The Lily Brand (21 page)

“Yes, my lady.” Finney’s face resembled a large strawberry without the seeds. “Shall I tell him you’ve gone out?”

Resolutely, Lillian shook her head. “No, it is all right. Bring him to the drawing room, if you please.”

A worried expression rose in Finney’s brown puppy-dog eyes. “Do you think this is right, my lady? Would it not be better to wait for my lord—”

“No, Finney.” She reached out and gently patted his forearm. “Do as I say. Bring him to the drawing room.”

For a while she listened to the butler’s mutterings and laborious breaths as he went downstairs. Then she hurried to get her gloves in order to reach the designated room before the men. She wondered what Alexander Markham, the Viscount Perrin, would want from her. Her husband would probably be furious when he found out that his cousin had called.

Lillian lifted her chin a notch higher.

Well, it was his own fault for spending his days and nights all over town rather than at his house.

So she sat, her back straight, her hands demurely folded in her lap, and waited for the arrival of her husband’s relative. She did not have long to wait. Soon she heard Finney’s deep voice; then the door was flung open with a flourish and the butler announced in a dignified manner, “The Viscount Perrin, my lady.”

Lillian rose from her seat to greet her visitor properly, but he just strolled in, looking around the room with interest. His clothes were just a bit too rumpled, his cheeks just a bit too ruddy. He did not acknowledge her.

Neither his appearance nor his manner boded well.

Finney’s brows rose high, yet Lillian gave the butler a small nod to indicate he should leave. He threw her another of his worried glances and left, but without closing the door. Apparently he did not like the viscount’s behavior, either.

“My lord,” Lillian said firmly.

At that, Perrin turned his head toward her, his face registering artificial surprise as if he had just now noticed her presence. “My dear cousin.” He approached her, arms outstretched.

Lillian stepped aside to evade his embrace.

“So shy?” He smirked. “There have been times, I seem to remember, when my touch was not so abhorrent to your sensibilities. In fact, I seem to remember that you liked my hands on you exceedingly well.”

Lillian chose against dignifying this with an answer. If he had come in order to provoke her, he would fail. After all, she had learned the game from a true master.

Or rather, a mistress.

So she just gave him a stony look.

Unperturbed, he grinned and took up idly pacing around the room. “Where is my dear Cousin Ravenhurst? Gone out? A shame that, quite a shame. First he becomes a recluse on his own estate, and now I have heard he has gone even more mad. Is that so?” His spurs clicked on the wooden floor. “Of course, we all know that he was struck by the battle madness. It is quite natural, I have heard, for the
vétérans de la guerre
. Perhaps the family should send him to Bedlam so the crowds can suitably admire him.” He threw Lillian a sly smile.

With studied indifference, she sank down on the little settee. “Have you just come to heap insult on my husband?” she inquired in bored tones, while inside she felt her anger rise. How dare this fledgling boy talk like that about her husband, a man who had endured so much more than Perrin could possibly fathom!

“Ah, your husband.” Perrin stopped his wandering and waggled his finger at her. “Whose title is, of course, so much nobler than a mere viscount’s. And his fortune is quite something, too. How much does he have these days? Twenty thousand a year? Thirty?”

“Ah, I see, now you are insulting
me.
” Lillian gave him back smile for smile. “I will have you know that I do not know my husband’s fortune. Nor was this the reason I married him—as you well know.”

“The public ravishment. The baring of a pair of pale breasts at Almack’s.” His lips became thin as his face twisted into an ugly sneer. His eyes dropped to the swell of her bosom, all properly covered by her walking dress. “But tell me, did he ravish you for real before the vows were exchanged?” Perrin’s voice rose in synchronicity with the color in his face. “Did the two of you enjoy a romp in a secluded alcove? On this very couch, perhaps? Did he properly hump you? Did he?”

Lillian’s brows rose. She wondered how she could have ever considered marriage to this immature dandiprat. He reminded her of a small boy throwing a tantrum because his sweets had been taken away. “Are you drunk? I do not see how any of this would be any of your business.”

He took up his pacing again, but now his strides were short, and his spurs sounded an angry staccato on the polished floor. “I made some discreet inquiries, if you must know,” he informed her loftily. “At the inn where you spent the first night of wedded bliss.” With an almost triumphant expression he turned to face her. “And lo and behold, the next morning there was not the slightest trace of virgin blood on the sheets.”

