by Brenda Joyce
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 brilliantly; 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?”
Lizzie started. “My lady,” she exclaimed, “before I left the county to live with my aunt, I used to help the sisters there every Tuesday.”
The countess’s eyes widened. “So we have something in common, then.”
Before she even realized
her audacity, Lizzie cried eagerly. “May I join you? I would so love to continue my charity. I have missed the children! Is Beth still there? And what about Stephen? Oh, he must be so big by now!”
The countess was staring thoughtfully at her. “Beth was adopted last spring. Stephen’s father actually claimed him last winter.”
“That is wonderful news,” Lizzie said. She smiled at the countess, thrilled for the children.
“I should love for you to join me,” the countess said. “Why don’t we leave Ned with Rosie?”
He rode his black horse hard and fast, thundering over the fields at a gallop, and only slowed to take a stone wall at a more controlled speed. Tyrell urged his stallion to a faster pace and rode like a bat from hell back to Adare.
He dismounted in front of the stables, the stallion blowing hard. The head groom, Ralph, took the black from Ty’s hands, his gaze openly disapproving.
Tyrell wiped his brow with the sleeve of his hunt coat. “Have him walked until he cools down. Then give him a good bran mash,” he said, suddenly angry with himself for riding his favorite horse so hard.
“You’re lucky he didn’t break his leg in a gopher’s hole,” Ralph said flatly. “And a fine horse like this, too.”
Tyrell stroked the horse’s sweaty neck. What was wrong with him, to take out his frustration on the stud? He gave the horse a solid pat, and the horse, half Arab and bred for endurance, blew at him, telling him he was ready for more. “We’ll rest him for a few days,” Ty said, knowing damn well what his problem was.
“Aye, sir,” Ralph said, leading the stallion away.
Tyrell wiped more sweat from his brow, trying very hard not to think about Elizabeth Fitzgerald and his own behavior. He failed. He stalked into the house, entering from the back via a garden terrace and French doors. He went right to the salon used by the family, heading for the bar cart. As he was pouring a Scotch, Rex limped into the room. “Are you trying to kill yourself?” he asked. “Or are you trying to kill your best horse?”
Ty downed the entire glass, feeling it burn. Last night, he had blackmailed Elizabeth into staying with him. What kind of man had he become? “I should hope to kill myself before killing Safyr,” he said. He poured another drink. The worst part was, he hadn’t been able to stop himself—he hadn’t even wanted to. Even in the light of a new day, he did not want to retreat from his position. Instead, he thought to leave for Dublin sooner than planned.
“It’s noon,” Rex commented. “May I join you?”
Tyrell poured a second drink and handed it to his brother without answering. If he could not control his own behavior, he was no better than a puppet on her chain.
And what about his upcoming marriage? Clearly he was placing his relationship with his bride and her father in jeopardy.
“To the Harringtons,” Rex murmured wryly, interrupting his thoughts. “To the beautiful Lady Blanche.”
Instantly Tyrell’s tension flared. He lifted his glass in a salute and took another swallow. Rex sipped his own drink, studied his brother and then said, “It is a good match in every possible way. I’m certain that you know it.”
“Yes, it is, I am ecstatic.” As soon as he spoke, he realized he sounded annoyed.
And Rex did not miss a thing. “Really? You don’t appear ecstatic. You appear vastly irritated.”
Tyrell faced him. “I am hardly irritated.” He rearranged his face into a smile.
Rex sipped his drink for a moment. “Don’t bother, Ty. I have known you my entire life, and I know when you are utterly out of sorts. After all, you are rarely in a foul humor. Until these past few days,” he added.
“You needn’t bother being diplomatic. Go ahead, say it. My behavior is unacceptable. I am keeping a mistress under the same roof with my fiancée!”
“I clearly need not say anything, as you are well aware of what you are doing.”
Tyrell cursed.
“You need to be more careful,” Rex said abruptly. His tone firm, he added, “At least pretend to be pleased with your fiancée.”
“I am pleased.” He knew he was simply saying the words.
“Then maybe you should hold her hand and smile at her, once or twice?”
Tyrell gave him a dark look. “I admit I was slightly preoccupied last night.”
“You royally angered Harrington. I heard Father defending your inattentiveness, Ty. For God’s sake, even Eleanor asked if you were ill!” he said, referring to their younger sister. “Your mood was black. This is not like you.”
“I had other matters on my mind,” he finally said.
“And what other matters are more important than securing the future of your heirs—and mine, Cliff’s and Eleanor’s?” he demanded.
Rex was right. Nothing was more important than this marriage, and he needed to begin to behave as if that were the case. But he was not prepared to give Elizabeth Fitzgerald up.
