A Season of Ruin (15 page)

“Yes,” he murmured. “Just like that. Now kiss me.”

She hesitated for what felt like an eternity. He held his breath and waited for her to choose, every cell in his body aching for her kiss.

That first brush of her closed lips against his, so light, like the initial strokes of a brush upon a blank canvas. He remained motionless and let her learn the shape of his mouth with her lips and tongue, her shy kiss the sweetest torture he'd ever known.

He held back until he could stand it no more, then his lips opened and his tongue darted out to taste the bow of her upper lip.

She froze for a moment, then melted into his chest. “Robyn,” she murmured. “Please . . .”

With that breathless plea, his control snapped. He took
her mouth hard, crushing her lips beneath his until she opened them. He thrust inside on the first stroke, tasting her deeply, desperate to feel the heat of her tongue against his. “Kiss me back.”

She did, her tongue hesitant at first, then bolder, a hot stroke inside his mouth.

“
Oh
.”

Her soft, wondering sigh undid him.

Time slid sideways and spun away as his lips explored hers. The kiss lasted only seconds; or was it hours? Long enough for her mouth to open eagerly under his.

He had to stop.

Even as the warning echoed in his head, he pressed his fingers into the arch of her back.

Not yet. Not yet.

He was fully, achingly aroused for her, and some feral, wild part of him wanted her to feel it. He wanted her to
know
.

He held her against him, groaning aloud at the feel of her warm body between his thighs, her soft belly cradling his hard cock. “This is what you do to me, Lily.”

He half hoped she'd be shocked, that she'd slap him or at least scramble away from him and take the decision out of his hands. Instead she gasped and arched her body into his.

You can never have her.

He knew it, but she lay against him, trembling and eager, and he couldn't make himself stop.

Warm silk slid under his palms as he traced his hands up her back and cupped her face to still her and take her lips again, slowly this time. He tasted her bottom lip, tested the softness there, and tugged it gently between his own to suck on it.

Yes.

He let his hand skim down the front of her neck and his lips followed, lingering at the soft skin just under her chin
before he moved to her neck. She shivered as his tongue traced that long line, and he shifted lower so he could press his lips to the place where her pulse beat against her throat.

“
Robyn 
. . .”

Desire rushed through him at the sound of his name, so breathless on her lips. She wanted him. He could hear her desire in her short, panting breaths, but he heard uncertainty there, too.

“Shhh, love,” he whispered against her throat. “Just let me . . .”

He hooked his fingers under her flimsy lace sleeves and slid them down just a little—enough to reveal the tops of her breasts only. His pulse leapt at the sight of her skin, so smooth and white and bared for him. Only him, for he knew no other man had ever seen her like this.

“Lily,” he breathed. “You're so beautiful, love.”

He spread his hands across her back and lifted her to him, nuzzling the soft, soft skin of her neck before he dragged his open mouth across her breasts, nipping at the lovely swells that rose from the bodice of her gown.

She gave a breathless whimper and clutched at his hair to hold him against her.

Oh, dear God
—her scent was strongest here, between her breasts, over her heart. His tongue darted out to taste her there, but he knew—he knew, even before her skin met his mouth, what she'd taste like.

It maddened him, that scent of sweet green grass and sun; that taste of wild strawberries.

Pure, distilled innocence.

It would be so easy to snatch that innocence for himself. He never denied himself whatever, or whoever, he wanted.

But not this time. Not tonight
.

He allowed his mouth to linger against her skin for a heartbeat before he set her away and retreated to the other side of the sofa. He sat, unmoving, his head tipped back, his breaths quick, harsh. “I think I've gone mad.”

Lily put a hand to her lips, dazed. “Robyn? What—”

“Go to bed,” he said hoarsely.

She didn't move.

He looked at her, hoping the shadows in the room hid his eyes. “This isn't the time or place, and you don't really want this.”

The time and place for
this
didn't exist. Not for him and Lily. He'd disappoint her, just as he did his mother, and Alec and his sisters. Just as he'd disappointed his father. He wouldn't set out to do it, but it would happen nonetheless, and she deserved better than that. Better than him.

