Chapter 18 A Moral Dilemma
A Moral Dilemma
Lizzie sat up in the bed she had shared with Tyrell, holding the covers to her bare bosom, overcome with more love than any woman had the right to bear.
She had overslept. Images from the night before played over and over in her mind—some heated and frantic, others tender and slow.
He had possessed her in every possible way and Lizzie blushed thinking about it, but so much more important, he had held her when they were not making love as if he were in love with her.
Lizzie hesitated, wanting to get up, but she had no clothes with her.
The last she had seen them they were on the floor in the library, for Tyrell had carried her upstairs, covering her with a throw.
Her wardrobe was in her bedroom, just down the hall from the master suite.
Then she smiled, looking at the luxurious bed she had slept in.
Without words, Tyrell had made it clear that he wished for her to spend the entire night with him, and she had done just that, falling asleep in his arms.
She was so thrilled that she felt as buoyant as a balloon, and she almost expected to begin floating up to the ceiling.
Lizzie pulled a sheet from the bed and got up, wrapping it around her. Then she went to the draperies and opened them. She was right, it was very late—the sun was so high, it had to be noon. She smiled to herself. She felt wicked and wanton and it was lovely.
She went to the bedroom door and found it firmly closed.
Lizzie opened it, foolishly hoping that she might find Tyrell in the sitting room.
But it was empty, of course—he was probably with his steward inspecting Wicklowe or in the library, going over state accounts.
Then she saw the dining table. It was set for one, replete with crystal, silverware and gilded china, and the aromas coming from the covered platters and a silver teapot told Lizzie that her breakfast was awaiting her.
Tyrell had clearly asked a servant to set the table and bring her a meal. It was so thoughtful—she was ravenous—and tears formed in her eyes.
In that moment, she had to be the most fortunate woman on earth. A solid pinch changed nothing.
Lizzie went to the table and lifted the lid and found an omelet, pancakes and sausages. The floral centerpiece was a bouquet of red roses. Red roses were for lovers and that was what she and Tyrell were.
“Are you hungry?” Tyrell asked softly.
She whirled and saw him coming out of their bedroom, buttoning up his navy blue jacket, clearly having just finished dressing. She hadn’t realized he was present in the boudoir when she had arisen.
He had the slightest smile on his face and his gaze was filled with warmth and affection for her.
Lizzie somehow nodded, undone by the way he was regarding her. “Very,” she breathed. She realized he did not intend to join her for a meal. How she wanted him to linger, just a little.
He came into the salon, his gaze moving down her bare shoulders to the sheet she had wrapped around her body.
He quickly lowered his lashes, hiding the sudden gleam in his eyes.
He walked past her and she realized that a maid had laid out her cotton eyelet nightgown and wrapper.
He lifted the latter and paused beside her. “May I?”
Every nerve ending prickled. Lizzie nodded. Tyrell tugged on the sheet until it pooled at her feet. He slipped the robe over her shoulders, his hands pausing there.
Lizzie slowly slipped her arms into the sleeves, aware of him regarding her nudity with far more than appreciation. She had never felt so sensual and so womanly before. She slowly faced him, closing and belting the robe as she did so.
“Impossibly,” he finally said, “I want you yet again.”
Lizzie had never dreamed she could feel so much for anyone, not even Tyrell. Amazingly, desire had begun to swiftly rise. “I want you, too, my lord.”
“I can see that,” he said harshly. “How is it possible? Did I not sate you last night?”
She blushed. “Of course you did. Did I not sate you?” she dared to frankly ask.
And she was surprised when he also blushed. “Madam, I have never enjoyed an evening more. I do not believe you allowed me a single wink of sleep.”
“My lord, it was most definitely the other way around.”
He dimpled. “Tyrell. And it was you, madam, who repeatedly lured me. Do not think to cast the blame on me.”
Lizzie tried not to smile back, her hands now on her hips. “My lord,” she protested, and his brows rose. “Tyrell,” she corrected. “You were impossibly randy and I merely followed your lead.”
His dimples deepened. “My darling Elizabeth,” he murmured, and her heart leapt at his tone and choice of words, “you are the most sensual woman I have ever had the pleasure to meet. Perhaps you are unaware of your allure? When you squirm in a certain manner, it will most definitely feed my manly appetite.”
She shifted her hips, not once, but three times. “And if I wriggle?”
