A Season of Ruin (18 page)

She brushed away the wisps of hair and touched the back of her neck with a gloved hand.

Behind her, a man drew in a sharp breath through his teeth.

She didn't suppose it was Archie.

Lily's hand dropped at once. She clenched them together in her lap and forced herself to focus on the stage, but it was no use. She could feel his eyes on her. She even imagined she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, little puffs of air like whispers in her ear.

It grew worse once Miss Bannister took the stage. She was prettier than Lily had expected her to be—petite, with dark hair, a saucy smile, and scandalously tight breeches. Lily found herself studying every line of Miss Bannister's figure in those breeches, trying to see her as a man must see her. As Robyn saw her.

It wasn't difficult to determine why he'd returned to the theater to study her from
every angle
. Lily fancied he grew quieter every time Miss Bannister was onstage, as if he concentrated only on her.

By the time the lights went up for intermission, Lily's back was so tense, she feared her spine would snap. Worse, she'd have to face Robyn again now, and speak with him as if she hadn't spent the last hour picturing him doing unspeakable things to Miss Bannister.

She drew a deep breath and prepared herself to withstand his teasing, but as soon as Robyn and Archie rose from their seats, they began making their bows to Lady Chase and Lady Catherine. “Our apologies, my lady, Mother, but Lord Archibald and I have some business to attend to. Will you excuse us?”

Lady Catherine smiled and nodded. “Of course.”

Lady Chase was somewhat less benevolent. “Business, eh? I can well imagine what kind of business you two rascals have. Be off with you, then.” She dismissed them with an imperious wave of her cane.

Both gentlemen turned and bowed to the ladies, and without another glance in Lily's direction, Robyn exited the box.

Charlotte sighed. “I don't suppose they'll be back. Pity.” She glanced sideways at Lord Atherton and lowered
her voice. “They were our only chance at an entertaining evening.”

“Why shouldn't they be back?” Lily cringed at the shrill note in her voice.

“Oh, they have far more exciting amusements in mind for this evening,” Ellie said. “Robyn sent off a note ten minutes before the curtain fell just now. Didn't you see?”

Charlotte snickered. “They've run off like two thieves in the night to see if the note has had the desired effect.”

Lily's brows drew together. “A note? To whom? What desired effect?”

Ellie glanced at her mother, then whispered to Lily behind her fan. “To Miss Bannister. That's my guess anyway. What do you think, Charlotte?”

“Oh, yes, I think so, too. Well, it was bound to happen, wasn't it? I'm surprised Robyn didn't secure a mistress earlier in the season. It's been weeks. He must be in rather a . . . froth by now, and Louise Bannister looks lively enough for him. Perhaps I should buy some breeches.”

“Mistress!” The word was out before Lily could stop it, and in a rather louder voice than she'd intended. She looked guiltily to either side of her, but Lord Atherton didn't appear to notice her outburst, and Lady Chase was a trifle hard of hearing. Neither of them paid her any mind.

“I wish he wouldn't chase actresses,” Charlotte said. “They tend to encourage him in his wild antics. A nice widow is always better.”

“I do prefer Miss Bannister to Lady Downes, though,” Ellie put in. “That woman's a viper—a serpent in a silk gown. There's no telling what deviltry she'd lead Robyn into.”

Mistress.
Lily slumped in her chair, her limbs too weak all of a sudden to support her weight. Robyn would make Miss Bannister his mistress so he could admire her in her breeches in private. From every angle. At length. He'd slide his long-fingered hands up those plump, feminine thighs, and . . .

She was going to be sick.

“Miss Somerset, are you unwell?”

Lily supposed her face must have paled, for Francis had abandoned his study of the pit and now looked at her with mild concern.

“I have a slight headache, that's all.”

Headache. Heartache. It amounted to the same thing, didn't it?

“Shall we leave, then?”

Lily supposed she couldn't fault his solicitousness.

She sat up straighter in her chair. She would
not
run out of the theater like a child, no matter how much she wanted to. What if Robyn heard of it? He'd think she'd run home because he'd gone off to feel Louise Bannister's thighs. She wouldn't have it.

She forced a smile. “No, of course not. I'm perfectly well.”

Lady Chase laid her hand over Lily's then, and motioned for her to lean down.