Her voice brushed against him, so soft. “I don't think you know what I want.”

Robyn closed his eyes.

Wasn't it better to get it over with now? Before he really cocked it up?

He couldn't look at her when he said it. “Very well, then.
I
don't want this.”

He didn't open his eyes. For a moment there was no sound, then he heard a soft rustle of skirts as Lily rose from the sofa, and felt the edge of the blanket fall over his leg as she let it drop.

His eyes were still closed when the door shut quietly behind her.

“I've got it.” Eleanor entered the drawing room waving a scandal sheet over her head.

Charlotte looked up from her embroidery with a frown. “Well, that was quick. What, did one of the
ton
leave it on our doorstep? It's one way to make sure we see it.”

“No.” Ellie hesitated. “Actually, I had it from Robyn.”

Charlotte dropped her embroidery into her lap. “Robyn! How strange. I wouldn't have imagined him even awake at this hour, much less in possession of Mrs. Tittleton's latest slander.”

Eleanor took her seat. “Awake? It's nearly one o'clock, Charlotte. Still, his behavior was rather odd. Did you go straight to bed when you arrived home last night, Lily?”

Lily had sunk low in her seat the second Robyn's name was mentioned, but at this, her head snapped up.

Bed? How would she know anything about Robyn's bed?
What in the world could Ellie mean by such a question—

“Ouch!” She looked down to see a drop of blood on the
tip of her finger where she'd driven her needle into the pad of flesh there. The blood welled, then dripped onto the white ground of her needlework.

Splendid. Blue violets in a straw basket on a bloody white background. If it was the only blood she shed today, she'd count herself lucky.

Ellie looked at her expectantly.

Lily's face grew warm. “I did lie down almost immediately upon my return home, yes.” There. That would do. It wasn't a lie, after all. There was no need to mention she'd lain down
on top
of Robyn.

No need to mention it or even to think about it, and certainly no need to spend all day dwelling on each and every moment of it to the exclusion of every other thought in her head. It had amounted to nothing. Less than nothing.

“What's the matter with Robyn, then?” Lady Catherine set her work aside and chose a biscuit off the tray on the table in front of her. “You said his behavior is odd?”

Ellie tapped the scandal sheet against her knee. “Quite odd, yes. He's in a foul mood, for one thing. Rather bearish. He even looks bearish. A fright, really.”

Charlotte snorted. “So far I haven't heard anything out of the ordinary.”

“He says he fell asleep in Alec's study. Indeed, he told me he spent the night there.”

Both Lady Catherine and Charlotte exclaimed at this.

“Now, that
is
odd,” Charlotte said. “He has an aversion to studies and places of work of any kind. I've never known him to go anywhere near one if he could avoid it.”

Lily kept her eyes on her embroidery and did her best to look uninterested in the discussion, but her brain began to churn. Robyn had been very much awake when she'd left the study. Had he fallen off to sleep after she left, like an innocent babe in arms?

She supposed she shouldn't be surprised to find their encounter had meant so little to him. Very likely he'd drifted
off into a blissful sleep the moment she left the room, while she'd thrashed in her sheets and pummeled her pillow until dawn lit the sky outside her bedchamber window. She'd fallen into a fitful sleep at last, but even then she'd dreamed of him, his tongue tasting her lips, his hands on her back, pressing her against him—

Yet Robyn had similar encounters nearly every night, didn't he, and with a wide selection of eager partners. Lady Downes, for example, or any barmaid with a bare leg. Why should
she
be any different?

Yet she was different, wasn't she? Lily doubted he'd ever sent any of those other ladies away without . . . well,
without
. How he must have laughed at her awkward kisses and clumsy caresses as soon as the door closed behind her last night.

“Even odder,” Ellie continued, “he's still dressed in his evening clothes, but I know he's been up for hours, for he told me he rose early to search out the scandal sheet.”

“What's he been doing all morning, then?” Charlotte asked.

“Sitting in Alec's study.” Ellie glanced at Lily, a strange look on her face. “I know he escorted you home last night, Lily. I hope you two didn't quarrel. Was he still downstairs when you retired?”