He reached out and pulled her close. “Vixen! You know full well the extent of your powers!” He kissed her ear and thrills swept over her.
She rubbed against his arousal. “Only because you have taught me so well, so quickly,” she murmured. “Tyrell.”
He caught her buttocks. “I have so much to do this day,” he breathed against her ear.
She slid her hands beneath his shirt, over his warm skin and hard chest muscles. She looked up into his heated eyes. “Yes, you have so much to do, this day,” she whispered. “After all, are you not a gentleman? Will you not rescue a damsel in distress?”
He made a sound of capitulation. “I pride myself on my noble nature and I would never ignore a damsel in her time of need,” he whispered.
Lizzie wanted to smile, but she could not, because he had unbelted her robe and suddenly she was naked, her breasts somehow in his hands.
“You win, madam,” he said roughly. “Consider myself seduced.”
Three days later, Lizzie was taking tea with Georgie on an outdoor terrace behind the house.
The view of the Wicklow Mountains was splendid, and it was a sight she should never tire of.
Georgie was also enjoying the sun, the warm day and the splendid majesty of the Irish countryside.
Tyrell had left at dawn for Dublin, where he had many meetings to attend before taking up his post next week. Ned was asleep in the nursery.
“Madam?” Smythe intoned from behind them.
Lizzie had just lifted up her teacup and she turned with a smile.
She saw Papa approaching with the butler and she gasped in real surprise, spilling tea over the cup’s brim.
Somehow she set the cup down, standing, delighted to see her father, as it was a good day and a half’s trip from Raven Hall. “Papa!”
But he was not smiling as he nodded his thanks at the butler. “Lizzie.” He kissed her cheek. “Georgie.” He also kissed Georgie, who was standing and equally surprised to see him there.
Instantly Lizzie knew that something was wrong. “Mr. Smythe, would you bring more tea and sandwiches? Thank you.” The butler left and she clutched Papa’s hands. “Is something amiss? Is it Mama?”
He stared at her, actually stepping back. “Your mother languishes from a broken heart. She is in extreme melancholia. Between the two of you, her world has collapsed.”
Lizzie tensed, glancing at Georgie. Georgie said, “Papa, you used to agree with me about Peter Harold! I have never been more relieved than I am now! I cannot change my mind.”
Papa was grim. “He has become engaged to a lady in Cork, so undoubtedly he would not take you back. But to come here with your sister? Have you no shame?”
Georgie flinched and shared another look with Lizzie. And Lizzie began to understand.
When her parents had left her at Adare, she had been a guest of the de Warennes, not Tyrell’s mistress.
How quickly word of her actual downfall had traveled.
And Georgie was triply tainted—first by association with Lizzie as an unwed mother, then by the failure of her engagement, and now by residing at Wicklowe with her shameless sister.
“It is lovely here in the summer,” Georgie began, her tone odd and thick with hurt.
Papa held up his hand. “Cease with any rationalization, as there is none to be made. And you are not the cause of your mother’s grief, not really.” He turned a desperate and despairing stare on Lizzie. “I wish a word with you alone.”
Lizzie nodded with dread and dismay.
Georgie said, “Papa, I am privy to every secret Lizzie has. Please, do not force me to abandon her now.”
Before Papa could respond, Lizzie took her sister’s hand. “Maybe Papa and I had better speak privately.”
Georgie was clearly reluctant to leave her.
“I will be fine,” Lizzie said, certain it was a lie.
Georgie nodded, and on the verge of tears, she left the terrace, leaving them alone.
“How could you do this?” Papa demanded thickly. “How, Lizzie?”
Lizzie knew what he meant. He wanted to know how she could live openly with a man who was not her husband. “I am so in love, Papa,” she began nervously.
“You are his mistress! You are living openly here! The whole world knows and speaks of little else!”
“I love him,” she cried, not knowing what else to say.
“Have you no shame?” Papa demanded, tears in his eyes.
Lizzie did not reply, when the answer was obvious. But in that moment, she was more than ashamed—she was filled with regret. She had never dreamed that in fulfilling her love for Tyrell she would so hurt her parents. She had never seen Papa so anguished before.
“This is disgraceful,” Papa cried. “Dear God, I never thought to see the day when I would be ashamed of my favorite child!”
Lizzie started to cry. Did Papa now think her little more than a whore? “I’m sorry.”