Chapter 11 #2
Rex paused but then spoke with care. “It is not like you to have another woman on your mind at such a crucial time. Most men would be instantly besotted with Blanche Harrington. Since when have you ever chased this kind of woman to the point of distraction? I am worried. You are the most diplomatic of men, as you should be, considering you will follow in father’s footsteps.
You are not the kind of man to lose control and chance insulting Harrington or your bride. ”
Rex was right. Tyrell was as political in nature as his father, and chasing another woman now was a severe lapse of etiquette.
“She must be very beautiful—and very clever,” Rex added.
“She is very clever. She is a trickster, actually, never mind how innocent she appears. But I intend to end this game once and for all.” Tyrell meant his every word.
“This chase began almost two years ago,” he explained.
“And now she dares to reappear in Limerick with another man’s bastard child, and she refuses me! ”
Rex gaped. “Are you smitten?”
He jerked. “Of course not!”
Rex was thoughtful now. “You are a de Warenne. We all know that the de Warenne men, once smitten, love deeply and faithfully, to no end.”
“That is family legend and I am hardly smitten,” Tyrell retorted, but he was disturbed.
Like his entire family, he had accepted the legend as fact for most of his life.
That had been easy to do, as he had only to look at his father and his stepmother to see how deeply and completely they loved each other, and as much could be said for his stepbrother, Devlin O’Neill, and his wife, Virginia.
“Had she not vanished at that costume ball, this would be over by now.” But with every word, he began to have some serious doubts.
There had been many women in his life whom he had coveted, but he’d never had to chase any one for very long and the desire had always quickly faded.
His desire for Elizabeth continued to rage, hotter than ever, brighter than before.
Rex was silent.
Surely she would not dare reject him a second time.
He was the heir to the earldom of Adare, for God’s sake.
Women of every type, class and rank pursued him without shame.
Invitations, both coy and bold, were issued every day.
He had never had any trouble seducing a woman.
Elizabeth Fitzgerald was the first to deny him.
But it was a game, wasn’t it? He had to have her.
And surely that was her game, to madden him with her rejections, to the point where he could not think clearly or behave reasonably.
He did not know why she should bother. He was already prepared to give her a small fortune for her body.
What else could she want? And she must realize that she needed his protection, considering her unfortunate circumstances.
Rex clasped his shoulder. “Who is she? Who are you brooding about?”
“A gray-eyed vixen with a body God intended to drive a man wild,” Tyrell said tersely.
Carefully, Rex said, “Ty, I hope this is a passing fancy. Do I know her?”
“Perhaps. You certainly know her family. She is Miss Elizabeth Fitzgerald, the daughter of Gerald Fitzgerald—I do believe he is a distant relation of Devlin’s,” he said.
“Are you telling me you are chasing a gentlewoman?” Rex was disbelieving.
Tyrell felt his mood turn black. “She is hardly the lady you suggest. I told you, she is an unwed mother and she is ripe for the plucking, you may trust me on that.”
“I think you should forget this woman. You need to start thinking about your future and the future of this family.” Rex’s stare was dark and penetrating. “Blanche Harrington is very beautiful. You will certainly have a pleasant married life. You do not need a mistress now.”
Tyrell shook his head to clear it. Rex was right—but only on one point. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of insulting the lady Blanche. But I do not intend to be denied,” Tyrell told his brother, “or made a fool of.”
“Really? Then why is she here?”
“I have no clue as to what you speak of,” he said.
“I am speaking of the lady that preoccupies your heart,” Rex said wryly.
“What?” he exclaimed, stunned.
“I was in the front hall when they arrived. Apparently, she is with her family.”
His first thought was that Elizabeth had come to tell him she would accept his proposition, but if she had come with her family, that was not the case. “You must be mistaken. It cannot be her.”
“No, I was passing the front hall when they arrived. Mr. Gerald Fitzgerald, his wife and daughter. There was a child and a nursemaid with them,” he added. “Mr. Fitzgerald wished to speak with Father.”
And in that moment, Tyrell knew her games were hardly over. But he could not imagine what new trick this was.
The countess returned to the salon with her husband, the earl of Adare.
Lizzie sat on the edge of her chair, praying she had convinced the countess to let her and Ned go.
Her cheeks were already feverish and she was ill with anxiety.
