The Revenge of Lord Eberlin (11 page)

Lily’s pulse pounded so strongly she feared she might come out of her skin. It was a peculiar feeling, to be so angry and so lustful at once. “I am more than clear, sir. Are you certain
you
are so clear?” She walked past him, her shoulder brushing against his cloak.

Lily had no idea how she managed to get into her house. She only knew that she was desperate to know if he watched her go.

Tobin rode away from Ashwood, his breath growing shorter. He rode until Ashwood was out of sight, then reined up, leapt off his horse, and braced himself against a tree, gasping for breath.

God in heaven, what was this evil that plagued him?

It was too warm; he suddenly grabbed at his neckcloth, loosening it.

He could scarcely believe what had just happened. That little fool had chosen her
ruin
over Ashwood? He should have tasted victory on his lips, knowing that his
desire for revenge was at hand . . . but he didn’t feel that in the least. He felt out of breath and oddly unsettled, as if this plague on him had sunk its roots deeper, tangling with his guts.

How could she agree? Ridiculous woman!

He was suddenly reminded of a spring day many years ago, when he and Lily were children. He’d been charged with looking after her, and they’d gone up to the abandoned cottage at Uppington Church. Lily had been infatuated with that musty, old, one-room cottage. She’d built little fantasies around it—one day it was a castle, the next a seaside fortress, the next a hovel where a princess of magic hid her talents. She would summon faeries to help her fight the evil forces when needed.

Tobin was older and had found her games rather tedious at times. He recalled her ceaseless chatter and how he’d generally spent his time with her engaged in his own idle pursuits. Whittling, throwing rocks at various targets, reading.

On that particular afternoon, Lily had fancied herself a warrior princess and, if memory served, marauding Vikings had beset her. It was a warm spring day, and she’d discarded her cloak and bonnet so that she might dash around and jab at the invisible Vikings with the sword she’d fashioned from a stick. Tobin had positioned himself on a rock, where he’d worked on the horse he’d been carving while keeping a watchful eye on the little hellion. However, he’d managed to lose
track of her and had been startled when she’d called out, her voice coming from somewhere above him. Tobin had looked up to see her straddling a tree limb high above him, her booted feet dangling and her so-called sword stuffed into the sash of her frock.

“Bloody hell,” Tobin had muttered. “What are you doing up there? You could fall and break your neck!”

“I won’t fall.”

“Come down,” he’d said sternly, pointing to the ground. “Come down at once.”

“Why?” she’d demanded, as if it were perfectly reasonable to have climbed so high.

“You are too high. Come down!”

“It’s not so very high,” she’d argued from her perch. “I can climb much higher.”

“Then your fall will be even greater, and you will break your neck and your arms and your legs, and
I
shall be punished for it! Come down at once, Miss Boudine. I command you to come down!”

She’d laughed at him. “
You
cannot command me. I am allowed to do as I please, and
you
may not tell me how high I may go.”

“Then I will not help you if you are stuck,” he’d said angrily.

“Then I shall rescue myself. I am a princess warrior and I could jump if I wanted to.”

“God help me, don’t jump,” Tobin had said nervously, positioning himself beneath the tree just in case she’d tried it. But Lily had started to slowly inch
her way back on the limb. He’d cringed when she’d faltered and almost lost her balance. He’d groaned beneath his breath as he’d watched her stockings catch on the tree bark and tear. And he’d felt his heart skip a beat when she’d paused with a soft cry to study what Tobin had presumed was a cut in the palm of her hand.

By the time she’d shimmied down to where he’d been able to reach her and haul her to the ground, her frock had been soiled and torn, her hair had come undone from its braids, and her hand had been bleeding.

He’d clucked at her as he’d wrapped his handkerchief around her hand. “You’ve gone and done it now, haven’t you?”

“Done what?” she’d asked, blinking up at him with big green eyes.

“For heaven’s sake, Lily, do you understand anything at all? I’m to look after you.”

“Why?”

“Because girls need looking after.”

She’d seemed completely baffled by that. “I don’t need looking after.”

He’d scoffed at that. “
You
more than anyone. Most girls are not so foolish as to climb to the highest part of the tree.”

“You may not look after me, Tobin Scott! I shall look after myself!” she’d stubbornly insisted.

“Well, her ladyship and my father do not agree that you may look after yourself.”

He recalled the surprise in her expression, as if it had been the first time she’d realized he’d not accompanied her merely because he’d enjoyed her company. She’d yanked her hand from his and said, “I don’t
need
looking after. I’m an orphan, and orphans look after themselves!” She’d run from him then, and with a sigh of exasperation, Tobin had gone after her.

She had seemed to believe that the rules did not apply to her, and apparently she still believed it. For no woman in her sound mind would have agreed to his outrageous proposition.

