A Season of Ruin

by Anna Bradley

  She hoped her snappish tone would discourage him from further conversation. And further flexing.

  It didn’t work. “I’m sure you worry for Delia, as well.”

  “I don’t like to see her ill, if that’s what you mean.”

  “No, I imagine you don’t. You’re a devoted sister. As devoted a sister as Alec is a husband. It warms my heart, all this devotion.”

  He took pains to keep his voice casual, but Lily detected a subtle edge, hard and unmistakable. She darted a quick look at him under cover of her lashes and noticed a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Whatever is the matter with you, Robyn? You haven’t any cause to be angry with me—”

  Robyn widened his eyes at her. “Angry? Who says I’m angry with you? I’m fine. I’m having such an enjoyable evening.”

  Lily sealed her lips closed, determined not to notice his teasing. Since all Robyn ever did was tease, this conversation was over.

  She couldn’t imagine why the dance wasn’t. It seemed interminable.

  “What of your other sisters?” he persisted. “Alec says they’ll arrive in London soon.”

  Lily’s feet began to ache. Or was it her head? “They will, as soon as they can put things in order in Surrey and close up the cottage. We expect them in a month or so.”

  His inched his fingers around her waist to press them against her back. “I’m afraid you’re tense, Lily. I can feel it right here.” He stroked her lower back, his touch light, like the tip of a feather drifting down her spine. “It feels like a steel rod is laced into your corset.”

  Lily caught her breath. If she hadn’t been tense before, she was now.

  Panic began to creep up on her. She didn’t want her skin to leap up to meet his fingers every time Robyn touched her. She didn’t trust him. He’d proved himself as wicked as his sisters said he was. More so, even, with his black eye and his barmaids and his knowing, teasing fingers.

  She tried to squirm away from him. “I’m not tense. Why should I be? I look forward to my sisters’ arrival in London.”

  “Just what London needs—three more young ladies with the Somerset blue eyes. I can hear gentlemen’s hearts break even as we speak.”

  Lily frowned. “My goodness. I hope not.”

  “Why not? It’s what every young lady dreams of, isn’t it? To come to London, become the belle of her season, and break every heart in the city?”

  Perhaps every foolish young lady dreamed of such things. “No. I hope my sisters don’t wish for that. I’d much rather each of them settle quietly with a respectable gentleman than tear around London like furies, causing upheaval wherever they go.”

  “A respectable gentleman like Lord Atherton, you mean?” He gave her a sly grin. “That sounds dull.”

  Lily’s heart fluttered strangely in her chest at that grin. It wouldn’t do, that flutter. She preferred dullness over heart palpitations. “Yes. He’s just the type of man I’d wish for my younger sisters.”

  “And for yourself, of course. But there is only one Lord Atherton, and you’re going to marry him, so whatever will your sisters do?”

  “There is more than one respectable gentleman in London, though one might not know it from the company you keep.”

  He leaned toward her so his voice was a low rumble in her ear. “There’s no help for it, you know. Your sisters will break hearts. One glance from those famous Somerset blue eyes and the gentlemen of London will fall to their knees.”

  Lily just prevented a shiver from the soft drift of his breath against her ear. She jerked her head back. “What nonsense.”

  After all, she had the Somerset blue eyes, and Robyn’s heart appeared to be intact. Not that it mattered in the least to her. She didn’t want his heart, or his lips at her ear, or his hand on her waist. She didn’t want him to kiss her ever again, either.

  “Wait and see,” he murmured.

  Lily said nothing. She didn’t wish to discuss blue eyes and broken hearts with Robyn, and especially not gentlemen falling to their knees. How did he manage to make everything sound so wicked?

  “Hyacinth is quite young still,” he said after a moment. “She may feel overwhelmed at first. London is nothing like Surrey.”

  Lily nodded, relieved. This seemed a much safer topic of conversation. “No, indeed. I expect all three of them will feel as though they’re lost in a maze.”

  Robyn frowned. “Maze? What maze?”

