The Revenge of Lord Eberlin (31 page)

“His secret? But we have no secrets in Hadley Green, we are a community of friends, are we not?” Mrs. Morton asked laughingly.

“Please speak softly!” Lily said, laughing. “His sister is just there and you will ruin the surprise.”

Mrs. Morton and Mrs. Langley exchanged baffled looks. “What surprise?” Mrs. Langley asked. “A surprise in London?”

“I cannot speak for his lordship,” Lily said, smiling up at him, “but I will confirm that he has enlisted my help and I am sworn to secrecy. He must have Miss Scott believe he is returning to London. It’s all part of his surprise.”

“But . . . what is the surprise?” Mrs. Morton asked in a loud whisper.

Tobin tried to speak so that he would not appear as mortally wounded as he felt, but he could only cough.

Lily had Mrs. Morton by the elbow and was turning her away from him. “If he told us, it would no longer be a surprise, would it? You shall have to endure the wait until Miss Scott has had her surprise. Have I ever told you of the great surprise I received once from my
uncle Hannigan? It was quite dramatic, really, and I was not the least expecting it.”

As Lily moved the women away from him, Tobin began striding for the doors that led to the terrace. But when he caught sight of MacKenzie with Miss Babcock standing at the doors, he dared not pass them and face another moment in which he had no control. He turned about, looking for an escape before he began to disintegrate. His fists clenched, his breathing short and labored, he spotted a pocket door that led to a small retiring room just off the ballroom. He’d deemed it too small to accommodate the number of guests he’d expected tonight and had seen to it that a larger retiring room was available upstairs.

His head down, he quickly made his way there now, then stepped into the retiring room and quickly shut the door behind him. The room was dark, the only light filtering through the windows coming from the rushes in the courtyard. It was cold—good, he needed cold, something to sharpen his senses. He walked deeper into the room, braced his hands against the back of the settee, and leaned over it, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he fought the demon in him, straining to push it out and find his breath.

His head was spinning, his skin clammy, his heart pounding. This debilitating madness was infuriating, and in a moment of frustration, he swiped his arm at the end table and sent a glass bowl crashing to the floor.

A spill of light startled him and he heard the sounds from the ballroom seeping into the room.

“Tobin?”

He blinked; it was Lily, framed in the doorway, and he suddenly could not breathe. He clawed at his neckcloth and tried desperately to draw his breath, grabbing it in a shallow wheeze.

“Tobin!” Lily cried and pushed the door shut behind her as she rushed to his side. She put her hand on his shoulder and cupped his face with her hand. “Dear God, are you all right?” she begged him, her eyes searching his face.

He responded by fighting another paroxysm of breath. He tried to pull her hand from his face, but she refused to allow it and cupped his face with both hands. “Tell me what is wrong,” she said. “Tell me so I may help you.”

“No.”

Lily suddenly laid her head against his chest. “Oh, Tobin,” she said sorrowfully. “I cannot imagine the nature of your discomfort, but my heart aches for you. I have seen you struggle against this illness with great distress, and I want so desperately to help you.”

Tobin managed a breath. He had to find his footing or he would shatter into a thousand tiny bits. He was perspiring, he felt ill, and he wanted to crawl out of his skin. Lily stroked his brow, her cool touch soothing him. “It’s all right,” she said softly. “Everything is all right.”

That quiet promise of hope seared him. His fists curled against his sides, he closed his eyes and bowed his head, his forehead touching hers. Her scent filled his nostrils. He did not try to speak. He could focus only on her touch, on the softness of her voice.

Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right.
He tried to drink those words in, chanting them in his head over and over again until he felt the tightness begin to ease and he was able to breathe . . . but his breathing was deep, and his hands, he realized, were on her body, his mouth on her skin, fragrant, soft skin. His lips were on her mouth, in her hair, his hands on her hips.

“Let me help you, Tobin,” she whispered in the dark. “Whatever it is that ails you, let me help you.”

His anxiety and fear were evaporating, and in their place was desire. The arousing thrill of her body was something Tobin felt powerless to resist. The desire made him feel like a whole man again, and he straddled her skirts with his legs, kissed her so ardently that she was bent backward at the waist until she put her hands between them and turned her head, drawing a breath.

“What are you
doing
?” she asked breathlessly.

“Kissing you,” he muttered, and nipped at her lips.

“
Tobin,
” she said, as if he’d not been quite awake. “Let me help you. No matter what has happened, I will help you.” She was speaking strangely, as if she was uncertain what to say. “If this is all there is between us,
a physical attraction, then you may go to Perdition,” she whispered. “But if there is more—and God help me, Tobin, there
is
more—then I want to help you.”

He was not prepared for this. So many things whirled in his head, so many cautions. He knew only that he wanted her, every luscious inch of her body, every moment of her breath. “You don’t know what you ask—”

“If there is any hope that you love me as I love you, Tobin, then let me help you.”

Love!
The word sent him into a tailspin. He could scarcely face his feelings, much less put a name to them. He’d spent years pushing away anything close to tenderness and burying it in the mud, and now she would speak to him of love? He closed his eyes. He tried to steady himself, to find his way back to that safe place of not feeling, of not caring. “You do not understand what you are asking me.”

“I understand very well. Do you think me blind or unfeeling? Do you think I didn’t see the change in you when we last met? You may pretend that your feelings do not exist, but I have
felt
them.”

