The Revenge of Lord Eberlin

by Julia London

  Lily laughed. “So you do intend to make an honorable woman of me?”

  He reached for her. “I cannot guarantee anything we do in here will be particularly honorable . . . but I promise not to tell. And I will promise you this—I will always love you, Lily Boudine.”

  “And I love you, Tobin Scott.”

  His hands began to move on her. Lily was consumed by the moment before he’d even begun to show her what it meant to make love. His lips seemed to glide over her skin. His touch was light and reverent, but so intense that she almost felt as if she’d been floating in his arms. When she sighed with pleasure, Tobin responded with a molten kiss. She could feel desire spiraling down her body, pooling in her breasts and groin.

  Lily didn’t realize they were moving until she felt the bed at the back of her legs. Tobin stood back a moment to admire her. He gave his head a funny shake and drew a very deep breath. “Each time that I see you, you look even more beautiful than before.” He wrapped his arms around her and slowly began to undo the row of buttons on her gown. Lily leaned into the circle of his arms; Tobin stroked her cheek, then pushed the gown from her shoulders. It fell to her waist. He reverently touched her shoulder with his hand. “I think I must have died and received my heavenly reward,” he said and slipped his finger under the strap of her chemise.

  Lily’s smile deepened. She felt more desirable than she ever had in her life as she pushed her chemise off her shoulders and pushed it down with her gown, until all her clothing slid down her body.

  “God help me,” Tobin said and pulled her into his embrace, kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her ears. And then he laid her on the bed and watched her eyes as he discarded his coat and waistcoat. He came over her, putting himself between her legs, and kissed the hollow of her throat. “I will insist that you lie there, looking beautiful,” he said, “while I make love to you.”

  He traced a path from her neck to her breast with his tongue. He took each breast in his mouth, lavishing them with attention, then continued his slow path down her belly, to her abdomen. Lily gasped; he grabbed her hands and held them against her legs, and moved again, to her sex, tantalizing her beyond her bearing.

  She wanted him, she needed him as sustenance, and sank deeper and deeper into the depths of the pleasure he was giving her until she was completely submerged in it, suspended weightlessly in it. His tongue began to lash her, swirling in and around her sex. She could scarcely bear the pleasure and gasped for her breath, writhed on his bed, desperate that it not end, but just as desperate that it end. And when the end came in a blaze of hot white, Lily cried out with the force of it, her body falling away from her consciousness, her heart filling and growing, expanding in her chest.

  A moment later, Tobin moved over her, releasing his breath in one agonizingly long sigh. He brushed the back of his hand against his mouth and then began to undo his trousers.

  Lily untied his neckcloth and unwound it, tossing it aside, and then pulled his shirt over his head, tossing that aside, as well. “You cannot imagine what you do to me,” he said. “I could perish from the desire for you.”

  “Show me,” she whispered, and arched into him.

  Tobin needed no more encouragement than that. He lowered himself to her and drew a rigid nipple into his mouth. Lily closed her eyes, adrift once more on the sea of erotic sensation. He gathered her in his arms and pulled her into his chest, pressing her body against his as he buried his face in her neck.

  Lily’s skin felt on fire, and the stroke of his fingers ignited her. He pushed her leg aside, stroked her wetness, then shifted and pushed the tip of his erection against her.

  For only a moment—she was startled when he rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him. Guiding her with his hands on her waist, he pulled her around to straddle his lap. She could feel his erection in her folds, and she instinctively moved across it, tantalizing herself.

  “How radiant you are.” He stroked her face, then moved her again, lifting her up so that he could slide into her. It was exquisite. The sensation was raw; she closed her eyes as her head lolled helplessly to her shoulder. He slid in and out of her sheath, while his thumb began a gentle, swirling assault over and around the nub of her arousal. Lily braced herself against his shoulders, her fingers digging into his flesh to anchor herself as her body moved on his.

  Tobin kept his gaze on her face as he stroked her cheeks, her lips. “I love you,” he muttered.

