat at her looking glass, her chin cradled in her hand. She felt as though she'd been sitting here for hours. Betsy stood behind her, surrounded by her artillery of beauty, wielding her combs and pins and pomades like an expert swordsman in her quest to beautify Lily for the Chatsworths' ball this evening.

Lily had done her best to pretend there was no ball
tonight, but here she was, in a sleek bronze-colored evening gown with Betsy piling her hair atop her head. As if any of the fuss would do the least good at all.

Her eyes jerked to the glass when she felt Betsy slide the first comb into her hair.

“Just here, miss,” Betsy said as she coaxed one delicate comb into the smooth waves next to Lily's ear, just above the elegant mass of curls at the back of her head. Betsy had outdone herself tonight, and the maid's face shone with satisfaction.

Lily didn't have the heart to tell her all of her efforts were wasted. “It's a masterpiece, Betsy,” she said without enthusiasm. “But I don't want the combs. Not tonight.”

Betsy's face clouded with disappointment. A sharp little arrow of guilt pierced through Lily, but she kept her mouth closed. The filigree combs were designed to glitter like tiny jewels and draw attention to the wearer's hair, and they did their job admirably.

Lily didn't want them. The last thing she wanted was to draw more attention to herself. She'd give anything to be the wallflower she'd dreaded being last night, in fact. The irony was not lost on her, and neither was the absurdity of quibbling with Betsy over the combs. Whether she wore them or not, the
ton
would find her.

Had there been any way around it, she wouldn't even attend the ball, but Lady Catherine had insisted.

Not just Lady Catherine, but Ellie and Charlotte, as well. Even Delia had been called into the fray. She'd arrived in Mayfair right after breakfast with a copy of the scandal sheet in her reticule, and all five ladies had retired to Lady Catherine's private parlor with the gravity of soldiers about to embark on a military campaign.

Eleanor sank into the chair next to Lily's. “I can't think how we neglected to tell you the rules about waltzing at Almack's. I beg your pardon, Lily.”

Charlotte turned to her sister impatiently. “
You
beg her
pardon? I'm sure it's
Robyn
who should beg Lily's pardon, for he knew very well she didn't have permission to waltz. Why would he do such a dreadful thing?”

Ellie shook her head. “I can't account for it, either. Robyn is careless, to be sure, but he's never been unkind before. It's not like him to be hurtful.”

Lily looked down at her hands.
Hurtful.

She'd been dizzy with the pleasure of being held in Robyn's arms last night. He'd told her she was safe. She'd believed him, and all the time he'd swept her across the dance floor he'd known she'd pay dearly for that dance. He'd exposed her to the ridicule of the
ton
. Again.

Hurtful
seemed a pale word to describe what he'd done.
Betrayal
was more fitting.

“I've had concerns about Robyn's behavior for some months now, but this . . .” Lady Catherine looked so distressed, Charlotte took her arm and led her to a chair.

Delia followed and took the seat next to Eleanor. “Has he said anything to you, Lily?”

Lily tried to think. She'd been so shocked to find him in her bedchamber, and then so upset over Mrs. Tittleton, she hardly knew what he'd said. “Yes. I spoke to him this morning.”

She didn't mention he'd invaded her bedchamber and she'd been wearing nothing but her night rail at the time.

Delia leaned forward in her chair. “Did he offer any explanation for his behavior?”

“Yes,” Lily said, remembering now. “He said he was angry.”

“
He
was angry!” Charlotte threw her hands into the air. “What in the world does he have to be angry about?”

Lily frowned as she tried to piece together what he'd said. “Now that I think on it, it was rather strange. He was angry because I'd replaced him with Lord Archibald.”

Delia's eyes narrowed. “Replaced him? In what sense?”

“As my escort. When Robyn didn't turn up to escort me
to Almack's, I asked Archie to act as my escort for the remainder of the season, and he agreed. I told Robyn as much, right before he led me into the waltz. It was a clever plan, Ellie.” She turned to her friend. “But Robyn never agreed to it, and it couldn't work without him.”

Eleanor gave Delia a quick glance, then turned back to Lily. “No, I don't suppose it would, and so you released him from his obligation to you. Did he say anything else this morning?”

Lily hesitated. “He told me Lord Archibald couldn't help me, not after the incident at Almack's. He said if I were seen all over town with Archie now, it would only make things worse. Then he said . . .”

Lily felt her cheeks grow warm.

Now it was Lady Catherine's turn to lean forward in her chair. “Yes? He said what?”

“He said only he could restore my reputation, and he promised to be a faithful escort. He said I . . .
need
him now.”

Charlotte made a disgusted noise. “I shudder to think how Robyn defines the phrase
faithful escort
.”

Delia, Ellie, and Lady Catherine said nothing, but Lily saw them exchange glances.

“Perhaps Robyn's right,” Delia ventured after a moment. “Bringing Lord Archibald into it now will only complicate things. If Robyn escorts you, then—”

“No.” Lily's voice was quiet. Final.

Delia cleared her throat. “Do you refuse because you think it will hurt your chances with Lord Atherton?”

Lily gave a bitter laugh. “Chances? No, I've quite given up hope in that quarter. All I wish for now is to get through the season without any further disasters.”

“Oh, my dear,” Charlotte murmured sympathetically, but Lily noticed her friend didn't look altogether sorry to find she no longer held out any hope for Lord Atherton.

