A Season of Ruin (17 page)

There, that should satisfy the old bird.

The old bird apparently was not satisfied, however, for she stopped him before he could make his escape.

“It looked to me as though you stood in a corner all night, drinking to excess and glowering at my granddaughter. Pleasant, was it?”

Robyn's mouth fell open. She'd seen all that from across the room? The old lady had better eyesight than he would have thought. “Ah, well, I wouldn't say glowering, exactly.”

“Do you have designs on my granddaughter, Mr. Sutherland?”

Robyn had to make an effort to keep his mouth from dropping open again. “Designs?”

“Yes, designs, young man. Don't pretend you don't know what I mean. I don't care for the way you look at my granddaughter, sir, and I won't have you sniffing under her skirts for your next conquest.”

Good Lord.
Robyn wasn't sure whether to laugh or blush. “Sniffing under her skirts? What a vulgar thing to say, Lady Chase.”

“It's a vulgar thing to
do
, as well. Lily is no longer a friendless orphan, Mr. Sutherland, so don't imagine you can get away with your roguish antics with her.”

Robyn stared at her. So he was being warned away from Lily now, was he?

All at once he found himself coldly furious. He could have engaged in his roguish antics with Lily days ago, but he'd resisted. And when had Lily
ever
been as pathetic as her grandmother made her sound? “Lily has never been friendless, my lady. You don't give her enough credit. Lovely as she is, she makes friends wherever she goes.”

Lady Chase's eyebrows shot up at this. “Well, I—”

Robyn wasn't finished. “The Sutherlands have been her friends these last months—her family, too, when her
own
family refused to acknowledge her.”

Lady Chase flushed a dull red at that reminder. “I suppose you think that gives you some claim on her, don't you, young man? I don't approve of you, Mr. Sutherland, and I won't hesitate to make my sentiments known to my granddaughter.”

“Indeed?” Robyn's voice was soft. “I imagine you had a similar conversation with your daughter, right before she ran off with Henry Somerset. Take care, Lady Chase. You wouldn't want history to repeat itself.”

Now it was Lady Chase's turn to go openmouthed, but Robyn didn't wait to hear what she'd say. He gave her another stiff bow, turned on his heel, and strode to the door.

He'd had quite enough of this fete, or rout, or whatever the bloody hell it was. He'd had enough of watered-down wine. He'd had enough of Lord Atherton's smooth lies and Lady Chase's warnings.

And he'd had enough of Lily, with her absurdly soft skin
and huge blue eyes. He'd had enough of her innocent kisses and her fresh meadow scent, if it was really even her scent at all. Now he thought about it, that scent probably did come out of a bottle. It was too innocent to be real.

He'd had enough of—

Lily.
She came toward him from the dim hallway. Alone.

What unfortunate timing.
For her.

Robyn's eyes narrowed and every muscle in his body pulled tight with anger, frustration, and thwarted desire.

He stopped in front of her, so close he heard her faint gasp. “My, such uncharacteristic carelessness, Lily. Have you forgotten what happened the last time you went to the ladies' retiring room alone? What have you done with Delia?”

She seemed to sense his dangerous mood, for she tried to slip past him. “She's resting. I'm on my way to fetch Alec to take her home.”

He blocked her way, then moved forward to back her closer to the wall. “Ah. Well, you'd best hurry. I believe you promised to dance with Atherton again. I'm sure he's as patient as a saint, but you don't want to keep him waiting.”

A flush rose on her cheeks. “No. I don't. Let me pass, if you please.”

Robyn dragged a finger down her pink cheek, testing the heat there. “By all means, don't let me keep you, madam.”

The blue eyes opened wide. “
Madam?
”

Savage triumph swept through him as her flush deepened and spread down her neck. He trailed his finger in its wake until he rested the tip at the base of her throat. “Oh, yes. I think it's better if we keep it formal from now on. I know Lady Chase will prefer it.”

Lily's pulse leapt wildly against his fingertip. “L-Lady Chase? I don't know what you mean.”

Robyn dipped his head to whisper in her ear. “Why don't you ask her? I'm sure she'll be pleased to tell you all about my wicked designs on you.”

So deliciously wicked
 . . . and so impossible.

