by Julia London
Tobin glanced over his shoulder at Carlson. “Is it MacKenzie? Send him in.”
“It is Lady Ashwood.”
Tobin stilled.
Lord Horncastle whistled low. “Lady Ashwood,” he said, grinning, “is as fine a specimen of feminine beauty as I have been blessed to see. There are some who think her charlatan of a cousin is the fairer of the two, but my vote is with Lady Ashwood.”
“Lady Ashwood, here?” Sibley said, frowning. “There’s daring for you.”
Tobin hardly knew what he would name it. He told Carlson, “You may inform Lady Ashwood that I am indisposed at present.”
Bolge laughed heartily. “I should rejoice in the day that I might have the luxury of sending a comely woman away.”
“What news from Charity?” Tobin asked Bolge, changing the subject. He took a seat as Bolge filled him in on his visit with Tobin’s sister.
But a moment later, Carlson returned.
“What now?” Tobin asked impatiently.
“I beg your pardon sir, but the lady refuses to leave.”
Bolge howled with delight at that; Horncastle and Sibley looked shocked. It was scandalous enough for a lady to call on a gentleman, but it was unheard of that she would refuse to leave.
“How can she refuse?” Tobin asked, chuckling at Bolge’s reaction. “I do not wish to receive her.”
“She asks that I tell you she will reside in the main foyer if she must, but she will not leave until you face her like a gentleman ought to face a lady.”
Bolge clapped Horncastle on the back. “That’s cheek for you!” he crowed.
“Irish women!” Horncastle blustered. “They could learn a thing or two about proper feminine behavior, eh?”
Tobin thought rather that the Irish women could teach Horncastle a thing or two about daring. He sighed. He really had no patience for this—he was in a good mood, ready for a bit of gaming and a good supper. “Excuse me, gentlemen. This should take but a moment.”
They laughed. “God in heaven, I’ll go in your stead if you find it so painful!” Bolge cheerfully called after him.
As Tobin went out, his congenial smile faded quickly. He strode down the corridor to the foyer, intent on ushering her out like a barn cat. But as the white marble foyer came into view, he saw her standing in the middle of the circle with the flourished black T P. She looked almost ethereal in her azure cloak and hood. It was wet still; the rain had worsened. Behind her, the door was standing open. Tobin walked to the door and shut it, then turned around to look at her.
The hood of her cloak framed her lovely face. She glanced down as if to gather herself, and dark lashes stood starkly against the pale color of her skin. A fleeting image of Lily lying nude in a bed, her eyes closed just like that, scudded across Tobin’s mind.
He clasped his hands behind his back and squeezed them hard against such thoughts. “I do not wish to receive you, Lily. Why, then, are you still here?”
“Yes, your butler made it quite clear that you do not wish to receive me, but I hardly care,” she said. “For I do not intend to eat kippers again.”
Prepared to do battle as he was, the reference to kippers threw him. “Pardon?”
“You heard me,” she said heatedly and swept her hood from her head as she advanced on him. There was no mistaking her ire or her disdain, which Tobin found ironic, given what she had done to him. She stopped before him, her head tilted back. “I think that in your zeal to see me brought low, you have forgotten that I do not live alone at Ashwood. There are many other souls who depend on it, and when you punish me, you punish them all. When you attempt to starve me, you starve them—men and women and children with no crime against you!”
Her eyes shimmered, and Tobin smiled in spite of himself. “I am not starving anyone.”
“Oh, no? Then I suppose you are feeding your own gullet with all the fish,” she exclaimed heatedly, gesturing wildly at him.
“Aha,” he said, the light dawning. “We have constructed a temporary dam,” he said with an insouciant shrug.
“Un-dam it.”
Tobin chuckled. She was bloody beguiling with her sparkling eyes and high color, but if she thought she could command him to anything—“When we have caught enough to stock the lake, we will release the dam. Rest assured, I do not mean to make a lake of Tiber Park.”
“That is unacceptable.”
“But true nonetheless. You may go now.”
