by Brenda Joyce
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 h
er.
“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.”
“That is hardly sufficient! And it is too late for regrets, is it not? Even if you left him now, that would not change these past weeks. No one will ever forget your downfall, and because of it, your sister will never find another suitor. Because of it, your mother and I are ostracized from all society. We are finally, utterly, irrevocably ruined.”
Lizzie sat abruptly, racked with guilt and pain. What had she been thinking when she had accepted Tyrell’s proposition? How could she have been selfish and so thoughtless?
But since coming to Wicklowe, she had been so happy.
“I don’t care for myself,” Papa said angrily. “I have never enjoyed those damned balls and fêtes. But Mama has no friends! She is not invited to a single tea! How will she survive?”
“Oh, God,” Lizzie whispered, the tears streaming now. “Papa, I didn’t think at all! I never dreamed Mama would become a pariah! I never meant to hurt anyone—I only wanted Tyrell to claim Ned as his own son!”
Papa knelt before her, taking her hands. “And what about you, Lizzie? I know you love him. No one knows more than I that you would have never behaved this way if you didn’t! He is engaged to someone else. In the fall, he will marry another woman. What will you do then? Will you be the other woman? Will you be happy then?”
Lizzie stared, her heart lurching. In the past week, she had refused to think of the future and his bride. Instead, she had immersed herself in her love, in their passion and in every moment she spent with Tyrell.
“I see you cannot answer me! And what will you do when he tosses you aside, which he will surely do sooner or later?”
Lizzie had to turn away.
“Men do not keep old women as mistresses. Damn it, Lizzie, what will you do when he is through with you?” Papa demanded.
“I don’t know,” she gasped, for suddenly she could see a day when Tyrell had no more use for her. It hurt beyond belief. “I don’t know!” But she did know—she would die from a broken heart.
Papa stood. Using a linen handkerchief, he wiped his eyes.
Lizzie could only watch, sick with the realization of what she had done to her family, of how she had destroyed their good name and happiness. And now the future loomed, frightening and gray.
She had been a fool to think she could ignore it, to think she could pretend that it did not exist.
Papa turned to face her. “I love you,” he said roughly, “but I have no choice now. I must take care of Mama. I must also save Georgina, if it is at all possible.”
Lizzie began to shake. “Papa, no.”
“Georgie is coming home,” Papa announced, ashen. “And I am disowning you, Lizzie.”
Lizzie closed her eyes. Disbelief and shock were quickly replaced by a terrible anguish. “No,” she whispered. “Papa!”
“I have no choice, not if I am to save the reputation of the rest of our family,” Papa choked. And he covered his face with his hands and wept.
He was right, she somehow thought, her own tears falling freely now. If she was publicly disowned by her own family, then society would forgive them and eventually welcome them back into its ugly fold. Lizzie opened her eyes but could not see, as her vision was blurred by so many tears.
“I am sorry,” Papa said thickly. “But you can no longer be my daughter.”
“I understand,” she sobbed.
Tears stained his cheeks. He turned away, then froze, as Georgie was standing there on the terrace, behind him.
She was crying, too, but she held her head high. “I am staying with Lizzie,” she said.
Supper was a dreadful affair.
Papa had left immediately. Whether Georgie was now also disowned for refusing to return to Raven Hall with him, it was impossible to say. Tyrell returned just before seven, and Georgie and Lizzie were already sitting at the long dining table in absolute silence when he joined them for supper. Lizzie was afraid to look at him. She did not want him to know what had happened, and not just because of her pride. She was grief-stricken, and now she was ashamed of their relationship and of the terrible choices she had made.
He greeted them both, sitting down between them at the head of the table. Lizzie managed a smile and then quickly avoided his eyes as servants began serving them supper. Georgie remained ashen, and she knew that she looked as anguished. She felt Tyrell staring at her and then glancing at her sister in confusion and growing concern.
A rack of lamb was served with small roasted potatoes and green beans. Lizzie had no appetite. She reached for her wineglass, saw how badly her hand was shaking and instantly retreated. She quickly stole a glance at Tyrell. He was staring at her with narrowed eyes in simple suspicion. She flashed him a hugely insincere smile and picked up her knife and fork.
“What is going on here?” he asked in the leaden silence.
Lizzie laid her utensils down. “I have a migraine, my lord,” she whispered in a pathetic lie.
Suddenly Georgie jumped to her feet. “My lord, Lizzie needs to lie down! Please excuse us!” She smiled brightly at him while rushing around the table to help Lizzie up. Tyrell stared and Lizzie restrained Georgie for a moment. Somehow she met his eyes. “I am merely ill,” she whispered. “Would you mind terribly if I lie down and my sister attended me?”
Staring far too closely at her, he shook his head. “Of course not. Should I send for a physician?”
Lizzie shrugged, no longer capable of speech. Georgie led her from the room. They did not speak until they had reached the master suite. “Shall I send for wine?” Georgie asked.
Lizzie sank onto the sofa before the fireplace. “Georgie, what have I done?”
Georgie sat beside her. “I don’t know. But you have been so happy, Lizzie.”
“Mama has no friends! No one calls—there are no invitations! She will surely die!”
“It is a myth,” Georgie said firmly. “No one dies of a broken heart.”
Lizzie looked at her. “What should I do?” she asked in anguish. “I have destroyed my family’s name. I have destroyed my family! Is that not selfish? Is that not reprehensible? Is that not despicable?”
Georgie spoke in a whisper. “Lizzie, you cannot be thinking of leaving him!”
Lizzie started to cry. How could she leave Tyrell when she loved him so? How could she stay and put more nails in the coffin of her family’s ruin? And what about his marriage to Lady Blanche? Before she had left Adare, she had heard rumors of an autumn wedding. And there was Ned, who deserved his father in his life.
Nothing was right—except for the genuine love she felt for a man she should not be with.
Then Lizzie decided that was wrong, too. She should not yearn for a man who belonged to someone else.
Tyrell walked into the room. “Miss Fitzgerald, I should like to speak with Elizabeth alone,” he said to Georgie. It was not a request.
But Georgie sto
od, facing him, her shoulders squared. “My lord, my sister is not well. Can this not wait until the morrow?”
“No, it cannot,” he said flatly.
Georgie did not move.
Lizzie looked up, wiping her eyes with her fingertips. “Georgie, it’s all right.”
Georgie hesitated. “Liz, if you need me, send for me.”
“I promise,” Lizzie said with the barest of smiles.
Georgie managed to give Tyrell a warning look, which he ignored, and she left the room.
Tyrell faced her, staring down at her. “You appear as if someone has died.”
Lizzie shook her head.
“Your father was here today,” Tyrell said. “What did he say to so greatly upset you?”
Lizzie was shocked that he knew about Papa’s visit.
“Elizabeth, I only had to ask if something had happened. You had but one visitor—Smythe instantly informed me of the fact. What did he say to so upset you?”
Lizzie looked at her lap. “I love Papa so,” she whispered.
He waited.
“He knows. He knows I am your mistress. They are in disgrace. Ostracized. Heartbroken. I am shameless, Tyrell,” she cried. “And so terribly selfish!”
He knelt before her, taking her hands in his. “No! I forced you into this. If anyone is to blame, it is I!”
“I have ruined them,” she whispered, trying not to cry. She wanted to lean into him and have him pull her into his arms; she wanted to pull away and run from him now, while she still could—if she still could.
He cupped her cheek. “I will make amends. I will have them invited to every function at Adare. I will extend the protection that I have given to you to them. Darling, don’t cry!”
“You could do that?” And there was, finally, the smallest glimmering of hope.