“She is not what I expected,” Rex said far too seriously.
Tyrell knew instinctively that Rex did not refer to Blanche. He slowly met his brother’s gaze. It was piercing. He hesitated, recalling her soft and vulnerable gray eyes. “She is not what I was expecting, either,” he heard himself say. And suddenly he recalled the moment, almost two years ago, when he had saved her from being run down by a carriage. He had acted on reflex, lunging to seize her from harm’s way, and then he had found himself kneeling in the mud, holding the most beautiful and tempting woman he had ever beheld. Had he been kicked in the chest by a horse, it could not have been more stunning.
“Why are you smiling? I am speaking about your mistress, Miss Fitzgerald.”
Slowly he returned to Rex and he set his glass down, shaken. As slowly, he said, “I will hardly have an affair under my father’s roof with my fiancée and her family in residence.”
Rex gave him a mocking smile. “It was wise to restrain yourself. But do not think to dupe me. It is obvious that if she isn’t your mistress now, it is what you soon intend.”
Tyrell sighed. “Will you also lecture me on the consequences of having an affair?”
“No, I won’t, because I know you will not listen and you will not be the first man to keep a lover. Besides, sooner or later you will get her out of your mind…won’t you?”
“I certainly hope so!” Tyrell erupted. “Do you think I am unaware of the ramifications of my behavior? I never intended to be disloyal in my own marriage, Rex. I always assumed my wife would be more than a wife, but even a friend and a lover.”
Rex was clearly surprised. “There is no reason that Blanche cannot be a friend and a lover, but it seems to me that you are already planning on being unfaithful to her after you have taken your vows.”
“I’m not even interested in taking her to bed, so how can I be faithful to her after we are wed?” Tyrell exclaimed.
Rex limped over to him and laid his hand on his shoulder. “Look, it hardly matters if you are faithful or not, as few men are. You need only be kind, respectful and discreet.”
“Of course,” Tyrell said, walking away from his brother. He sat down on the sofa in disgust. He’d always assumed his wife would be kind, gracious and beautiful, that he would have both sons and daughters, and that his household would be an amiable and pleasant one. A mistress had never been a part of the scenario. Yet here he was, on the eve of his official engagement, thoroughly distracted with a love affair and incapable, it seemed, of controlling his own behavior.
“I found her to be very pleasant,” Rex said. “I was expecting a flamboyant beauty like Marie-Claire, your last mistress, or a scurvy fortune hunter. But there is nothing obvious or cunning about her. When we met, she had been in the kitchens baking tarts with your son. She was covered in flour, chocolate and what I suspect to have been some kind of fruit juice. She was not bold at all. In fact, she seemed very shy and somewhat frightened of me. She is clearly not one’s average mistress.”
Tyrell stared at his brother, not hearing that last statement. She had been ba
king in the kitchens? “Are you certain?” The image of Elizabeth baking in the kitchens chased itself back and forth in his mind. Suddenly, he wanted Rex to be right.
Rex began to smile. “Yes, I am certain she was baking. I actually made a few inquiries. The entire kitchen staff is taken with her. Mother likes her, too.”
Tyrell reminded himself to be careful of the pleasure trying to grow within him. “You sound as if you are an admirer, as well.”
“Perhaps I am—cautiously so.”
“You do know that she came here thinking to trap me into marriage?”
Rex sighed. “Yes, of course, everyone knows. But I heard it was her parents’ agenda, not Miss Fitzgerald’s. Apparently her mother is known for being rather desperate to marry off her remaining two daughters.”
He wanted to believe that Elizabeth had been a victim of her parents’ scheme to trap him into marriage. Still, he was a very good judge of character. Elizabeth’s explanation for her ruse—that she did not want to marry Ned’s actual father—was a lie and he knew it. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said firmly. “What matters is that she is here.”
Rex’s brows arced high. “Really? You do mean that what matters is your son.”
“Of course,” Tyrell said, walking away so his brother might not guess that he was lying to him about Ned.
But Rex limped after him. “Ty, this is so odd! You have been acting oddly. Why aren’t you acting like a besotted father presented with his first child?”
Tyrell turned and managed to smile at him. “I need some time,” he said, “to adjust to these circumstances.”
“That is a lie,” Rex said. He touched his arm. “What is really wrong? Why are you so tense and at times even angry? Why are you failing in your duty to this family and your fiancée? Why did you ever approach such a genteel and well-bred young lady in the first place? And now you bring her here as your mistress? I am aware that she is the mother of your child, but come, Ty, she deserves a husband and a home of her own. I know you know that. What the hell is going on with you?”