  “Oh, never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

  He didn’t say anything for a while, then, “Is that how you feel? As if you’re lost in a maze?”

  Lily glanced up at him, surprised by his serious tone. “Rather, yes.”

  He appeared to consider this. “Do you mean in the sense that London is a grand adventure and you anticipate with joy the surprise around every corner?”

  “No.” But there wasn’t any point in explaining it to him, for he’d never understand. No doubt he adored mazes, had probably chased his lady friends through dozens of them.

  “It’s more like tearing blindly down path after path, only to become more desperate for a way out with each step.”

  For pity’s sake! Where had that explanation come from? Now he’d laugh at her.

  But he didn’t laugh. “That sounds awful.”

  “It is awful. I don’t care for mazes. My family visited one when I was a child, and I suppose I’ve never recovered from it.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You had to recover from a visit to a maze? I’m almost afraid to ask, but what happened?”

  “I got lost.”

  This time he did laugh. “Isn’t that the point?”

  I was very young. I was lost for a long time. I was alone.

  Lily opened her mouth, but she closed it again before the excuses could escape. She stared up at Robyn. Yes, being lost was rather the point, wasn’t it? Odd, but she’d never thought of it quite that way before. She felt the ghost of a smile lift the corners of her mouth. She supposed it was rather funny.

  He grinned back at her. “I remember visiting a maze when I was six or so. I got lost, too, and had a grand time of it. I climbed under the hedgerows or clambered over them until I got to the center of the maze.”

  “But that’s against the rules!” she exclaimed. “You’re not supposed to cut through the hedges.”

  He didn’t look the least repentant. “No, but I did find my way to the heart of the maze. How old were you when you got lost?”

  “Five, or thereabouts. I never did find my way out on my own. My father found me curled up under a stone bench near the middle, sobbing. I suppose I must have believed I was lost forever.”

  Robyn’s smile faded, and his fingers tightened suddenly at her waist.

  By the time her father had gathered her into his arms, she’d been beside herself. The worst part of that day, though, wasn’t that she’d been lost. The worst part was that Delia, and even Iris, who was younger than Lily, had been delighted with the winding pathways and the clever animal topiaries. They’d spent the rest of that day talking excitedly about what fun they’d had in the maze.

  Only she had detested it. Only she had been terrified.

  Lily shrugged. “I’m sure my sisters will do very well in London, provided they avoid the notice of Mrs. Tittleton.”

  She glanced up at him to see how he took this set-down, but it seemed to amuse rather than annoy him. His smile returned as he looked down at her, and she felt her breath stop in her lungs again.

  Blast him. Why must he be so very handsome, and at the same time such a hopeless rogue? It was the smile—the contrary man had the devil’s own smile. At first just the merest quirk at one corner of his lips, and then, as if it were sneaking up on his mouth, the smile crept, oh so slowly, to the other corner until at last it took possession of his entire face and his eyes lit up with it.

  Robyn�
��s smile wasn’t really a smile at all. It was an event.

  A young lady didn’t have a chance against that smile, and never mind the velvety dark eyes framed with lashes so thick and sooty, they seemed to weigh down his eyelids. A young lady who didn’t know better could be mesmerized by those sleepy eyes, and she’d have to be blind not to see the way his thick dark hair waved across his forehead and curled against the bronze skin at the back of his neck.

  Her fingers fairly itched to touch his hair, to stroke his neck. Oh, why were the respectable gentlemen never as devastating as the rogues?

  “There you go again,” Robyn murmured. “One mention of Mrs. Tittleton and you’ve gone as stiff as Lord Atherton’s upper lip.”

  Lord Atherton’s upper lip? Lily resisted the mad giggle that rose to her lips. “What an awful thing to say.”

  Robyn chuckled. “Awful, yes, but true nonetheless.”

  He swept her into a turn, and for a moment she thought her feet had left the floor altogether. Robyn danced beautifully, just as he did everything else. Once he made up his mind to do it, that is, which happened seldom enough.

