The Revenge of Lord Eberlin (8 page)

T
obin’s butler, Carlson, announced that Bolge was waiting for Tobin in the small study. Tiber Park was so grand that there was a small study, a larger library, private and public dining rooms, two drawing rooms, two salons, and a ballroom. Sometimes Tobin was amazed that he was the master of Tiber Park. He liked to imagine what his father might have thought of him.

“Tell him I shall join him shortly,” Tobin said to Carlson. “And the others?” he asked, referring to Lord Horncastle, Mr. Sibley, and Captain MacKenzie.

“The gentlemen Horncastle and Sibley await you in the gaming room,” Carlson said.

Tobin added the plush red gaming room to his mental inventory of the rooms at his estate.

“Captain MacKenzie sent word that he has been pleasurably detained in Hadley Green,” Carlson continued. “He asks that he might join you later.”

At the Grousefeather Tavern, Tobin surmised. “Thank you,” he said and heard Carlson go out.

Carlson was another product of the piece of Denmark now owned by Tobin. Carlson never called Tobin lord. Tobin wasn’t certain if it was a misunderstanding of the English language—although Carlson spoke it fluently—or if the man refused to do so on principle. Carlson had made it quite plain that he did not approve of how Tobin had obtained his Danish title, but Tobin hardly cared about Carlson’s principles. It was his impeccable service Tobin wanted, and he’d paid Carlson handsomely to put aside any scruples and come to England and serve him as any man of importance ought to be served.

Tobin straightened his neckcloth. As it was wet outside, he’d planned billiards for his acquaintances before supper. He supposed Bolge and MacKenzie were the closest he had to friends, but in his years of high-stakes trading, one merely had acquaintances whom one could trust better than others.

Bolge had graduated from ship galleys and now was a wealthy man in his own right, having made a career of helping men like Tobin get what they wanted. As large as he’d ever been, Bolge was standing in the middle of the study wearing a superfine coat of navy wool and gray trousers, his hair combed in the latest style. That was new—Bolge had never been one to court fashion.

“Good to see you, Bolge,” Tobin said, extending his hand.

“Always a pleasure, Scotty. Aye, but you look grander each time I see you.”

Tobin smiled. “Whiskey?”

“You know me well.”

Tobin gestured to a footman.

“I must thank you for your considerable help in this little matter,” Tobin said. Bolge was the one who had made the “offer” to the magistrate. Tobin removed a small vellum from his coat pocket; folded within it was a very generous banknote.

“It was my pleasure,” Bolge said, slipping the vellum into his pocket before accepting the whiskey from the footman.

That was what Tobin admired most about Bolge. He never questioned. He just did. He clapped his hand onto Bolge’s thick shoulder. “Still unsettled on horseback?”

“Ach, I am a seaman—not a horseman,” Bolge said, then began to complain about his last mount as they made their way to the gaming room.

They walked down a carpeted corridor, past consoles with fine porcelain, hand-painted Oriental vases Tobin had stumbled across in a Marrakech souk, filled with flowers from the recently refurbished hothouse. They walked past wainscoting that had been gilded, silk wall coverings woven in India, and paintings bought from failing estates around the world.

In the gaming room, where rich leather met deep red velvet trimmings, Sibley and Horncastle were playing billiards and drinking the Scotch whiskey
MacKenzie had shipped here. Tobin had known MacKenzie for quite some time now. They’d met on the high seas, naturally—MacKenzie was a Scotsman with a hazy past who defied God and pure luck to sail any ship in any weather and through any blockade. Tobin considered him a kindred spirit, a fine captain, and as fine a gambler as they came.

The gentlemen greeted one another. Horncastle, who hailed from Hadley Green, held out a tot of whiskey to Tobin. “You arrived just in time for a toast.”

Horncastle was a brash young man with no ambitions that Tobin could see other than to drink, gamble, and whore. He was several years younger than Tobin and had grown into an effeminate, aimless man.

“To a day of good luck and better fortune,” Horncastle said.

“To luck and fortune!” the men all avowed.