“So we did not spend that night together.” Lillian’s voice remained cool and uncaring. Yet she did not like where this conversation was headed. He might behave like a small boy, but he might still present a danger.

“Oh, my pet, but he was seen leaving your room in a—how shall I put it—rather delicious state of undress.” Perrin smirked. “The maid was much taken with the sight of my cousin’s naked torso. So, of course, I now wonder, did he tail you even when I was courting you? Did you consent to let him shag you even when you accepted my presents?”

“My lord, you are forgetting yourself.”

“But then,” he mused as if he had not heard her, “perhaps there is quite another reason for the absence of your virgin blood on those sheets. Perhaps my cousin’s madness has affected him in other areas as well. Perhaps he could not perform…” His voice trailed off suggestively, while his eyes glittered with some wild emotion Lillian did not care to guess at. She had had quite enough of Viscount Perrin’s insolence.

She rose to her feet, head held high. “This is quite enough, my lord.” She made her voice icy cold. “I will not have you slighting your cousin in his own house any longer.”

“Do you threaten me? Do you really dare threaten me, you little doxy?” Quick like a snake to strike, he advanced and gripped her upper arms. His eyes, Lillian saw, were bloodshot, and his breath, when he opened his mouth, stank of mixed alcohols. “But perhaps the absence of the virgin blood has even other reasons. Tell me, how does my coz like it that his wife is carrying on with his best friend?”

“What do you mean?” Lillian asked, for the first time honestly puzzled.

“Why, my dear…” He smirked. “Your affair with Lord Allenbright. Quite the little hussy, aren’t you ?”

Lillian blinked. Dazedly, she realized that Ravenhurst had not entrusted him with his friends’ secret. But Perrin was not through yet.

“Shall I tell you what I have also found out? Interesting things, really, about your stepmother. Have you learnt your trade from her? All these gruesome things could quite ruin even the wife of the Earl of Ravenhurst.” The Viscount’s lips lifted in a feral smile, exposing his sharp, little ferret teeth.

A freezing coldness came over Lillian. She remained quite still in his grip. “I would take care, my lord,” she whispered. “I have seen much worse things than you ever could imagine. Do you really think I would let you threaten my husband and my family? You, my lord, are an innocent. A glaring, glaring innocent. You know nothing of my stepmother. And you should pray that I will never teach you any of it.”

At her words, his color rose even higher. A vein pumped across his forehead. Then he gave a bark that might have been a laugh, shoved and threw her across the settee. “Oh, you will teach me some, my pet.” He put both hands on either side of her and leaned down, leering. “If you don’t want to be ostracized by society, you will let me shag you—until you bleed, if need be.”

Lillian’s hands clenched into fists. “My lord, get off me,” she warned him softly. A pup like him would
not
threaten her. And she would
not
let him drag her back into the darkness. Never again.

His fingers closed around her throat. “You will let me use you for my pleasure and—”

Quick as lightning she struck, raking her nails over his cheek.

Howling, he reared back, holding his cheek, while blood dropped through his fingers. “What have you done? You little hussy!” And he burst into tears.

Lillian stood and straightened her skirts before she advanced on him. Nonchalantly she leaned near and whispered into his ear, “Take heed, my lord. Do not meddle with me or my kin. It would cost you dearly. I know a hundred ways and more to bring pain to a man, and I could make you rue the day you were born. So leave my family and me alone.” She stepped back and forced her lips to curve in a satisfied smile. “Now go.”

Still blubbering and bleeding and holding his cheek, the Viscount Perrin hastened out of the room like a little boy who had been scolded. She heard him clomping down the stairs, the click of his spurs mingling with his sobs.

When the front door closed behind him, the tremors started in Lillian’s hands and knees and legs until they shook her whole body. She staggered to the settee and sank down. Wearily, she buried her face in her hands.
Dear God
, she thought.
Dear God.

A moment later she heard Finney’s hesitant steps. “My lady? Are you all right, my lady?”

Lillian lifted her head and gave the butler a smile. “Quite all right, Finney.” And, with a start, she realized she was. It would have been so easy to let Perrin victimize her. But she had not. Instead, she had made a stand.

