Chapter 14 A Frightening Promise
A Frightening Promise
Lizzie 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.