The Revenge of Lord Eberlin (28 page)

Lily’s lips parted.

“Now see what I can do to you, lass.” He caressed her neck. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

Lily closed her eyes and dropped her head back, giving in to her desire and to him. Her skin, warm and fragrant, seared his tongue. Her body, lithe and curving, scorched his hands. He felt white-hot inside, desire thrumming through his body, anticipation and longing shimmering throughout him.

He slid his hands down to her ankle, then his hand beneath the hem of her gown and on her calf. He moved up until he touched the bare flesh of her inner thigh. Lily’s breath was warmly damp on his skin; her hands skated across his shoulders and his chest, insistent. As he turned his head her mouth met his, and she pressed
against him, wanting what he wanted, and Tobin had never wanted like this.
Never.

His kiss was not the least bit tender but one blistering with desire. He swept his tongue inside her mouth as he lifted his hand to her face and splayed his fingers along her jaw, tilting her head so that he could kiss her deeply. Lily made an alarmingly arousing noise that sounded almost like a soft growl. He pressed his body against hers, pushing in between her legs, pulling her closer into his body.

Lily wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts against him as she kissed him back with as much ferocity. This was extraordinary—he’d never felt the need for a woman battering down the doors of his defenses, clawing at his resolve in the way that this was happening to him. He’d never felt anything as urgent, as imperative, as the desire to have her.

He filled his hand with her breast, kissed her chin, her throat, and the enticing spill of her flesh above the bodice of her gown. He had a mad desire to put both hands on her gown and rip it open just to touch her flesh; it did not help that Lily pushed against his erection, rubbing against it.

He caressed her bosom, then slid his fingers into her cleavage, pushing deeper until he was able to free her breast from the low décolletage. He took the tip of her breast between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it, and Lily gasped. Her head fell back a moment, and then she looked at the door.

“Someone will come,” she whispered.

His response was to topple her onto her back on the settee and move over her.

“Someone will see us,” she said as she stroked his temple and his cheek.

Tobin was not the least deterred; he merely growled at her as he maneuvered her breast from her gown and took it into his mouth. With a gasp of pleasure, Lily arched into him. He nibbled at her peak, lashing across it with his tongue. “Dear
God,
” she murmured, and another shot of desire rifled through Tobin.

He was so hard for her, his body straining. Her breath turned quick and shallow as he ravaged her breast, and when he began to stroke the bare flesh of her thigh, the soft mound of her sex, she gave a small cry of alarm.

“Be still,” he whispered and kissed her eyes, her cheeks, and slipped his fingers into the slit of her drawers, and Lily’s protest was lost. She closed her eyes, dug her fingers into his neck and chest, and allowed herself to sink into the pleasure he was giving her. Tobin could think of nothing but the feel of her body beneath his, the wetness of her sex, the hardness of his body. His fingers danced about the hardened core of her, then slid deep inside her and back again. His mouth moved over her cheek, her lips, her eyes, gliding so lightly that her skin simmered to the point she could scarcely endure even the whisper of his kiss. When he dipped his head to her exposed breast again, he felt as if he
was sliding uncontrollably down a slope into something utterly explosive. When Lily drew her leg up beside him, he could smell her desire, could feel the heat in his hand. He kissed her as he fumbled with his trousers, freeing his erection. He slid the tip against her dampness, and Lily began to pant. She grabbed his neckcloth and pulled his head down to hers, kissing him passionately as he slowly, carefully, pushed himself into her body.

Desire and affection began to pound a beat through him, and Tobin was as appalled as he was inflamed by it. This was what he’d wanted: to have Lily and for all of Hadley Green to know it. But as he moved inside her, pressing up against her maidenhead, he realized this was something so profound, so deeply felt, that he would never ruin her. Quite the contrary—he would go to extraordinary lengths to protect her.

“Draw a breath,” he whispered, and as Lily drew it, he pushed past her maidenhead. She made a small sound of distress and her body tensed, squeezing him as she absorbed the pain. He stroked her face, feathered it with kisses, and after a few moments Lily’s discomfort began to ease. He moved slowly, gritting his teeth against the release building in him, savoring the feel of her body, warm and wet and tight around his.

Lily’s hands stroked his back as she began to move with him. Tobin caressed her leg and watched the shades of pleasure move over her face as he moved inside her. When he thought she was ready, he put his
hand between her legs once more and began to stroke her in time with his body. She flinched, then began to move more earnestly with him. Tobin did, too, watching her release come with a startled cry of elation that he caught with a kiss, just moments before his own release came pounding out of him like floodwaters.

When he had stopped moving in her, she pressed her lips to his neck, then his lips, and her hand fell limply across her breast.

Tobin was speechless. The mud had cracked, the light was shining in through the fissures, and he was blinded by it. He didn’t know what to make of everything he was feeling for this woman, but it was so much more than anything he had ever imagined. He shifted, withdrawing from her, then removed his handkerchief and cleaned them both. When he had repaired his clothing, he helped her up, then helped her smooth her skirts and tuck her hair into its coif.

Lily looked up at him with those green eyes swimming with affection, and a slightly crooked smile. “This does not mean you have won.”