He needed to get out of there—he needed to find Pelkey, or Archie, or any bloody thing to take his mind off Lily.

He jerked his finger away from her throat and backed up so she could pass.

Lily hesitated, then edged past him, her shoulder brushing against his chest. “I
will
ask her.”

C
lose
 . . . close enough that he could wrap an arm around her waist, ease her back against the wall and hold her there with his body, sink his face into her neck, and—

Robyn forced his arms to his sides. “You do that. I wish you a good night.”

“You're leaving already? But . . . it's so early.”

He gave her a low, mocking bow. “Early in the evening perhaps, but long, long overdue otherwise.”

*   *   *

Lily followed Robyn down the hallway, heart tight in her chest, and watched as he walked out the front door of the town house and disappeared into the night.

Someone touched her elbow. “Miss Somerset?”

She turned to find Lord Atherton standing next to her. He bowed. “I believe you promised me this dance?”

Lily watched her hand reach forward, as if it were not a part of her body, to grasp Lord Atherton's arm.

“Yes, my lord,” she murmured as he led her away. “I believe I did.”

The entrance hall looked like a bloody conservatory. Lilies, of course. Trust Atherton to sacrifice the romantic to the literal. The man lacked imagination.

Robyn stomped down the last few steps into the foyer and glanced around. Rylands had disappeared on some errand, and if he could judge by the scrape of silverware against porcelain, the rest of the family was in the breakfast parlor. He was alone. Just him and the enormous display of lilies sitting on a hall table.

Yesterday's lilies had disappeared. Most likely Lily had taken them to her room. She'd probably placed them next to her bed so they were the last thing she saw before she fell asleep and the first when she awoke each morning.

Touching, that. Nearly brought a tear to his eye. Or maybe lilies just made his eyes water.

He hoped they made Lily's eyes water, too. In fact, he hoped she awoke every morning with a heavy head and
burning eyes. Why should he be the only one? Never mind if his ailments were the result of whiskey, and entirely self-induced.

Robyn glanced around once more then sauntered over to the flowers, taking care to tread quietly. Ah. Lily must not have seen this arrangement yet, for the card was still here. He plucked it from the blooms.

To Lily. Affectionately, Francis.

Robyn snorted.
Affectionately?
Hardly a declaration of passionate love, was it? Either Atherton was no poet, or he'd mistaken Lily for his sister. Or his mother. The thought filled Robyn with a petulant sort of satisfaction.

Still. Francis, and Lily? They already called each other by their given names. A few weeks' worth of flowers and a few rides around Rotten Row was all it took to win her affections, it seemed. He'd have expected more from Lily.

What other intimacies did she permit?

Robyn stuffed the card back into the flower arrangement. What did it matter if Atherton kissed her hand, or her cheek, or her lips? Damn it, he didn't want to know—didn't want to think about it.

Yet here he was, thinking about it anyway. Good God, it had only been two weeks.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Fourteen days in which he'd spoken hardly a single word to her.

He hadn't seen much of her, as he'd made it a point to be absent from the town house as often as possible. He went out every evening with Pelkey and Archie and spent his nights at Archie's bachelor's chambers in St. James's Place.

He wasn't sure why he was here now, really, except Archie insisted he make an appearance in Mayfair before his mother hired runners to drag the Thames in search of him.

Archie also had the nerve to hint Robyn should have a bath.
The bastard.

He hadn't slept at all, but he'd bathed, and being a dutiful son, he'd report for breakfast this morning. Then he'd disappear for another seven days. At least.

The breakfast room rang with feminine voices. A lively debate was under way, but the minute Robyn crossed the threshold, it trailed off into silence.

His mother wasn't even here, damn it. She'd probably left for Delia and Alec's house already. Let her drag the Thames, then, for he'd no intention of dining here tomorrow morning, as well.

“Oh, don't let me interrupt you.” He gave his sisters a sarcastic wave of his hand. “I'll just have my coffee quietly in the corner. Pretend I'm not here.”

“Good morning, Robyn,” Ellie said, a little too cheerfully. “We're just discussing the theater. Here, sit next to me.” She patted the chair next to her.