“You think I have no means to stop you. Yet I do have means.”
“And what would that be?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You will see.”
Tobin grinned. “Madam, I have sat around many gaming tables in my time, and I know when someone is bluffing. And you do it very badly. But you may do as you please, it is of little consequence to me. Now do be a good neighbor and go back to your side of the fence.”
If looks could kill, he’d be laid out on the floor. “Oh, no,” Lily said, her voice shaking with anger. “You will not turn your back on me. I marvel at the depth of your cruelty, Tobin. I’ve done nothing to warrant such vile treatment.”
“You mean other than put a rope around my father’s neck?”
Lily gasped, and the color in her cheeks suddenly faded.
“I beg your pardon, does that offend you?” He hardly cared if it did.
“By all that is holy, your father put that rope around his own neck. I did not put him at Ashwood that night—he did that. I merely saw him and said that I had—no matter how badly you want to believe otherwise.”
Tobin had to look away from her and move to the door. He opened it, ignoring the lashing rain. “I do not intend to debate the past with you.”
“Your desire to punish me is shameless revenge, nothing more. But can you not see past your hatred of me to the people of Ashwood? Can you not see that when you take Ashwood from me, you take their livelihood? You can’t possibly bring them all to Tiber Park.”
“Why not? My estate is rather large. There is always room for more staff.”
“Is that so? Will you bring Lucy Taft to Ashwood, too? She is an orphan, and I assure you, she has no useful purpose for you. But where else will she go?”
“To Ireland,” he said shortly. “She told me she was on her way. Is that not so?”
Lily made a sound of frustration. “Then what of Linford? He is as old as Father Time! What will he do, serve as underbutler to your man? What about our gamekeeper, Mr. Bevers? He was born and raised in the cottage where he still lives with his family. Do you intend to destroy their lives because of your wretched need for revenge?”
Tobin said nothing.
“That’s what I suspected,” she said, her voice dripping with rancor. “You have nothing to say for yourself.”
She was staring daggers now; the color had returned to her cheeks. God, but her beauty was astounding. She enticed him to carnal desire like no other woman ever had. He could imagine her gown sliding down her voluptuous figure, pooling at her feet. He could imagine breasts plump with dark nipples, her belly softly round. Dammit, but he was hardening just thinking such thoughts. What was it about this woman that had the power to do that to him? He was dead inside. He did not want, he did not need . . . yet there was something about her that made him feel as if he did.
“You are right,” he said tightly. “It is not fair.”
Lily looked entirely taken aback. And then absurdly pleased, as if she believed she had won, had somehow touched humanity in him. Alas, the humanity in him had been choked out of him as the air had been choked out of his father. “But I do not care,” he added.
She blinked, her bright eyes clouding with confusion.
“However, in the interest of giving you a slight chance at redemption, I shall propose a deal of sorts.” He casually walked forward, admiring her.
“A deal,” she said dismissively. “What have I left? You’ve taken my land, my tenants, my mill, my fish—what more is there, Tobin?”
When she said his name
, something warm sluiced through him. Warm and soft, sinking slowly like rain into the mud in him. He moved closer and smiled with deliberate amusement. “I did not take your fish, Lily.”
“You dammed them up,” she said impatiently. “What deal, then?”
He considered the beautiful and haughty woman, the gems twinkling from her earlobes, the cloak fastened at the hollow of her throat. He lazily touched one of the earrings, his finger stroking her earlobe. She bent her head away. Undaunted, Tobin walked a slow circle around her, taking her in, admiring her profile, when she turned her head to see where he was. He came to a halt before her and gazed down into her sea green eyes.
“What deal?” she demanded softly.
“Allow me to ruin you properly,” he said, his gaze falling to her mouth.
Those lush lips parted with surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
One corner of Tobin’s mouth curved up in a wry smile. “I think you understand very well what I mean. I get you, and you get . . . your precious fish.”
Her lips—full, rosy, moist—now gaped. “Do you dare to propose what I think you are proposing?”
