The Revenge of Lord Eberlin

by Julia London

Lily had laughed, then smoothed his neckcloth with a little pat. “On my honor, the tarts are not poisoned. They are actually quite good.”

  He’d studied her closely. Was she blushing? He believed she was.

  But she’d politely extracted her hand from his. “Come along then, Miss Taft! Linford’s knee hurts him today, which means our good weather likely will come to an end.”

  They’d walked on, neither of them looking back at Tobin, Lucy hopping alongside Lily, and Lily with the blanket and book tucked up under her arm.

  Tobin had watched them until they had mounted that old bit of glue and started off on those ancient hooves. He’d heard Lucy’s stream of chatter and Lily’s lilting responses as they’d ridden away.

  They are charming, Tobin had thought with consternation. But charm would not deter him from revenge, no matter what she tried. He’d watched until they’d disappeared over the rise, and only then did he realize he’d eaten the tart.

  As promised, it had been delicious.

  ELEVEN

  What was she doing?

  Grasping at ghosts of ideas, that was what, anything that might help her stem the tide that Tobin was pushing toward her. Lily told herself she was following a plan, but part of her doubted it. Part of her suspected that she wanted to see him. Part of her knew herself very well and suspected any number of things she could not even give voice to.

  Her confusion had not been helped when Mr. Fish had learned that the Darlingtons were coming to Hadley Green. He’d been quite beside himself with optimism. “You will make a fine impression, madam,” he’d said eagerly. “They will wonder where you’ve been hiding.”

  But Lily was thinking of Tobin. She was compelled to keep trying, to lure him, to entice him, so that he would not destroy Ashwood. But how to entice a man as sensually potent as Tobin Scott without giving in?

  And then it had occurred to her. Food! What man was not enticed by good food? So with the help of Ranulf’s information, she’d put herself in Tobin’s path with her pastries, and he had responded with bafflement and a healthy dose of suspicion. She considered that a vast improvement over cold indifference.

  Today, she planned for him to see her at the orphanage. Mrs. Cuthbert was not happy that Lily intended to take their eggs for the week, but Lily assured her that they could manage for a few days. “The orphans need them worse,” she said with her newly acquired serenity, then picked up her basket of eggs and cheese and handed them to Louis on her way out.

  The day was lightly gray; one could smell moisture in the air. Linford’s knee was rarely wrong; rain would be upon them in the next day or so.

  Mr. Bechtel, the stable master, helped Lily into the saddle as Louis attached the basket to the back of her mount. “Shall I send young Wills along with you, milady?” Mr. Bechtel asked.

  “No, thank you. I will be quite all right. I am only going to St. Bartholomew’s, and I have this,” she said, pulling out the pistol she’d tucked in a saddlebag.

  Mr. Bechtel instantly reared back.

  “It is not loaded, sir.”

  “Aye,” he said, but he looked very distrusting of it.

  Lily set off and reached the low stone wall of the orphanage twenty minutes later. The children were outside today, playing in the grassy meadow adjacent to the facility. Lily was very happy to see that Ranulf had not been wrong: Count Eberlin’s gray horse was tethered at the side of the road, and he was in the meadow standing next to Sister Rosens.

  Lily reined her horse to halt beside Tobin’s and hopped down, then tethered the reins to a tree limb, as Tobin had done.

  Sister Rosens and Tobin had noticed her arrival and watched her stride up the hill to them. Sister Rosens was all smiles. Tobin stood with his arms crossed across his chest, regarding her stoically.

  “Good afternoon!” she called to them.

  “Lady Ashwood, you are most welcome here!” Sister Rosens said.

  “Thank you. I see you are engaged, so I will not keep you. I’ve brought a basket for you and the children.”

  “Tarts?” Tobin drawled.

  “Eggs!” Lily chirped.

  “How very generous,” Sister Rosens trilled. “Eggs are always needed.”

  “The basket is on my horse, and I fear my footman has done a very good job of lashing it on.”

  “Then we will need someone of good height and strength, it would seem.” Sister Rosens looked pointedly at Tobin.

  “At your service, madam.” He shifted a suspicious gaze to Lily. “If you will allow me?”

