Countess of Scandal

by Laurel McKee

  Eliza made him feel alive, as nothing ever had. Made the colors and light of the world brighter and more intense, made him feel things as he never had before. It was as if he were frozen, until she touched him again, and then winter blazed into burning summer.

  The doors to the courtyard opened on a blast of cold wind, and a laughing group hurried in, wrapped in their cloaks and scarves. One of them was Eliza.

  She did not yet see him as she swirled off her cloak to reveal a gleaming gown of white satin and black velvet with the sparkle of diamonds. She shimmered like a goddess of light, a beacon luring him along a dark, stormy shore. Whether to salvation or doom on the rocky shoals, he did not yet know.

  "I fear my plumes are entirely crushed," Anna cried. "Why must Queen Charlotte have her birthday in January when we all have to muffle up so tightly just to go out? It ruins our finery."

  "Oh, Anna," Eliza said, laughing. 'The queen can be blamed for many things, perhaps, but not for when she was born. At least there is no danger of being overheated in these drafty state apartments, yes?"

  Then she turned and saw him, her smile freezing on her lips. She curtsied slowly, her lashes sweeping down to cover any secrets in those dark eyes. "Major Denton. You have returned to Dublin, I see."

  "Indeed I have, Lady Mount Clare, Lady Anna," Will said. He moved closer to her, reaching out to take her hand and raise it to his lips. Her fingers trembled in the thin kid gloves.

  Ah-ha, he thought. She had missed him after all.

  "We missed you here in Dublin," Anna said, her gaze darting between them. "There has been a lack of fine dance partners, I fear."

  "Then perhaps you would both honor me with a dance this evening," he said.

  Eliza shook her head, smoothing the lace on her sleeve so she did not look at him. "I do not care to dance at these Castle affairs."

  Perhaps she was right, he had to admit, despite his disappointment. It would do neither of them any good to have their "friendship" gossiped of even more. She would gather more attention, and he would disgrace his family and the Army. "Then maybe Lady Anna would dance with me."

  "I am not so choosy as my sister as to where I dance, Major Denton, as long as I do dance," Anna said.

  "I look forward to it, then." Will bowed to them once more before leaving them for the now-crowded gathering. He was soon surrounded by fellow officers and acquaintances, yet in his mind he still saw Eliza.

  Eliza made her way through the gallery with her sister, their heeled shoes echoing on the cold floor of green Connemara marble. All the ladies' satin and silk gowns rustled like a forest of spring leaves, their laughter and chatter as loud as birds.

  She murmured replies to greetings, even laughed at Anna's wry comments, but she could think of only one thing—Will had returned. She would have to be very careful in carrying out her plans tonight with him there watching her.

  They emerged into the vast ballroom, which was lit by the blaze of Waterford crystal chandeliers set between the gilt-framed mirrors and the speckled marble pillars. High above, soaring above the musicians' gallery and the gilded moldings, the ceiling was elaborately painted in incongruous scenes of the coronation of George III and St Patrick introducing Christianity to Ireland.

  And below was a great courtly crush of satin, plumes, and pearls, velvet and diamonds, packed together to celebrate a faraway monarchy that cared little for this barbaric colony.

  "Now I know I shall lose my feathers utterly," Anna said, straightening her tiara.

  "Better that than your foot" Eliza said, snatching her toes away just before they could be crushed by an officer's pump. 'There are some chairs over there by the wall. Quick, Anna, let's claim them before someone else does!"

  They rushed toward the last two empty gilt chairs, diving into them just before two other disgruntled ladies.

  "Why ever do you keep coming to these things, Eliza?" Anna said breathlessly, fluffing at her skirts.

  "If you want to find a husband to please Mama," Eliza answered, "we must come to Dublin Castle."

  "I do not want to find a husband. Especially not one who comes here."

  "No? To be sure, there are seldom any Russian princes, but I fear you may have to lower your sights just a hair, my dear. What sort of husband would you like?" Eliza scanned the crowd, seeking out each red coat and moving along when she found it was not Will. He had certainly seemed healthy and whole, but she had to be sure.

