The Masquerade

by Brenda Joyce

  His face appeared in danger of cracking. “I have always prided myself on being not just a gentleman, but a considerate one, as well. I was hardly considerate of you last night. In fact, I was extremely selfish. I owe you an apology, Elizabeth, if you will accept it.”

  She gaped. “You owe me no such thing! I am fine, and you were more than considerate—you were so tender, so kind!”

  He remained standing very stiffly at attention. “I would never hurt you,” he said. “Not with any purpose.”

  “It was inevitable, was it not?” Lizzie whispered, because she was thinking about her virginity. She immediately blushed and wished she had not said that.

  Grimly he looked away.

  Lizzie got to her feet, taking the sheet with her. “My lord…As we said, it has been some time. But I am fine, really and—”

  He faced her now. “You should have told me,” he said softly, even dangerously. “And I would have been prepared to woo you far more slowly than I did.”

  Lizzie did not know what to say.

  He cleared his throat. “I have decided to go to Wicklowe alone.”

  “Alone?” Dismay and disbelief assailed her.

  “As I have already shown you, I am a man of extreme appetites, at least where you are concerned. Frankly, my self-control is seriously lacking and I do not trust myself. You need some rest. You will stay here and in a week or so I will send for you and the boy.”

  “No,” Lizzie said flatly. She hardly knew how much time she had to be with him, but sooner or later, it would run out.

  “No? You refute my wishes?” He was incredulous.

  “Yes,” she said fiercely. “I am coming with you as we planned.”

  Unexpectedly, he smiled. “You are very bold, Elizabeth. Come here.”

  “What?”

  He pulled her into his arms. “I am not coming to your bed tonight,” he whispered, looking deeply into her eyes.

  Her heart, already racing, sped impossibly faster. She found herself smiling at him, aware of the inescapable fact that he was aroused. The future no longer seemed worrisome or pressing. In fact, it now escaped her mind completely. “But you seem to be in need of my bed right now, my lord. Are you sure you will not change your mind?”

  His smile vanished. “I need you,” he said frankly, “and not the way it has thus far been. My blood is raging, Elizabeth, it is raging.”

  She went still. She understood his meaning. He wanted her without having to exercise any caution or restraint. Imagining what it would be like, she was exhilarated. With her body already aroused to a feverish pitch, she wondered how she might seduce him into her bed—right there, right then.

  “My blood is raging for you,” he said, releasing her and stepping back. And as if he understood, he gave her a wary look.

  “I am glad,” she said, meaning it with all of her heart. “My lord?” she began softly.

  “No!”

  Her cheeks felt hot. “Then we will wait.”

  “Yes, we will.” He smiled tightly then. “Already you rule the day.” He bowed. “We will leave in the late afternoon. It is a twelve-hour trip to Wicklowe—we spend the night at an inn. Until then.”

  As it was hardly noon and the day was already a glorious one, with just a few cotton-candy clouds drifting in a vivid blue sky, Lizzie settled herself and Ned outside in the gardens on a large wool blanket. Ned was busy with his toys and Lizzie grasped her knees, pulling them to her chest, hugging herself and unable to keep from smiling. Maybe Tyrell was right. He had promised her that she would not be displeased with their arrangement, and in that moment, she was not.

  “Lizzie! Lizzie!”

  Lizzie turned, delighted to hear Georgie’s voice. Instantly she became alarmed, for Georgie was practically running, as if something were very wrong. Lizzie stood, barefoot and without stockings, as Georgie reached her. She took one look at her sister’s pale face and pink nose and thought she had been crying. Georgie never wept.

  “Is it Mama?”

  “No—yes!” Georgie cried. “She has said she will disown me if I refuse to marry Peter! Last night he spoke with Papa and set a date for mid-August!”

  Lizzie put her arm around her. Georgie was trembling. “What did you say?”

  “I kept a smile on my face until that odious toad left. Then I realized that I cannot marry that man. I have been fooling myself to think so. I told Mama and Papa that I would prefer to enter a convent than marry him, and I meant it!”

  “You are not Catholic,” Lizzie remarked.

