A Season of Ruin

by Anna Bradley

  “Don’t tease me, Robyn,” the woman whispered, still oblivious to Lily’s presence. She pressed light kisses against his mouth with her heavily rouged red lips. “There isn’t time.”

  “Alicia,” Robyn said, still holding her waist. “We have company.” He jerked his head in Lily’s direction.

  We have company. And just like that, Lily felt like she’d intruded on them.

  The woman ceased her attack on Robyn long enough to notice Lily’s presence. Her eyes widened with shock, then narrowed as they swept over Lily’s gown, which remained disheveled, despite her efforts to right it.

  Lily supposed the woman was pretty, if you liked her sort. The sort that wore paint on her mouth, that is. She had abundant dark hair, very fine pale skin, and thickly lashed gray eyes with a feline tilt at the corners.

  “Why, Robyn,” the woman purred at last. “I know you’re a man of strong appetites, but it never occurred to me you’d find another woman to replace me if I were delayed.”

  Lily stiffened, but Robyn spoke before she could say a word. “Who could replace you, Alicia? It’s a simple misunderstanding.”

  “Is it?” The woman studied Robyn’s face. A faint palm print was now visible where Lily had slapped him. “Very well. But you’re extremely rude, Robyn. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

  Robyn shrugged. “No. She’s on her way back to the drawing room.”

  “Oh, but wait. There’s no need for an introduction,” the woman said, clapping her hands together as if delighted. Her voice was pleasant enough, but the gray eyes were cold as they settled on Lily. “Miss Somerset, isn’t it? We were introduced at Lady Fenton’s soiree just last evening.”

  Lily stared at the woman and felt a cold shiver dart down her spine. They had been introduced. She remembered now. This was Lady Downes. Lily’s eyes darted to Robyn’s face, but he didn’t look in the least ashamed. He gazed back at her, his eyes glinting with deviltry.

  Lily dipped into a stiff curtsy. “Lady Downes.”

  She knew all along Robyn intended to meet a woman here, despite his protestations to the contrary. It hadn’t occurred to her to wonder who the woman might be, however. She’d had vague notions of widows. Or opera dancers, though now she thought of it, she wondered how she could imagine that to be the case, for opera dancers wouldn’t be welcome at Lord and Lady Barrow’s musical evening.

  But Lady Downes! She wasn’t a widow—not unless Lord Downes had just dropped dead in the card room, for Lily had seen him there not an hour ago. An illicit liaison was wicked enough, but an illicit liaison with a married woman while her husband played whist down the hall, less than thirty paces away?

  The wickedest gentleman in the wickedest city in England.

  Lily hadn’t believed it. Robyn was unreliable. Careless, even. At worst, reckless. But willfully, deliberately wicked? This was far worse than anything she’d imagined.

  She knew she hadn’t any right to, but she felt as if he’d tricked her. She glanced at him again. His wide mouth twitched with suppressed laughter, as if he found the situation amusing, but he only said, “Go back to the drawing room, Lily.”

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t speak at all. She walked out of the room without a backward glance.

  “Why, Lily,” Charlotte asked when Lily slipped into the seat beside her. “Wherever have you been? Did you get lost?”

  Lily felt as if she’d been gone for days, but it had been less than twenty minutes. “Yes. I’m sorry, Charlotte. I ended up in the wrong place.”

  She had, in every sense of the word.

  Charlotte gazed at her in concern. “You look pale. Do you have the headache?” She nudged Eleanor, who took one look at Lily’s white face and rose from her seat.

  Charlotte took Lily’s arm and led her to the back of the room. “Let’s find Robyn and have him escort us home.”

  Robyn reappeared in the drawing room after another ten minutes, which was just long enough for Lily to wonder how many of Lady Downes’s body parts he’d managed to seize in that time. Had they finished what he and Lily had begun? Or had they set up an assignation for later this evening?

  “There you are, Robyn,” Eleanor said. “Will you call the carriage? Lily’s ill.”

  Robyn’s dark eyes took in Lily’s pallor. He raised an eyebrow, but made no argument.