  Lud, but she was a fool. He had merely been out on a marching drill. What would happen, how would she feel, when it came to a real battle?

  Anna seemed unaware of her sister's inner turmoil, fanning herself languidly. "A handsome husband, of course. A man of sensitivity and passion! Of poetry."

  "Mama would not like you marrying a poet"

  "He would not have to be an actual poet, I suppose. Merely have poetry in his soul. Be open to life and all its wondrous possibilities."

  Before Eliza could answer, Lord Lieutenant Camden and his wife made their entrance, a wide pathway cleared for them along the center of the ballroom. His henchmen and generals were in procession behind them as they took their places beneath the portraits of the king and queen, and the musicians launched into "God Save the King."

  Everyone rose to their feet, Eliza and Anna staying close to their hard-won chairs. When the song was mercifully done, the figures formed for the opening minuet, led by the Camdens.

  That was when Eliza saw the red coat that belonged to Will. Young Miss Hardwick was on his arm, smiling up at him and blushing prettily as he escorted her to their place in the dance. General Hardwick and his wife looked on with approving smiles.

  Eliza froze as she watched them, the whole crowded, glittering room fading to a blur around Will and his dance partner. They were crystalline bright, illuminating one startling realization—what a terrible romantic fool she was.

  "How insipid Miss Hardwick looks," Anna said. "How horrid for Will that he must do his duty and dance with her."

  Eliza glanced at her sister, to find Anna frowning as if concerned She gave her a reassuring smile. "I am sure it cannot be so irksome as all that Miss Hardwick is said to be quite the belle of Dublin."

  "Nonetheless, I am quite sure he would much rather be elsewhere. As I would." Anna vigorously wafted her fan through the miasma of candle smoke and perfume. "I thought the birthday ball would be merry and fun."

  Eliza laughed, watching as the dancers processed through the last patterns of the stately music. She feared Miss Hardwick did not look "insipid" at all. She looked young and pretty and innocent, while Eliza herself felt a hundred years old with all the tensions of the past months. Had Dublin ever been fun?

  And this was not the night it would start, either. She had her errand to perform and could not be distracted by Will and his pretty dance partners. She had no right to be jealous of anything he did at all.

  Anna was claimed for the next dance, leaving Eliza alone. She abandoned her preciously won chair, making her slow way out of the jammed ballroom and back to the gallery.

  The marble floors and walls and the tall windows made the space cold, but a few people still strolled there for a breath of air or a quiet word. Eliza went to one of the windows, peering out at the courtyard and the grim tower of

  That forbidding place was dark tonight, no screams of terror echoing. But in the distance, somewhere near the river, a few sparks like stars flew up into the black sky.

  "Damned United Irish bonfires," a man across the gallery said, his stern voice echoing on the stone. "They light them out by the river, and if you happen to pass them, they seize you and make you sing French songs—or they slit your throat"

  "Dreadful," his companion answered, her tone quavering. "Can't the patrols stop them?"

  "By the time they get there, the villains have vanished. My sister sees the sparks and is convinced we'll all be dead before morning. The Lord Lieutenant is a bloody useless fool, I say!"

  Eliza spun around and hurried back towa
rd the doors leading to the ballroom, as if to rejoin the dance. But she veered away at the last moment, turning instead toward a narrow staircase at the end of the corridor.

  Slowly, the hum of the crowd faded behind her, and the shadows grew thicker and darker. This was not one of the grand public corridors, designed to awe and amaze visitors with the grandeur of Anglo Ireland. It was utilitarian, serviceable, and cold, a way to move quickly from one place to another behind the scenes.

  Even with its quiet isolation, though, she had to hurry. Guards surely patrolled everywhere in the Castle, and Anna would notice if she did not return soon.

  Holding her heavy skirts close, Eliza dashed along the carpeted corridor. She listened carefully for any sound, any footfall or cough, but she heard only the excited rush of her own breath.