  “Papa pointed that out—I told him I would convert. And that was when Mama began to have a heart attack. She rushed to lie down, complaining of pains in her chest, all the while bemoaning having such a willful daughter as myself!”

  “Is she all right?” Lizzie gasped, worried.

  Georgie sent her a disgusted look. “I am now convinced that Mama is as fit as any of us. These attacks of hers, these spells of swooning, they are theatrics, Lizzie, to get us to bend to her will.

  “And of course, having an attack was not enough,” Georgie continued. “She pointed out your unfortunate situation and made it clear she would die—die—if I disgraced the family any further. And Papa took her side. Until your downfall, Lizzie, he was most sympathetic as far as Peter is concerned. Now he sides with Mama. He is afraid of further disgrace.”

  Lizzie was ashamed of herself. She had been happy—not perfectly so, but she was most definitely in love—when she was the cause of her family’s ruined reputation. “This is my fault, isn’t it?”

  “No, it is Anna’s fault. Here we are, suffering because of her utter lack of morals, while she lives in wedded bliss with her handsome husband.” Georgie cried furiously.

  Some ancient anger sparked in Lizzie’s breast. It was unfair that she and Georgie were suffering so, while Anna had the perfect marriage and the perfect life. “Anna never meant for either of us to suffer because of her one mistake.” She spoke very quietly now, refusing to succumb to self-pity or untoward and unkind accusations against her sister.

  “I doubt it was her one mistake,” Georgie said bitterly.

  Lizzie stiffened. “What does that mean?” she asked carefully. Did Georgie know the truth about Anna’s philandering?

  “I don’t think Tyrell de Warenne was her first lover, Lizzie. I think the good ladies of Limerick called her wild and vain for a reason. No one flirted more than she did.”

  Even though Anna had admitted her sins, the confession had been a private one and Lizzie knew they must not discuss Anna this way. “Anna’s nature is light and carefree and can easily be mistaken for forward behavior,” she said, “when nothing forward was intended.”

  “You will never cease defending her, will you? Even when she took Tyrell from you.”

  Lizzie looked away. She did not want to discuss that painful past, not ever again.

  And Georgie understood. She sighed. “I am sorry. But then, I have always had a small temper and you have always had a charitable and forgiving nature. I shall try to be more like you, Lizzie.”

  Wanting to lighten their mood, Lizzie said, “I do not think I am your best role model.” Images of Tyrell as he made love to her came to mind, causing her skin to prickle and tingle.

  Georgie looked at her.

  Lizzie knew she blushed.

  Georgie’s eyes widened with comprehension. “Oh,” she said after a long pause.

  Lizzie tried not to smile and failed. “I know that what we are doing is wrong. I don’t want to be so happy when you are so distressed. But Georgie, I do love him so.”

  “Oh, my,” Georgie gasped, her eyes remaining huge. Then she cried, “If you can be happy, Lizzie, then seize the moment. No one deserves some happiness more than you.”

  Lizzie sat pulling her knees to her chest. “I want you to find some happiness, as well. I should hate for you to spend your life in a marriage that is a prison, Georgie.”

  She shuddered. “Papa will not help me out of thi
s engagement. I thought I could go through with it for the family’s sake, for our reputation, but I simply cannot stand that man. If Mama will not change her mind, I am going to leave home, convert to Catholicism and join the sisters at St. Mary’s.”

  A sudden idea occurred to Lizzie. She seized her sister’s hand. “Georgie, I have a far more simple solution.”

  Her sister turned to her, her expression so hopeful that it broke Lizzie’s heart. “You do?”

  “Yes, I do. You will come with me to Wicklowe. We are leaving this afternoon. Do not bother to return to Raven Hall for your things—I will have a servant pick up your belongings. You will write both Mama and Papa and Mr. Harold, informing one and all that the engagement is off. And you can stay with me as long as you like.” Lizzie smiled.

  “But…how can you offer me such a circumstance? Don’t you have to ask Tyrell?” Georgie gasped, trembling.

  Lizzie smiled to herself. “I will ask him,” she said, “but he will not mind. I am rather certain of it.”