“What do you think of Atherton, my dear?” The old lady gave a wheezing cackle and Lily resisted the urge to stuff her fingers into her ears. “He's a fine gentleman, isn't he? Respectable. Handsome. Just what a young man should be. Don't you agree?”

Lily glanced at Lord Atherton. He was respectable, yes, and even handsome, with his fair hair and bright blue eyes. She couldn't fault him on any account. A few weeks ago the idea of a faultless suitor would have thrilled her.

Before she'd discovered the flaws were what made a man fascinating. Beautiful, even.
The cracks in the glaze.

Then again, a lady needed to distinguish between those flaws she could tolerate, and those that would shatter her.

“I've known his mother for ages, you know,” Lady Chase went on, her dry lips nearly touching Lily's ear. “Known him since he was in short pants, too. A good lad he was, and he's grown into a fine man. He'll make a solid, reliable husband.”

The lights began to dim then, and Lady Chase settled back into her seat.

Her grandmother wanted the match. What would she do if Lily refused? Disown her, as she'd disowned Lily's mother? If she did, where would that leave Lily's younger sisters? They'd go from having the brightest of prospects as Lady Chase's granddaughters to the center of the worst kind of vicious gossip, and it would be all Lily's fault.

She felt as if a stone had rolled onto her chest.

She glanced at Lord Atherton from the corner of her eye. He would make a fine husband. Not a passionate or a tender one. Not even a loving one perhaps, but he'd be a reliable one.

Francis. She must call him Francis now.
It wouldn't do to call him Lord Atherton after they were wed.

Or worse—to think of him as Lord Atherton after he became her husband.

Louise Bannister's arse in breeches was a work of art.

Robyn staggered up the last step and paused on the landing. He swayed a little as he turned around to look behind him, a puzzled frown on his face. Why were there so many damn steps? He closed his eyes then opened them again, but the steps were all still there.

What the devil?

Someone had come into the town house and added more steps since he'd come down the staircase this morning.

He shook his head as he shuffled down the hall toward his bedchamber. Now, what had he been thinking about? Ah, yes. Louise Bannister's arse. Plump, round, generous—if an artist wanted to sculpt the perfect arse, he need look no farther than Louise Bannister in her breeches for his model.

Robyn was a great lover of art. Or was that a great lover of perfect arses? He couldn't quite recall, but it didn't really
matter, for love it as he might, he hadn't laid one finger on any part of Louise Bannister tonight, including her arse.

He'd intended to lay a finger on it, or perhaps an entire hand. Two hands, even. He'd walked into the box tonight, he'd seen Lily seated there with Atherton's arm draped possessively over the back of her chair, and at that very moment he'd resolved on a good, long debauch with Louise Bannister.

Why not? There was nothing to stop him, and he'd been without a woman since he'd arrived in London. It was unheard of. Things were becoming rather, well, desperate. For the sake of his very health, he needed to secure a mistress.

But then Lily, damn her, had decided to wear her hair swept atop her head tonight. He'd been seated right behind her for the entire first act, riveted by the sight of her bare, delectable neck. The loose tendrils of hair brushing against her white skin drove him mad. Lily had known, too—she'd felt his stare and he'd felt her quiver in response, her nervous hand coming up to touch her neck. From that point on, he could think of nothing but sinking to his knees behind her chair and pressing his lips against that scented skin. The loose tendrils of her hair would brush against him as she reached behind her to wrap her arms around him—

Well. All thoughts of Louise Bannister's arse had flown out of his head, scattered like a flock of birds threatened by a hungry cat.

That was the trouble with art. You never knew when you were going to lose interest in it.

Fortunately for Miss Bannister, Archie proved a more steadfast admirer, and had remained behind in her dressing room to escort her home after the final curtain fell. It hadn't been clear whether they'd adjourn to Archie's chambers or Miss Bannister's, so Robyn had decided to keep away from St. James's Place tonight.

Far be it from him to interfere in a gentleman's study of fine art.

He took another unsteady step in the general direction of his chambers. Christ, he was sotted. He should never have let Pelkey talk him into a game of cravats in that last tavern, but he hadn't wanted to return home until he was sure Lily was safely tucked away in her bed, white sheets pulled neatly under her chin, dreaming the dreams of the chaste.