Tobin smiled. There were things he wanted to say:
Come with me, don’t leave me. Forgive me. It’s done, we are done. I cannot have what I wanted from you, I want something far bigger than that.
But the words were lodged too deep inside him, so he said nothing. He picked up her hand and kissed it. “I must go.”

She nodded. He kissed her cheek, then her mouth—a soft, lingering kiss—and turned away from her.

“Tobin?”

He paused and looked back at her. She stood with her hands clasped before her, her expression serene. There was a rosy blush in her cheeks he’d not seen since her illness, and she looked quite beautiful. Her lips parted, and it seemed as if she would speak. But then she shook her head and smiled sheepishly.

He walked out of the music room, away from Lily, away from the bench and the inscription. But he could not escape the warmth that was seeping in through the cracks in his black mud.

L
ily supposed she ought to have regretted the loss of her virtue, but she did not. She did, however, feel a distant rumble of disappointment with herself for having fallen headlong without even a mewl of protest—in fact, she’d embraced her downfall, had craved it, had convinced herself that his touch was the salve her wounded soul needed. And it had happened so quickly. With Althea’s letters in her pocket, and the inscription on the stool, the moment had attacked Lily, had cut down all her defenses, and she’d needed and wanted . . .
him.

Did she imagine that Tobin had needed her, too? He’d seemed to be an entirely different man than the one who had come into this very salon some weeks ago and announced his intent to ruin her. He’d been persistent, wildly thrilling, and gentle all at once. Had he not felt the same as she? Lily had wanted to ask him, to say something, but she’d been at a loss as to what
to say, exactly, and he had not offered any words …

Still, in the hours that had followed, Lily had allowed herself to imagine things, joyous, happy things. Such as love. And contentment. She’d allowed herself the fantasy that hers was an entirely different situation than Aunt Althea’s had been. Hers was a union forged entirely by mutual desire. Lily believed that until the next afternoon, when Mr. Fish arrived.

“Pardon, madam,” he said. “I am tardy, but I called on Mr. Grady. He has been ill you know, and I picked up the post.”

“Is he still unwell?” Lily asked as Mr. Fish began to sort through the correspondence.

“Quite on the mend,” Mr. Fish said absently as he looked through the correspondence.

Lily returned her gaze to the window, through which the day looked very gray.

“Well now, this cannot be good news,” Mr. Fish muttered as he examined one piece of correspondence.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It has come from Tiber Park.” He opened the letter and read the contents. “It is from Mr. Howell, the count’s secretary,” he said and glanced up at Lily. “It is extraordinary news.”

Her pulse fluttered. “What news?”

“He writes that upon further reflection, Lord Eberlin has determined that the Tiber Park mill is not a profitable venture and that he’ll not be operating it as such.”

“What?” Lily said, as nausea began to spin in her belly.

But Mr. Fish suddenly smiled. “He has capitulated!” he exclaimed. “He has given in and he will not compete! That means, Lady Ashwood, that you have saved Ashwood!”

“Have I?” she asked unenthusiastically.

“Of course you have!” he said gleefully. “You were quite determined, were you not, and look at this—you have succeeded beyond our greatest hope, and you have emerged unscathed and with your estate intact. This,” he said, shaking the letter at her, “is as good a surrender as any I have ever seen.”

“On the contrary,” Lily softly corrected him. “I have not emerged unscathed. I would say the battle has taken its toll.”

“Well, I think you should reward yourself for a fight well fought. Perhaps a trip to London?”

“Reward myself?” Lily’s head was beginning to ache. “I never knew you to be so fanciful, Mr. Fish.”

“But you really should celebrate,” he insisted.

Lily nodded, but all she could think was that she had given herself to Tobin, and he . . . he had stopped his assault on Ashwood. But where did that leave them? Was that all it had been to him? A bargain?

“Ashwood will thrive again, you’ll see,” Mr. Fish triumphantly continued. “God will not allow the advantage of wealth to undo what is good.”

Lily didn’t know if that was true or not.

Over the course of the next few days, her guilt and conflictions made her entirely too restless. She kept expecting to see Tobin riding up to Ashwood, but he did not come.

Why
did he not come? After what had happened between them, had his heart not softened toward her, as hers had toward him? Could he engage in such an intimate act and remain unmoved?

When she wasn’t feeling lost by all that had happened, she was brooding about her future. She chastised herself for moping over the man. It was an impossible situation, a far-fetched union. She could not risk her title and the loss of this estate. What would become of everyone then? Would she take the victory she had in hand and toss it out like feed to chickens? Of course not.

Lily decided Mr. Fish was right. She should accept Lady Darlington’s offer to visit in London. She should move on from this extraordinary autumn, and from the battle she’d waged, and think of her future. She should be about the business of luring a titled man to her. It was the only feasible thing to do.

On the evening of the First Winter’s Night Ball, Lily dressed for the occasion in something of an emotional fog.

“I think this is the most beautiful ball gown I have ever seen, mu’um,” Ann said, drawing Lily back to the moment. Seated at her vanity, Lily could see Ann puttering around behind her, preparing her clothing for
the evening. “It came from Italy, did it?” Ann asked, holding up the gown for a better look.