A quick glance revealed the seat next to Ellie was directly across the table from Lily. He could hardly refuse to sit next to his sister, but . . .

He let his cup and saucer hit the table with a thud. He'd sit where he bloody well pleased, Lily be damned.

He plopped down in the chair next to Ellie, crossed his booted feet with as much noise and fuss as possible, and fixed his gaze on Lily.

And immediately regretted it.

She looked nothing less than edible in a peach-colored morning gown. He'd never fully appreciated the way such a gown could cling to a woman's curves before. Her hair looked a little damp, as if she'd just bathed. A few stray curls still clung to her neck, and his mouth watered to tickle those damp curls with his tongue.

Where was her nun's habit this morning? He supposed
that
wouldn't do anymore, now that Atherton was courting her.

He stared down at his breakfast plate. He'd lost his appetite for his eggs because Lily looked like a luscious, sweet
peach tart in that gown, and now nothing would do for him but peach tarts.

Who did she think she was, ruining his breakfast?

She'd ruined a perfectly good season of debauchery, as well. He could hardly believe he'd been satisfied with a quick grab and tickle in the dark with Alicia Downes only weeks ago. Now he couldn't even enjoy
that
without wishing he could grab and tickle Lily instead.

“What about the theater?” he asked Ellie. His eyes never left Lily's face.

Ellie cleared her throat. “Lord Atherton suggested we see
Twelfth Night
this evening. We haven't used our box since we arrived in London, and I do love Shakespeare.”

Lily's eyes darted toward him, albeit unwillingly. She turned as red as a peony when she found him staring at her, and became quite preoccupied with arranging her eggs neatly on one side of her plate with her fork.

For God's sake, not the blush again
. He watched in helpless fascination as it drifted down her long throat to her—

“Did you see it?”

Robyn turned to Ellie. “I didn't see a blasted thing—oh, you mean
Twelfth Night
? I did see it. Part of it anyway.”

“Well, what did you think?” Charlotte asked. “Did you enjoy it?”

“I enjoyed seeing Louise Bannister in breeches,” he drawled.

He hadn't enjoyed it as much as he ought, which was bloody annoying enough.

Lily's fault.

“She plays Viola, you know,” he added helpfully.

He watched Lily over the rim of his cup as he slurped rudely at his coffee. “She pretends to be Cesario in order to catch Orsino's eye, and I can assure you she's quite eye-catching in her breeches—”

“We're all familiar with the play,” Lily snapped. She
flushed again when Ellie and Charlotte turned to her in surprise.

Robyn raised his eyebrows at her.
My, she sounds cross all of a sudden
. “Are you? I beg your pardon. I must have misunderstood Charlotte's question.”

“Yes, well, I think we get the idea. Shall we all go, then?” Ellie asked.

Charlotte shrugged. “Oh, why not? I suppose one must go to the theater at some point during the season, mustn't one?”

Robyn gave Lily his best maddening grin and rose from his chair. “How right you are, Charlotte. I couldn't agree more. Perhaps Archie and I will accompany you. It will be a pleasure to see Miss Bannister—I mean, the play again. I didn't appreciate it from every angle the first time.”

Charlotte blinked in surprise to find him in such vehement agreement with her. “We'd better use the Sutherland box, then. It's a large one. Do you think Lord Atherton will mind, Lily?”

Robyn's grin widened at Lily's scowl. “Atherton's not the sort who minds about much of anything at all. Is he, Lily?”

Her jaw tightened. “It will be fine, Charlotte.”

Robyn tossed his napkin onto the table. Against all expectations, it had been quite a productive morning. “It's settled, then. I shall see you all tonight.”

He whistled as he left the room.

*   *   *

Breeches, indeed.

Lily jerked at the handfuls of skirts that lay crumpled underneath her and arranged them to fall gracefully around her chair.

Blast
. Either the skirts were too voluminous, or the chair was too small.

Perhaps breeches weren't such a ridiculous idea after all.
Though not on Louise Bannister, and not in
public
. Certainly not to encourage wicked behavior from rakes like Robyn Sutherland.

Two weeks. He hadn't spoken to her in two weeks, and when he finally did speak, the best he could do was wax poetic about Louise Bannister's breeches? Not that she cared that he hadn't spoken to her, of course. She'd been far too busy to even notice.