  “Forget about Mrs. Tittleton,” he whispered. His lips were right next to her ear again, but this time she didn’t pull away. “Relax.”

  Lily’s rib cage expanded with a deep unsteady breath as he pulled her closer against him and wrapped his arm tighter around her. He rested his forearm at the curve of her waist and opened his hand on her lower back.

  “Surely you’ve waltzed before, Lily?” His breath stirred the wavy tendrils at her temple.

  “I—that is, yes, of course.”

  She’d waltzed a few times, but never like this. She and Robyn moved together like the springs and wheels and pins inside a grandfather clock, each tiny piece fitted precisely, balanced against its fellows, the tension finely calibrated, all clicking and whirring in perfect harmony.

  They didn’t dance so much as they floated across the floor.

  She forgot about Mrs. Tittleton. She forgot about the ache in her feet and the terrified child lost in a maze. She forgot why she’d been in such a frenzy over Robyn’s behavior. She forgot about Miss Thurston and Miss Darlington and Lord Atherton.

  She forgot it all, and let the music flow into the open spaces in her mind where all those worries had been, until she could hear only the swell of the strings and could feel only Robyn’s hand, warm and firm against her back.

  “There. That’s it. You’re safe.” His lips grazed the top of her head.

  But she wasn’t safe. No woman was safe with a man whose touch burned through the silk of her gown as if he held hot coals in his palm. She was more lost now than she’d ever been in that puzzle maze.

  The thought drifted through the dimmest recesses of her mind, but it was there and gone so swiftly she wondered if she’d imagined it, and imagined the gentle press of his lips against the wisps of hair at her forehead.

  She and Robyn spun into another turn and indistinct faces blurred in and out of her line of vision. The light shifted as it moved over the silk skirts of the lady next to her, a rich magenta, a flash of blood red, like a jewel. Lily noticed the startling whiteness of Robyn’s shirt, his strong jaw above his cravat, the shadow of a beard just emerging, and felt the movement of his muscular arm under her gloved fingertips. She looked down at his hand, so much larger than hers, and saw the pale blue silk of her skirts brush against his black breeches.

  She heard a soft gasp and realized it came from her.

  When the last notes of music finally died away, neither she nor Robyn moved for a moment. The seconds ticked past, one after the other as they stood motionless on the floor. Lily felt the most overwhelming urge to rest her head against his chest.

  At last Robyn took her hand. “Come.” He placed her hand on his arm to escort her back to Lady Catherine.

  Lily didn’t notice the stares, the heads turning to follow their progress, or the young ladies with their lips pressed against their companion’s ears.

  “Lily,” Lady Catherine said as they approached. Her hand fluttered nervously at her throat. “It grows late.”

  Lily looked from Lady Catherine to Ellie, who stared at Robyn, her mouth a thin, grim line.

  Whatever was the matter?

  Charlotte took a step toward Lily and caught her hand. “Oh, Lily. Didn’t you know—”

  Lady Catherine laid a warning hand on Charlotte’s shoulder and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Charlotte fell silent.

  “I’m quite fatigued,” Lady Catherine said in a faint voice.

  “Yes. I am, as well.” Ellie took Lily’s arm and drew her away from Robyn. “It’s time we went home.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Robyn opened the front door and peered with one bloodshot eye through the crack he’d made, then leapt back, his hand flying up to shield his face.

  Jesus. What business did the sun have to shine so insistently? He’d never known it to do so before. Then again, as he rarely saw London in the daytime, he wasn’t one to judge. He opened the door a little wider and peered out, blinking and cursing at the continued assault on his retinas.

  He glanced around, but no one was about. The street in front of the Mayfair town house was deserted. It was early yet. The ton wouldn’t be caught dead rising at this hour. They’d still be asleep, or lounging in their beds with their chocolate in one hand and the scandals sheets in the other.

  The scandal sheets—the very reason he was awake, upright, and outdoors at such an ungodly hour. Robyn continued to shield his eyes with a hand as he felt his way down the town house stairs and turned onto one of the quiet streets of Mayfair. He doubted he’d have to hunt for long before Mrs. Tittleton turned up.