  Lizzie lay on her back, smiling at the sky. Georgie was telling the story of the three bears and the big bad wolf to Ned, who sat with a transfixed expression on his face. Lizzie was listening to her sister, but mostly, she was dreaming about Tyrell. She sighed, smiling up at the passing clouds. Moving to Wicklowe felt odd and wonderful, all at once—as if they had become a family and were moving into their own home like any married couple. She refused to think about Blanche now.

  Georgie stopped in midsentence.

  “More!” Ned shouted.

  Lizzie turned to look at them and saw Rory McBane striding across the lawns toward them.

  She sat up as her heart began to wildly race. Rory never faltered, his strides filled with purpose, and he was close enough now for Lizzie to see how strained his expression was.

  She was frantic. What would Tyrell do if he found out that she had lied to him? Was it possible that he would be thrilled that Ned was his child—or would his feelings of affection once again turn to suspicion, mistrust and even hatred? Lizzie got to her feet, wringing her hands. Rory was about to destroy her world!

  Georgie leapt up. “I will send him away! Take Ned and go back to the house.”

  Lizzie grasped her wrist. “No. I don’t think there is any stopping him.”

  But Georgie shook free and planted herself directly in front of Lizzie. “Good afternoon, Mr. McBane,” she said, her anxiety reflected in her eyes.

  He was forced to pause. He barely bowed. “Miss Fitzgerald. I would like a word with your sister, please.”

  “Lizzie is not feeling well and she is returning to her rooms.”

  Rory’s flashing gaze slammed over Georgie. “Are you a part of this conspiracy, too?”

  “I have no idea of what you speak of,” Georgie said, “but I must warn you, sir, to stay away from my sister.”

  “Georgie,” Lizzie tried, stepping forward.

  Georgie ignored her, and now Rory did not seem to see her at all. “I do not think you should interfere in our relationship,” he said in such a soft, dangerous tone that Lizzie shuddered.

  Georgie cried, “I did not realize that you had a relationship with my sister!”

  Their gazes locked. “You would be bothered by such a friendship?” he finally asked.

  Georgie was red. “It bothers me that you think to meddle in my sister’s life,” she trembled. “She does not need you chasing after her, sir.”

  He gave her another head-to-toe look and said, “I have no wish to argue with you, Miss Fitzgerald, as you have made your feelings for me clear. It is obvious that you can barely tolerate my presence. I am sorry I am not as gallant and as charming as your beloved fiancé. But then, some women are able to ignore certain physical attributes, and will sacrifice anything for a future of financial security. I hope you are very happy, Miss Fitzgerald, with your wine merchant.”

  Lizzie cried out. “Rory, how can you speak that way!”

  He jerked as if he had forgotten her existence.

  Georgie was pale. “Some women have no choice when it comes to the future, Mr. McBane,” she said, looking quite shaken. “I don’t believe there is anything else to say. Good day.”

  But Rory did not move. “I apologize,” he said grimly, his cheeks as pink as hers. “That was a most ungentlemanly thing to say.” He hesitated. “I did not mean to imply that you are marrying for a fortune.”

  Georgie was hurt and Lizzie knew it, but she held her head high. “As you said, it was not a gentlemanly thing to say.” She shrugged, her meaning clear: he was a poseur and not a real gentleman, not in any way.

  Georgie turned away, but Lizzie was shocked to see her eyes suddenly filling with tears.

  Because Georgie never cried—she was so rational, so sensible and so coolheaded in all matters—Lizzie rushed forward, determined to salvage her pride.

  “Rory,” Lizzie said.

  He tore his regard from Georgie’s back. When their gazes met, his face turned hard and grim. Lizzie stared back at him. A terrible, interminable moment passed.

  “I thought we were friends,” he said harshly.

  “We are friends. You are so dear to me!” Lizzie cried.

  His gaze veered to Georgie and then to Ned, whom she had lifted into her arms. Then, regarding only Lizzie, he said, “Tyrell is also my friend.”

  Lizzie inhaled. She touched his sleeve. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. But first you must explain to me what you are doing, and why. I cannot believe the Lizzie Fitzgerald I have known for almost two years would play such a masquerade!”

  Lizzie winced. “I had no choice.”