  The carriage ride home was silent. Charlotte and Ellie thought Lily had the headache, and they remained quiet. Robyn never spoke a word, but lounged across from her, long legs sprawled in front of him and an arm flung across the back of his seat, as relaxed as if he carried on an illicit liaison with a married woman every night.

  Perhaps he did.

  Lily stared out the window. She and Robyn had become friends after a fashion during the Sutherlands’ house party, and she’d hoped they’d remain so, especially since they’d be under the same roof for the whole of this season, but whenever she looked at him now, she knew she’d picture his laughing, too-wide mouth stained with Lady Downes’s lip rouge.

  Her heart sank and settled like an anchor in her stomach, cold and heavy.

  She didn’t know if she was angrier at Robyn for being as wicked as his sisters said he was, or at the odious, frizzle-haired Miss Thurston, for being right about him all along.

  Chapter Four

  The trouble with delicious lips was once you’d tasted them, you couldn’t un-taste them. The same was true of a spectacular kiss, or an especially lovely pair of breasts, or a captivating scent. A man couldn’t un-kiss a woman, or un-touch her breasts, or un-inhale her scent. Once he’d tasted, touched, and inhaled, the horse was well and truly out of the barn. No use slamming the door now.

  Robyn stumbled from his bedchamber and made his way down the stairs to the breakfast room. He hadn’t even seen Lily’s breasts last night. He hadn’t even laid a finger on them. Oh, very well, damn it. He’d laid one finger on one of them. Not even a handful, and hardly enough to fall into a frenzy of lust, but still he’d been awake most of the night, imagining what it would have felt like to lay two fingers on them.

  Or more. Perhaps even an entire palm.

  “Good morning,” he mumbled to his sisters, both of whom sat in the breakfast room drinking their morning chocolate. Lily was nowhere to be seen. Just as well. After his lurid dreams last night, he was sure to ogle her breasts over his toast and coffee.

  Neither of his sisters replied to his greeting. Robyn didn’t take any notice of this until he seated himself and lifted his coffee dish to his lips, only to find both his sisters glaring daggers at him over the rim.

  “What?”

  Damn it, he sounded guilty already, and neither of them had said a word yet. He made it a policy never to feel guilty for any of his sins, as it was a short step from guilt to confession.

  “Well, well, well. Robyn,” Eleanor said. “You’re up late this morning. Had a busy night, did you?”

  “No later than usual, I think, and no busier than usual.”

  “Indeed?” Charlotte placed her teacup in her saucer. “Well, Ellie, we do have to concede that point, for it’s all part of an evening’s entertainment for Robyn to ruin a young lady’s reputation.”

  Robyn kept his face neutral. His sisters had found out about the scrape with Lily, then. “Whom have I ruined this time?”

  “I think you know,” Eleanor said. She tossed a paper across the table toward him.

  Charlotte snatched the paper up and tapped a finger at a story on the front page. “Go ahead. Read it.” She thrust it at him.

  He didn’t have to look far to see what had his sisters in such a froth, for it was right there on the front page, complete with a crude sketch of a young lady slapping the face of a leering gentleman.

  Prepare yourselves for something very shocking, dear readers! Your devoted Mrs. Tittleton has discovered from an unimpeachable sou
rce that London’s favorite rake, Mr. R-b—t S—-r—d, who arrived back in town from his family’s seat in Kent just six weeks ago, is up to his usual scandalous antics! Mr. S. was seen at Lord and Lady B——’s musical evening last night, but the notorious rogue seemed to find the music far less engaging than he did the person of one Miss L—y S—r—t, with whom he spent an intimate half-hour alone in Lord Barrow’s study. Mrs. Tittleton doesn’t doubt the lovely and innocent Miss LS and Mr. RS were simply discussing a mutual interest in Pleyel’s Scottish Airs, but one does hope the newly minted Lady C——le will offer her young sibling some wise counsel about the wickedness of certain fashionable London gentlemen.

  A mutual interest in the Scottish Airs? He looked up from the paper but stifled the urge to laugh when he saw the grim look on his sisters’ faces.

  “It’s true, isn’t it?” Eleanor said. “That’s why Lily was so pale and quiet when she returned to the drawing room last night. How could you, Robyn?”