  Hurry, hurry, she thought At the end of the hall was the door she sought, locked and guarded. But at least mere was only one guard, a young man who looked terribly bored as he leaned back against the wall.

  Eliza pressed her hand to the nervous flutter in her stomach, thinking quickly. How could she get him away from the door just long enough to carry out her task and be on her way?

  "Excuse me!" she called, rushing forward to the door-way. The guard immediately stood up straight, his eyes brightening with interest

  "I am terribly sorry," she said, "but there seems to be some sort of trouble in the kitchens. An intruder, I think." She had no need to feign breathless urgency, for she felt it all too keenly. "I happened to be nearby, so I was sent to ask if you could come right away and assist"

  "Oh yes, ma'am, at once!" He was so eager to be away from his dull duty that he did not even ask why a lady would be sent with such a message. The kitchens were at a far distance; she would be finished and gone before he came back.

  He ran off down the corridor, leaving Eliza alone in the silence. As soon as he was gone, she drew one of the long, pointed hairpins from her coiffure, kneeling down to slide it into the keyhole. Learning to pick locks was just one of the useful things she had learned from the United Irishmen. She jiggled it around carefully until she fit it in below the mechanism and twisted upward. One of the plumes dropped down over her eye, its black feathery bits tearing.

  "Damn all fashion!" she muttered, shoving it back. "Such a nuisance."

  At last the lock gave way, and she ducked into the room, shutting the door carefully behind her. The one window let in the torchlight from the courtyard below, illuminating a small office.

  The Lord Lieutenant had his grand office below, where he received guests amid marble and mahogany splendor. This private office was very far from that a space set with a simple desk, straight-backed wooden chairs, and bookshelves lined with documents. But glitter certainly wasn't what was important

  The papers were neatly stacked on the desk, just where the United Irish agent said they would be.

  Not daring even to breathe, Eliza sifted through them, her jeweled bracelets flashing in the torchlight Copies of letters from Lord Lieutenant Camden to Prime Minister Pitt begging for more men and more guns. Replies from Pitt—he did not seem so concerned about the situation yet That was good. They were not about to be overrun with yet more soldiers fresh from England.

  But Eliza knew that good fortune would not hold for long.

  She hastily studied the maps and the orders to move regiments, memorizing the scraps of information. It was quite useful to know where the enemy thought trouble would be—and then give it to them where they least expected it She would send the information to the United generals tomorrow so they could move their men accordingly.

  As she moved onto another stack of papers, she heard a noise out in the corridor. A mere footstep, just a whisper over the carpet, but her mouth turned dry. Her pulse beat hard, warning of danger. Had she overstayed her time, even when trying to be so very quick?

  She fell to her knees, heedless of the fine satin skirt, and slid under the shelter of the desk. She huddled there, watching through the tiny gap below the edge of the desk as the door opened and a pair of polished shoes appeared. They moved across the floor with steady, measured, silent steps. In the tense quiet she could hear a man's soft breath.

  She pressed her hand hard to her mouth to keep from making any sound at all.

  Suddenly, in a heart-poundingly swift move, he knelt on the other side of the desk. His hand shot under the gap, holding a tiny shred of black plume that had fallen from her headdress in the corridor.

  "You can come out, Eliza," Will said tonelessly.

  Eliza fell forward onto her hands, her breath rushing out of her lungs. In relief, or even greater terror? She wasn't at all sure.

  "No, I don't think so," she answered.

  "You prefer to stay concealed under there, then?" he said. "Very well, I will join you."

  Before she could even move an inch, he swung over the desk, crawling into her hiding place. He blocked her exit and most of the light, his shoulders wide as he reached up to brace his hands on the wooden ledge.

  "What the devil are you doing, Eliza?" he demanded. 'Trying to get yourself arrested right in front of your sister and half of Dublin?"

  Eliza tilted back her chin. "I thought this was the ladies' necessary," she said. "I was mistaken."

  "Oh, I don't think you were mistaken at all," he said tightly. "You knew exactly what you were doing. How did you know this office was here?"

