The Masquerade (20 page)

Lizzie closed her eyes, telling herself that she deserved the anguish she was now feeling for being so rude as to spy. The mere notion of Tyrell taking another woman in his arms was enough to make her cry.

“I would never do that,” Blanche said, sounding slightly amused. “No, he did not kiss me, and that is because he is a perfect gentleman, as Father has claimed.”

The two ladies exchanged looks. “Now is not the time to be so calm,” the brunette exclaimed. “Aren’t you excited now that you have seen him? He is the kind of man every woman covets, and he will be yours!”

“I am very fortunate,” Blanche agreed sincerely, “and I have Father to thank for it, as he worked so hard to find me such a stellar husband. Now, we are being terribly rude, removing ourselves from the soirée like this.” And with that, arm in arm, the trio returned to the crowd.

Lizzie told herself that she must be pleased. Blanche was elegant and beautiful and she seemed kind, as well. Lizzie had no doubt that she would be a good wife and mother, and a good countess. It was a spectacular match.

Lizzie wanted to hate her, but it was impossible, as there was nothing to hate.

Her thoughts were broken by the sensation of being watched.

Lizzie wildly searched the crowd. Standing across the room, in front of a different doorway, was Tyrell. And he had seen her, because he was staring.

Lizzie debated running and hiding, but it was too late. He was coming toward her now.

And he was not pleased.

L
izzie did not hesitate. She turned and ran from the ballroom into the corridor outside. She had only to exit another door before reaching the guest wing of the house. Lizzie stepped inside, and the moment she did so, she began to think that she had safely escaped.

Tyrell seized her shoulder.

“I did not think my own eyes were deceiving me,” he exclaimed incredulously, turning her around so that they were face-to-face.

Lizzie found her back to the wall. “I can explain,” she cried.

“You can explain your presence at my
engagement
ball?” he asked furiously. “Is it too much to ask you to show some small respect for my family?”

“I never meant to be disrespectful,” Lizzie said in misery.

Their regards held. Lizzie stared at him, wishing she hadn’t dared to go to the ball. She was also wishing, miserably, that he was not about to become engaged, not now and not ever. How foolish she was.

His jaw flexed. “I do not like it when you look at me as if I am the one wronging you!” he exclaimed. “Why were you spying on Lady Blanche? Do not dare deny it
because I saw you behind that pillar, listening to her and her friends.”

“I deny nothing,” Lizzie choked. “I wanted to see her for myself. I had heard she was terribly beautiful, and the rumor is true.”

“If you think to cry, think again!” he said tightly. “I will
not
be moved by your tears or your eyes.”

Lizzie thought his words a bit odd, but she could not reflect now. Instead, she fought for a shred of composure. “I am very sorry I came down to the ball. But may I congratulate you, my lord, on your good fortune? Lady Blanche will make you a perfect wife,” Lizzie whispered, meaning it. There was no mockery in her heart or tone.

A silence fell. She wanted to run away to her bedroom, where she might hold Ned. Suddenly he cupped her chin, tilting her face up, forcing her gaze to his. “What game is this?” But he spoke softly now, his gaze searching. “Another man might believe that you are sincere, but I do not. Do you have some scheme to interfere in my engagement? There is no point, madam.”

His words were like the stabbing of a knife. Lizzie shook her head. “You judge me so unfairly, my lord. I do not scheme!”

He released her chin. “I judge you unfairly?” He studied her and Lizzie somehow did not flinch. “Who is the one who dared to come here, to my home, and claim I am the father of her bastard son?”

He placed one large hand on the wall, directly level with her cheek, trapping her where she stood. It was impossible not to be aware of him as a man, especially after the afternoon they had just shared. He had never been more mesmerizing or more handsome than in that moment, and Lizzie wished she could be in his arms, not
in the heat of passion, but in a tender and loving embrace. Once again, she was dreaming.

Still, his eyes were filled with more than anger and it was very clear to Lizzie that he was in some turmoil of his own. “I have already explained that particular misunderstanding. Are you upset for another reason, my lord?”

“What other reason could there be?”

“I don’t know. I know nothing of your life other than that you have become engaged tonight and that you have an important post in Dublin. But you seem…” She hesitated. “Dismayed, or perhaps even unhappy.”

Her words caused his eyes to widen, and when he spoke, he was clearly angry but trying to control it. “You trespass,” he said flatly. “I am neither dismayed nor unhappy—why should I be?”

Lizzie touched him. “Then I am glad.”

He jerked away. “Miss Fitzgerald, it is a matter of decorum that you avoid my fiancée. It would be humiliating for her if your paths crossed.” He now paused. “It would be humiliating for you. Am I clear?”