  He hadn’t. Not in the way the scandal sheet claimed anyway. “Did you consider even for a moment, Eleanor, that it isn’t true?”

  She looked so taken aback, Robyn instantly had his answer. It hadn’t occurred to either of his sisters to doubt the story. Good Lord. Between the gaming, the bordellos, the carriage races, and the mistresses, he’d become less credible even than Mrs. Tittleton.

  “But if it’s not true, how would such a story get about?” Charlotte asked. “You must have been up to some kind of mischief. Mrs. Tittleton is hardly a reputable journalist, but even she couldn’t have conjured such a tale out of nothing.”

  But it had been nothing. Or nearly nothing. Very close to nothing.

  Admit nothing.

  Sometime during the night, however, when he hadn’t been dreaming of Lily’s breasts, a conscience must have sprouted in the barren soil of his brain.

  Very well. It hadn’t quite been nothing, then. But how had Mrs. Tittleton gotten ahold of it? The only people who knew were—

  “Alicia.” Of course. It made perfect sense. She’d been ready to spit with ire when she found him in Lord Barrow’s study with Lily.

  “Alicia? Not Lady Downes?” Charlotte asked. “What’s she got to do with it?”

  Bloody hell. He’d have to confess the whole story. “I arranged to meet Alicia in Lord Barrow’s study, but Lily mistook the study for the ladies’ retiring room, and, well—”

  “You didn’t bother to verify the identity of the lady who entered the room, but pounced on Lily,” Charlotte finished for him, as if this were exactly what she’d expect of him. “How on earth could you confuse Lily with a worn-out seductress like Lady Downes?”

  “It was dark.”

  His protest was halfhearted at best. At some point he’d realized it wasn’t Alicia in his arms, but he’d carried on anyway. He’d been so intent on getting his tongue in his siren’s mouth, he hadn’t given a damn who she was. If he’d known it was Lily, he’d have stopped. Of course he would have. He very probably would have.

  Eventually.

  “For goodness’ sake, Robyn, I hope you aren’t contemplating an affair with Lady Downes!” Ellie said. “She’s more vicious than a nest of vipers.”

  “I’m not contemplating a thing with her, aside from possibly wringing her lovely neck.”

  That much, at least, was true. Any fleeting interest he’d had in Alicia had evaporated after he’d kissed Lily. Alicia had seen at once how things were, and she’d reacted the way any woman who believes herself irresistible to men does react as soon as one resists her.

  She’d flown into a fury, and then she’d got her revenge, the vindictive shrew.

  “Good morning.” Lily entered the room and took a seat at the table.

  Robyn studied her as she signaled the footman for a cup of tea. She’d scraped her hair back from her face, the heavy locks held prisoner with what must have been dozens of pins. The delectable bosom he’d fantasized about last night was hidden under a layer of heavy, dark blue fabric and what looked to him like ten layers of fussy lace.

  She was trussed up like a Christmas goose.

  Last night she’d been an alluring temptress, but this morning—well, she was back to being dull, perfect Lily. Even her gown fell in careful folds around her, like an obedient dog commanded to sit and stay at his mistress’s feet.

  “Good morning, Lily,” Charlotte and Ellie replied in unison. Their voices rang with false cheer.

  Lily took one look at them and lowered her teacup to her saucer. “What’s happened?”

  “Happened?” Eleanor asked, her eyes wide and innocent. “What makes you think anything’s happened?”

  “Ellie,” Lily warned. “Is it Delia? Where’s Lady Catherine?”

  Charlotte sighed with resignation. “Delia is fine, only nauseous again. Mother left early this morning to see to her. Alec is frantic. We thought perhaps you’d gone with Mother. You’re rather late to breakfast this morning.”

  “I, ah, couldn’t sleep,” Lily said. She focused all of her attention on her teacup. “I sent a note round to Delia that I’d see her this afternoon.”

  Robyn perked up at this. She couldn’t sleep? Good. Why should she enjoy the sleep of the innocent when he’d tossed and turned all night?

  Because she is innocent, and you’re guilty.

  Bloody inconvenient thing, a conscience.

