by Julia London
Tobin suddenly turned away from her, stalking to his chair and gripping the back of it. His breath was restricting, his palms going damp. “You hoped for the best for us, yet it was your word that sent us all skidding into Perdition.” He put his hand to his throat, ready to loosen his neckcloth if necessary. “We were not afforded a life of luxury as you were.”
“I suppose by that you mean my exile to Ireland,” she said darkly.
He moved farther away from her, lest she see the perspiration on his forehead. “It must have been truly terrible to be so well cared for,” he scoffed.
“You pretend you do not care in the least, but I see how bitter you are,” Lily accused him. “Yes, I was cared for, Tobin. No one forced me into poverty, but it was the third home I had known in my eight years of life. My parents, my beloved aunt—all gone. My governess, whom I adored—gone. I was orphaned twice as a child.”
He remembered his family’s first night in London in the two rooms they’d taken. There’d been a stench in the air, the signs of rodents on the floor. “Poor child, reared in privilege,” he said again, and drew a deep breath. His breathing was settling. “Then given an estate and a title. What a tragic life yours has been. And then you have the gall to come here and feign interest and kindness.” He turned about, his hands casually clasped behind him.
Lily’s eyes were blazing with fury. “I have feigned nothing. It may astound you to know that I wanted nothing to do with Ashwood. I could scarcely believe that a man who never bothered to even look at me would leave his entire estate to me. I did not want it. I did not want to come here, for I find it perhaps as painful as you.”
That notion was impossibly infuriating, but Tobin grinned as if he found it amusing. “Are you maneuvering now? Hoping to claim my sympathies? I should warn you that it is obvious.”
The fingers of Lily’s hand began to tap against her opposite arm. “It is quite clear to me that nothing I can say will dissuade you from hating me, so I shan’t even try. If it allows you to justify your abominable behavior and your abhorrent need for revenge, then hate me. I hardly care!”
“Oh, I don’t hate you. Not in the least,” he said, moving slowly forward. “But perhaps there is something you might do to appease my loss.”
Lily glared at him and lifted her chin, as if she were squaring off to box. It was surprisingly arousing.
“Allow me a kiss,” Tobin said. “And not the chaste sort of kiss you gave me at Ashwood.”
Her eyes fired. “A kiss? You want a kiss now?”
He laughed and spread his arms wide. “Revenge, love. Remember?”
He expected her to argue, but something changed in her: she suddenly softened. Her shoulders relaxed, and she dropped her arms to her sides. She lowered her head, looking up coyly at him through her lashes. “So be it,” she said silkily and stepped forward, lifting her face to his.
Tobin was taken aback. He’d assumed he’d have to entice her to kiss him, yet here she was, presenting herself. He was so surprised that he didn’t move.
“Now who is afraid?” she asked softly.
He could feel the corner of his mouth turn up in an appreciative smile. “Don’t taunt a caged lion,” he warned her and slipped his arm around her waist. He cupped her chin with his palm and splayed his fingers across her face, tilting her head back so that he could see her. She was as lovely as any woman he’d ever seen. But there was something more—there was a spirit in Lily that he was beginning to find quite irresistible. He kissed her forehead, and then her eyes before touching his mouth to hers.
The moment he touched her lips, a monstrous wave of desire crashed through him. Her lips were a piece of heaven, and as he touched his tongue to hers, he heard her make a little sound in her throat.
The next thing he knew, he’d whirled her around, forcing her up against the table. “I never knew revenge could taste so sweet,” he said and kissed her neck.
“Sweet?” she said softly. “I find that revenge tastes very bitter.” She braced herself with one hand on the table, closed her eyes, and bent her head to one side, giving him better access to her perfumed skin.
Tobin moved to her mouth again. Her breath was warm on his lips; he felt her curve into him as he kissed her, his tongue tangling with hers. It was intoxicating; Tobin bent her over the table and straddled her on either side with his legs. He smoothed her hair from her face and gazed into her eyes, now the color of warm seawaters. “You are taking the bitterness out of my revenge.”