  “Would you be so kind?” she asked sweetly and watched him stride off to the horses to fetch her basket.

  “I tell you it has been a gift from heaven to have the count here,” Sister Rosens said as she openly admired him. “He is the soul of generosity. Do you know that he has repaired our badly leaking roof? He did the work himself with his helpers. I’ve never seen a man of his stature engage in manual labor, but there he was, with hammer in hand, repairing the roof! And now he’s ordered new beds for the boys’ ward.”

  “Indeed?” Lily marveled at how he’d managed to charm every person in the shire. She watched him unlash her basket with one hand and a swift jerk of the rope. “Do you know, Sister, that he is the son of Joseph Scott?” Lily asked as casually as she might.

  “Indeed, I do. Frankly, I am not the least surprised.”

  Lily tore her gaze from Tobin. “No? Were you not surprised he should come back here after the tragedy?”

  Sister Rosens blinked. “I think he has come back here precisely because of that tragedy. Don’t you, madam?”

  That made no sense to Lily. She wanted to ask what Sister Rosens meant by that, but Tobin was already headed back to them with the basket.

  “Thank you so very much, my lord,” Sister Rosens said. She lifted the top and looked inside. “Oh, Lady Ashwood, how kind. Cheese, too.”

  Lily smiled pertly at Tobin, who seemed amused by her eggs and cheese. “I hope it is some help to your kitchen, Sister.”

  “Of course. When we combine these few with the many we have from our own coops, we should have quite enough. I’ll just give them to our cook, shall I? Please excuse me.”

  Sister Rosens went off with the basket.

  “Tarts, a few eggs . . . is there no end to your virtues or your culinary pursuits?”

  Lily looked at the children chasing each other about in the field. Seeing them raised an old ache of longing in her chest. She could remember being so young and so desperately wanting a family to call her own. “It is very little. But if I could repair a roof, as it seems you have done, I would,” she said. “I have a tender spot in my heart for orphans, seeing as how I once numbered among them.” She smiled at him. “It warms my heart to know that you have a tender spot for them as well.”

  He arched a brow with amusement. “You are quite a mystery, madam. After such considerable disdain, you now shower me with tarts and flattery. It would lead a man to wonder if your heart has softened toward him, as surely his would soften toward you.”

  Lily’s heart fluttered with triumph. Her instincts were right—she could make a man fall in love with her! She would win this epic battle with her enemy! She would prevail; she would have him eating out of her hand—

  “But I feel obliged to remind you that I am not most men. It only leads me to wonder what, exactly, you are about.”

  Lily faltered only slightly and tilted her head demurely. “My lord, you give me far too much credit. How could I deceive an old friend?” She looked back at the children. “Ah, look at them. Are they not sweet?”

  “Quite. Perhaps you might pick out one or two to ship off to Ireland with Miss Taft. Perhaps you might populate the whole bloody island with orphans.”

  Lily’s heart began to flutter. “Are you impugning my good intentions?”

  He merely shrugged.

  “Oh dear, how you have misjudged me,” she said charitably and fluttered her lashes at him. “I am loathe to let Lucy go, but she is quit
e attached to my cousin Keira and her husband, the Earl of Donnelly, and they to her. It is also a practical matter, for as you are well aware, Ashwood is being driven to ruin and I am not able to provide for her as she deserves.” She smiled.

  Tobin smiled, too. “Perhaps I am mistaken,” he said politely. “Then again . . . perhaps I am not. I wonder, Lady Ashwood, how you knew I would be at the orphanage this afternoon.”

  “Whatever do you mean? It is a happy coincidence, is it not?”

  “And is it happy coincidence that you appear at the mill at the time of day that I happen to be there as well?”

  She laughed. “What would I know of your mill?”

  He regarded her with the calm patience of a man at a gaming table who had lost one round and now waited for the cards to be dealt again.

  Lily was saved any further speculation by Sister Rosens’s effusive return. “Your ladyship, Sister Patrick is beside herself with joy. She said you’ve brought enough that perhaps she might make a cake. And I thank you for your generous patronage, Lord Eberlin. I cannot bear to imagine where we might be had you not returned to Hadley Green.”