He doubted he'd be so fortunate. No, it would be another long, agonizing night filled with blue eyes, fair hair tangled in his hands, perfect white breasts heaving with passion, and a scent that left him hard and aching alone in his bed, near crazed with unsated lust.

He could hear the blood rush through his veins even now.

“. . . a delightful evening. Thank you for your escort, my lord.”

Oh, wait. That wasn't his blood. It was the front door opening. His mother and sisters filed into the entrance hall. Lily followed after them, her hand on Atherton's arm.

“Lady Sutherland. Miss Sutherland. Miss Charlotte.” Atherton bowed to each in turn. “Thank you for a pleasurable evening.”

Robyn nearly laughed aloud at Charlotte's expression. He knew that look. She hadn't found her evening pleasurable. Ellie curtsied politely, but Charlotte only tapped her foot impatiently.

Atherton cleared his throat and bowed again to Lady Catherine. “May I have a brief word with Miss Somerset before I take my leave?”

Robyn considered leaping over the railing to throw Atherton out the door himself, but his mother would never allow—

“One brief word only, my lord.” Lady Catherine smiled indulgently. “Come along, girls.”

Robyn's mouth fell open.
Christ, even his own mother—

Robyn ducked into the dim hallway and pressed against the wall until his mother and sisters had mounted the stairs and turned in the direction of their own bedchambers, then
he sneaked back to the landing and hung just far enough over the rail to see Lily and Atherton, but not so far they were likely to see him.

Atherton held her hands in his and looked down at her adoringly—that is, as adoringly as Atherton looked at anything. Bile burned Robyn's throat. He might have cast his accounts right then and there had he seen a similarly adoring look on Lily's face. Fortunately she had her back to him.

Atherton brought one of her hands to his lips, then the other. “I'd like to . . .”

Mumble, mumble, mumble.

Robyn leaned farther over the railing.
He'd like to what?
Trust Atherton to speak as if his mouth were stuffed full of marbles.

Speak up, man!

“. . . see Lord Carlisle tomorrow . . . call on you in the afternoon?”

Robyn's entire body went so stiff, he feared he'd topple over the railing and shatter into a thousand pieces on the marble floor below.

Well, that was it, then. Atherton planned to speak to Alec tomorrow. Once he got Alec's permission, he'd make Lily a formal offer of marriage. She'd accept, of course, and whatever farce she'd been engaged in with Robyn would come to an abrupt halt so she could embark on her new farce with Atherton.

There was a brief silence, then Lily murmured something Robyn couldn't hear. Whatever it was, Atherton seemed pleased, for he leaned toward her. His mouth drew closer to hers, then closer still . . .

Robyn held his breath and waited for Lily to slap Atherton across his smug, marble-filled mouth, but her hands remained motionless at her sides and she stood docilely, as if she'd waited all night for Atherton's halfhearted kiss.

Maybe she had.
Perhaps the entire time he'd been enthralled with the back of her neck, she'd been breathless
with anticipation for the moment when Atherton would press his dry, closed lips to hers.

Robyn's hands clenched into fists as Atherton's lips met Lily's. It was quick—blessedly so. So quick Robyn couldn't decide whether to be outraged Atherton had kissed her at all, or offended the man had taken such poor advantage of such a promising opportunity.

Men like Atherton were a disgrace to the entire gender.

Alone with Lily, her luscious pink lips at his disposal, and the best Atherton could offer was a stiff little peck on her mouth, leaving all her eager passions untapped, thrashing and squirming in that delicious body. That she'd be wasted on a man who couldn't appreciate her sensuality made Robyn want to rip his hair still bloody from the roots.

Atherton didn't deserve her.

Neither do you.

Robyn backed away from the railing and retreated into the darkness of the hallway. No, he didn't deserve her, but then he'd made a life's habit of taking things he didn't deserve, and he didn't intend to change that habit tonight. Not when the woman he didn't deserve had mounted the staircase, was even now only steps from the second-floor landing.

The woman he wanted above all others.

“You call that a kiss?”

“Oh!” Lily whirled around at the sound of his voice. Her hand flew to her chest and patted it as if to calm her heart. “Robyn! What in the world are you doing, skulking back there like some common criminal?”