She nodded, suddenly furious. “You could not be any clearer. I am to wait upstairs, in the suite you have provided me, never coming down without your command. I am here to warm your bed and for nothing more.”

His eyes darkened impossibly. “You make me sound like a rotten cad. You are the coquette, mademoiselle. Did you not flirt with me outrageously on All Hallow’s Eve and then vanish into thin air? Did you not lead me on with your every word and every seductive look? Was it not the same on High Street the other day—and in your own home? I am hardly pursuing a reluctant virgin. And cease looking at me as if I am forever wounding you!”

“I will try to regard you with nothing but sunny smiles
or a seductive stare,” she managed to say. What was he talking about? She had not a clue as to how to flirt or gaze seductively at anyone. She had never led him on!

“My humor is already foul—do not mock me now.”

“I do not mock you, my lord. I would never do such a thing—I admire you far too much.”

He started in surprise.

Lizzie briefly closed her eyes, afraid of his reaction to her next words. “I cannot do this, my lord,” she mumbled.

He leaned over her, very close. “I do not think I heard you correctly, mademoiselle,” he said tightly.

She trembled. “This is wrong,” she whispered.

He stood to his full height.

Lizzie dared to look at him and saw that he was in disbelief. “I’m sorry, I can’t be your mistress,” she said.

He smiled without mirth and leaned close. His breath feathered her cheek when he spoke. “Oh, ho,” he said very softly. “I do know this game. I hardly care for it, either, mademoiselle. We are agreed. You will be my lover.”

“I can’t,” she pleaded. She wanted to tell him how she felt—that she loved him deeply and she always had—but she did not think he would believe her. She feared he would scorn her feelings. He might even be amused by them—and her.

“Perhaps,” he said, and she stiffened at his cold tone, “this is a blessing in disguise. After all, no one in my family wants you here.”

Lizzie was filled with dread. She and Ned would be tossed out after all. She had never been more miserable, but there was no other choice. “We will leave first thing in the morning,” she began.

“
My son
stays here. If you choose to leave, Miss Fitzgerald, you will leave alone.”

Lizzie cried out. He would now claim Ned as his own and threaten to keep him, in order to blackmail her into his bed?

He pulled her into his arms, his eyes black. “You may leave alone, Miss Fitzgerald, or you may stay here, with your son, as my mistress.”

Lizzie was in shock. “I thought you were a kind man! How can you be so cold and so cruel?” she cried. “You would take Ned away from me?”

“Your games make me so!” He exclaimed. “I do not care to be tossed this way and that, Miss Fitzgerald, at your whim, to be used and made a fool of. We had a mutually satisfying afternoon and suddenly you think to walk out? Unless you think to leave your bastard behind, I do not think so.”

Lizzie was beyond disbelief. This wasn’t the man she had known her entire life! And then she cursed herself for being a fool. The man she knew and loved was a figment of her dreams. He had saved her life when she was a small child—and she had then crowned him prince. She did not know Tyrell de Warenne and she never had.

He cursed. “You are the most bewitching woman! You appear anguished, as if I am genuinely inflicting pain upon you, when I am the target of your games!”

Lizzie somehow found her voice. “I am not in anguish, my lord,” she lied. “Very well, you win. You
win.
Your will and intellect are far stronger than my own. When should I be ready for you? Oh, wait! You wish to see me tonight—you already said so. I will be in that bed, perfumed and unclothed, eager and willing. I suppose you will take a glass of sherry first with your fiancée, or maybe even share a good-night kiss with her before you join me in bed?”

He raised his hand and Lizzie fell silent. Their gazes locked.

“You are an uncanny woman,” he said, and Lizzie was surprised that he spoke so quietly now. “Nine out of ten men have mistresses.”

“But I have never been a mistress before.”

His gaze flickered. “Just a lover.”

“It is different,” she replied.

“Yes, I suppose so. I do not want to continue fighting with you, Elizabeth. And in truth, you cannot win, as I am prepared to go to any length to have you.”

Their gazes continued to hold and Lizzie became faint with desire at his words. “Why?” she whispered.

He smiled slowly at her and she thought he was going to speak. Instead, he took her face in both of his hands. His smile fading, he stared into her eyes. “I don’t know.”

Lizzie knew his kiss was imminent and every moral objection she’d had disappeared. He leaned forward, touching her mouth with his.

It was such a gentle brushing, at great odds with their huge conflict. His lips feathered over hers, slowly, time and again, until Lizzie had forgotten his cruelty and his blackmail, until she was standing there shaking, her knees useless, her insides empty, her sex pulsing. Tyrell made a harsh sound and finally pulled her into his arms, against his hard body, deeply claiming her mouth as his own.

