The Revenge of Lord Eberlin by Julia London Page B

here I am,” he said, abruptly stood, and moved to the sideboard. He waved the footman off and pretended to study the bottles there. “I’ve asked cook to prepare some Scottish venison for us this evening.”
    “Not grouse?”
    He smiled. “Not grouse.”
    “I have wondered why you came back,” she said thoughtfully.
    He was feeling a bit clammy. It was too warm in here. “Why not?”
    “Precisely because you have done so well for yourself. One might think you would prefer to be someplace else, given the events that happened here.”
    Tobin downed the wine in his glass and poured more. Rise up. Press on. “I came back because I had some unfinished business.”
    “Ah, yes. Ruining Ashwood.”
    He actually laughed at that and turned to face her. She was smiling, albeit ruefully. “I prefer to call it clearing my father’s good name. You do know, do you not, that he didn’t steal the jewels for which he was hanged?”
    Lily’s lashes fluttered; she looked down at her lap, turning her head slightly.
    “It would seem that you do,” he said quietly as he admired her profile.
    “I don’t know any such thing at all.”
    “Well, I do,” he said. “What sort of son would I be if I did not wish to restore his good name?” Dwelling on his father’s demise created that strange, feverish breathlessness in him. He could feel it churning in his gut. “Perhaps we should move on to more pleasant subjects.” Lily. She was far more pleasant, if only to look at.
    Tobin felt his body relax a little, and he put aside his wineglass and walked back to his chair. He sat, then reached for her hand, taking it in his. Lily flinched, and held her arm stiffly, but she did not pull her hand away.
    Tobin turned her hand over so that her palm was facing up. He could see a patch of her skin through the tiny keyhole where the glove buttoned around her wrist, and he pressed this thumb against it, feeling her pulse flutter like the wings of a small bird. He lifted her hand and blew softly into that little circle of flesh.
    When he lowered her hand, Lily was staring at him. “What are you doing?” she asked low.
    “Admiring you.”
    Lily pulled her hand free. “You are so different now, Tobin.”
    “So are you,” he said sincerely.
    Lily said nothing to that and continued to studyhim. “Have you been to the cottage at Uppington Church since your return?”
    “I have ridden by once or twice.”
    One corner of her mouth curved up. “I have very fond memories of the cottage,” she said softly. “Memories of a boy who indulged a silly girl and accepted any part she desired in her little fantasies. You were very kind to me then.”
    Here it went again, the warmth of his skin, the sign of the spell. He settled back, his gaze on the fire at the hearth. He did not intend to stroll through their shared memories.
    “Do you recall? When I desired to play alone, you sat on the rock and read your books. So many books, too—I was always fascinated with your appetite for reading.”
    “Yes, well, I had the luxury of attending school then.” Breathe.
    “I truly adored you,” she said distantly, and sighed. “Were you aware that I did?”
    Adored him? “I do not recall that you adored me in the least,” he said with a smile. “Perhaps you have imagined so when seeing the cottage after all these years.”
    “Oh, I’ve not seen it.”
    “No?”
    She shook her head. “I think I would find it too painful.”
    Impossible. She had lived a charmed life. “Whatcould you possibly find painful about your time at Ashwood?”
    She looked surprised. “Everything,” she said. “It was a time in my life that I cherished. I loved my aunt Althea and my life with her. I loved to play at the cottage, for it was the one place on this earth that I was completely free. And then it was suddenly all gone, and . . . and in a very dreadful way.”
    Tobin wanted to tell her what was gone for him, and how very dreadful it had been to see his father at the