A Season of Ruin

by Anna Bradley

  Or any offenses, really. Robyn scanned the ballroom for the man in question. Ah, there—dancing with Miss McEwan, a Scottish lass with a face like a woolly sheep, who was rumored to have more money than she did freckles. Come to think on it, Atherton did spend a good deal of time sniffing around the heiresses—

  “Nearly every person in this room has spent their day poring over the scandal sheet and calling on their acquaintances to dissect it in detail,” Ellie said. “What did you expect, Robyn?”

  He hadn’t expected the ton to nip and scratch Lily to ribbons, but if he could judge by that spiteful cat Miss Thurston and her friend, they’d done just that—surrounded her like a pack of hissing felines toying with a defenseless mouse. “I expected the ton to bow at Almack’s altar, as they always do. Lily has the voucher. It should be good enough to appease the gossips.”

  He was a bit of an expert when it came to scandal and the ton, as this most recent incident with Lily was by no means his first, or even his worst, offense against propriety. His scandals never amounted to much in the end. The marriage-minded mamas forgave him every offense because he was single and wealthy. No title, of course, but the Sutherlands were good ton. The gentlemen forgave him as well because he was a crack shot and could hold his drink. As for the widows and the bored, aristocratic wives . . .

  They were the most forgiving of all. Sometimes they forgave him twice.

  A few charming smiles, a touch of contrition, perhaps a dance with a debutante or two, and his sins were washed clean.

  “I can’t imagine how you got her the voucher to begin with,” Ellie remarked, “especially given the reception she’s received tonight.”

  Robyn wasn’t about to tell his sister the details of that transaction. “That bad?”

  Ellie shrugged. “Oh, no. Not as terrible as you imagine, I’m sure. No worse than having a tooth pulled, for example.”

  Robyn winced. As much as he’d prefer to believe Ellie exaggerated, when he’d walked through the door tonight and seen Lily’s face, he’d felt that unfamiliar twinge of conscience again. She’d looked miserable enough, but also resigned, as if she’d never expected him to show up tonight. As if she’d expected him to disappoint her. Wise of her really, and yet . . .

  Damn it, she hadn’t any right to look so forlorn, like a lost child.

  “I never thought we’d see you at all tonight,” Ellie said, as if she could read his mind. “What made you decide to come?”

  Robyn gave her a sullen look. The last thing he wanted to do was hand over credit to Archie, but he’d still be at the Pirate right now, most likely with his head under some barmaid’s skirts, if Archie hadn’t started to natter on about Lily’s bones being picked clean by the ton.

  “Archie might have said something to make me reconsider,” he muttered.

  Eleanor nodded. “Ah. Archie does have a highly developed sense of right and wrong.” She paused. “You do as well, Robyn.”

  Robyn snorted. “You’re a fond sister, Eleanor, if you can say that with a straight face.”

  Ellie didn’t laugh. “I am a fond sister, but it’s perfectly true all the same. You’re here, aren’t you? If you had no conscience, you wouldn’t be, no matter what Archie said.”

  Eleanor gave him far too much credit. Yes, he was here, but his reasons were more selfish than noble. He was bored with his usual debaucheries, so he’d come to amuse himself. Besides, the sooner Lily was back in the ton’s good graces, the sooner he’d be free of her.

  He didn’t say so, however. He merely raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Bloody inconvenient thing, a conscience.”

  “Did it ever occur to you, Robyn, if I believed you as callous as you wish to appear, I wouldn’t be such a fond sister?”

  He didn’t have an answer for that, so he remained silent.

  “Still,” Ellie continued, as if she’d put a lot of thought into the matter. “One does wonder why, if you’re going to do the right thing in the end, you don’t just do it to begin with.”

  Robyn ran a finger under his cravat. Had the room grown warm? “What does that mean?”

  Ellie touched his arm so he’d look at her. “It’s easier to believe the worst of yourself, but you don’t have to, you know. No one else does. Not everyone is like Father.”