  "I didn't—that is, I was not entirely certain."

  "But now you are?" He reached out, grabbing her wrists to drag her near. "Eliza, what did you find? Tell me now!"

  "I didn't have time to find anything at all," she managed to gasp. His arms came around her like steel bands, so tight she could hardly breathe. "You came in here too soon, damn you."

  "Eliza, I swear ..." Suddenly there was another sound from the corridor outside. Footsteps, louder than Will's stealthy progress had been, voices, and laughter. Will's head went up, his eyes narrowed like a forest cat sensing danger.

  "Who is it?" Eliza whispered. Someone he had alerted? Someone he was in league with? That did not seem to be the case, though, for his jaw tightened in surprised anger.

  "Shh," he answered "Perhaps they will just pass by."

  But they did not The footsteps stopped outside the door, and there was the metallic scrape of a key. It seemed Will had had the foresight to lock the door behind him.

  Eliza curled her fists into his uniform coat, holding on as if to keep from drowning. She had a flashing thought of Anna, dancing innocently below, of her family. The great scandal of her arrest

  The information that would never get where it needed to go.

  "... this way, Lord Averley," a man said. "The maps are here. It should take only a moment to look at the planned route."

  "Excellent Lady Averley will be most unhappy if I don't dance with her at least once this evening."

  "Lord Camden is most eager to hear your opinion," the first man said. Their voices were louder now, thunderous in Eliza's ears, and they were almost to the desk. There was no way she could stay concealed there, because the space was too small

  She would go down for certain, and Will with her.

  But then Will seized her by the waist "Don't fight me," he whispered against her ear.

  "What. . ." Her gasp was drowned out by his mouth crashing down on hers, hard and hot He laid her down flat on her back, covering her body with his. They were tucked under the desk, her skirts spread around them in concealing white billows.

  Despite the great danger—or perhaps because of it—Eliza felt something hot and desperate bubble up inside of her at his kiss. Something she could not push away or deny. She clutched at his shoulders, arching up against him, holding tightly to keep from falling into the darkness.

  "Well," she heard the man say, a murmur that seemed to come from very far away. "Perhaps we should return in just a moment, Lord Averley. We do so hate to... interrupt a private moment"

  Eliza glanced past Will's shoulder in time
to catch a glimpse of two smirking men turning away—and her slippered foot sticking out from the desk, giving away their hiding place.

  They hastily departed the room, the door clicking shut behind them. Will sat up, pulling her with him as he crawled out from the shelter of the desk and rose to his feet

  "You should get into trouble more often," he muttered, sounding almost as dazed as she felt

  "I can probably oblige you on that score," she said, shaking out her skirts and smoothing her hair. That telltale feather drooped again.

  "That is what I'm afraid of. And I won't be here to rescue you next time."

  "I've been rescuing myself for a long time now!" she said indignantly, suddenly embarrassed to remember exactly how much in need of rescue she just was.

  "And doing a marvelous job of it, I see." Will tugged his coat into place.

  She opened her mouth to argue again, but he pressed his fingertips to her lips. "We have to go now. They'll be back at any moment"

  "Do you think they know who we are?" she whispered.

  "Me, probably. I will surely be reprimanded for it in the morning. But I think you were, shall we say, concealed. And every lady here tonight is wearing white."

  Concealed beneath his body, he meant "Surely this is not the first time a tryst was interrupted at a dull Castle reception."

  A tiny, reluctant smile touched his lips, but it vanished into a stern frown. "Nor will it be the last Come, we need to return to the ball before we're missed. I promised to dance with your sister."

  Eliza nodded. She had the troop plans anyway, and much more besides.

  Will suddenly dragged her close to him again, whispering in her ear in a hard, unyielding voice. "This is not finished, Eliza. You will tell me what you were after here."

  She stared up at him, at the determined gleam in his eyes and the hard, shadowed angles of his face that matched his tone. And she thought of the sparks from the bonfire and of Will's own words. We are all Irish. An idea formed deep in her mind, with the potential to be even more dangerous than breaking into the office.