Read The Revenge of Lord Eberlin for Free Online

patches of anger in her cheeks. He thought of her blistering green eyes with long, dark lashes. He thought of her hair undone, flowing down her back, and the curve of her waist into her hip. He thought ofthe pleasure he would feel if he had her in his bed—exquisite, wet, warm pleasure.
    A swell of physical discomfort reminded Tobin of just how long it had been since he’d lain with a woman. But he wanted to keep his need boiling just beneath the surface—that gave him the power to do what he needed here.
    Then discomfort extended up to his chest, tightening oddly and shooting painfully down his spine. These bloody thoughts of Lily Boudine were giving him one of his spells. His scalp was perspiring. He resisted the urge to take out his handkerchief and dab at his face, lest anyone notice. He grappled blindly for the reins of his horse and surreptitiously glanced about him to see if anyone saw him there, practically choking on his own innards, and his gaze landed on the village green. In a blinding flash of memory, Tobin could see his father hanging there, twisting helplessly at the end of a rope.
    He quickly dropped his gaze and focused on the reins, wrapping them tightly around his hand. He remembered the night before his father hanged, the last time Tobin ever spoke to him. Tobin had sobbed with grief, had railed against the people of Ashwood, and most especially against Lily Boudine. His father had embraced him, had held him tight. “She is a mere girl, Tobin. You cannot lay my fate at her feet. Look to God, son. There is no satisfaction in hate or anger. This is God’s will, for whatever reason, and you must accept it.”
    “Why aren’t you angry?” Tobin had demanded. “Why do you not speak out against them, against the lies?”
    His father had smiled sadly and had run his hand over Tobin’s head. “It would serve no purpose. It would change nothing. The die has been cast and it is no one’s fault but my own.”
    Tobin’s heart was pounding now, and he wheeled his horse about and galloped down High Street. He rode blindly, pushing the horse, heedless of the clouds darkening in a pale gray sky, heedless of anything but the need to be away from the village of Hadley Green and this bloody spell.
    When he felt the constriction in his chest easing, he was in a clearing along that seldom-used road he’d adopted as his own. He reined his horse to a stop, flung himself off its back and marched forward, his stride long and determined, drawing deep breaths. He strode to a rock and sat heavily, his elbows on his knees, pushing his hands through his hair. What was wrong with him? Was it madness? Was it a malicious cancer of his brain or his heart? He’d never felt anything like it; it was as if he were crawling out of his skin, as if his veins were constricting, drawing up, and restricting the flow of blood through him.
    He loosened the knot on his neckcloth, then straightened up to draw a deep breath—and looked right into the face of a little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes.
    She cocked her head curiously to one side, like a little sparrow. “Pardon, sir. Are you weeping?”
    “Weeping!” he scoffed. “Do I look as if I am weeping?”
    She studied him a moment, then shrugged.
    Tobin drew a breath, released it slowly as he took her in. She looked to be about eight years old. She was wearing a pink and white frock, but the sash had come undone. Her hair had been put up at some point, but it was mussed and a portion of it had come down and hung carelessly over her shoulder. He recognized her as the ward of Lily Boudine’s cousin, Keira Hannigan.
    “You look unwell,” she remarked. “Perhaps you should go to bed. That’s what I’m always made to do when I feel ill.”
    “I am perfectly all right,” he said. “Why are you here? Are you alone?”
    She nodded, but her gaze was fixed below his chin. “Your neckcloth has come undone.”
    “So has your sash,” he pointed out, and the girl glanced down,