  Twenty minutes later he strolled back up to the town house with the scandal sheet tucked under his arm. He peered around the corner. The street was still deserted. He unfolded the sheet, but kept it close to his chest in case anyone crept up behind him and tried to read over his shoulder. He didn’t know why he was behaving like a thief smuggling stolen goods past a Bow Street runner. In another few hours all of London would read the story for themselves.

  Still, even a condemned man deserved a brief reprieve before the noose tightened around his neck.

  He looked down at the scandal sheet and there it was, staring back at him, complete with an illustration of a couple engaged in a risqué waltz. The gentleman leered down at the lady’s exposed bosom and one of his gloved hands squeezed her arse. Horrified aristocrats surrounded the scandalous couple, hands over their mouths, and more than one young lady had fallen into a faint.

  Robyn had to admit the swooning debutantes were a nice touch.

  My dear devoted readers:

  It pains Mrs. Tittleton to be obliged to report yet another lapse in propriety so soon after the scandalous events that took place just a few short days ago at Lord and Lady B-----’s musical evening; events that so shocked Mrs. Tittleton’s gentle readers. But alas, it seems Mr. R-b—t S—-r—d and Miss L—y S—r—t’s passionate enthusiasm for each other’s company resulted in another display of affection so improper, several innocent debutantes were carried out of Almack’s ballroom in a swoon.

  Mrs. Tittleton regrets extremely that fashionable young gentlemen will forget themselves so thoroughly as to carry on in such a disgraceful manner at Almack’s, London’s very temple of good breeding. This is to say nothing of certain young ladies who disregard, with casual insolence, Almack’s stricture against waltzing without express permission from our esteemed hostesses.

  More than one witness to the indecency reported seeing Mr. R-b—t S—-r—d press his lips against Miss L—y S—r—t’s golden curls. Mrs. Tittleton feels it incumbent upon her to ask, on behalf of her faithful readers, and with a deeply regretful sigh: What next, Mr. R-b—t S—-r—d and Miss S—r—t? What next?

  Robyn reached up t
o loosen his cravat, but his fingers met only bare skin. Right. He hadn’t yet donned his cravat. The noose had tightened. The executioner was hoisting the rope. He needed to see to Lily at once, or he’d swing for sure.

  To be fair, he had slipped the noose about his own neck.

  He’d gone a bit fuzzy around the edges after Lily informed him he was dismissed from his post as escort, but he was reasonably sure he’d never squeezed her arse. He’d remember that, if he remembered nothing else.

  Even without the arse squeeze, it was bad enough.

  But devil take it, a man didn’t like to be tossed aside like pair of worn-out Hessians. Surely Lily could understand he had his pride to consider? That was all it was, of course—pride.

  Perhaps she wouldn’t see it that way, though.

  He glanced down at Mrs. Tittleton and thought of Lily’s face when she’d told him about being lost in a maze as a child.

  Damnation. Perhaps he’d made just the tiniest miscalculation this time.

  He’d make it right. He’d be the very model of a perfect escort from now on. If he could just get to Lily before she found out about this on her own, he could explain. She’d forgive him. Everyone always did.

  He folded the paper back under his arm and dashed up the town house stairs.

  “Rylands!” He slammed the door shut behind him. “What time is it?”

  Rylands, as usual, stood guard in the foyer. “Not yet eight o’clock, sir,” the butler replied in a faintly accusing tone. “In the morning,” he added, as if this point needed instant clarification.

  “Yes, thank you, Rylands. I did notice quite a large, bright object in the sky. I assume it’s the sun. Has my mother come down yet? Or either of my sisters?”

  Rylands’s left eyebrow rose infinitesimally, just enough to indicate disapproval without being insolent. Another person wouldn’t have even noticed it, but Robyn had been on the receiving end of Rylands’s eloquent eyebrow before.

  “No, sir.”