A Season of Ruin

by Anna Bradley

  Eleanor sank into the chair next to Lily’s. “I can’t think how we neglected to tell you the rules about waltzing at Almack’s. I beg your pardon, Lily.”

  Charlotte turned to her sister impatiently. “You beg her pardon? I’m sure it’s Robyn who should beg Lily’s pardon, for he knew very well she didn’t have permission to waltz. Why would he do such a dreadful thing?”

  Ellie shook her head. “I can’t account for it, either. Robyn is careless, to be sure, but he’s never been unkind before. It’s not like him to be hurtful.”

  Lily looked down at her hands. Hurtful.

  She’d been dizzy with the pleasure of being held in Robyn’s arms last night. He’d told her she was safe. She’d believed him, and all the time he’d swept her across the dance floor he’d known she’d pay dearly for that dance. He’d exposed her to the ridicule of the ton. Again.

  Hurtful seemed a pale word to describe what he’d done. Betrayal was more fitting.

  “I’ve had concerns about Robyn’s behavior for some months now, but this . . .” Lady Catherine looked so distressed, Charlotte took her arm and led her to a chair.

  Delia followed and took the seat next to Eleanor. “Has he said anything to you, Lily?”

  Lily tried to think. She’d been so shocked to find him in her bedchamber, and then so upset over Mrs. Tittleton, she hardly knew what he’d said. “Yes. I spoke to him this morning.”

  She didn’t mention he’d invaded her bedchamber and she’d been wearing nothing but her night rail at the time.

  Delia leaned forward in her chair. “Did he offer any explanation for his behavior?”

  “Yes,” Lily said, remembering now. “He said he was angry.”

  “He was angry!” Charlotte threw her hands into the air. “What in the world does he have to be angry about?”

  Lily frowned as she tried to piece together what he’d said. “Now that I think on it, it was rather strange. He was angry because I’d replaced him with Lord Archibald.”

  Delia’s eyes narrowed. “Replaced him? In what sense?”

  “As my escort. When Robyn didn’t turn up to escort me to Almack’s, I asked Archie to act as my escort for the remainder of the season, and he agreed. I told Robyn as much, right before he led me into the waltz. It was a clever plan, Ellie.” She turned to her friend. “But Robyn never agreed to it, and it couldn’t work without him.”

  Eleanor gave Delia a quick glance, then turned back to Lily. “No, I don’t suppose it would, and so you released him from his obligation to you. Did he say anything else this morning?”

  Lily hesitated. “He told me Lord Archibald couldn’t help me, not after the incident at Almack’s. He said if I were seen all over town with Archie now, it would only make things worse. Then he said . . .”

  Lily felt her cheeks grow warm.

  Now it was Lady Catherine’s turn to lean forward in her chair. “Yes? He said what?”

  “He said only he could restore my reputation, and he promised to be a faithful escort. He said I . . . need him now.”

  Charlotte made a disgusted noise. “I shudder to think how Robyn defines the phrase faithful escort.”

  Delia, Ellie, and Lady Catherine said nothing, but Lily saw them exchange glances.

  “Perhaps Robyn’s right,” Delia ventured after a moment. “Bringing Lord Archibald into it now will only complicate things. If Robyn escorts you, then—”

  “No.” Lily’s voice was quiet. Final.

  Delia cleared her throat. “Do you refuse because you think it will hurt your chances with Lord Atherton?”

  Lily gave a bitter laugh. “Chances? No, I’ve quite given up hope in that quarter. All I wish for now is to get through the season without any further disasters.”

  “Oh, my dear,” Charlotte murmured sympathetically, but Lily noticed her friend didn’t look altogether sorry to find she no longer held out any hope for Lord Atherton.

  “Why not accept Robyn’s escort, then?” Ellie asked. “He’s still your best chance to escape this mess with your reputation unscathed.”

  “No.”

  They didn’t understand, and she couldn’t explain to them this whole mess was no longer about Lord Barrow’s study or the illicit waltz. It wasn’t about the scandal, or Lord Atherton, or Robyn’s behavior, either, though all of those things were bad enough.

  The worst of it wasn’t even that she couldn’t trust Robyn.

