Chapter 9 #2
Lizzie saw a familiar, bulky figure climbing down from the single horse-drawn curricle in the courtyard below. She groaned. “Georgie! It’s that toad—I mean, it’s your fiancé, Mr. Harold. He has undoubtedly heard the news.”
Georgie somehow nodded. Two bright spots of pink colored her cheeks. She said, “He must be calling to end our engagement.” She remained expressionless.
“Oh, I do hope so!” Lizzie raced to Georgie and hugged her, thrilled that Georgie would be off the hook at last. Finally, there was a bright side to her predicament.
And Georgie began to smile. “I have so tried to be a soldier about this,” she whispered. “Oh, Lizzie, one good thing shall come of your ruin! The truth is, I should so prefer to remain a spinster than to marry Mr. Harold.”
“I know,” Lizzie said, smiling widely. “Now, go. Frown with distress, and when he breaks it off, shed a tear or two!”
“Yes!” Georgie’s expression sobered. “Yes, I am very upset, for I know what is coming.” Then she grinned again. “Oh, thank God!” And she ran from the room.
Lizzie decided it was time for Ned’s nap, as he was looking sleepy and now playing with a spider he had found on the floor.
Scolding him, she put him in his cradle.
He made no protest, smiling up at her as she covered him with a fine wool blanket.
His lashes lowered, long, black and thick, exactly like his father’s, and he fell instantly asleep.
Tyrell’s image loomed. She could almost feel his presence, there in the room.
Lizzie wished she knew what to do.
Trying not to brood, Lizzie returned to the window, expecting to see Mr. Harold departing.
But after a quarter of an hour or more, there remained no sign of him and she began to worry now about Georgie.
Breaking off an engagement only took a moment or two, especially as Mama was not home to prolong the encounter with any hysterics. What was taking him so long?
And as she waited at the window, two riders approached Raven Hall.
Instantly, unease filled her. Who could possibly call on horseback? Every caller they might expect would come in a carriage of some kind.
She pushed the window open wider as the riders came closer on two very handsome mounts. One horse was big and black, the other an elegant chestnut with a striking white blaze. She recognized the chestnut immediately. The gelding belonged to Rory.
Lizzie froze, her gaze veering from Rory’s horse to the black and its rider. There was no mistaking the larger of the two horsemen.
He had said he would call later in the week. It was only the next day!
Clearly his interest has not waned.
Her heart thundered in her breast. In another lifetime, she would have given anything to have Tyrell de Warenne call upon her. But not now, not with his son asleep in his cradle, in her bedroom!
Lizzie watched both men lithely dismount. They walked up the house’s front steps and then they disappeared from her view.
She pressed herself against the window. Why had he come? What did he want?
Meet me in the west gardens at midnight.
She would never forget that command or the way he had looked at her when he had spoken it. He had been looking at her the exact same way yesterday on High Street.
Lizzie’s blood ran hot although she was chilled with fear. She ran over to the cradle to check on Ned, but he was soundly asleep.
Georgie rushed into the room. “Lizzie! He is here! He has called—with that buffoon—and you had better come downstairs.” Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed.
Lizzie was too shocked to take Georgie to task for calling Rory such an unkind name. “I can’t,” she began. “You must tell him I am ill.” Yet she was on the verge of throwing all caution aside and racing downstairs, anyway.
Georgie seized her wrist. “I will do no such thing. You may tell him you are ill, if you wish to be such a fool! Isn’t this what you have wanted your entire life?”
“But there is Ned,” she cried.
“Yes, there is Ned—and there is also this amazing opportunity! Go downstairs, Lizzie! You are hardly jumping back into his bed! See what he wants!” Georgie cried.
His presence was already compelling her, and a fever ran in her veins. She wet her lips and went past Georgie, who followed her from the room.
Tyrell stood with his back to the door, staring into the gardens.
Rory paced with uncharacteristic impatience and Mr. Harold sat in a chair, his huge girth spilling over his pantaloons.
Lizzie had forgotten that he was still there and she cast a confused glance at Georgie.