“You look lovely tonight.” Lord Atherton said.

Rather perfunctorily, in Lily's opinion.

Francis. She must remember to call him Francis.
He'd asked her to, and she'd agreed, but for some reason he remained Lord Atherton in her mind.

He waved his hand around in the air to indicate her gown. “What color did you say it was again? Blue?”

“Cobalt,” Lily said, more pettishly than she'd intended. Honestly, though—anyone could see it was cobalt.

Two weeks. Lord Atherton had taken her for drives along Rotten Row in his phaeton, and showered her with flowers and compliments. The courtship was everything she wanted—proper, correct, polite, and from the very man she wanted it from.

It had been the dullest two weeks of her life.

Robyn's fault.

Oh, Lord Atherton was attentive enough, but their exchange about the color of her gown was the most interesting conversation they'd had this week. They had little to say to each other. So little, in fact, she'd gone from pondering whether she really wanted to marry
him
to wondering why in the world he'd want to marry
her
.

“Oh, here's Robyn and Archie,” Charlotte said. “They should liven us up.”

Oh, yes, indeed. Robyn did tend to keep things lively—too lively by half for any decent young lady. She glanced at Lord . . .
Francis
, who sat sedately beside her. Sedate was
far better than lively. Of course it was. She very much preferred sedate to lively.

Why had Robyn insisted on coming tonight in the first place? Did he really intend to drool over Louise Bannister, right in front of her? Well, how fortunate for him Louise Bannister wasn't a decent young lady.

“Evening, Atherton.”

A knot gathered in Lily's stomach. The low, amused voice came from directly behind her. She shivered, sure she could feel Robyn's hot breath against the back of her neck, left bare this evening by one of Betsy's more elaborate hair creations.

She wouldn't turn around, then.
She would simply ignore him—

“Good evening, Miss Somerset.”

As usual, Robyn refused to be ignored. He stepped forward, bowed, then took her gloved hand in his and raised it to his mouth. His eyes held hers as his lips lingered just a shade longer than was proper. Lord Atherton settled a proprietary hand on the back of her chair, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from Robyn.

The knot in her belly tightened. Drat it, he was so handsome in his black evening attire. No one would guess the heart of a rake beat under that proper dark silk waistcoat, or that his impeccable white gloves hid hands that could reduce a woman to a heap of quivering flesh.

Not unless they looked into his eyes, or noticed the too-wide cast of his lips. The lips and eyes gave him away for the wicked rogue he was. No woman could look into those eyes or endure that slow smile and not find herself going breathless.

What was it Lady Chase called him? Rapscallion? Young scoundrel?

Yes, either of those would do.

“How beautiful you look tonight,” he murmured, not at
all perfunctorily. Lily's stomach bottomed out in a way it hadn't even considered doing when Francis complimented her five minutes ago. Then again, one of Robyn's most dangerous qualities was making her believe everything he said, regardless of whether she should or not.

Lady Chase appeared far less inclined to fall under Robyn's spell than Lily, however.

“Humph. Young Sutherland, is it?” She gave him a long, measuring look. “And who are
you
?” she barked, holding up her quizzing glass to peer at Archie, who'd followed Robyn into the box.

“This is Alistair Wroth, Lord Archibald, my lady,” Robyn replied, bowing to Lady Chase.

Archie gave Lily a sly wink, then also bowed to Lady Chase. “It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady. My Aunt Bettina speaks highly of you.”

Lady Chase looked from Robyn to Archie with her quizzing glass, then turned to Lady Catherine with her verdict. “Humph. Am I to understand I'm to suffer two young scoundrels now?”

“I'm afraid so, Lady Chase,” Charlotte put in with an unrepentant grin. “Archie and Robyn go everywhere together.”

“Indeed? Well, they can go to the back of the box together, then. The play has begun.”

Robyn bowed again, and he and Archie made their way to the back of the box. Lord Atherton stiffened as Robyn took the seat just behind Lily's, and her own back went rigid with awareness. She became almost painfully conscious of the bare skin at the back of her neck, and the long tendrils of hair that brushed against her shoulders, also left mostly bare by her gown.