  Sister Rosens was gushing like a Roman fountain.

  “Please do not mention it,” he said.

  Lily smiled brightly at the pair. “Well then, I shall be off before the rains come.”

  “Good day to you, Lady Ashwood!” Sister Rosens said.

  Lily had a devil of a time getting into her saddle, as the stirrup was rather high up, but once she’d managed it, she looked back. Sister Rosens was in the throes of some great tale, judging by the animated way her hands moved. But Tobin was looking at Lily.

  She adjusted her skirts, checked that her pistol was tucked neatly into the little saddlebag, and left.

  She rode along the river road, but when she reached the fork that branched away from the river and up to Ashwood, Lily drew up. She was no more than ten minutes from home. But further up the river road was Uppington Church. She was curious about it, wondering if it looked very different through the eyes of an adult. She could remember clearly the way the sunlight slanted across the church, and the vines that grew on the cottage walls. She remembered the leggy roses that bobbed in the spring breezes, and the old goat that was forever escaping Mr. Pritchard’s fence and stealing down to eat the cottage grass.

  Lily turned in that direction.

  The road to Uppington Church had been made narrower by an overgrowth of the forest on either side, pushing across the margins. Lily’s skirt often brushed against the foliage.

  She was surprised to find nothing left of the church but crumbling stone. However the cottage at the edge of the church grounds was just as Lucy had described it—one wall was missing, and what was left of the thatched roof hung down like moss into the empty room below.

  The tree in front of the cottage was even bigger than Lily remembered. She slid off her horse and walked into the middle of the overgrown lawn. Big, thick limbs towered overhead. There was the rock where Tobin had sat with his books. She could see him now, a studious boy, his cap pulled low over his eyes to shield his reading from the sun.

  Lily was so caught up in her memories that she did not immediately hear the approaching rider. When she did, she started and hurried to her horse for her gun. She had it in hand when Tobin appeared.

  He smiled when he saw her. “You’re rather fond of that old gun, it would seem.”

  “One never knows when one will need it,” she said.

  “That is so,” he agreed and fluidly dismounted. “However, it would be a bit more intimidating if it had a flint.”

  “What?” Lily looked curiously at the gun.

  He took the gun from her hand, and showed her the locking mechanism. “See this? A flint should be here. It strikes the steel, which ignites the powder and fires the lead.”

  Lily frowned. “There is no lead. Louis removed it all.”

  He chuckled and handed the gun to her, which she deposited in her bag. “Well then,” she said, turning around to him once more, her hands on her waist. “It appears you have followed me.”

  His grin was so disarming that Lily mentally stumbled. “I was prepared to tell you that I just happened by this way. But truthfully, I was curious to see what you were about.” He looked around him, pushing his hat back a bit. “What do you think—is the tree suited for reading poetry?”

  “It is,” she said, gazing up at it. It meant far more to her than she’d realized. She’d spent so many afternoons in that old tree.

  Tobin glanced up at the tree, too, and for a fleeting moment Lily saw the boy who had watched over her.

  But then he turned and his gaze dropped to her mouth, and Lily felt something entirely different. He put his hand on her arm, his fingers closing lightly around her wrist, pulling her toward him.

  “We were friends,” Lily said. “Do you remember?”

  Tobin considered her a moment and pushed a strand of her hair back from her face. “What an enigma you are, Lily Boudine. Do you really believe we were friends?”

  “We were.”

  He shook his head. “No, lass, we were not. You were a princess, a young lady of privilege. I was your servant, commanded to wait on you. We were not friends.”

  Something rushed through her head, another shred of memory that crowded into her thoughts. “Tell the boy to see to her . . .” Who had said that? The earl? Mrs. Thorpe? “But we spent many afternoons here, did we not, Tobin?” she asked, looking at the tree again. “I confess my memory has so many pieces missing that I am not entirely certain of anything anymore.”

  “I never think of it.” He stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “I think of only the present, and at present, I am reminded that we have a bargain, you and I.” He reached for the clasp of her cloak and undid it with one flick of his finger. He pushed it aside, and it fell to the ground, pooling onto the rock behind her.

