by Anna Bradley
The breakfast room rang with feminine voices. A lively debate was under way, but the minute Robyn crossed the threshold, it trailed off into silence.
His mother wasn’t even here, damn it. She’d probably left for Delia and Alec’s house already. Let her drag the Thames, then, for he’d no intention of dining here tomorrow morning, as well.
“Oh, don’t let me interrupt you.” He gave his sisters a sarcastic wave of his hand. “I’ll just have my coffee quietly in the corner. Pretend I’m not here.”
“Good morning, Robyn,” Ellie said, a little too cheerfully. “We’re just discussing the theater. Here, sit next to me.” She patted the chair next to her.
A quick glance revealed the seat next to Ellie was directly across the table from Lily. He could hardly refuse to sit next to his sister, but . . .
He let his cup and saucer hit the table with a thud. He’d sit where he bloody well pleased, Lily be damned.
He plopped down in the chair next to Ellie, crossed his booted feet with as much noise and fuss as possible, and fixed his gaze on Lily.
And immediately regretted it.
She looked nothing less than edible in a peach-colored morning gown. He’d never fully appreciated the way such a gown could cling to a woman’s curves before. Her hair looked a little damp, as if she’d just bathed. A few stray curls still clung to her neck, and his mouth watered to tickle those damp curls with his tongue.
Where was her nun’s habit this morning? He supposed that wouldn’t do anymore, now that Atherton was courting her.
He stared down at his breakfast plate. He’d lost his appetite for his eggs because Lily looked like a luscious, sweet peach tart in that gown, and now nothing would do for him but peach tarts.
Who did she think she was, ruining his breakfast?
She’d ruined a perfectly good season of debauchery, as well. He could hardly believe he’d been satisfied with a quick grab and tickle in the dark with Alicia Downes only weeks ago. Now he couldn’t even enjoy that without wishing he could grab and tickle Lily instead.
“What about the theater?” he asked Ellie. His eyes never left Lily’s face.
Ellie cleared her throat. “Lord Atherton suggested we see Twelfth Night this evening. We haven’t used our box since we arrived in London, and I do love Shakespeare.”
Lily’s eyes darted toward him, albeit unwillingly. She turned as red as a peony when she found him staring at her, and became quite preoccupied with arranging her eggs neatly on one side of her plate with her fork.
For God’s sake, not the blush again. He watched in helpless fascination as it drifted down her long throat to her—
“Did you see it?”
Robyn turned to Ellie. “I didn’t see a blasted thing—oh, you mean Twelfth Night? I did see it. Part of it anyway.”
“Well, what did you think?” Charlotte asked. “Did you enjoy it?”
“I enjoyed seeing Louise Bannister in breeches,” he drawled.
He hadn’t enjoyed it as much as he ought, which was bloody annoying enough.
Lily’s fault.
“She plays Viola, you know,” he added helpfully.
He watched Lily over the rim of his cup as he slurped rudely at his coffee. “She pretends to be Cesario in order to catch Orsino’s eye, and I can assure you she’s quite eye-catching in her breeches—”
“We’re all familiar with the play,” Lily snapped. She flushed again when Ellie and Charlotte turned to her in surprise.
Robyn raised his eyebrows at her. My, she sounds cross all of a sudden. “Are you? I beg your pardon. I must have misunderstood Charlotte’s question.”
“Yes, well, I think we get the idea. Shall we all go, then?” Ellie asked.
Charlotte shrugged. “Oh, why not? I suppose one must go to the theater at some point during the season, mustn’t one?”
Robyn gave Lily his best maddening grin and rose from his chair. “How right you are, Charlotte. I couldn’t agree more. Perhaps Archie and I will accompany you. It will be a pleasure to see Miss Bannister—I mean, the play again. I didn’t appreciate it from every angle the first time.”
Charlotte blinked in surprise to find him in such vehement agreement with her. “We’d better use the Sutherland box, then. It’s a large one. Do you think Lord Atherton will mind, Lily?”
Robyn’s grin widened at Lily’s scowl. “Atherton’s not the sort who minds about much of anything at all. Is he, Lily?”
Her jaw tightened. “It will be fine, Charlotte.”
Robyn tossed his napkin onto the table. Against all expectations, it had been quite a productive morning. “It’s settled, then. I shall see you all tonight.”
He whistled as he left the room.
* * *
Breeches, indeed.
Lily jerked at the handfuls of skirts that lay crumpled underneath her and arranged them to fall gracefully around her chair.
Blast. Either the skirts were too voluminous, or the chair was too small.