Her sister’s cheeks remained bright and she gave Lizzie a helpless look.
With dismay, Lizzie realized at once that Mr. Harold had not broken off the engagement.
“Lizzie.” Rory smiled warmly. He bowed. “I’m afraid we could not wait a week. We decided to take our chances that we would not be barred entry on your mother’s account.” His glance slipped to Georgie, who stood beside Lizzie, ramrod straight.
Lizzie curtsied, her gaze already on Tyrell. He turned and her heart skipped wildly as their glances met. There was a heated and frank look in his eyes before he casually bowed. Georgie was right. His interest had not waned.
It was incredible.
She forgot about Ned.
Peter Harold heaved himself upright from the chair. “Now, why would you and his lordship be barred from Raven Hall?” He walked over to Georgie and took her arm, looping it in his.
Lizzie realized Rory had been staring at her sister. Now his glance slid away. Georgie’s cheeks were crimson. Harold patted her hand. “Well?”
“Mama has been ill,” Georgie said as if numb. “But we bar no one from Raven Hall.”
“Of course you don’t,” he said soothingly.
“My felicitations,” Rory said, and his regard locked with Georgie’s. “When is the happy date?”
Georgie’s head was high. “We have yet to set a date.”
“Soon,” Peter Harold beamed, “as I grow tired of waiting to take the new missus home.”
Georgie somehow disengaged herself from her fiancé. Harold stepped closer to Rory. “Am I not a lucky man? She will be the mother of my sons!”
Rory inclined his head. “Yes, you are a very fortunate man. Again, I offer my most sincere congratulations.”
Lizzie felt Tyrell watching her as if she were a mouse he wished to pounce upon—or a trollop he wished to toss into his bed. He had yet to speak. Between Georgie’s misery, the odd tension she had witnessed in Rory and Tyrell’s intent regard, Lizzie was acutely uncomfortable.
Rory faced her. “How is your mother?”
“Better,” Lizzie managed to say.
Tyrell now moved forward. “We have a fine physician at Adare. I will send him to attend Mrs. Fitzgerald.”
“That is hardly necessary,” Lizzie began.
“Let us stroll in the gardens.” He cut her off, and it was hardly a request.
He wished to walk with her outside, alone. Before she could agree or decline, however, he took her arm, placing it firmly in his.
“There is nothing like a stroll in a fine Irish mist,” he murmured.
Lizzie could not speak, not when his strong grip caused her soft body to be pressed against his powerful, muscular one. She somehow nodded and Tyrell led her from the room.
They stepped outside. It was cool and she wore nothing but her short-sleeved cotton gown; still, she was hot. He briefly glanced at her, speculation in his remarkable eyes, as he led her away to the gardens that wound around the back of the house. There, both a gazebo and a pond sat.
Suddenly Lizzie imagined Tyrell reaching for her. He grasped her and claimed her mouth in a heated kiss and she clung to his broad shoulders….
Tyrell halted abruptly. The sudden stop disrupted her fantasy but not the pounding of her blood.
Lizzie prayed that she might control her licentious thoughts, before he might guess at them.
He faced her now, his gaze intent on her face.
Lizzie had to fight to speak. “What do you seek of me, my lord?”
His mouth twisted. “You know what I seek.”
His eyes were so hot that there was no mistaking his words. Before Lizzie could respond, he smiled at her, very slightly, and then pulled her into his arms.
Lizzie was stunned. He crushed her against his chest, his mouth on hers, firm and demanding capitulation.
And Lizzie surrendered absolutely. Her lips parted on a sigh and his tongue entered her mouth instantly.
Lizzie felt as if she might die if he did not do more than kiss her.
She somehow realized that she had never accurately dreamed of his kisses, his strength.
She clung, daring to meet his thrusting tongue with her own.
His entire body had somehow covered hers, her back pressed against a tree.
His thigh had wedged itself between her legs and the heated friction there threatened to make her insane with the wanting.
Faint with desire, Lizzie began to writhe and moan.
His manhood, stiffly aroused, stabbed against her hip.
Lizzie turned helplessly in that direction, her excitement escalating into an upward spiral, hunger and need mingling.