He responded by lifting his hand to her face, pressing his palm lightly against her cheek and running his thumb across her bottom lip. That simple touch of her skin stirred his blood to a simmer. He could feel himself warming, wanting.
“Shall I say it plainly?” he murmured. “I propose to have your virtue . . . or I will have Ashwood. The choice is yours.”
Her lovely eyes widened, but she did not faint or cry out with alarm. Once again, she surprised him by holding her ground. “Get your hands off me,” she said low.
Tobin removed his hand from her face. But he put it on her waist and pulled her close. Lily’s hands flew up between them, but he ignored them. The scent of flowers on this cold, wet day filled his senses; her body felt warm and lithe in his arms. Tobin could not resist her—he bent his head and touched his lips to hers, his tongue teasing the seam of them. He hardened more and would have carried on, but Lily twisted away from him and pressed her hand to her mouth, wiping his kiss from her lips in outrage.
“Then I suppose it will be Ashwood,” he said.
“You sir, are no gentleman,” she said, her voice shaking.
“I never claimed to be. But have you considered that might make me the most exciting lover of all?”
“I’ve had enough of your boorish behavior,” she said and turned to leave, but Tobin suddenly caught her by the waist and pulled her back into his chest before she could stop him. He brushed his lips against the top of her ear. “Think about it, Lily,” he murmured. “Think long . . . and hard,” he whispered, and touched his lips to her neck.
He could feel her body tense, could feel her skin heat beneath his mouth. But she peeled his arm from her waist and stepped away. “I do not wish to bed you, Tobin. I wish to bury you.”
Tobin remained impassive, as if it meant nothing to him, belying the desire raging in his blood. “Those are my terms, Lily. The choice is yours.”
She turned about, her cloak sweeping a wide circle as she walked determinedly to the door, starting when she saw MacKenzie standing just inside, looking half drowned. But she swept past him and went out into the rain.
Tobin had not heard MacKenzie enter; he walked to his friend’s side and they both watched Lily run out across the paving stones to her carriage, and the carriage pull away from the house quickly. Only then did Tobin glance at MacKenzie, who was standing with one hand in the pocket of his buckskins, the queue of his long hair wet and dripping, his gray eyes hooded. “Always had a way with the lassies, did ye no’ Scottie?”
Tobin smiled.
MacKenzie squinted out the door as the carriage pulled away. “But I think you play with fire there, lad.”
“Yes,” Tobin agreed. “I enjoy the feel of the flames licking at my body.”
MacKenzie laughed heartily and clapped him on the shoulder. “Have you whiskey for me, then? I’m chilled to the bloody bone.”
SIX
The storm continued to rage outside while Lily paced in front of the hearth in her suite, her long braid draped over her shoulder, her dressing gown dragging on the floor behind her.
She was appalled at Tobin, shocked by the casual way he’d proposed such a vile thing . . . but at the same time, she was entirely, imprudently, aroused by it. That was perhaps what made her the angriest—that something about him had the capacity to arouse her deepest senses. God in heaven! She’d never known another man like him, someone who just took what he wanted. He’d kissed her without invitation—no request or apology, had just kissed her.
She should be furious with him, irate! And she was, she was . . . but she kept thinking about the boy she’d known. She could see that boy in his face now, although his complexion was a bit darker from the sun, with faint white lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. She couldn’t help but be curious about his life, and how his father’s death must have affected him.
A jolt of memory, another flash incongruent with what she thought she knew. She suddenly remembered a day when she and Tobin had been in the gardens playing—pirates, she thought, one of her favorite childhood games of make-believe. She’d made him be the marauding pirate, and she the heroic captain who jumped off the quarterdeck to slay him. Tobin had been very good at falling and playing dead. But on that particular day, they’d both been startled by the sound of a man and woman arguing. Had it been Aunt Althea and Mr. Scott? More likely it had been Aunt Althea and the earl, for they’d seemed to be in a constant state of battle. But Tobin had made her go down to the lake so they would not be able to hear it. He’d protected her from it.