Perhaps breeches weren’t such a ridiculous idea after all. Though not on Louise Bannister, and not in public. Certainly not to encourage wicked behavior from rakes like Robyn Sutherland.
Two weeks. He hadn’t spoken to her in two weeks, and when he finally did speak, the best he could do was wax poetic about Louise Bannister’s breeches? Not that she cared that he hadn’t spoken to her, of course. She’d been far too busy to even notice.
“You look lovely tonight.” Lord Atherton said.
Rather perfunctorily, in Lily’s opinion.
Francis. She must remember to call him Francis. He’d asked her to, and she’d agreed, but for some reason he remained Lord Atherton in her mind.
He waved his hand around in the air to indicate her gown. “What color did you say it was again? Blue?”
“Cobalt,” Lily said, more pettishly than she’d intended. Honestly, though—anyone could see it was cobalt.
Two weeks. Lord Atherton had taken her for drives along Rotten Row in his phaeton, and showered her with flowers and compliments. The courtship was everything she wanted—proper, correct, polite, and from the very man she wanted it from.
It had been the dullest two weeks of her life.
Robyn’s fault.
Oh, Lord Atherton was attentive enough, but their exchange about the color of her gown was the most interesting conversation they’d had this week. They had little to say to each other. So little, in fact, she’d gone from pondering whether she really wanted to marry him to wondering why in the world he’d want to marry her.
“Oh, here’s Robyn and Archie,” Charlotte said. “They should liven us up.”
Oh, yes, indeed. Robyn did tend to keep things lively—too lively by half for any decent young lady. She glanced at Lord . . . Francis, who sat sedately beside her. Sedate was far better than lively. Of course it was. She very much preferred sedate to lively.
Why had Robyn insisted on coming tonight in the first place? Did he really intend to drool over Louise Bannister, right in front of her? Well, how fortunate for him Louise Bannister wasn’t a decent young lady.
“Evening, Atherton.”
A knot gathered in Lily’s stomach. The low, amused voice came from directly behind her. She shivered, sure she could feel Robyn’s hot breath against the back of her neck, left bare this evening by one of Betsy’s more elaborate hair creations.
She wouldn’t turn around, then. She would simply ignore him—
“Good evening, Miss Somerset.”
As usual, Robyn refused to be ignored. He stepped forward, bowed, then took her gloved hand in his and raised it to his mouth. His eyes held hers as his lips lingered just a shade longer than was proper. Lord Atherton settled a proprietary hand on the back of her chair, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Robyn.
The knot in her belly tightened. Dr
at it, he was so handsome in his black evening attire. No one would guess the heart of a rake beat under that proper dark silk waistcoat, or that his impeccable white gloves hid hands that could reduce a woman to a heap of quivering flesh.
Not unless they looked into his eyes, or noticed the too-wide cast of his lips. The lips and eyes gave him away for the wicked rogue he was. No woman could look into those eyes or endure that slow smile and not find herself going breathless.
What was it Lady Chase called him? Rapscallion? Young scoundrel?
Yes, either of those would do.
“How beautiful you look tonight,” he murmured, not at all perfunctorily. Lily’s stomach bottomed out in a way it hadn’t even considered doing when Francis complimented her five minutes ago. Then again, one of Robyn’s most dangerous qualities was making her believe everything he said, regardless of whether she should or not.
Lady Chase appeared far less inclined to fall under Robyn’s spell than Lily, however.
“Humph. Young Sutherland, is it?” She gave him a long, measuring look. “And who are you?” she barked, holding up her quizzing glass to peer at Archie, who’d followed Robyn into the box.
“This is Alistair Wroth, Lord Archibald, my lady,” Robyn replied, bowing to Lady Chase.
Archie gave Lily a sly wink, then also bowed to Lady Chase. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady. My Aunt Bettina speaks highly of you.”
Lady Chase looked from Robyn to Archie with her quizzing glass, then turned to Lady Catherine with her verdict. “Humph. Am I to understand I’m to suffer two young scoundrels now?”
“I’m afraid so, Lady Chase,” Charlotte put in with an unrepentant grin. “Archie and Robyn go everywhere together.”
“Indeed? Well, they can go to the back of the box together, then. The play has begun.”
Robyn bowed again, and he and Archie made their way to the back of the box. Lord Atherton stiffened as Robyn took the seat just behind Lily’s, and her own back went rigid with awareness. She became almost painfully conscious of the bare skin at the back of her neck, and the long tendrils of hair that brushed against her shoulders, also left mostly bare by her gown.
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.”<
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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.
Chapter Eighteen
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.