Her entire body was on fire, in need and desperation. He was thrusting deep, and her tongue met his while her hands stole to his shoulders. All thought vanished—there was only frantic feeling. Lizzie kissed him back, again and again, and now her hands slipped beneath his tailcoat, his waistcoat, over his shirt and his chest.

She felt his heart thundering there, male and strong.

He suddenly tore his mouth from hers, but he leaned over her, both hands on the wall. His eyes glittered bril
liantly; Lizzie could barely comprehend that he had broken the kiss. Lizzie simply waited for him to kiss her again, to touch her breasts and hair, her face, to take her into his arms and carry her upstairs and shed her clothes, finishing what he had begun. Suddenly, faintly, she could hear laughter and conversation, and she became vaguely aware of the ball in progress just down the hall.

“Do not think to tease me again,” he said harshly. His gaze moved over her face, finally lingering on her mouth. “I think we have just settled the question of our relationship.”

The recollection of their argument and his threat to take Ned assailed her then. Lizzie trembled, her heart still pounding wildly in her breast. Tyrell was not going to take no for an answer, and in that moment, she didn’t want to fight him.

He clearly sensed her surrender. His expression softened. “I do not want to fight with you, Elizabeth. I don’t want to threaten you. Please, cease these games. I know I will please you. And I never speak dishonestly. I will take good care of both you and your son.” His gaze searched hers. “You need me,” he added quietly.

He had no idea, she thought, just how much she needed him, and how much Ned needed his father, too. “I know you will take care of us,” Lizzie whispered. “I have never doubted that for a moment.”

“Good.” He smiled at her, but there was a question in his eyes.

Lizzie understood. In spite of his crude blackmail, he was waiting for her to agree to their arrangement. “I will return to my suite,” she said. “I will wait there for you.”

She saw the relief filling his eyes. “I must return to my guests.” He hesitated. “They are leaving tomorrow. It will be easier for us then.”

“I want to believe you,” she said. She had never wanted to believe anything more.

He studied her before smiling, just slightly. “Then do so. We will start over in Dublin. Upon some reflection, it is best if we do not embark upon our affair here, in this house.”

Lizzie nodded. In spite of her aching body, she was relieved.

His face relaxed. “Finally I can see that you believe me.” He bowed. “You will not be sorry with our arrangement. I promise you that. Good night.” Turning abruptly away, he strode into the other hallway and disappeared.

Lizzie watched him go until he was out of her sight. Could she be happy this way? Could he really make her happy when he was engaged to someone else?

Lizzie was on the verge of throwing all caution away. It would be so easy to believe the frightening promise he had just made.

Lizzie sat on a stone bench in the gardens, not far from the house. From where she sat, she could just see the limestone fountain in the center of the circular driveway, but she could not see the front of the house. It was about noon, and she had only slept an hour or two, and not until after dawn. In spite of her utter exhaustion, she had not been able to stop thinking about Tyrell and her sudden future as his mistress. And maybe it would be easier for her once Lord Harrington and Blanche left Adare.

Lizzie tensed when she saw several huge coaches rolling past the water fountain and entering the straightaway of the drive. She stared at the five coaches, all four-in-hands, trembling and unaware of it. She stared until the very last conveyance had become but a blur in the Irish
distance. And then she saw nothing but green pastures, rolling hills and blue skies.

They were gone.

She
was gone.

Lizzie felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She knew it was not right, but she was relieved.

“Miss Fitzgerald?”

Lizzie started at the sound of the countess’s voice. She stood, curtsying in haste. “Good morning, my lady,” she said.

The countess gave her a kind smile and then bent to greet Ned. Ned whooped and scrambled to his feet. “Up, up!” he demanded in a shout.

Beaming with pleasure, the countess lifted him into her arms. Instantly he patted her cheek. “Good Gra-ma,” he declared.

“My darling grandson,” she said, hugging him. Then the countess smiled at Lizzie. “He is so irresistible!”

Some of Lizzie’s anxiety faded upon seeing them together this way. This was right, she thought fiercely. Ned belonged at Adare. Although Lady De Warenne was not Tyrell’s natural mother, Lizzie had quickly realized how much the countess loved the earl. Lizzie knew the countess thought of Ned as her actual grandson. Her impending affair with Tyrell might be wrong, but bringing Ned here was not.

“My dear, I am taking a drive to town. I go every Wednesday to bring our leftovers to the orphanage at St. Mary’s. Is there anything you need?”