“You needn’t flatter me,” she whispered breathlessly as he moved to her décolletage, mouthing the skin at her breast as she pushed her hands through his hair. “You’ve already forced me into this.”
The truth of that pricked him, but Tobin could scarcely contain himself. He rose up, crushed her to him, and kissed her hard, kissed her with what felt like centuries of pent-up desire. He nipped at her bottom lip, swept his tongue inside her mouth, found her breast and filled his hand with it. Lily grabbed his wrist and held tightly as she rose up from the table to meet him. Her kiss was full of passion and need, of hunger and loneliness—as was his. He could feel the pressure building in him, filling him up, bubbling like a cauldron in his groin.
He moved his hand to the low bodice of her gown, slipped his fingers into it, and felt the hot skin of her breast, the rigid peak of it between his fingers. Lily gasped with pleasure. “You don’t seem terribly forced to it now,” he growled, then buried his face in the swell of her flesh above her bodice.
“You’ve hardly left me a choice,” she murmured huskily.
Tobin was consumed with desire, his body thrumming with it, but those words registered somewhere in the mud. He’d never in his life taken a woman who hadn’t been a willing partner, and the thought of it was repugnant. He fell away from Lily so abruptly that she had to catch herself against the table with both hands. She didn’t speak; she was panting. Each deep breath lifted her chest.
They stood that way a moment, staring at one another. Tobin had come back here for revenge, and here he was on the verge of having it. What in blazes had happened?
Lily pushed away from the table. “I think I should go.”
Tobin did not attempt to stop her as she smoothed her hair back, smoothed her skirts, and walked quickly to the door. She paused there, looking back at him. “Good night,” she said, and in the next moment, she was gone.
Tobin fell into a chair, his legs sprawled before him. He picked up a goblet from the table and poured out more wine, draining it in one long sip.
Bloody hell, what had just happened?
NINE
Lily was emotionally spent. Tobin was such a confusing, enigmatic man! On the one hand he was a glib ogre of ice—unfeeling, rude, uncaring. But then there had been those moments when something had seemed to wash over him. His fists had clenched as if against some unseen pain, and he’d tried to hide his struggle to catch his breath. What sort of malady would inflict a man who appeared to be in such robust health? A veritable model of masculinity with strong appetites for . . . everything?
Ah, but there was a weakness there. Not that it mattered, for she was in an even bigger bind now—she had been unexpectedly moved by that kiss. Her body still tingled just thinking about it. He was so wanton, so bold, and she . . . she was so imprudent as to like that. She, with her lustful thoughts about her enemy, a man who wanted her for nothing more than pleasure and to win his evil game. And yet Lily couldn’t keep the bothersome feelings of desire from creeping into her—disastrously strong feelings of desire. She kept seeing those penetrating eyes brimming with unbridled desire for her, and she fell all to pieces with longing.
What did she do now? She needed Keira’s counsel desperately, even knowing Keira’s counsel was often ill-advised and foolhardy. But Keira always had firm opinions of what to do in any situation, and seeing that Lily had none …
Lord, she missed Keira! She even missed her younger cousins, the twins Molly and Mabe, and now could look back wit
h fondness at their bothersome habits of eavesdropping and borrowing her things without permission. She missed everything about Ireland and wished for all the world she could have been there now.
But she was here, under a mountain of debt and at war with a man who wanted to ruin her. And worse, Lily feared she would enjoy it.
The weight of her troubles made her sink onto her bed.
At least she could look forward to luncheon in two days. At long last, she’d received an invitation to dine at Mrs. Morton’s with some of the ladies from The Society. Last week Lily had seen Mrs. Morton in the village and had offered to help the charity in any way she might, and the invitation was a small victory.
Hopefully, it would take her mind off the man who was persistently invading her dreams of late.
Mrs. Morton’s house was so filled with endless knickknacks that it felt awfully close. She seemed particularly fond of porcelain cherubs, which gazed lovingly at Lily everywhere she looked. Even the napkin rings had little angels carved into them.