The four men talked about the prospects for hunting on the morrow in the vast forests around Tiber Park. A footman—Rupert, Richard, Tobin could scarcely remember them all—brought in a platter and set it on a sideboard. He removed the dome to reveal small cuts of ham and cheeses.

The men were helping themselves to the repast when Carlson appeared and bowed. “Pardon, sir, but you have a visitor.”

Tobin glanced over his shoulder at Carlson. “Is it MacKenzie? Send him in.”

“It is Lady Ashwood.”

Tobin stilled.

Lord Horncastle whistled low. “Lady Ashwood,” he said, grinning, “is as fine a specimen of feminine beauty as I have been blessed to see. There are some who think her charlatan of a cousin is the fairer of the two, but my vote is with Lady Ashwood.”

“Lady Ashwood, here?” Sibley said, frowning. “There’s daring for you.”

Tobin hardly knew what he would name it. He told Carlson, “You may inform Lady Ashwood that I am indisposed at present.”

Bolge laughed heartily. “I should rejoice in the day that I might have the luxury of sending a comely woman away.”

“What news from Charity?” Tobin asked Bolge, changing the subject. He took a seat as Bolge filled him in on his visit with Tobin’s sister.

But a moment later, Carlson returned.

“What now?” Tobin asked impatiently.

“I beg your pardon sir, but the lady refuses to leave.”

Bolge howled with delight at that; Horncastle and Sibley looked shocked. It was scandalous enough for a lady to call on a gentleman, but it was unheard of that she would refuse to leave.

“How can she refuse?” Tobin asked, chuckling at Bolge’s reaction. “I do not wish to receive her.”

“She asks that I tell you she will reside in the main
foyer if she must, but she will not leave until you face her like a gentleman ought to face a lady.”

Bolge clapped Horncastle on the back. “
That’s
cheek for you!” he crowed.

“Irish women!” Horncastle blustered. “They could learn a thing or two about proper feminine behavior, eh?”

Tobin thought rather that the Irish women could teach Horncastle a thing or two about daring. He sighed. He really had no patience for this—he was in a good mood, ready for a bit of gaming and a good supper. “Excuse me, gentlemen. This should take but a moment.”

They laughed. “God in heaven, I’ll go in your stead if you find it so painful!” Bolge cheerfully called after him.

As Tobin went out, his congenial smile faded quickly. He strode down the corridor to the foyer, intent on ushering her out like a barn cat. But as the white marble foyer came into view, he saw her standing in the middle of the circle with the flourished black
T P.
She looked almost ethereal in her azure cloak and hood. It was wet still; the rain had worsened. Behind her, the door was standing open. Tobin walked to the door and shut it, then turned around to look at her.

The hood of her cloak framed her lovely face. She glanced down as if to gather herself, and dark lashes stood starkly against the pale color of her skin. A fleeting
image of Lily lying nude in a bed, her eyes closed just like that, scudded across Tobin’s mind.

He clasped his hands behind his back and squeezed them hard against such thoughts. “I do not wish to receive you, Lily. Why, then, are you still here?”

“Yes, your butler made it quite clear that you do not wish to receive me, but I hardly care,” she said. “For I do not intend to eat kippers again.”

Prepared to do battle as he was, the reference to kippers threw him. “Pardon?”

“You heard me,” she said heatedly and swept her hood from her head as she advanced on him. There was no mistaking her ire or her disdain, which Tobin found ironic, given what she had done to
him.
She stopped before him, her head tilted back. “I think that in your zeal to see me brought low, you have forgotten that I do not live alone at Ashwood. There are many other souls who depend on it, and when you punish me, you punish them all. When you attempt to starve me, you starve
them
—men and women and children with no crime against you!”

Her eyes shimmered, and Tobin smiled in spite of himself. “I am not starving anyone.”

“Oh, no? Then I suppose you are feeding your own gullet with all the fish,” she exclaimed heatedly, gesturing wildly at him.

“Aha,” he said, the light dawning. “We have constructed a temporary dam,” he said with an insouciant shrug.

“
Un-dam it.
”

Tobin chuckled. She was bloody beguiling with her sparkling eyes and high color, but if she thought she could command him to anything—“When we have caught enough to stock the lake, we will release the dam. Rest assured, I do not mean to make a lake of Tiber Park.”