  It was that she couldn’t trust herself. Robyn turned her into someone she wasn’t, and—

  No. That wasn’t true. Deep down, under her smooth sashes and rigid propriety, lurked another young lady—one she kept well hidden, especially from herself.

  Robyn goaded and teased and persuaded until that other young lady came roaring to the surface, and oh, she was a dreadful sort, the kind of young lady Lily despised, one who laughed too easily, lost her temper, slapped gentlemen’s faces, and caused scenes at Almack’s. The kind who opened her lips when a rogue kissed her, and then couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. That young lady wasn’t thoughtful, or careful, or even proper. She abandoned every caution so she could twirl on the dance floor in Robyn’s arms and tempt him into kissing her again.

  That young lady terrified her.

  Lily didn’t want to be her. Couldn’t be her, for when the dance was over and the kiss had ended, there was nothing left but chaos and disappointment.

  Her eyes met Delia’s. “I’ll have Lord Archibald, or I won’t have an escort at all.”

  Lady Catherine must have seen something in Lily’s face, for she intervened. “Let’s put the question of an escort aside for the moment. What shall we do about the Chatsworths’ ball? It’s tomorrow night, and we’ve already accepted the invitation.”

  Oh, dear God. Dread dropped like a stone into the pit of Lily’s stomach. Surely they didn’t expect her to attend the ball now? It would be even worse than Almack’s, and she didn’t think she could face another ball as London’s most notorious scandal. “You can make my excuses, can’t you?”

  Ellie took her hand. “Certainly we can, dear, but then what? You only postpone the inevitable, and it will get more difficult if you put it off.”

  Lily looked at Delia hopefully. “Perhaps it’s a good time for me to visit Surrey? I can help our sisters close up the cottage, and—”

  But Delia was already shaking her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Iris will enter society as soon as she arrives in London, and Violet right after her, and naturally you’ll want to accompany them to parties and balls. You don’t want this still hanging over your head then, do you?”

  Lily’s heart sank. She didn’t want this hanging over her sisters’ heads; that much was certain.

  “I can’t think of a better place to get it over with than the Chatsworths’ ball,” Lady Catherine said. “Miranda Chatsworth is a dear friend of mine, and Charlotte and Eleanor have known her daughter Lizzie for ages. They’ll all support Lily if we ask them to, without question.”

  Eleanor nodded. “They will. Archie will be invited, as well—he and Tristan Chatsworth were friends at university. You’ll have his support, too, without it appearing as if he escorted you.”

  “We need only stay for a short time,” Charlotte said.

  The knot in Lily’s stomach pulled tighter. “What of Robyn? Hasn’t he been invited to the ball, as well?”

  Ellie nodded. “Yes, but he hates balls and rarely attends them. Even if he does attend, he’ll arrive late, and he’ll come straight from White’s or some other entertainment. He’s not likely to come with us.”

  Lily had made a few more halfhearted protests, but in the end she had little choice in the matter, so she’d agreed to accompany the party to the Chatsworths’ ball.

  She hadn’t even left her room yet, and already she regretted her promise.

  “Are you
sure you won’t have the combs, miss?”

  Lily’s eyes met Betsy’s in the mirror. “I’m sure, Betsy. Thank you.”

  She might be obliged to go to the ball, but she’d do her best to make sure no one noticed her. She was tempted to request that Betsy do her hair over again in a plainer style, but she was afraid the maid would burst into tears if she asked.

  As it was, Betsy didn’t look pleased. She laid the combs on the side of the dressing table with a disapproving grumble. “They’re meant to go with that gown—”

  Before Betsy could launch into her objections, however, she was interrupted by a brisk knock on the door.

  Lily tensed. Ever since Robyn burst into her bedchamber that morning, she’d been on guard for another invasion. But surely even Robyn, audacious as he was, wouldn’t dare interrupt her while she dressed for the evening?

  Then again, why wouldn’t he? He’d interrupted her that morning, before she’d dressed. Why would he draw the line at interrupting her during? She picked one of the combs up from the dressing table and studied it while she drew one slow breath after another and willed her heart to cease its frantic pounding.