  Robyn stared at her, stunned. Is that what Eleanor thought? That he cared one whit for what their bastard of a father had thought of him? That it mattered to him his dear papa hadn’t expected him to amount to anything more than a selfish rogue? He’d learned at a young age not to give a bloody damn what the old man thought.

  He shrugged and retreated behind his grin. “I’m aware of that, Eleanor.”

  His sister shook her head. “I don’t think you are. Though I suppose it’s easier for you if no one ever expects anything of you.”

  Robyn’s grin stretched so tight across his face, he thought his lips would split. “Including me? That’s what you’ll say next, isn’t it? You’re quite the philosopher this evening, Eleanor.”

  Good Lord, women were foolish. Ellie had more sense than most, but it seemed even she couldn’t resist the lure of the tragically scarred hero. Bloody Byron—it was his fault. He’d brought a plague down on the head of every gentleman in London.

  The set ended just then, and both Ellie and Robyn turned to watch Archie escort Lily off the dance floor. They were both breathless from the dance, and Lily was laughing at some witticism of Archie’s.

  Ellie dug her fingers into Robyn’s arm. “The evening isn’t over yet, you know.”

  No. The evening wasn’t over. Not yet. And he wouldn’t let Lily slip through his fingers a second time.

  “I thank you for the dance, Miss Somerset,” Archie said as he delivered Lily to Robyn’s side. He turned to Ellie with a bow. “Will you dance, Eleanor?”

  Ellie took the hand he offered with a gracious smile. “Indeed I will.” She glanced back over her shoulder at Robyn as Archie led her to the dance floor. “Do make the most of the rest of your evening, brother.”

  Lily hadn’t time to catch her breath before Robyn slipped a firm hand under her elbow. “Will you dance with me, Lily?”

  She tried to tug out of his grip. “No, thank you. I’m fatigued.”

  He gave her his most charming smile. “No, you’re not. You’ve only danced once this evening.”

  Lily made an irritated noise in her throat and glared accusingly at Ellie’s back. “It’s not the dance I find fatiguing.”

  Robyn gave a negligent shrug. “I’m sure you don’t mean to say you find my conversation fatiguing. So tell me, Lily. Are you having an enjoyable evening?”

  She pinched her lips together, and when she spoke, her voice was pure ice and broken glass. “Oh, yes. Perfectly enjoyable.”

  Robyn’s eyes narrowed. He knew very well she’d had a wretched evening, and the sooner she told him so and took him to task for his neglect, the sooner they could put this business behind them. “Ellie seems to think otherwise. Has Almack’s somehow fallen short of your expectations?”

  Go on. Say it, he urged her silently. Say it isn’t Almack’s that’s proved such a disappointment tonight.

  “Ellie is mistaken.” She kept her eyes fixed on the dancers.

  Oh, she was furious with him, all right. For one moment, before she’d looked away, he’d seen a black ocean tempest beneath the calm, placid blue eyes. “If you’re angry with me, why don’t you just say so?”

  She spared him a brief glance, then turned back to the dancers. “What’s the point? It’s over now.”

  Robyn clenched his fists. He couldn’t bear this smooth, expressionless Lily. With every one of her bland replies, he became more determined to have the truth out of her. He wanted to talk to the real Lily—the one who’d slapped him so hard, his ears vibrated. “You’re still furious with me, so it isn’t bloody over, is it?”
/>   “Robyn!” She frowned at him.

  “What? You don’t like it when I curse? Then tell me so. You don’t like it when I’m rude to your friends? Then say so, Lily.”

  She stiffened beside him. “Miss Thurston and Miss Darlington aren’t my friends.”

  She had every right to be furious with him, and she would be, even if it killed him. “No? But they must be. Why else would you be so eager to put an end to my game? It was good sport, baiting those two harpies. I could have kept it up all night.”

  Lily glared at him. “That’s precisely why I tried to put an end to it! Because you would have kept it up all night. What was I supposed to do? Hit you over the head with my fan to make you stop?”