Lily shook the memory away. He was not the same person as that boy had been. The man he had become had no right to treat her as he had today, and she wanted to hate him. But she kept thinking of his breath warm on her ear, and the feel of his body so close, so firmly against her, almost dwarfing her. She kept seeing that ruggedly handsome face above her, his mouth as arousing as it had been today on her skin—
“Stop!” she chided herself, covering her ears with her hands. “God forgive you, Lily Boudine, for what you are thinking!” She lowered her hands and stared into the fire. She had best think of what to do with Tobin if she wanted to save Ashwood. She could not appeal to him on the grounds of decency. Nothing moved him, nothing seemed to sway him, other than lust.
“Then what in blazes am I to do?” she murmured.
Once, when Lily had just arrived in Ireland, and the news had come that her beloved aunt Althea had drowned, Lily had been despondent. She’d taken to her bed, mourning her deep loss. But after a day of it, Aunt Lenore had sat on her bed, had picked Lily up and hugged her, and told Lily she was so very sorry that she’d lost her dearest aunt, but that now was the time she must get up and get on with life. “Althea wouldn’t have it any other way,” she’d said. “She would want you to get up, gather all your wits about you, and do what you must to survive without her. Think of that, Lily darling. Think of what you must do to survive—and not how very sad you are.”
Survive. Lily had to do that now: think of what she must do to survive without Althea, without Lenore, without even Keira to help her. There were so many souls depending on her that she did not have the luxury or time to be sad or bewildered. But what could she do?
Think.
Tobin obviously enjoyed her discomfit. He seemed to believe that he could intimidate her with his brazen talk. Why did men always believe a look, or a kiss, would entice a woman to abandon her virtue? They all thought themselves grand lovers, capable of seducing the gown off any woman—
An idea suddenly came to her. An awful, impractical, ill-advised, imprudent idea. Lily suddenly paused in her pacing.
What she was thinking was so bold that she could scarcely believe she was considering it. Tobin had given her what he believed was an impossible bargain. And she would never give in to such an immoral demand, for she was a woman of proper mo
rals, a countess with a reputation to uphold.
But that did not mean she couldn’t use his debauchery to her advantage. Mr. Fish had said they needed six months to turn the fields to make up for the loss of the hundred acres, and that it was imperative that they keep their tenants to help sow and harvest those fields. And in six months, their mill would be operating before Tobin’s was even completed. So somehow, Lily had to make Tobin believe that for six months, he’d won.
What if . . . what if she allowed him to believe she had taken his offer and was giving herself in exchange for Ashwood? But how could she do that without actually sacrificing her virtue? And more importantly, draw it out for six long months?
Lily pondered this idea. Six months seemed an awfully long time to play a dangerous game with a dangerous man, and she had no doubts that he could be quite dangerous in this regard. But she also recalled what Mr. Fish had said to her—that any man worth his salt would fall in love with her, given the slightest bit of encouragement. It was heady praise, but was it fair? If it was fair, then what if . . . what if Tobin fell in love with her?
Lily slowly sank down on her chaise. Am I capable of such trickery? She was not Keira, who enjoyed toying with men. Yet she wasn’t unpracticed in the art of holding a gentleman’s attention, either. She and Keira had made a sport of it in Ireland, and Lily had perfected the skill in Italy. She had the sort of physical attributes men generally admired, and it would be disingenuous to feign ignorance of her ability to draw men to her. Why, in Italy alone, in addition to Mr. Canavan, she’d had two gentlemen who had been keen to court her, and she’d juggled them all expertly across the Italian countryside. Was Tobin so different from them?
He was unlike any other man she’d ever known. Yet she knew him in a way that she did not know any other gentleman. She’d known Tobin when he’d been a guileless, thoughtful boy. Surely that boy was still present in some part of him.
And Lily had felt his desire simmering in the way he had stood so close to her, had touched his lips to her skin, had kissed her mouth. “Lord,” she murmured and restlessly put her hand to her nape, recalling the tension between them.