The table was set with bone china and crystal. A bouquet of hothouse hydrangeas—bought at some expense, Lily guessed—graced the middle of the table. While the blooms were spectacular on that blustery late autumn day, they were so large that Lily couldn’t see over them or around them to the ladies on the other side of the table. That left her conversing with Mrs. Morton on her right and Miss Daria Babcock on her left.
Lily liked Miss Babcock. She was young and congenial and chatted about everyone in Hadley Green. From her, Lily learned that Mrs. Ogle had taken possession of a new carriage, and that Lady Horncastle was quite jealous of it. She also learned that Kitridge Lodge was being made ready for the arrival of the Duke and Duchess of Darlington.
“I suppose they are beginning to make their way into society again,” Mrs. Morton said.
“Pardon?” Lily asked.
“She means on account of the duchess,” Miss Babcock said. At Lily’s blank look, the young woman lit up. “Do you not know, then? She was the Prince of Wales’ mistress—”
“Daria!” Mrs. Morton hissed.
“Well, she was,” Miss Babcock said, looking deceptively innocent. “Everyone knows it.” She leaned in close to Lily and said low, “The duke fell in love with her and married her in spite of his family’s wishes. And the prince was quite angry, and threatened to ruin him for it, but what could he do, really? He’s not yet king, is he? Nevertheless, they were shunned by the Quality. Because she’s not proper.”
“She’s proper enough for a duke,” Mrs. Morton sniffed. “So I suppose she is proper enough for Hadley Green society.”
“Goodness, anyone is proper enough for Hadley Green society,” Miss Babcock laughed.
Miss Babcock also seemed very enamored of things, for she commented on Mrs. Morton’s angels, the flowers, and even the chairs.
“I do so much like your chairs, Mrs. Morton,” Miss Babcock said cheerfully. “They are new, are they not?”
“They are from Tiber Park.” Mrs. Morton responded so eagerly that one had the impression she’d been waiting for someone to ask that very question so that she might announce it. “The count took delivery of new chairs and put these with Mr. Fuquay. I was lucky enough to find them first.”
“You were indeed,” Miss Babcock said. “I very much like the chairs he brought to Tiber Park. They are upholstered in fine wool with little peacocks and their plumes,” she added with a flutter of her fingers.
“Really?” Mrs. Morton appeared to be smiling with effort. “You saw them at Tiber Park?”
“Yes. I was invited to dine there just last evening.”
“Yes, Miss Babcock. We are all aware that you were invited to Tiber Park,” Mrs. Morton said, and made a show of arranging her napkin on her lap. “I should wonder that the whole country hasn’t heard of it.”
“Have you seen his new chairs, Lady Ashwood? I am sure you have been invited to Tiber Park.”
“Oh, I am afraid that I am terribly unobservant.”
Miss Babcock daintily picked up her teacup. “Then we might have a look around together at the ball.”
That wretched man was hosting a ball?
“You do know of the Tiber Park ball?” Miss Babcock asked. “To be held the first night of winter?”
“I am certain her ladyship is very aware, Miss Babcock,” Mrs. Morton said as the doors swung open and two footmen entered carrying platters of food. “The whole of Hadley Green has returned a favorable reply.”
“Do you know there are to be fireworks?” Miss Babcock asked excitedly. “Lord Eberlin promises fireworks the likes of which have never been seen in Hadley Green!”
“Well, we had rather spectacular fireworks on Guy Fawkes Night, you may recall.”
“Indeed we did, but—”
“It must be very satisfying to be the count’s confidante,” Mrs. Morton said loudly and picked up her spoon. “Ladies, please do begin. It would seem, Miss Babcock, that your social calendar has been quite full,” Mrs. Morton continued, her envy unconcealed. “Might I be so bold as to ask who else dined with you at Tiber Park?”
“I was accompanied by my parents, of course,” Miss Babcock said demurely, smiling slyly at Lily. “Lord Eberlin has engaged my father to take his wool to the London market.” She helped herself to a stewed fig. “I think they shall be good friends. Oh, and Lady Horncastle and her son were in attendance.” She glanced up at Mrs. Morton through her lashes. “That is all.”