  Robyn couldn’t help grinning at the idea that Lily might forget herself so completely, she’d batter him about the head with her fan. “A blow would have put just the right touch on the business, don’t you think? Miss Thurston would have been gratified.”

  Lily wasn’t amused. “For pity’s sake! I hate to say it, but I agree with Miss Thurston. You can’t speak of pirates and drunkenness and”—she glanced around and lowered her voice—“and exposed legs in front of well-bred young ladies.”

  The color in her cheeks deepened when she said the words exposed legs. He’d never found a blush charming before, but on her . . .

  He cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon. Clearly I can speak of such things, because I just did.”

  Lily pursed her lips. “Very well. If you wish to quibble over words, you shouldn’t speak of such things to a lady.”

  Robyn dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “I never quibble, and anyway, you’re only angry because I put them in their place when you were too proper to do it yourself. Whether or not those two are well bred is another matter.”

  Two bright spots of color bloomed on her cheeks. Ah, now they were getting somewhere. Robyn felt a surge of anticipation. What would it be like to see Lily in a temper? To see that ocean tempest released and all of Almack’s patrons swept away in its sucking undertow?

  Glorious, no doubt.

  “Whether they’re well bred or not isn’t the point.”

  “Oh? I’d wager neither of them spoke to you with respect tonight. Why do they deserve my consideration, then? I hope you’re not going to say it’s because they’re welcome at Almack’s. This room is fit to burst with people who don’t deserve any respect.”

  “Even Miss Thurston and her odious friend deserve to be spoken to with respect,” Lily insisted.

  “Why? You don’t have any affection for either of them, or any genuine concern for their feelings. At one point I would have sworn you were delighted to see them put in their places.”

  Lily looked away—guiltily, he thought. “Because it isn’t proper.”

  “Damn propriety. You’re not truly angry because I teased them, so what’s all the fuss about?”

  Lily huffed out an exasperated breath. “Because it isn’t done, and you know it as well as I do. They’ll gossip about you. They’ll say you’re a wicked rogue, and that will pale in comparison to what they’ll say about me.”

  Or what they’d already said. His voice gentled. “Weren’t they already gossiping about you before I teased them?”

  Lily dropped her eyes, but not before he saw a flash of pain there. He felt an echo of it in his chest. Damn it, he didn’t want to hurt her, but it had become of the utmost importance, somehow, that she tell him the truth.

  He touched her wrist. “This isn’t about them at all, is it? You’re hurt because I neglected to escort you to Almack’s for no better reason than I was wrapping a cravat around a barmaid’s exposed thigh with my teeth. Just say it, Lily.”

  At last her smooth façade splintered apart and the tempest began to surge through the cracks. “Fine,” she hissed. “It isn’t about them. It’s about you. It doesn’t matter what you were doing, or how many cravats you held between your teeth. You left me to face the ton alone.”

  Robyn let out a slow breath. There it was. He’d had to goad her into saying it, but there it was. He opened his mouth to beg her pardon when she muttered something that made the words freeze in his throat.

  “Well, you needn’t worry about escorting me anywhere from now on. I’ve asked Archie to take your place, and he’s agreed to help me. You’re free to go back to your cravats and your barmaids.”

  She’d asked Archie to take his place? Robyn stared at her, speechless. Whatever he’d expected her to say or do, he hadn’t expected this. He tried to scrape together a rational response, but a cold, bitter fury swelled in his throat and blocked his words.

  He hadn’t any right be angry, for he’d forced her to take matters into her own hands. He couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t seen it coming, in fact, as such a reasonable, rational solution was exactly what he’d expect from Lily. It made perfect sense for her to ask Archie to . . . replace him, for God knew he was sure to disappoint her again.

  He was a selfish rogue, just as his father said he’d be. How gratified the old earl would have been to see it. Hart Sutherland had so loved to be right, especially when he predicted the worst possible outcome.

  But Robyn didn’t care if he’d just been handed the very thing he’d asked for—on a silver salver, no less. He didn’t care that he was now free of any obligations to anyone; free to search under the skirts of every barmaid in London, with Lily’s blessing. Never mind that he was acting with stunning perversity, like a child who shoves a toy away and then screams because he no longer has it.