  “We both know you have never carried any child. And I know you well, Lizzie. You are no desperate fortune hunter, thinking to trick Tyrell with some confidence game. I have come to one inevitable conclusion. Anna was the one who swooned upon arriving at Merrion Square. Anna was the one who was always indisposed and never able to socialize with anyone. He must be Anna’s son.”

  Lizzie closed her eyes, her heart pounding. She did not know what to do. “Please,” she finally said. “Anna is happily married. Please.”

  His eyes were wide. “So you claim your sister’s child as your own?”

  Lizzie nodded.

  “And Tyrell? He has agreed to let you sacrifice yourself this way? I find that very hard to believe!”

  Lizzie prayed Rory and Tyrell would never speak about Ned. “Rory, stop! Ned is Tyrell’s son. We have an agreement—an arrangement, if you will. We are both doing what we think is best for Ned. Can that not be enough for you?” Even as she spoke, she was ashamed of herself. Tyrell had every right to know the entire truth. And loving him impossibly now, she realized that she could not go on much longer this way. “And I have to stay…I have come to love Ned as if he is my own.”

  Rory continued to stare at her in disbelief. He finally said, “You lied to me. We are cousins. And I truly thought we had become genuine friends. You kept this secret from me.” He shook his head. “And now—now you are his mistress, aren’t you?”

  Lizzie started.

  “I am hardly blind! I thought I knew you. But I didn’t. I don’t,” he corrected. Not even bowing, he turned and strode angrily off.

  Lizzie cried out after him. “Rory, wait!”

  But he did not stop. Instead of entering the back of the house from the terrace, he veered to the side and went around it, disappearing finally from sight.

  Georgie had come to stand beside her, Ned in her arms. “He is in love with you,” she said quietly. “That is why he is so upset.”

  Lizzie turned in surprise. “No, you are wrong!”

  Georgie just looked at her.

  17

  The Mistress of Wicklowe

  Tyrell stared out of the French doors, watching Elizabeth walking hand in hand with Ned toward the house, her sister with them. His heart was racing and he could not tear his gaze away. She let Ned go and the toddler began to run, teetering on
his chubby legs, Elizabeth quickening her pace to follow. Ned tumbled face-first onto the lawn and Tyrell stiffened, about to fly outside to rush to the little boy’s side. But Elizabeth was at Ned’s side in almost the same instant, helping him to his feet. He tugged free of her and began to run again. Elizabeth, he saw, was smiling as she hurried after him.

  His heart did the oddest set of somersaults.

  Rex had come to stand behind him. He said, “I heard she emptied the contents of her purse the other day, giving every coin she had to a beggar woman. And yet, my understanding is that Elizabeth’s family is rather impoverished,” he added.

  Tyrell did not look away. Elizabeth was now walking more slowly across the lawn, in conversation with her sister, Ned teetering ahead of them. The little boy stopped, still standing, although somewhat precariously, and cried triumphantly, “Mama!”

  He could hear Elizabeth laugh and clap her hands. He said to his brother, never removing his gaze from the object of his avid interest, “And where did you hear that bit of gossip?” He heard how light his tone was.

  Rex smiled. “From the countess. They went to the orphanage together. Apparently Miss Fitzgerald has volunteered her time there for many years.”

  Finally Tyrell turned to his brother. “Really.”

  “Yes, really,” Rex murmured.

  He should be surprised by her charity but he wasn’t. He already knew about her past involvement with the orphans of St. Mary’s, as he had made it his business to know everything about her some time ago. He knew her reputation: she was a wallflower, a bookworm and universally held in high regard. Until, that is, she had come home, the mother of a bastard child, the county pariah. In fact, it had been entirely out of character, but he had been too angry to consider that. All he had been able to think about was being duped by her sweet appearances yet again.

  But he had not been duped.

  There had not been another man.

  She was not an unwed mother after all. He had been her first. He was thrilled; there was triumph.

  Tyrell realized he had turned his gaze on her again, incapable of looking away, his heart pounding with both desire and some far greater emotion, one he did not wish to identify. She knelt in the grass with her son, the two of them exploring some flower, perhaps, or a bug. He could hear her laughter, soft and sweet, and he found himself incapable of drawing a normal breath. Appearances were not that deceiving after all, he thought with both satisfaction and relief. She was sweet, good and kind.