“Almost the same number that dined here when Mr. Morton and I had his lordship to supper.”
Lily resisted the urge to groan with impatience as the two women attempted to establish their respective influence with that beast of a man. A man who would kiss her as if she’d been the only woman in the world and then the very next evening entertain Miss Daria Babcock.
“Did he, by chance, mention the work on his mill—the one built upstream from Ashwood? Or his recent acquisition of land that has belonged to Ashwood for decades?”
“No,” Miss Babcock said thoughtfully. “He spoke only of selling so much wool. Too many sheep, he said.” She giggled. “He said they’ve been too well fed, for they think of nothing but procreation.”
“Well, I’ve not had the pleasure of dining with him, but I have heard the most interesting bit of news regarding our Count Eberlin,” a woman on the other side of the hydrangeas said. Lily tried to see who was speaking, but a particularly large bloom hid the woman’s face. “I thought it rather curious that he has come from Denmark to an English estate, but all has been explained. I inquired of Mr. Sibley.”
Oh, Lily would enjoy hearing exactly how it had been explained!
“I don’t know why you should find it curious,” Mrs. Morton said. “And you could have asked me. His lordship was quite clear about it when he dined with us. He procured the estate as well as his title. He escaped the Continent, because Denmark is rather lawless, and what with all the wars, he thought it best.”
Mrs. Morton spoke as if she had firsthand knowledge of the situation on the Continent, or the supposed lawlessness of Denmark.
“That may be, Felicity, but the interesting bit of news is not how he came by his title and estate. It is that his surname is Scott.”
God in heaven, who was speaking? Lily tried desperately to see around that ridiculous arrangement, but she could see nothing but the lace cuffs of the lady speaking.
“What of it?” Mrs. Morton asked, clearly annoyed that this woman would know more about Count Eberlin than she. “It is of little consequence, is it not, as the title he owns is the name he chooses to use.”
“You miss my point completely!” the woman protested. “His given name is Mr. Tobin Scott . . . the son of Joseph Scott.”
“Who is that?” Miss Babcock asked, as she, like Lily, tried to see around the flower arrangement.
“The wood-carver,” Lily said.
“Precisely,” the other woman agreed. “But of course you would be aware of it, your ladyship, given you
r unfortunate history at Ashwood.”
“What unfortunate history?” Miss Babcock demanded petulantly.
At last, someone was imparting the truth about Tobin!
Mrs. Morton’s gaze riveted on Lily. She did not look surprised; she looked, unfathomably, almost pleased. “Of course she knows about it, Sarah.”
Sarah Langley, the dress shop proprietress was speaking, Lily realized. Lily had expected that she would feel oddly vindicated somehow when the truth was known about Tobin, but she did not.
“I just recently learned of it myself,” Mrs. Langley said.
Mrs. Morton smiled at Lily. “Is it not heartening? To think of all that poor young man has had to overcome! It would seem impossible that he could rise to such prominence with the disgrace his family suffered. What a remarkable story!”
“It is indeed,” Mrs. Langley said. “I am happy that he has brought his good fortune to Hadley Green. It is my belief that he desires to atone for his father’s unspeakable crime by helping us all. He’s lent money to various persons in need, and they say he does so without question—if someone is in need, he is very generous in his aid.”
Lily was beginning to grasp that to these women, Mr. Scott’s death was too long ago and of no consequence. But his son was an entirely different matter. He was a count now, a handsome figure of a man, and, to ladies like Miss Babcock, a highly desirable match. These ladies would not allow questions of his character or past to interfere with the prospect of his wealth; they would turn a blind eye as he slowly dismantled Ashwood, as long as they were treated like local royalty at Tiber Park and he lent their husbands money.
In that moment, Lily very much desired to kick something.
When luncheon was at last over and the ladies were shown to the drawing room, Lily sat beside Mrs. Langley and Mrs. Morton while Miss Babcock displayed passable talents on the pianoforte.