The moment the earl’s hard, incredulous regard fixed upon her, she knew she was doomed.
He was angry, quietly so, but the emotion was visible enough.
The moment his piercing gaze met hers, she sank into a deep curtsy, her heart racing helplessly. She prayed that this interview would end very, very soon and that Ned would not be lost to her forever.
“Miss Fitzgerald,” the earl said, taking her elbow and helping her to her feet.
Lizzie was forced to meet his brilliant blue gaze. Like Tyrell, he had dark, curling hair, but otherwise, his complexion was quite fair. He was a very handsome man with an air of authority that was inescapable. Lizzie realized that the countess had closed the salon doors.
Her fear escalated.
“You are the mother of my son’s child?” the earl was asking. His tone was brusque.
Lizzie was aware of her parents behind her, impatient for her correct replies. There could not be any denial, not now, not on this point. Lizzie clung to her hope that she would be allowed to leave with Ned. “Yes, my lord,” she managed to say.
His face hardened. His gaze moved over her slowly. There was nothing insulting about his regard, but Lizzie flushed again. “You claim my son seduced you,” he said flatly.
Lizzie truly wished to die. “No, my lord,” she said, ignoring Papa, who jerked on her arm. “I am entirely to blame. I seduced him.”
The earl made a sound, clearly not believing her. “You hardly strike me as a seductress. And my son is no rake.”
She wet her lips. “We were in costume. He had no comprehension of my identity. It was my fault entirely.”
“Are you defending him now?”
She swallowed, feeling as if she were on trial in the King’s Bench. She was not going to accuse Tyrell of seduction. “It was a flirtation that got out of hand,” she whispered.
He turned toward Ned; his cheeks colored as he did.
The countess, who had come to stand behind her husband, said softly, “There is no question that is Ty’s son.”
The earl choked. “I can see that.”
Lizzie felt faint. They were so certain—as they should be. Surely they would change their mind when Tyrell mocked her claims. Surely she and her entire family were going to be thrown out of Adare.
The countess laid her palm on his arm, clearly offering him emotional support.
The earl said, “You do not strike me as a seductress, Miss Fitzgerald. Before I speak with Tyrell, I wish to understand exactly how this happened.”
Lizzie was mortified. She wanted to ask him why it mattered at all, but she did not dare. She knew she would never convince the earl that she was a seductress, for he was scowling at her, clearly not having believed a word she had said—except for her claim that Ned was Tyrell’s son.
She heard herself say, “I have been in love with Tyrell my entire life.” And the moment the words were out, tears rose. She covered her mouth with her hand.
“It’s true,” Mama cried, stepping forward. “My Lizzie has been in love with your son ever since she was a child. We used to laugh about it. We would tease her and thought she’d outgrow such foolishness, but she never did,” Mama exclaimed.
The earl stared at Lizzie. She felt her knees shake. “So you thought to entrap my son?”
“No,” Lizzie cried, aghast.
“But you are here with his child, demanding marriage. I still fail to understand. You may have been in costume, but Tyrell would never allow such an episode to be forgotten. I know my son. Once he realized his mistake, he would have sought to make amends, in one manner or another.”
Lizzie did not know what to say. “I concealed my identity from him,” she said. “And then I ran away.”
The earl finally turned away, looking closely at Ned. The toddler was quietly playing with a toy soldier on the floor. But he paused at once, looking up at the man who was his grandfather.
The countess cleared her voice. “The portrait in the dining room of Ty and his mother. This child could have sat for it.”
The earl turned away from Ned, facing Lizzie and her parents. “This is a most unfortunate circumstance, as far as your daughter is concerned,” he said flatly.
“You are a just man,” Papa returned as flatly. “I thought you would see it that way.”
“You mistake my intent,” the earl said. “I regret your daughter’s ruin, but I cannot regret having any grandson, not even an illegitimate one.”
Lizzie’s fear knew no bounds. This is not what she had expected. She hurried to Ned, tripping in her haste. He beamed at her, saying “Mama” as she lifted him into her arms.
“What’s your meaning, my lord?” Papa asked tersely.
“My son is about to become engaged to Lord Harrington’s daughter, and I will brook no interference in the match.”
Lizzie squeezed her eyes tightly closed. Now, surely, they would be sent home. Her heart beat madly, her legs felt weak. She could not get enough air.