Lily was sorely mistaken if she thought she could sway him, or worse, trick him somehow. She would come to rue her decision—for there was nothing that would stop him from having his revenge now.

L
ily had a collapse of confidence that afternoon in the privacy of her rooms. She berated herself for having been so foolish as to believe she could best Tobin. With scarcely a touch from him, she had felt herself begin to weaken. If he kissed her, truly kissed her, would she swoon? Abandon all her defenses? She had to keep him at arm’s length, but how would she do that?

“Flirt, muirnín.”

She heard Keira’s voice as clearly as if her cousin was standing beside her. She was suddenly reminded of an afternoon in Ireland several years ago, when Keira had blithely advised her about a gentleman whom Lily had found attractive. “Give him a promise,” Keira had said as she’d lain on Lily’s bed, her hands folded behind her head. “Gentlemen like the chase.”

“And how do you know this?” Lily had asked dubiously.

Keira had shrugged. “I just do.”

Perhaps Tobin enjoyed the chase. If he did, then Lily could still direct the dangerous game she was playing. She was quite accomplished at flirting, was she not? She convinced herself she was . . . until the middle of the night, when she awoke in a panic at what she’d done.

But if she needed any more convincing that she had to flirt and tease her way out of this predicament, Mr. Fish unwittingly provided the reason.

After he and Lily reviewed the sad state of the estate finances the following day, he glanced sidelong at Lily. “I hope you will forgive me, madam, but I have done a bit of inquiring on your behalf.”

“Regarding?”

“Titled men,” Mr. Fish said stiffly. “It occurred to me that there is a titled man in our midst, and as it turns out, he will inherit quite a lot. Lord Horncastle is—”

“Never!” Lily cried, surging to her feet. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than facing that idiotic young man every day.

“All right, I understand,” Mr. Fish said, sounding a bit impatient.

“Mr. Fish, how long have you been married?”

He looked confused by her question. “Nineteen years, mu’um.”

“Children?”

“Five.”

Lily nodded. “And how did you make Mrs. Fish’s acquaintance?”

Mr. Fish blinked. “The usual way, I suppose. We were introduced by mutual friends.”

“You have what I want, sir. You have a wife whom you love, who has borne you five children. I should like to find a husband in a similar fashion, with similar feelings.”

Mr. Fish smiled sadly. “I beg your pardon, Lady Ashwood, but that is not your luxury. Women in your position must marry to maintain their position. It is not a love match, it is a match of fortune and standing—for the sake of your holdings.”

“But I do not want to marry for the sake of my holdings.”

“Many have before you. Kings and queens, and they’ve managed to find some happiness. And I fear that you really must be quick about it. We’ve not much time before Eberlin manages to do more harm.”

“Sir.” Lily put her hand on his arm. “I value your advice more than I can express. But in this, you must trust that I know what I am doing.” That was a lie, of course.

But not entirely. She could not sit idly by while Tobin tried to spread rumors that her cattle were diseased, and God knew what else. So early on Friday evening, while Lucy played dress-up in one of Lily’s older gowns and a bonnet, Lily dressed for supper at Tiber Park.

She held out two gowns to Lucy—one a forest green organdy over velvet; the other a pale gold brocade. “Which do you prefer?” she asked the girl.

Lucy stopped in her examination of Lily’s jewelry box and eyed the two gowns critically. “This one,” she said, pointing to the green.

“Excellent choice,” Lily agreed, and with the help of her maid, Ann, she dressed. The gown was quite tight; Lily had to take a breath so that Ann could fasten the last button. Her breasts were barely contained within the low bodice.

“Quite stunning, mu’um,” Ann remarked.

Lily wondered how she could think so with her décolletage so prominently displayed. “It is very tight,” she complained.

“The pretend countess wore her gowns quite tight because she said gentlemen prefer to see a lady’s figure at its best advantage,” Lucy said. “She very much liked to present her figure.”

Lily snorted. “Darling, I think you will discover that Lady Donnelly enjoys presenting herself in any number of ways.”

Behind Lily, Ann giggled.

“I didn’t recall this gown being quite so
tight,
” Lily said again, tugging at the bodice a little as she observed herself in the mirror. But then again, the last time she’d worn it had been in Italy, and she certainly had not lacked for gentlemen’s attention. “There is an emerald pendant in the box,” she said, gesturing to her jewelry
box. “And some tipped hairpins. Lucy, darling, will you fetch them for me?”

When she’d finished dressing, Lily wore a pearldrop emerald that sparkled at the hollow of her throat, emeralds that dangled from her ears, and green crystal hairpins seeded throughout her hair. She ran her hands down her sides, nervous.

When the footman announced a coach had arrived for her, Lily realized there was no avoiding the wheels she’d set in motion and hoped she was not churned to bits by them. She said goodnight to Lucy and Ann, donned her cloak, and went off to wage her private war.