  He didn’t care. He’d changed his bloody mind, hadn’t he?

  For a long moment neither of them said a word. They stood there and stared at each other, her gaze defiant, as if she dared him to protest.

  They were still staring at each other when the dance ended. There was a flurry around them as couples moved off the floor and others took their places.

  The music began to swell around them.

  A waltz. A waltz at Almack’s. And here he was, standing on the edge of the dance floor. With Lily.

  Why, fate practically begged him to do it.

  He studied her face. It would cause a scandal. Another scandal. Mrs. Tittleton would get wind of it. She’d gleefully report it to all of London, and the ton would as gleefully devour it.

  And there wouldn’t be a damn thing Archie could do about it.

  One sin against propriety was bad enough, but two? No—a second sin, and with the same gentleman? That was far stickier, like trying to pull one’s foot out of quicksand. Archie would never be able to extricate Lily from it.

  She’d need him to get her out of this one.

  He took hold of her arm. Before he could reconsider the wisdom of his actions, he led her onto the dance floor, laid one hand on her waist, and rested the other on her shoulder.

  And swept her into the dance.

  Chapter Ten

  Robyn’s fingers felt warm against the cool silk of her gown. His other hand cradled the curve of her shoulder and the tip of his gloved thumb just grazed the bare skin of her collarbone. It was difficult to think of anything but the heat of his hand, as if that one touch somehow had the power to melt away her anger.

  Or draw it out of her like a leech drew blood from the diseased. Well, she’d been bled enough for one night, thank you.

  Lily struggled to steady her breath. She didn’t want to lose any more of herself to Robyn, but whenever she got near him, the dizzying kiss they’d shared in Lord Barrow’s study rushed back at her the way the floor rushed up to smack one in the face during a faint.

  She’d spent the past few days trying to forget what it felt like when he’d kissed her. It should have been easy enough to do. She’d hardly seen him since then. He avoided the town house, and now that she’d released him from his obligation to her, he’d be off with Lord Pelkey, his mouth full of starched linen.
>
  Or off with Lady Downes, his mouth full of . . . well. She didn’t want to think about what his mouth would be full of then.

  Robyn guided her into a turn. “How does Delia get on?”

  It was an innocent enough question, but she didn’t want to talk to Robyn any more than she wanted to touch him. He’d charm her right out of her satin slippers, and she’d be right back where she started—on his lap in Lord Barrow’s study. Or worse.

  Lily threw back her shoulders and stiffened her spine. “Fine.”

  “Fine. She’s fine, and you’re having an enjoyable evening. Damnation—doesn’t all this fine and enjoyable exhaust you? Wouldn’t it be easier to admit sometimes things are in a bloody mess?”

  Lily sniffed. “Easier for you, perhaps, as chaos is your natural state.”

  He only grinned at that. “Come now, Lily. If Delia’s fine, then why does Alec look as though he’s been dragged behind a horse every time I see him?”

  She sighed. No sooner had she decided she didn’t care to talk than Robyn decided nothing would do but conversation.

  Perverse man.

  “Delia’s ill a good deal of the time. Lady Catherine says there’s no cause for worry, that illness is common for ladies who are increasing, but Alec worries for her nonetheless.”

  Robyn snorted. “Alec would worry if Delia stubbed a toe or had a sliver in her thumb.”

  Lily glared at him. “Well, what of it? A decent husband is concerned for his wife’s well-being. It’s just as it should be.”

  Robyn’s tone was light, but his dark eyes glittered strangely. “It’s so much easier when things are just as they should be. If only everyone would stay in their proper place.”

  You can’t arrange your life like those dolls, Lily. You can’t line people up neatly on your bed . . .

  She missed a step and stumbled against him. The muscles in his arm flexed against her waist, keeping her upright, and Lily’s toes curled inside her slippers. “As to that, I hardly remember when things were just as they should be.”