“We will gladly raise my grandson here,” the earl said. “In fact, there is no other possibility.”
Lizzie shook her head. “No.”
He turned a cold gaze upon her. “I will settle a pension upon you. Again, I am very sorry for this unfortunate circumstance. And you may be certain, my son will behave honorably in the future. I know that is a small consolation, but it is all that I can offer you. You will lack for nothing, Miss Fitzgerald.”
Lizzie cried out. “I will lack my son! I will not be separated from him!”
The earl looked at her in real surprise. The countess came forward, appearing somewhat moved by Lizzie’s plight—or Lizzie hoped desperately that was the case. “My lady,” she cried. “I cannot leave my son!”
“Lizzie,” Mama said, tugging on her hand. “Maybe this is for the best.”
“Our Lizzie is ruined,” Papa said, his nose turning red.
Lizzie shrugged vehemently free of her mother. “Ned needs me,” she cried in desperate outrage. “I am not giving him up. I can raise him—I shall!”
The earl was staring at her as if she had grown a second head.
And at that precise moment, the words barely out of her mouth, Tyrell stepped through both massive doors.
Lizzie froze, Ned still in her arms. Tyrell had already skewered her with his dark regard.
“You are looking for me?” he asked politely.
The question seemed to be directed at his parents, but Lizzie could not be sure as his gaze did not waver from hers.
Her heart now surged against her breast like the wings of a frantic bird, trapped in an iron cage. Oh, she was ready to faint! But at least he was there, to deny being Ned’s father, so they might escape!
“I believe you know Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald,” the earl said grimly. “And their daughter, Miss Elizabeth Anne.”
Tyrell did not bow. He merely inclined his head and Lizzie swore she could feel the tension emanating from him. Lizzie steeled herself for his scorn. She was so ashamed now of the lie that was hers, never mind her intent to protect Anna and keep Ned.
“But I believe you have not met your son,” the earl said.
Tyrell jerked, his gaze flying from Lizzie to the child in her arms. “My what?”
The countess touched his arm. “I know this is a shock. We are all shocked, and rightly so,” she said softly.
Tyrell stared at Ned, stunned, and then his gaze clashed with Lizzie’s again.
Lizzie bit her lip, quaking.
“You claim that is my child?” he demanded, now in disbelief.
Lizzie could not answer.
“I believe he was conceived on All Hallow’s Eve, was he not, Miss Fitzgerald?”
Tyrell stiffened, glancing once at his father and then turning back to Lizzie. She could see the scorn beginning. She shrank. He said, his tone cold and dangerous, “On All Hallow’s Eve?”
This was not going the way she had planned, Lizzie somehow managed to think.
“Ned is my son,” she whispered, but no one seemed to hear her.
Papa stepped forward and pointed at Tyrell, his face crimson with rage.
“I do not care what cockamamy story my daughter has invented to protect you, sir! You got her with child! You have destroyed her life! Your father refuses to condone a marriage between you both! What kind of man are you, to so abuse my innocent daughter and then to walk away?”
Tyrell stiffened at Papa’s final fighting words. He had the oddest appearance now—as if some comprehension had begun, mingling with his now absolute disbelief. He turned toward her. “I got you with child,” he repeated incredulously.
Lizzie closed her eyes and felt a tear slip out. At least, she thought in utter mortification, he would denounce Ned as his son now. He would forever consider her the worst liar—and that was what she had become. She could only pray that one day Ned could still claim his birthright.
“We will raise the child here,” the earl interrupted flatly. “I will take care of Miss Fitzgerald. Otherwise, nothing changes. Marriage to Miss Fitzgerald is out of the question.”
“Marriage to Miss Fitzgerald,” Tyrell echoed.
Lizzie’s eyes flew open and he was looking at her, laughing now, but she saw no mirth on his face. There was only anger.
Papa shouted, “This is no laughing matter, sir!”
Tyrell raised his hand and Papa fell silent. “Enough,” he said. “I wish a word alone with Miss Fitzgerald.”
Lizzie somehow kept from gasping. She shook her head, backing away. Being alone with him now was impossible—she would not do it.
“I wish a word alone with the mother of my child,” Tyrell amended. And he smiled at her, a cold, hard smile that did not reach his eyes.