She was ready to beg for a single touch, a single caress, there between her thighs, beneath her clothes, certain that might alleviate the tortured aching of her flesh.
He made a sound, harsh and understanding, tearing his mouth from hers.
Lizzie’s eyes flew open and their gazes met.
His eyes had turned to smoke.
“Please,” she gasped.
He caught her face with both hands, kissing her again. And as he kissed her he said, “I have waited almost two years for this.”
Lizzie barely heard him. She was a moment away from her release. “Let’s go to the gazebo,” she begged breathlessly.
He stiffened in surprise.
She realized what she had suggested and her eyes flew wide.
Some sanity returned. She was making love to Tyrell de Warenne in the garden behind the house, where anyone might see.
And Ned was in the house.
Still holding her, her back still against the tree, his hard thigh still between her own softer ones, his gaze returned to hers. “I will make you my mistress,” he said.
There was a delayed reaction. But a moment after he spoke, she realized what he had said.
“You will lack for nothing. If it is riches you want, then you shall have them. Your every desire will be met, Elizabeth,” he said flatly.
Comprehension began. He wanted her to be his mistress—Tyrell de Warenne was asking her to be his mistress. Could this really be happening?
Lizzie was afraid she was in a torrid dream.
And he suddenly smiled, touching her lips with a fingertip. “I knew it would be this way,” he said roughly.
A child wailed.
Ned.
And even as she stared at Tyrell, whose smile was so infinitely seductive and assured, the fear began.
She was not dreaming. She was in his arms and he had just asked her to be his mistress.
Her body—and her heart—begged her to accept.
In that brief moment, she wanted nothing more than to be his mistress.
But she loved Ned more than she loved anything in this world.
What if he suspected Ned was his own? How hard would it be to eventually discover the truth?
Georgie had taken one single look at Ned and she had guessed.
Tyrell turned his back to her now, tugging on his breeches. Lizzie felt tears fill her eyes. She closed them hard, touching her cheeks, which continued to burn, and whispered, “I am afraid you have misunderstood, my lord.”
He whirled. “Misunderstood?”
“I cannot accept your proposal,” she said.
He stared in astonishment. “I have misunderstood nothing!”
She raised her chin and somehow met his furious gaze. “I cannot be your mistress,” she said firmly.
“Why the hell not?” he demanded, his eyes black and flashing. “I know you are no maiden. I have made a small investigation!”
“An investigation?” She was terrified, and her desire vanished.
“That’s right.” He towered over her. “You are an unwed mother. Your reputation is in shreds. You have nothing more to lose. I told you, I will give you anything you desire.” His eyes flashed again.
“I will make sure your son lacks for nothing! Your family lives in gentle poverty, madam. I can change that! You have only to warm my bed!”
Her mind raced ahead, to a day when he realized Ned was his son. Already knowing that she was not the mother, already tired of her, she would be cast aside, dismissed, while Ned remained with him at Adare.
Lizzie shook her head. “I cannot.”
His gaze was wide with disbelief. “What game is this?” he demanded. “First you tease me to no end on All Hallow’s Eve, then you send a whore in your place! I still do not understand why. And now you refuse a small fortune, when you clearly want me as much as I want you.”
“This is no game,” Lizzie tried.
But he leaned over her now. “Be wary. Perhaps I will change my mind and then you shall be left with nothing at all.”
For one moment, Lizzie thought he was threatening to take Ned away from her. She shook her head, tears filling her eyes.
“I will be at Adare for another week, then I must return to Dublin. I expect to conclude our arrangement well before then. In fact, I expect you to join me in town,” he said harshly.
Lizzie was speechless now.
He bowed. “Good day.”
Lizzie watched him go, shaken to the core of her being. Fate had presented her with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity yet again. And now she must make a choice.
She wanted nothing more than to accept his shocking proposal, but she could not risk losing Ned. So in the end, there was no choice at all.
Hugging herself, her steps slow, Lizzie walked back to the house.
And in an upstairs bedroom, the draperies moved. Eleanor had also watched him go.