Lily looked down at the bloody violets in her lap to avoid Eleanor's penetrating gaze. “He was. What of Mrs. Tittleton, Ellie?”

She'd rather discuss Mrs. Tittleton than Robyn?
Dear God
. That was a bad sign, indeed.

Ellie looked down at the sheet still clutched in her fingers as if she'd forgotten it was there. “Oh, yes. Well, that's another odd thing.”

“Oh, no,” Charlotte groaned. “I suppose there's a lurid and greatly exaggerated account of the confrontation between Lily and Lady Chase?”

The color must have drained from Lily's face then, for
Ellie shot to her feet and hurried across the room to her. “I beg your pardon, Lily. I should have made myself clear. It's odd in the best possible way.”

She held the paper out to Lily.

Lily reached for it as if she were afraid it would burst into flames in her hand. She ran her eyes quickly over the sheet, turned it over and glanced at the back, then looked up at Ellie. “There's nothing here.”

“What, nothing?” Charlotte tossed away her embroidery and held out her hand for the paper.

Lily could hardly believe it herself. She rose to hand the paper to Charlotte, then paced over to the window, then to the fireplace, unable to sit still. She was relieved, of course—vastly so. It was the best possible outcome. She couldn't think of anything that could please her more, in fact. Not one thing. Yet her spirits still remained low, for reasons she didn't care to examine.

Why would Robyn send her away last night and then spend the night in the study?

Lily shook her head to clear the traitorous thought. It hardly mattered. Whatever Robyn chose to do with his lovers hadn't a thing to do with her—he'd made that clear last night. She had far more important things to worry about than where Robyn chose to spend his nights, or with whom he chose to spend them.

Or what he did with them. And
to
them
.

Charlotte ran a careful eye over the sheet. “Why, how curious. What can it mean?”

“Perhaps the awful woman has at last developed a conscience,” Lady Catherine said.

Lily doubted it. “I'm not certain this is good news.”

What fresh torture might Mrs. Tittleton have in mind? It seemed too much to hope that the odious woman would overlook such a delicious scandal. Whatever it was, it was sure to be dreadful, like a series of columns on Lily's
exploits with Robyn, followed by a detailed account of how Lady Anne Chase had cut her own granddaughters.

Dreadful, indeed.
So why didn't Lily care more?

She glanced at Ellie. “What do you think, Eleanor?”

Ellie spread her hands wide in a helpless gesture. “I hardly know what to think. It could be that—”

She got no further, for at that moment a commotion broke out in the entryway. Lily couldn't quite make it out, but it sounded as if a visitor had come to call and Rylands had denied them entrance.

“Now what?” Lady Catherine muttered irritably. “Charlotte, be a dear and see what the trouble is, won't you?”

“Of course.” Charlotte rose to do her mother's bidding, but before she could take a step toward the door, the argument in the entryway grew louder. Lily heard a woman's voice raised in anger.

“Stand aside, young man, for enter I will, despite your objections!”

“I'm afraid not, ma'am,” a low voice drawled. “Miss Somerset is not at home to visitors.”

Good God
. It wasn't Rylands who refused entrance. It was Robyn.

Lily's first confused thought was that Mrs. Tittleton had come to call. Why, the audacity of the woman!

A loud rap sounded then, as if someone had stamped a foot.

“Don't you try and put
me
off,
thump
, you rapscallion,
thump
. Do you know who I am?
Thump
. I
will
see her.”
Thump
.

“Oh, I know who you are, Lady Chase,” Robyn replied, a thread of warning now underlying his polite tone.

Oh,
dear God
. Lily swayed as the room tilted crazily.

It wasn't Mrs. Tittleton, and the rap they'd heard wasn't a stamped foot. It was a cane being thumped repeatedly against the marble floor. Lily grasped the mantelpiece for
support and pressed her hand to her stomach to forestall the sudden queasiness.

Lady Anne Chase had come to call. She stood in the entryway at this very moment, sounding as though she was about to strike Robyn with her cane.