  The wind was picking up; it lifted the hem of her gown and swirled leaves around them. “So many memories have come back to me, but I don’t understand them yet. It’s rather like building a puzzle.”

  Tobin traced a line to the top of her décolletage, his fingers warm and smooth on her skin. Lily grabbed his hand. “Do you hear me? I have these memories of Aunt Althea and Mr. Scott. And memories of you, Tobin,” she said, desperately seeking to maintain her footing, a feat made very difficult when Tobin easily pulled his hand free and brushed his fingers across her breasts. “Do you think that perhaps—”

  “We are no longer those people,” he murmured and slipped one arm around her waist, drawing her to him at the same moment he dipped down, lowering his head to kiss the rise of her breast above her bodice.

  Lily closed her eyes against the urge for abandon that was creeping up her spine, whispering to her to give in to her desires. “We are those people,” she said stubbornly as his mouth moved to the base of her throat, then her neck. “Older and wiser, but we are the two children who once played here. We saw a fox here, do you recall? And you . . .” He nuzzled her neck, and a thousand little tremors shot through her. “You . . .” What had he done? Did she care? “You tried to lure it to us because I wanted to pet it.”

  His hand squeezed her breast.

  Lily grasped his shoulders. “But all you had were acorns,” she added breathlessly.

  He drew her earlobe in between his teeth.

  “I think you are willfully avoiding my conversation, sir.”

  “On the contrary,” he murmured as his lips grazed her cheek. “I think you are willfully avoiding our agreement.”

  In that fog of arousal and broken memories, Lily instinctively tried to step back, but Tobin’s hold of her tightened. “No, madam. You made a bargain.”

  He claimed her lips before she could muster a protest, and she halfheartedly attempted to turn her head. Tobin put his fingers to her cheek and held her there. His mouth was soft, moist, and plush. Lily felt herself falling into that kiss, falling into debauchery and away from the propriety t
hat had been instilled in her since the day she took her first step. Her determination to fell him, to keep Ashwood from his hands, to keep herself chaste, was swallowed whole by his kiss.

  Lily had no idea what it felt like to be wholly and unabashedly desired, and while she meant to push against him, she was curving into the hard planes of his body, feeling his strength surround her as he put his arm around her back.

  Lily gripped the lapel of his riding coat; she could feel his erection pressed against her and did not shy away—her body flared with the sheer excitement of that kiss. No man had ever affected her like this, had moved her like this, and lust, and want, and a strange burst of affection bubbled up to the surface of her mind.

  Her response to him frightened her on some deep level. Why should she feel so enlivened, so desirable, in the arms of her mortal enemy? He moved his attention to her shoulder, his hands cupping her breasts, kneading them, squeezing her resolve from her.

  She had to stop at once, before everything was lost. But she was suddenly falling, landing softly, anchored by his arm around her waist, onto the rock.

  Tobin was immediately over her, one knee beside her, trapping her against him. He kissed her as his hands roamed her body. “I want you, Lily,” he said gruffly as he kissed her shoulder, her collarbone. “I want to feel your legs around my waist, your breast in my mouth.” His hand was on her leg now, and Lily realized, through that haze of her longing, that he was touching the bare flesh of her inner thigh. It was an exquisite thrumming, an anticipation of pleasure. When his fingers brushed against her sex, she almost gave way to the pleasure.

  She was powerless to resist him. He began to stroke her, his fingers sinking into the folds of her sex. His stroke was gentle yet feverish, his lips soft yet insistent, all of it driving her to an exquisite state of madness. Lily felt herself falling away in pieces, bits of her floating out into the world. She gasped; he pressed his fingers into her flesh until she lost herself, falling away completely.

  Tobin pulled her up, lifting her skirts.

  A fat drop of rain awakened Lily to the reality of what she was doing. Her virtue was the only bargaining chip she had, and she was on the cusp of giving it to him completely. Another drop of rain hit her squarely in the forehead, and she felt herself running out of breath, desperate to reach the surface of her senses. “We came here quite a lot, Tobin,” she said roughly. “I did not imagine it.”