Free The Lily Brand by Sandra Schwab Page B

pranks.”
    “So you are of the same age?” Lillian forced herself to show some interest in what he told her.
    “Oh no, he is five years my senior—but what a fine big brother he would have made! I followed him everywhere…”
    Like a puppy, a lap dog, Lillian added silently.
    “…admired him ardently. He was the hero of my boyhood.”
    Another sip of ruby-red wine. It almost looked like blood, Lillian found. She twirled the liquid in her glass, stared at the tiny red waves.
    “I would want my future…” The hectic blotches lit up his cheeks once more. “…my… I would want you to know…” He squirmed, his eyes darted away, this way and that. Then suddenly they fastened on something beyond Lillian’s shoulder. His face broke into a relieved smile. He straightened his posture. “And here he is. As promised.” He waved, an enthusiastic young man, full of eagerness to please. “Troy! Over here!”
    Lillian watched the glow spreading over his whole face, and for a moment she felt something like envy. That he had this . In the next moment, though, she stood and smiled prettily and turned toward the man who had just entered the refreshments room. Black dragons curled on the walls on each side of him as he strode toward them, tall and broad-shouldered, as graceful as a big cat.
    Lillian smiled and smiled as the candlelight kindled fires in a shock of auburn hair, fashionably tousled. Smiled as familiar cornflower-blue eyes turned on her, as recognition flared and kindled hatred, twisting his strong-boned face into an ugly mask.
    Beaming, Perrin turned to her. “Lady Lillian, may I present my cousin, Murgatroyd Sacheverell, fifth Earl of Ravenhurst.”
    Lillian smiled and smiled, even as her glass shattered on the floor, spilling wine everywhere, ruby-red droplets blooming on polished wood just like blood would do. She smiled as the floor rose to meet her, as darkness held out its arms and swallowed her up.

Chapter 5
    In the upper floor of White’s, Troy stood at one of the high windows and watched the bustle of the morning shopping activities in St. James’s Street below. Fashionable gentlemen in pursuit of coats and hats and snuff boxes and cravats, sometimes a military man proudly displaying a bright red uniform. Troy never wore his uniform these days, even though Alex had tried to convince him that the ladies would be mad for it.
    Alex…
    Troy clenched his jaw and thumped his fist against the white window frame. Where was that young fool?
    “My lord?” Miraculously, as if out of thin air, the Incomparable George Raggett, the Master of the House, appeared at his side. “Shall I have some refreshments sent up? Scotch? Bourbon?”
    When Troy had been first elected to White’s, barely twenty, it had still been the efficient Martindale who would solicitously inquire after one’s wishes. At the time, the elegance of the club had impressed Troy, young fop that he had been. He remembered how he had stroked his hand over the soft leather of the deep, comfortable chairs, how he had stared when Brummell held court in the morning room below. How he had wished to belong to that group, to the pinks of the ton .
    Grimly, Troy shook his head. “No. No, thank you. Has my cousin arrived already?”
    “The Viscount Perrin, my lord? I’m afraid not, my lord.”
    “ Parsanbleu …” Troy suppressed the rest of the obscenities that he had in mind right now. “It is all right, Raggett, thank you.”
    “As you wish, my lord.”
    Alone once again, Troy took a deep breath. At this time of day the club was almost deserted, the last gamesters having left the establishment just a few hours ago. Most gentlemen would return after lunch, to meet friends, to discuss politics, but, more likely, to gamble away their fortunes. Or to bet.
    Troy threw an incensed look at the bedraggled leather-bound volume that rested on the nearest side table.
    Damn the young fool, that greenhead of his cousin!
    “ Benêt, ” Troy murmured. “