All four ladies in the drawing room realized it at once. There was a brief silence as they exchanged stricken glances, then Charlotte moved to the door. “Don't worry, Lily. Robyn won't let her in.” She placed a hand flat against the wood panel, as if she were prepared to tackle Lady Chase to the floor should the old woman manage to get past Robyn.

“And
I
know who
you
are.”
Thump
. “Young Sutherland, is it? All of London knows who
you
are, you young scoundrel.”

“I'm sorry my behavior has disappointed you, ma'am,” Robyn said, sounding anything but sorry. “Scoundrel or no, I'm afraid I won't allow you to harass Miss Somerset.”

A pool of warmth gathered in Lily's stomach at Robyn's words, and for the first time that day, her spirits lifted.

Which only proved beyond a doubt what a fool she was.

“Harass! Why, how
dare
you? I demand to see my granddaughter this instant!”

“Granddaughter?” Lady Catherine said. “
Granddaughter
. Come away from the door, Charlotte.”

Charlotte's eyes widened. “But—”

“Do as I say.” Lady Catherine's tone was mild, but she advanced to the door with determined steps. She stopped in front of it and turned to Lily. “I think you'd better see what Lady Chase has to say, my dear. May I let her in?”

Oh, please don't!
Lily opened her mouth to say the words aloud, but then closed it again, surprised to find a part of her clamored to hear what her grandmother had to say. Whatever it was, Lady Chase would surely find a way to say it, and it was much better done here in the privacy of the drawing room than at a ball with every member of the
ton
gawking at them.

Lily loosened her grip on the mantel and raised her chin. She'd hear Lady Chase out, and she'd do it in a way that would have made her mother proud.

She returned Lady Catherine's steady gaze and nodded. “Very well.”

Lady Catherine held her eyes for a moment, and her fond look made Lily's throat choke with emotion. Then she nodded, stepped to the door, and opened it. “Robyn, please show Lady Chase into the drawing room.”

There was a brief, surprised silence from the other side of the door, then a sound of rustling skirts as Lady Chase sailed into the room, Robyn in her wake. He was silent now, but his dark eyes found Lily's as soon as he crossed the threshold.

Lady Chase, however, seemed not to notice Lily, but fixed a beady blue eye on Lady Catherine. “Well, Lady Catherine Sutherland. I believe we've met before. It's a pleasure to see you again, of course.”

Lady Catherine curtsied. “You are very welcome in my home, my lady.”

“Am I, indeed? I don't imagine that's true, given the reception I've received.” She raised her cane and jabbed it in Robyn's direction. “
This
is your son, I believe?”

“Yes, my lady. This is my younger son, Mr. Robert Sutherland, and my two daughters, Charlotte and Eleanor Sutherland.”

Both Charlotte and Ellie rose and curtsied politely to Lady Chase, but their expressions remained cold.

Lady Chase hardly spared them a glance, but she eyed Robyn as if she'd scraped him off the bottom of her shoe. “Humph.”

Lady Catherine made a gesture toward Lily, who stood motionless by the fireplace, her face pale and set. “This, Lady Chase, is the second eldest of your five granddaughters. Miss Lily Somerset.”

Lily watched as if in a dream as Lady Chase turned
slowly toward her. The old lady was every bit as imposing as she'd been last night, with her cane and her snow white hair, but this time Lily scarcely noticed her grandmother's severe grandeur. This time Lily found herself staring into those eyes, sunken in folds of wrinkled, powdered white flesh, but still so piercing, so blue.

So like her mother's blue eyes, except these eyes held a profound sadness deep in their depths. Lily hadn't noticed it last night; she'd been too far away and too shocked to notice anything, but looking at her grandmother now, a memory drifted into her consciousness.

Some years ago she'd attended an art exhibit and been fascinated with a collection of ancient Chinese vases. She'd been unable to take her eyes off them, so beautiful were they, and yet each one held a crack or a tiny chip or some other flaw that marred the surface. Lily found them more beautiful because of those imperfections. It amazed her, the way the minuscule flaws misled one into believing the vases were fragile, when each of them had remained whole for thousands of years.