  She’d been barely out of her bed this morning when he’d dared to enter her room. She’d been shocked speechless to find him there, his dark hair disheveled, in just his shirtsleeves, towering over the bed as if he were some marauding pirate, filling the space with his long legs and wide shoulders.

  When she’d come upon him, hadn’t he been fingering her sheets? Or had she imagined it?

  When he’d whirled around to face her, he’d had such a look on his face. She didn’t know quite how to describe the look, except that it was . . . fierce. His eyes had darkened as they’d raked over her in her night rail, and she’d felt a thrill of awareness in her belly, and there’d been no air after that, but a breathlessness such as she’d never known before—

  Another knock, louder this time. “Lily? Open the door. It’s me.”

  Charlotte.

  Lily dropped the comb as a wave of strong emotion swept through her. Relief, of course. She was overjoyed to find it wasn’t Robyn at her door again. She hadn’t seen him at all since that morning, not since their argument, and he’d be off to White’s tonight, or to see his mistress, or mistresses, or wherever it was he went when he’d managed to slip the noose of obligation.

  Except there was no noose. Not anymore. She’d never accept his escort now, no matter what he said, for he’d say something entirely different the very next moment, and then where would she be? Standing alone in the middle of some ballroom, no doubt, while everyone whispered about her. She’d be there anyway, but at least this way she knew to expect it and could prepare herself.

  “Lily? For pity’s sake! You can’t hide in there all night.”

  Lily sighed. “Come in.”

  No doubt Charlotte had come to see if she’d dressed for the evening, and wasn’t hiding under her bedcovers. Or under her bed.

  Charlotte sailed through the door, a vision in rose satin, her glossy hair swept on top of her head. Dainty little satin roses were woven in among the dark strands. “Oh, splendid. You’re dressed.”

  Lily raised an eyebrow. “I don’t want to attend the ball, but I can’t very well crawl out the window, Charlotte. Though it did occur to me.”

  Charlotte tossed her head. “Oh, nonsense. It never occurred to me. You’re made of sterner stuff than that. I did wonder if you’d plead the headache, though.”

  “Oh, I do have the headache, but as my head is still attached to my body, I don’t imagine it will be sufficient to excuse me from the Chatsworths’ ball.”

  “Mother was rather insistent, was she not? But she’s right, you know. You can’t hide in the town house for the rest of the season.”

  Lily turned back to the looking glass and frowned at her reflection. “I don’t see why not.”

  Charlotte plopped herself down on the stool next to Lily. “Shove over.” She wriggled her bottom until Lily made room. “You know perfectly well why not. Because everyone will assume you’re guilty if you never show your face again.”

  “They’ll assume it anyway,” Lily shot back. “I’m surprised the Chatsworths didn’t send over a footman to snatch the invitation right out of Lady Catherine’s hand.”

  Charlotte snorted. “Oh, nonsense. I’ve known Lizzy Chatsworth since we were in pinafores. She’d never dream of uninviting me, or you, for that matter, as you are my friend. The Chatsworths are good ton, but they also happen to be lovely people, as well.”

  Lily met Charlotte’s eyes in the mirror. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  She and Charlotte stared at each other in the glass for a moment, then the corner of Charlotte’s mouth turned up in a slow grin.

  She has Robyn’s smile.

  The thought caused a strange pang at Lily’s heart, and yet Charlotte’s smile was just as contagious as his, and Lily couldn’t help but grin back at her friend.

  “It’s lucky it’s the Chatsworths tonight, you know. Everyone attends their ball. It’s always a mad crush. We can slip in and then slip right back out again. Everyone will be so frantic to be seen themselves, they won’t bother with us.”

  Lily laid her brush down on the dressing table with a sigh. “Safety in numbers is better than nothing, I suppose, though I’d prefer anonymity.”

  “Oh, you’ll be safe enough. Archie’s just sent round a note to say he’ll meet us there.” Charlotte scooted off the edge of the stool. “Wait,” she added, pausing behind Lily, who still sat in front of the glass. “You forgot your combs.”

  She slid one gold comb into Lily’s coiffure, then turned Lily’s head to the other side to place the second one.