No, no, he could not have this. He could not have this. His chest began to constrict. “I . . .
esteem
you,” he said.

Lily clucked and looked away.

“Lily . . . darling. You know who I am,” he said hoarsely.

“I do,” she said, folding her arms. “I know that you
have been gravely wounded. I know that you suffer a debilitating malady that you hopelessly try to mask. I know that you would like all to believe that you are a man hardened to the softer bits of this world, but I know that is not true.”

“I am the son of a thief,” he said sternly. “I trade armaments of war for my livelihood. I have lived a very mean life—and you would pretend that I was born to this manor? I suspect there are others in your life who would not be as quick to ignore these things. And neither would I.”

“I do not
care
—”

“I
do
care,” he said and put his hand on her shoulder, forcing her to look at him. “You deserve better.”

“Do not presume to tell me what I deserve!” she said sharply and pushed his hand off her shoulder. “Do not presume that you suddenly know what is best for me, not after what we’ve been through, not after the dancing around this past of ours as we have done!”

“I do not want to ruin you,” he pleaded, and turned away—from her, and from the fact that until recently, he had very much wanted to ruin her. He watched the light of the torches flickering against the panes of glass, wondering how this had happened, when he had gone from wanting to ruin her to wanting to protect her from harm?

“Am I to believe now you have had your way with me, that you plan to return to London because you have had your revenge?”

“That is not true,” he said. He kept his gaze on the torchlights, and away from the green eyes that had haunted him every moment of chopping down that bloody hedgerow. “Things are much more complicated than that, and I think you know that they are.”

“I cannot do this any longer,” Lily said softly. “I cannot play this game.”

He heard the rustle of her gown. She was leaving, and he felt a moment of panic.

But a tiny voice told him that this was the only solution.
Let her go.
Let her flee him and his illness and his past.

He heard her go out, and still he did not move. His fists clenched so tightly that his fingers ached. A ribbon of sweat slipped down the back of his neck. Tobin willed himself to be stronger and held it back. He could feel the mud deepening and swallowed down his revulsion to it.
Rise up. Press on.

But for the first time in his life, he questioned what he was pressing on toward.

L
ily’s heart felt as if it were cracking and splintering as she wandered through the ballroom in a daze. As the evening wore on, she saw Tobin only once, when she somehow felt his presence and turned around. He was standing a few feet away, his gaze burning her up.

A few weeks ago, she would have expected to see a look of triumph, or cold satisfaction on his face. But tonight, Tobin’s gaze was full of longing.

She turned away.

Lily had known that she’d fallen in love with him, but she did not understand what had possessed her to say it tonight. She imagined what Keira would say to her now:
Never tell a man you love him, goose!
She imagined the faces of her aunt and uncle if they believed she intended to—to what,
marry
the son of the man she herself had condemned to the gallows? A man who had purchased his title with the money he made selling arms? A man whose sister clearly loathed
her, who had been shunned by the society to which she aspired?

Tobin was right. Lily’s burning disappointment began to turn to anger at her own stupidity. She wandered about, oblivious to the people around her. But when the snow began to fall from the ceiling, she looked up—and saw Tobin watching her again.

She retreated to the ladies’ retiring room.

Inside, she looked at herself in the mirror. She supposed she thought she might see something different in her expression, something wiser, some sign of worldly understanding. But she looked precisely the same as when she’d left Ashwood: young and foolish. Lily smoothed her gown and pinched her cheeks. When she thought she looked as best she might, given the circumstances and the lack of a smile, she started for the door, where she encountered the cool, almost porcelain face of Charity.

Charity’s cool gaze ran over Lily. “Quite recovered, have you?”

“Excuse me?”

“What is that you want from him?” Charity asked pointedly.

Lily felt herself go cold.

“I cannot guess what you are about, Lady Ashwood, but if you think to harm my brother any more than you already have, you will have me to face. He has worked very hard to overcome the hell you banished my family to when you insisted you saw my father at Ashwood.”

Lily’s ire soared. “I find it remarkable that you and your brother lay blame for your father’s sins on an eight-year-old girl,” she said. “The fact is, Miss Scott, that your father put you in that hell quite all on his own. But by all means, blame me if that makes it easier to bear.”

Something flashed in Charity’s eyes. “He is toying with you,” she said. “He makes a game of it. Don’t fool yourself into believing differently.”

Lily stepped around Charity before she did or said something untoward, and left the retiring room. Outside, she paused to press a hand to her churning stomach.

“Lady Ashwood, are you all right?”

Lily did her best to summon her composure before turning with a smile. “Miss Babcock. How are you enjoying the ball?”

“Very much indeed,” she said, sidling up to Lily. “There are so few ladies in attendance that I’ve danced all night.” Her eyes sparkled as she playfully tapped Lily with her fan. “But
you
are quite the admired one. The count has scarcely taken his eyes from you.”

“You are mistaken—”

“I am not,” Miss Babcock said gaily. “Mrs. Langley and I saw him watching you as one dance had concluded, and on my word, his gaze did not leave you for as much as a moment until he could see you no more.”

That was it, then—Lily could no longer bear her sorrow. It was now an ache that sank painfully into her
marrow. She had to leave. She had to be away from these people and the sight of Tobin and Charity.