  Charlotte’s fingers edged toward the scandal sheet during this exchange and closed on the corner of the paper. She was about to whisk Mrs. Tittleton and her damning account out of Lily’s sight when Robyn slammed his hand down on the paper to stop her.

  Lily’s eyes flew toward him. Color rushed into her cheeks when her eyes met his and Robyn felt a thrill of satisfaction. If he couldn’t ignore her, then he’d make damn sure she couldn’t ignore him, either.

  “Robyn!” Eleanor cried. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Robyn fixed his eyes on Lily. “You can’t hide it from her. She’ll find out one way or another. Why not now?”

  “Hide what?” Lily asked. “Find out what?”

  Ellie glared at Robyn, her face flushed with annoyance. “We didn’t intend to hide it from her. We’d just rather she be spared having to read that.”

  Lily’s gaze followed Eleanor’s accusing finger to the scandal sheet under Robyn’s fist. “May I see that, please?”

  “Certainly.” Robyn snatched the paper away from Charlotte and handed it over to Lily. Charlotte scowled at him, one corner of the ripped page still clutched in her fingers.

  Lily’s eyes moved over the page, her face growing ever paler with each line she read. None of this was her fault. Robyn knew that, and he did feel a twinge of regret that she’d managed to get tangled up in one of his scandals. Yet at the same time he was curious to see what she’d do when she found herself at the mercy of some sordid gossip’s vicious pen.

  By the time she’d finished, however, she was so dead white, he’d begun to question the wisdom of letting her read the paper in the first place. If she swooned, there’d be no end of uproar, and his breakfast would be spoiled.

  Lily folded the paper into neat thirds and placed it carefully next to her plate. “Oh. Oh, no.”

  “Now, it’s not as bad as all that,” Charlotte began in soothing tones. “It’s not The Times, you know. It’s only Mrs. Tittleton. No one will take any notice of her nonsense. Why, I’m sure very few people even saw this at all.”

  “They did see it.” Ellie’s voice was grim. “They did take notice.”

  Charlotte glanced anxiously at Lily. “What do you mean, Eleanor? How do you know that?”

  Ellie sighed. “A few nights ago at the Fentons’ ball I managed to wheedle a promise from Lady Jersey that she’d give Lily a guest voucher to Almack’s, but I’ve had a note from her this morning with her regrets and apologies. She claims she forgot she�
�d promised the ticket to Lady Fenton’s niece, but I don’t believe it for a minute. She’s obviously read Mrs. Tittleton and decided to bar Lily from Almack’s.”

  Was that all? Robyn lifted a forkful of eggs to his mouth. “After last season I swore I’d never set foot in the place again. Nothing but dry cake and watery lemonade. Consider yourself lucky you’re no longer obliged to go.”

  “Don’t be dim, Robyn,” Charlotte snapped. “Almack’s sets the tone. Everyone else will follow their lead. If Lily is barred from Almack’s, she won’t be invited anywhere else for the rest of the season.”

  Lily patted the corners of her mouth with her napkin, set it aside, then rose and walked to the door. “I’ll send another note to Delia and begin packing.”

  Robyn took a bite of his toast. “Packing? What nonsense. You’d let Mrs. Tittleton chase you out of London over a trifle like this?”

  Lily’s fingers twisted nervously in the lace at her neck, but she didn’t avoid his gaze. “You said yourself if anyone knew I’d been alone in a room with you, I may as well return to Surrey immediately.” She waved a hand at the scandal sheet. “They’ve seen. They know. Every single one of them.”

  Robyn rolled his eyes. “You can’t mean to say you took me seriously. For God’s sake, who gives a toss what the ton thinks? Surely there’s a way around it, in any case.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “I can’t think how. Oh, Lily! What about Lord Atherton? This will upset all our plans. Why, he may be married by next season!”

  Robyn looked from Lily to Charlotte and back again, and this time he didn’t bother to stifle his laugh. “Atherton? You can’t be serious.”

  Charlotte glared at him. “What’s wrong with Lord Atherton?”

  Robyn smirked at his sister. “Wrong? Why, he’s perfect. He’s a saint among men. A paragon of virtue. The epitome of the proper English gentleman. That’s what’s wrong with him.”