“That is unacceptable.”

“But true nonetheless. You may go now.”

“You think I have no means to stop you. Yet I
do
have means.”

“And what would that be?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You will see.”

Tobin grinned. “Madam, I have sat around many gaming tables in my time, and I know when someone is bluffing. And you do it very badly. But you may do as you please, it is of little consequence to me. Now do be a good neighbor and go back to your side of the fence.”

If looks could kill, he’d be laid out on the floor. “Oh, no,” Lily said, her voice shaking with anger. “You will not turn your back on me. I marvel at the depth of your cruelty, Tobin. I’ve done nothing to warrant such vile treatment.”

“You mean other than put a rope around my father’s neck?”

Lily gasped, and the color in her cheeks suddenly faded.

“I beg your pardon, does that offend you?” He hardly cared if it did.

“By all that is holy, your father put that rope around his own neck. I did not put him at Ashwood that night—
he
did that. I merely saw him and said that I had—no matter how badly you want to believe otherwise.”

Tobin had to look away from her and move to the door. He opened it, ignoring the lashing rain. “I do not intend to debate the past with you.”

“Your desire to punish me is shameless revenge, nothing more. But can you not see past your hatred of me to the people of Ashwood? Can you not see that when you take Ashwood from me, you take their livelihood? You can’t possibly bring them all to Tiber Park.”

“Why not? My estate is rather large. There is always room for more staff.”

“Is that so? Will you bring Lucy Taft to Ashwood, too? She is an orphan, and I assure you, she has no useful purpose for you. But where else will she go?”

“To Ireland,” he said shortly. “She told me she was on her way. Is that not so?”

Lily made a sound of frustration. “Then what of Linford? He is as old as Father Time! What will he do, serve as underbutler to your man? What about our gamekeeper, Mr. Bevers? He was born and raised in the cottage where he still lives with his family. Do you intend to destroy their lives because of your wretched need for revenge?”

Tobin said nothing.

“That’s what I suspected,” she said, her voice
dripping with rancor. “You have nothing to say for yourself.”

She was staring daggers now; the color had returned to her cheeks. God, but her beauty was astounding. She enticed him to carnal desire like no other woman ever had. He could imagine her gown sliding down her voluptuous figure, pooling at her feet. He could imagine breasts plump with dark nipples, her belly softly round. Dammit, but he was hardening just thinking such thoughts. What was it about this woman that had the power to do that to him? He was dead inside. He did not want, he did not need . . . yet there was something about her that made him feel as if he did.

“You are right,” he said tightly. “It is not fair.”

Lily looked entirely taken aback. And then absurdly pleased, as if she believed she had won, had somehow touched humanity in him. Alas, the humanity in him had been choked out of him as the air had been choked out of his father. “But I do not care,” he added.

She blinked, her bright eyes clouding with confusion.

“However, in the interest of giving you a slight chance at redemption, I shall propose a deal of sorts.” He casually walked forward, admiring her.

“A deal,” she said dismissively. “What have I left? You’ve taken my land, my tenants, my mill, my
fish
—what more is there, Tobin?”

When she said his name, something warm sluiced through him. Warm and soft, sinking slowly like rain
into the mud in him. He moved closer and smiled with deliberate amusement. “I did not take your fish, Lily.”

“You dammed them up,” she said impatiently. “What deal, then?”

He considered the beautiful and haughty woman, the gems twinkling from her earlobes, the cloak fastened at the hollow of her throat. He lazily touched one of the earrings, his finger stroking her earlobe. She bent her head away. Undaunted, Tobin walked a slow circle around her, taking her in, admiring her profile, when she turned her head to see where he was. He came to a halt before her and gazed down into her sea green eyes.

“
What deal
?” she demanded softly.

“Allow me to ruin you properly,” he said, his gaze falling to her mouth.

Those lush lips parted with surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

One corner of Tobin’s mouth curved up in a wry smile. “I think you understand very well what I mean. I get you, and you get . . . your precious fish.”

Her lips—full, rosy, moist—now gaped. “Do you dare to propose what I
think
you are proposing?”