“You call that a kiss?” Robyn repeated. He leaned one hip against the railing.

This time the question registered. He saw incredulity slide over her face, then she drew herself up with dignity. “Were you
spying
on me?”

“Yes.” What point was there in denial? Spying would be the least of his sins tonight.

Lily sputtered for a moment in outrage, but managed to spit out a sentence at last. “Why, how
dare
you?”

“You didn't answer my question. You call that a kiss?” He narrowed his eyes on her face. “You look just the same as ever. You're not flushed with passion, nor are you panting for breath.”

“I—that's none of your business.”

Robyn straightened and moved toward her. “Your lips aren't even pink. Not more so than usual, that is.”

Something in his expression made her eyes go wide. “Don't come near me.”

But she didn't back away.

He ignored her words, cupped her face in one hand, and brushed the tip of his bare thumb softly against her lower lip, as if testing its plumpness. “Not swollen, either. Atherton should be horsewhipped.”

“He's—he's a gentleman.”

A dark chuckle escaped Robyn's lips. “He's a bloody fool. It's as if he didn't kiss you at all. If I put my mouth on you, you'd damn well know it, and for days afterward. If I had such an opportunity, you'd not walk away from me until my tongue touched every inch of your mouth, inside and out.”

Lily's mouth went soft and her lips opened, as if she imagined his tongue against her there.

Robyn suppressed a harsh groan and kept his voice soft and low. “I may not be a gentleman, but I'm no fool, either, to let such a chance escape me.”

He hadn't planned to do it, but he also didn't hesitate. He grasped her arm, hurried her down the hall, through his bedchamber door, and shut the door behind her. “Well,” he crooned, his lips close to her ear. “This certainly brings back fond memories, doesn't it?”

“You must be mad! Let me out of here this instant!”

He'd gone mad for certain.

“Hmmm . . . let me think about it. No. Not yet.”

Lily pushed hard against his chest, to no effect. She
huffed out a breath. “You'd accost me, a guest in your own home? That's going a bit far even for
you
, Robyn.”

“Someone has to accost you. You need to learn not to loiter in dark hallways.”

“
Loiter?
I never—”

“I would think you'd know that already, but here you are again, at the mercy of, what did you call me last time? A conscienceless seducer? Or was it a lascivious rake?”

“What difference does it make?” Lily snapped. “Either one will do.”

Robyn shifted to press her more firmly against the door and planted his hands on either side of her head. His mouth hovered near her neck, but he didn't kiss her. “Ah. I suppose I deserve that. Or I
will
deserve it by the time I let you leave this room.”

He stood so close to her, he could see her throat work as she swallowed. “I don't understand you, Robyn. I thought we were friends.”

Friends?
Did she think to convince him, or herself? Or did she think she could reason him into releasing her? How like Lily not to see they'd gone far, far beyond reason.

His breath stirred the hair at her temple and he felt a shiver pass through her. “Oh, no. I don't kiss my friends, and I'd very much like to kiss you right now.”

She made another halfhearted attempt to escape. “I suppose it matters not at all that
I
don't want to kiss
you
.”

Robyn chuckled. “Don't you? But I'm afraid I don't believe you. Deny it all you like, but you do need me, Lily, just as I promised you would. I want to hear you say it. Then perhaps I might be persuaded to let you go.”

“Is that what this is for you?” Her voice throbbed with pent-up emotion. “Another game to prove you were right all along?”

Robyn's passion-fogged brain worked sluggishly to produce a denial. “I don't care about being right. I care only about being satisfied.”

“Don't you? But I'm afraid
I
don't believe
you
, for everything is a game to you. Very well.
I need you.
There. I've said it, and I congratulate you on your victory. Does that satisfy you?”

A dozen different emotions roiled through him, but satisfaction wasn't among them. He buried his face in the soft skin where her shoulder met her n
eck and inhaled. “Oh, believe me, sweet. I'm
far
from satisfied.”

“Pity,” she said. “Perhaps it's because even when I need you, I wish I didn't. Does that mean you don't win?”

That scent was Lily's. No perfume could be so intoxicating.
For some reason the realization angered him. “That's the second time you've accused me of playing games with you, but I think you're the one who's playing games.”

He felt her stiffen against him. “Me? That's absurd.”