“You have another visitor, my lady.” Finney’s voice was still tentative, as if he feared she might shatter if he spoke too harshly. “Lord Allenbright. He asks whether you are ready for the afternoon drive.”

Lillian took a deep breath, then she reached for her gloves. “Quite ready. Tell him I shall be with him in an instant.”

“Yes, my lady.” With a last worried look, the butler left.

Lillian stood. “Quite ready,” she whispered. “Quite, quite ready.” Then she straightened and walked out of the room.

~*~

Troy liked to spend the mornings at his club, which at that time of day was wonderfully quiet and almost deserted. He would lounge in one of the comfortable armchairs, just like a young buck new to town, and would smoke one expensive cheroot after the other until he felt quite dizzy with all the smoke.

Quite sick, in fact.
Troy coughed and coughed until his eyes watered. Dear God, how long had he been sitting here, staring into empty space like a bacon-brained dimwit? Too long, surely, too—

“Ah, good, here you are.” Drake Bainbridge erupted into the room in a whirlwind of silver-gray dogflesh and excited barks. “Quiet, girls. Sit!
Sit!
Oh, never mind.” He strode forward, only to stop and be seized by a coughing fit. “By Gad, Troy, what are you planning? Turning this room into a smokehouse with you as the salmon?” He hurried to one of the tall, white-framed windows and fumbled with the latch.

“And a good morning to you, too,” Troy said dryly. “Where’s Justin?”

“Jus?” Drake finally managed to lift the latch. With a relieved sigh he flung the window open and thrust his head outside. “God, this is better.” After taking several audible gulps of air, he turned. “He had some business to attend to, Jus had.”

Troy lifted a brow. “Is this the reason why you’re up so early? I thought the two of you preferred a nice, long sleep-in.”

“Sleep-in?” His friend grinned, mischief making his eyes sparkle. “I like the sound of that.” Yet abruptly, his expression turned serious. “Really, Troy, what are you thinking of, whiling your time away and smoking yourself to death?”

At these words, irritation flared up in Troy. “Don’t lecture me,” he warned. “I don’t need this.”

“No, you need a good thump on your thick head, that’s what you need. And that’s what I told your wife. Yes, your
wife
—and don’t make such a grumpy face, it doesn’t become you.” Drake glowered at him. Mischief had fled from his eyes; instead, they now glittered with what looked like very real anger.

Troy reared back in his seat.

Whenever had he last seen Drake glowering?

“Have you seen that cousin of yours lately?” his friend asked in clipped tones.

“Alex?”

“Heavens, don’t be so dense! Of course,
Alex
. Have you got any other pea-brained cousin hidden in a closet somewhere or what?” The glower intensified. “Well, have you seen him?”

“Not since I’ve come to London, no.”

Drake rolled his eyes. “But you’ve heard that he has gained a certain reputation over the last few months, haven’t you?”

The old feeling of responsibility reared its head, making Troy spring readily to his cousin’s defense. “It surely must have been a shock for him. After all, he considered himself in love—”

“In
love!
” Drake snorted. “The only person Alexander Markham is damn well in love with is his bloody self! Good God, Troy, open your eyes to the facts: He’s known to gamble excessively, to drink excessively, to run through the
filles
of Covent Garden. A bit of a rough sport, is oh-so-wonderful, lovely Alexander Markham, Viscount Perrin.”

“He’s still young!” Troy protested.

Shaking his head, Drake came over and perched on the arm of the chair nearest to Troy. “He is older than you were when you went to war. Don’t you think it’s time he shows a bit of responsibility and maturity instead of sulking around like a spoilt brat? He bloody
is
a spoilt brat! Do you know that he runs around dragging your name through the mud? Claiming you’re a bit soft in the head, to put it nicely?”

Wearily, Troy rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Well… I…” He looked up. “Can’t you let this drop, Drake?” he pleaded.

For a moment, his friend’s expression softened. “I know you don’t feel like yourself these days. I cannot even start to imagine what you’ve been through, and I know all this is difficult for you. But, Troy, you cannot walk around wearing blinders for the rest of your life.” Drake’s face hardened once more. “Your precious cousin is an impertinent little sod, my boy, who’s trying his best to sully your name. Do you know that he called on your wife yesterday?”