  That sent her over the edge. Her climax erupted without warning, rippling through her body once more. Tobin was caught in her wake; she heard his guttural sound of pleasure, felt his release in her with a powerful thrust.

  The experience was as emotional as it was physical—the joining of their bodies in such perfect harmony, the feel of his body so deeply imbedded in hers.

  Tobin put his arms around her and pulled her down to his chest. He rolled them onto their sides, their legs still wrapped around each other, her forehead pressed against his chest. His ragged breath was warm on her neck, his heartbeat staccato against her chest.

  Lily rolled onto her back and glanced up at the gold canopy above his bed. She spread her hand out to the side of her and felt something silky. She picked it up—it was a rose petal.

  Lily sat up and looked around them. There were rose petals scattered across the bed, some crushed, some untouched. She looked around the room; by the light of the hearth, she counted six candelabras with fresh candles in them. He’d planned this, had made his suite inviting for her, hoping that she would come to him, and yet believing she would not. It was as heart aching as it was touching.

  Tobin pulled her down beside him and kissed her once more. “What are you thinking?”

  “That I am in love.”

  He grinned. “We should marry as soon as possible, given our behavior.”

  She laughed at that. “As soon as we return to Hadley Green.” She traced a finger along his jaw.

  “I assume that will be on the morrow.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve a bit of business to finish before I can return.”

  Tobin frowned and touched the tip of her nose. “Not the jewels.”

  “Yes, the jewels. I have one stone left to turn, and I’ve come all this way. It might come to naught, but I cannot leave without inquiring.” She told him about her visit to Minglecroft’s offices, and about his daughter, Pruscilla Braintree.

  “Lily, love—let it go,” Tobin urged her and laced her fingers with his. “What’s done is done. It is fifteen years too late.”

  “It is never too late,” she said stubbornly. “I’ll never stop looking until I have found them.”

  “Bloody stubborn lass,” he said and kissed her. “I suppose this is what I am to expect? A lot of stomping about and doing as you please?”

  Lily laughed. “You may count on it, my lord.” She kissed him back, pushing away all other thoughts but the suddenly overwhelming realization that she loved this man beyond measure.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Tobin wanted to send for Lily’s things at Darlington House and have them delivered to Ashwood. They had done something rather scandalous, and he wanted to avoid any unpleasantness for her.

  But Lily would not agree. “I owe them my thanks,” she insisted.

  So at half past nine the next morning, Lily and Tobin were shown into the salon, where the dowager duchess and the duchess of Darlington received them.

  The meeting did not begin well. The dowager duchess obviously knew about Lily’s leaping from Merrick’s coach. “Scandalous,” she said. “And you, sir, inviting her to scandal! Lady Ashwood, you will be quite fortunate if no one hears of it. But if they do, you mark my words; you will be ostracized! Do you agree, Lady Darlington?”

  “It is true,” Kate said thoughtfully. “But then again, one cannot deny the power of true love.”

  “For heaven’s sake,” the dowager snapped. “I should think you, of all people, would know how painful such actions can be for an entire family.�
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  “I know,” Kate said with a slight shrug. “But if the family hadn’t suffered a bit of scandal, we’d not be such dear friends, would we? Nor would Allison come to greet you at tea every day.”

  “Don’t make excuses,” the dowager said. “I am trying to impart to Lady Ashwood that to go off with this . . . man,” she said, gesturing at Tobin, “will earn her nothing but a cut from all of society.”

  Kate looked at Lily. “Do you know that what she says is likely true?”

  “I do,” Lily said.

  Kate smiled. “Then follow your heart, Lily.”

  “Lady Darlington, I will thank you not to speak!” the dowager said angrily.

  But Lily smiled gratefully at Kate. “I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality, Kate. You have been most kind. Good day.”

  “You are throwing everything away, Lady Ashwood!” the dowager warned her.

  Lily smiled and looked up at Tobin. “Shall we?” With that, she walked out of the salon, her head held high.

  Tobin had never loved anyone as much as he loved Lily in that moment.