  Betsy beamed.

  Charlotte stepped back to study the effect. “Yes. Perfect. I suppose you think to fade into the wallpaper with that dark-colored gown, Lily, but it won’t work, you know. It’s too flattering. Low-cut, as well.” She gave Charlotte an impish grin and swept out the door in a cloud of rose satin.

  Lily trailed after her. Perhaps there was still time to change her gown? The yellow silk might be less conspicuous . . .

  Once they’d reached the top of the stairs, however, every thought fled her head.

  Robyn stood in the foyer below with Ellie and Lady Catherine. He was attired in black evening dress, his hair brushed back from his face, his white cravat gleaming against his bronze skin.

  Lily caught her breath. Gold combs and low-cut gowns would be the least of her worries tonight.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Before she could reason it away, a feverish awareness flooded through her.

  Goodness, he was handsome.

  But no sooner had that thought crossed her mind than Lily wanted to rip it from her head and hurl it down the stairs. He was handsome, and charming. She’d never known a more seductive man. Or a more dangerous one.

  What was he doing here? She caught Ellie’s eye as she made her way down the stairs, but Ellie gave a helpless shrug, as if she couldn’t account for Robyn’s presence this evening any more than Lily could.

  Was this all some sort of game for him, or some joke at her expense? A few nights ago when she’d have been thrilled to have his escort, he hadn’t bothered to turn up. Now she wanted him only to leave her in peace and here he was, devastating in his evening dress. The perfect gentleman.

  The perfect escort.

  Perhaps he found it amusing to see the ton toss her about like a fish at the market? Well, she couldn’t stop him. What could she do? Pound her fists against the floor and wail until he agreed not to accompany his family to the Chatsworths’ ball?

  Ellie came forward to take her hand as Lily reached the bottom stair. “Well, I feel quite eclipsed by you.” She gestured toward Lily’s gown. “It fairly shimmers.”

  Lily forced a smile at that, for the id
ea that Ellie could be eclipsed by anyone was laughable. She opened her mouth to say so when Robyn’s low voice interrupted her. “You’re stunning, Lily.”

  He looked at her with a hint of that same ferocity she’d seen that morning in her bedchamber. Lily’s heart hammered against her ribs. She needed more time to steel herself against him, and she wasn’t prepared for either the look or the compliment.

  Charlotte saved her from a reply, however. “Well? What about me?” She eyed her brother with mock petulance. “Don’t I look stunning, too?”

  Robyn laughed. “As ever, Charlotte. I won’t be able to leave your side tonight, or the swains will carry you away.”

  “Will they, indeed? Well, let’s be off, then, for I wouldn’t want to miss that.”

  Lady Catherine raised a reproving eyebrow. “My goodness, Charlotte.” She took her youngest child firmly by the arm to lead her to the carriage.

  Ellie and Lily followed, but before Lily could reach the door, Robyn stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I won’t leave your side tonight, either,” he murmured, his lips far too close to her ear. “No matter how much you may wish me to.”

  Lily’s heart kicked in her chest again. “I wish you to even now.”

  But the words, so firm, so final when she’d said them in her head, became low and breathy on her lips, an invitation instead of a warning.

  He leaned closer still, so close his lips nearly touched her neck. He drew in a long, deep breath, and Lily had the oddest sensation he was sniffing her. “Yet here I will remain, all night, until you admit you need me. You will admit it, Lily.”

  Lily closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. “No. Archie will meet us at the ball. I don’t need you, Robyn.”

  He drew back slightly, but his fingers still held her arm. He repeated his words from that morning, but this time they sounded like a promise. Or a threat. “We’ll see.”

  It wasn’t far to the Chatsworths’ town house, but Lily’s nerves were frayed to ribbons before they’d gone two blocks. She sat bolt upright in the carriage, her skirts tucked tightly around her legs, but even so, Robyn’s hard thigh pressed against her hip, so close his pantaloons were awash in folds of bronze silk and she could smell the light, spicy scent of his shaving soap. By the time they reached their destination, her skin felt too tight for her body, a flock of wild birds seemed to have nested in her belly, and she was ready to leap out the carriage window.