“Why not accept Robyn's escort, then?” Ellie asked.
“He's still your best chance to escape this mess with your reputation unscathed.”

“
No
.”

They didn't understand, and she couldn't explain to them this whole mess was no longer about Lord Barrow's study or the illicit waltz. It wasn't about the scandal, or Lord Atherton, or Robyn's behavior, either, though all of those things were bad enough.

The worst of it wasn't even that she couldn't trust Robyn.

It was that she couldn't trust
herself
. Robyn turned her into someone she wasn't, and—

No. That wasn't true. Deep down, under her smooth sashes and rigid propriety, lurked another young lady—one she kept well hidden, especially from herself.

Robyn goaded and teased and persuaded until that other young lady came roaring to the surface, and oh, she was a dreadful sort, the kind of young lady Lily despised, one who laughed too easily, lost her temper, slapped gentlemen's faces, and caused scenes at Almack's. The kind who opened her lips when a rogue kissed her, and then couldn't stop thinking about that kiss. That young lady wasn't thoughtful, or careful, or even
proper
. She abandoned every caution so she could twirl on the dance floor in Robyn's arms and tempt him into kissing her again.

That young lady terrified her.

Lily didn't want to be her.
Couldn't
be her, for when the dance was over and the kiss had ended, there was nothing left but chaos and disappointment.

Her eyes met Delia's. “I'll have Lord Archibald, or I won't have an escort at all.”

Lady Catherine must have seen something in Lily's face, for she intervened. “Let's put the question of an escort aside for the moment. What shall we do about the Chatsworths' ball? It's tomorrow night, and we've already accepted the invitation.”

Oh, dear God.
Dread dropped like a stone into the pit of
Lily's stomach. Surely they didn't expect her to attend the ball
now
? It would be even worse than Almack's, and she didn't think she could face another ball as London's most notorious scandal. “You can make my excuses, can't you?”

Ellie took her hand. “Certainly we can, dear, but then what? You only postpone the inevitable, and it will get more difficult if you put it off.”

Lily looked at Delia hopefully. “Perhaps it's a good time for me to visit Surrey? I can help our sisters close up the cottage, and—”

But Delia was already shaking her head. “I don't think that's a good idea. Iris will enter society as soon as she arrives in London, and Violet right after her, and naturally you'll want to accompany them to parties and balls. You don't want this still hanging over your head then, do you?”

Lily's heart sank. She didn't want this hanging over her sisters' heads; that much was certain.

“I can't think of a better place to get it over with than the Chatsworths' ball,” Lady Catherine said. “Miranda Chatsworth is a dear friend of mine, and Charlotte and Eleanor have known her daughter Lizzie for ages. They'll all support Lily if we ask them to, without question.”

Eleanor nodded. “They will. Archie will be invited, as well—he and Tristan Chatsworth were friends at university. You'll have his support, too, without it appearing as if he escorted you.”

“We need only stay for a short time,” Charlotte said.

The knot in Lily's stomach pulled tighter. “What of Robyn? Hasn't he been invited to the ball, as well?”

Ellie nodded. “Yes, but he hates balls and rarely attends them. Even if he does attend, he'll arrive late, and he'll come straight from White's or some other entertainment. He's not likely to come with us.”

Lily had made a few more halfhearted protests, but in the end she had little choice in the matter, so she'd agreed to accompany the party to the Chatsworths' ball.

She hadn't even left her room yet, and already she regretted her promise.

“Are you sure you won't have the combs, miss?”

Lily's eyes met Betsy's in the mirror. “I'm sure, Betsy. Thank you.”

She might be obliged to go to the ball, but she'd do her best to make sure no one noticed her. She was tempted to request that Betsy do her hair over again in a plainer style, but she was afraid the maid would burst into tears if she asked.

As it was, Betsy didn't look pleased. She laid the combs on the side of the dressing table with a disapproving grumble. “They're meant to go with that gown—”

Before Betsy could launch into her objections, however, she was interrupted by a brisk knock on the door.

Lily tensed. Ever since Robyn burst into her bedchamber that morning, she'd been on guard for another invasion. But surely even Robyn, audacious as he was, wouldn't dare interrupt her while she dressed for the evening?

Then again, why wouldn't he? He'd interrupted her that morning,
before
she'd dressed. Why would he draw the line at interrupting her
during
? She picked one of the combs up from the dressing table and studied it while she drew one slow breath after another and willed her heart to cease its frantic pounding.

She'd been barely out of her bed this morning when he'd dared to enter her room. She'd been shocked speechless to find him there, his dark hair disheveled, in just his shirtsleeves, towering over the bed as if he were some marauding pirate, filling the space with his long legs and wide shoulders.

When she'd come upon him, hadn't he been
fingering
her sheets? Or had she imagined it?

When he'd whirled around to face her, he'd had such a look on his face. She didn't know quite how to describe the look, except that it was . . . fierce. His eyes had darkened as
they'd raked over her in her night rail, and she'd felt a thrill of awareness in her belly, and there'd been no air after that, but a breathlessness such as she'd never known before—

Another knock, louder this time. “Lily? Open the door. It's me.”

Charlotte.

Lily dropped the comb as a wave of strong emotion swept through her.
Relief, of course
. She was overjoyed to find it wasn't Robyn at her door again. She hadn't seen him at all since that morning, not since their argument, and he'd be off to White's tonight, or to see his mistress, or mistresses, or wherever it was he went when he'd managed to slip the noose of obligation.