  As their carriage pulled away from Darlington House, Lily burst out laughing. “We’ve gone round the bend!” she said gaily. “You realize that, don’t you? We’ve flouted every social convention there is.”

  Tobin chuckled. “I hardly care. Do you?”

  “It hardly matters if I do, for I am ruined in London. What do we do now?”

  “We call on Mrs. Braintree, then collect my sister and my niece and return to Tiber Park.”

  The Braintree home was on a busy pedestrian thoroughfare with narrow sidewalks. The streets were not tended as tidily as those in Mayfair, and in places, the mud looked ankle deep. Tobin lifted Lily out of the carriage and placed her on the sidewalk, then instructed his driver to wait.

  “I cannot imagine how you found the street,” Lily said, peering up at the row of identical town houses. “How do we find the right one?”

  “We ask.” Tobin looked around and spotted a boy who was lugging a pail. “You there, lad!” he called. “Where might we find the Braintrees?”

  “Eleven, milord,” the boy said, and caught the coin Tobin tossed to him.

  “But the houses are not numbered,” Lily pointed out.

  “Then we count,” he said, and together, they counted to the eleventh door.

  A very old woman with a cap placed crookedly on her head answered their rap on the door. “Braintree!” she said, as if offended by the name. “Course not! Braintree is over there!” she said, waving her hand down the street.

  “Would you happen to know which—”

  The old woman shut the door before Tobin could finish his question. It startled him so much that he didn’t quite know what to say.

  Lily burst into laughter.

  He looked at her laughing, her eyes sparkling, her smile so infectious. Tobin laughed, too, the sound bubbling up from inside him. It made him feel alive in a way he’d not felt in a lifetime.

  They tried again, this time counting from the opposite end of the street, and knocked on the eleventh door. A middle-aged woman with tight curls and a plain gray gown buttoned up to her throat answered the door. She looked at them both suspiciously, as if she expected bad news.

  “Mrs. Braintree?” Tobin asked.

  “Yes. Who are you?”

  “Please forgive us for calling unannounced. I am Lord Eberlin, and this is Lady Ashwood.”

  “Ashwood!” Mrs. Braintree said, eying Lily. “Why, I thought they’d all passed on.”

  “Not all of them,” Lily said, smiling. “If you please, we’ve been looking for some information regarding Ashwood for some time now, and we wondered if perhaps you might help us?”

  “Me! What do I know of Ashwood?” she said. Her hand fluttered nervously to her throat.

  “Your father knew Ashwood, did he not?”

  “That has nothing to do with me,” she said defensively. A pair of boys suddenly appeared at her side, staring at Lily and Tobin curiously. “My father has been gone some six years now.”

  “Is it possible that you have information you aren’t even aware you possess?” Tobin suggested.

  “I’ve naught to do with the Ashwood estate,” she insisted. “I’ve not even seen it.”

  Tobin could see Lily’s disappointment, but he’d dealt with tougher characters than Mrs. Braintree. “Madam, if you would indulge us?” Tobin asked and withdrew a pair of coins. “We are prepared that you might not have the information we seek, but we really must ask.” He held the coins out to her. The two boys gasped and looked up at her. “It’s a pair of crowns, Mamma.”

  Mrs. Braintree eyed the coins. “Well,” she said with a shrug. “If it’s just a question or two.” She took the coins from Tobin’s hand and stepped back. “If you please,” she said.

  She showed them into a small parlor cluttered with china vases and figurines. There were some wooden toys scattered about the floor, and a man’s pair of shoes. Mrs. Braintree’s needlework was on the settee where she’d left it, and she made no move to put it away. The house smelled faintly of fish and paraffin candles. It was well lived in, and it occurred to Tobin that he would be a lucky man indeed if he might one day sit in his favorite chair like the one here with the lump on its left side, and look around at the figurines he and Lily had collected in a life spent together.

  “I’ve always wondered about Ashwood,” Mrs. Braintree said. “My father described a very grand estate.”

  “It is,” Lily said, nodding. “We’ve been trying to reconstruct some of the business in the years your father was associated with it. In reviewing the books, we noted that the late earl paid Mr. Minglecroft various sums over a period of a few years. Unfortunately, the amounts were not labeled, and we wondered what they might have been for?”

  Mrs. Braintree shrugged. “I cannot say,” she said. “Pappa traded silver and cotton.”

  Lily sighed softly. “Yes. Mr. Gross told us as much.”

  “Perhaps we might look at it another way,” Tobin said. “Did your father deal in anything other than cotton and silver?”

  “Not that I would know.”

  Lily glanced up at Tobin, her eyes full of disappointment.

  “But he did perform particular tasks from time to time,” Mrs. Braintree added.

  Lily’s eyes widened. “What tasks?”

  “He’d go and pick up this or that, or deliver important things to important people. That sort of thing.”

  “And he did that for Lord Ashwood?”

  “Oh, that I do not know,” she said.

  “Maybe it’s in the box, Mamma,” one of the boys said.

  Mrs. Braintree looked at her son.

  “The one that come from Southwark,” the boy reminded her.

  “Oh, yes. Mr. Gross did send some things after Grandpappa passed. Go and fetch the box, William.”

  Both boys raced out of the room. Mrs. Braintree smiled thinly. The three of them remained standing awkwardly, waiting. It seemed to Tobin that the children were gone the entire afternoon before they returned with a box that was neatly labeled Mingle-croft.

  “Now, what did Mr. Gross think we would do with all of this!” Mrs. Braintree said. “Put it down, William,” she said to her son.

  The boy set it on the floor in the middle of the room.

  “May I?” Tobin asked.

  “Suit yourself, my lord. You won’t find nothing but a lot of papers and whatnot.”

  Tobin lifted the lid off the ledger. He and Lily peered down at the contents. It was only ledgers and papers, and bills of sales for things such as linens and silver. Tobin studied the pages, while Lily dug a little deeper.

  While he was reading one of the bills of sale, Lily said, “Tobin.”

  He looked up; she was holding a small portrait of a golden-haired woman. Tobin shook his head—he had no idea who she was.

  But then Lily pointed to the woman’s throat, and Tobin’s heart stumbled. The woman was wearing
a large ruby necklace. So large that one could assume the jewel had once belonged to a king who had given it as a gift to a woman he’d admired.

  “That’s Mrs. Tolly,” Mrs. Braintree said.

  “Who is she?” Lily asked.

  Mrs. Braintree colored and looked down at her sons. “One might say a friend . . . if you take my meaning.”

  Lily blinked, but Tobin understood Mrs. Braintree’s meaning quite well.

  “Does she still live?” Tobin asked.

  “No. When she died, Pappa had to collect her things.”

  “Oh, no,” Lily murmured and looked at the portrait, turning it over, then back to the painting once more.

  “I believe her son still lives, however,” Mrs. Braintree added.

  “That is welcome news,” Tobin said. “And the boy’s father?”

  Mrs. Braintree drew herself up. “Don’t believe the boy had a father.” She glanced at her children, who were occupied with a top, or something that passed for one, that they’d found in the box.

  “Do you suppose that if the boy had had a father, he might have been an earl?” Tobin asked carefully.

  Mrs. Braintree’s color deepened. “Might have been. You may assume what you like, my lord. I mean to say only that Mrs. Tolly had a son.”

  Lily gaped at Mrs. Braintree, then at Tobin. “He had a son,” she repeated softly. “A son.”

  Which meant, Tobin assumed, that there was another, more legitimate claim to Ashwood. “Where is this son now?” Tobin asked.

  “I’ve not the slightest idea, my lord,” Mrs. Braintree said. “If the answer is not in that box, I cannot help you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Braintree,” Lily said. She returned the portrait to the box.

  “You may keep it if you like. I’ve no use for it.”

  “Are you certain?” Lily asked, retrieving it.

  “Of course. You may have the whole box if you like. It’s nothing but kindling to me.”

  “You’ve been very helpful,” Tobin said, picking up the box. “We won’t take any more of your time.”