Countess of Scandal

by Laurel McKee

  "Eliza," he whispered. "Why did you take me there tonight?"

  Something in his voice made her pleasant lassitude vanish, like clouds sliding away in a dark sky. Her hand stilled on his arm.

  "What do you mean?" she said. "You used to enjoy such gatherings in Kildare, the music and the dancing. And especially the ale. Have you left behind us common Irish already?"

  "Eliza, how common can a countess be?" Gently but inexorably, he turned her in his arms to race him. A bar of moonlight fell across him, turning his tangled hair to gilt His expression was not angry or violent, but it was quite solemn and implacable. "And this was not a gathering of friends on a country estate, as you well know. Did you know your friend Fitzgerald would be there?"

  "Of course I did not" Eliza sat up, drawing the sheet around her. He, too, sat up, leaning against the carved headboard, his arms crossed over his bare chest.

  "I did not know Edward would be there," she repeated. "He is meant to be in hiding, of course, but he sometimes takes ill-considered risks."

  "He is not the only one," Will muttered.

  No, he was certainly not, she thought sadly. It had been foolish of her to break into the office, not realizing he was following her. It had been foolish of her to take Will to the ceilidh, no matter what her hopes or memories were. Such gatherings were always peaceful, a time to dance and sing—and remember what they truly fought for.

  But Will was not just her Will now; he was Major Denton. And she was fortunate he had not turned in Edward on the spot, and her with him.

  "I suppose he is not the only one to take risks," she said. "I should not have put you in such a position, disguised or not And I am sure General Hardwick and his daughter do not care for you associating with me at all."

  Will frowned. "What have the Hardwicks to do with anything?"

  "They are your friends. I swear to you, Will, I did not want to get either of us into trouble tonight I just..."

  "You just what?"

  Eliza sighed, leaning back on the bed so she did not have to look at him. "I thought about what you said, about how we are all Irish. Once, it seemed you loved this country as I do. I just wanted you to remember."

  "Oh, Eliza, I do remember." He reached down and took her hand, holding it closely, their fingers interlaced. "All those years so far away, I longed for home. For the green, cool wildness of it all. It's a part of me, just as it is of you."

  "Then how can you stay in the army? How can you bear to be a part of all that oppresses us, if this is your home? If you love Ireland?" she asked, aching with sadness and confusion. He held her hand, yet it seemed he was even farther away from her than when he had been in the West Indies.

  "You have not changed, my dear," he said, his voice heavy with a sadness of his own. "You were always so full of dreams of perfection, of idealism. Of a complete sense of right and wrong and who you are."

  "Not with everything," she said. She obviously had no sense of right and wrong when it came to him. "But for too long, Ireland has been in chains. And they tighten every day.''

  She climbed out of bed, snatching up her dressing gown from a chair and wrapping it around herself. The velvet and swansdown were not much of an armor, but it would have to serve. Will sat up in bed, watching her warily.

  Eliza took up a book from the stack on the mantel. "Paine says, 'All men are born equal and with equal rights.' That surely also means 'equal political rights,' the right to elect an assembly to write a constitution and then govern by it, as the Americans do. Free of the English taking advantage of our resources, burning up our country and leaving us with the dregs."

  She stared down at the volume in her hands, the worn leather binding soft. "The Penal Laws, the embargo on exportation, the unjust imprisonments. Absentee landlords who ruin their land and people out of greed—it has gone on too long. Ireland must be free to find her own destiny."

  The gold lettering on that cover blurred, and she found to her chagrin that she was crying. That got her nowhere. She had been strong for so long; she had to be so now. Too much was at stake.

  Will followed her out of the bed, twisting the sheet around his waist Slowly, gently, he took the book from her hands. "I, too, have read Paine. His ideas are beautiful simplicity, I admit, and America is enviable in what they have accomplished. There are injustices from Westminster and the Castle; I cannot deny it But violence will not gain what you want"

  Eliza impatiently wiped at her cheeks. "I do not advocate violence!"

  "Then you agree that to work from within the political system to effect reform is better? Is indeed the only way to bring about change, as your family's Whig friends declare?"

  "Only a very small proportion of the Irish are even allowed in Parliament," she protested. "And they are all Ascendancy, Protestant aristocracy. Their interests are served by kowtowing to Westminster, in blocking any expansion of political power. Only a complete change will set Ireland free."

  Suddenly deeply weary, her head aching, Eliza sat down, rubbing at her temples. Will knelt beside her, his hands braced on her knees as he gazed up at her steadily, sympathetically. How very calm he was—damn him!

  "Complete change of the sort your friend Fitzgerald advocates would come at a very high price," he said. "Indeed, it already has in the north. Murder, burnings, looting—on both sides."

  "Once Dublin Castle is emptied and there is a National Convention, a republic—"

  "And how can that be without violence? Without the suffering of innocent people—people like Anna and Caroline."

  "Oh no." Eliza shook her head, trying to snatch her hands away from him. But he held fast. "You cannot involve my sisters."

  "But they are involved. We all are, if it comes to rebellion and civil war. I have seen battle, Eliza my dear. The blood and pain, the terrible suffering. It never leaves me, and I would do anything—anything—to save you from those horrors."

  Eliza feared she would cry again, weep at the hidden passion in his words. At what he must have suffered, her beautiful, darling Will.

  "It will not be that way," she whispered. "Not here."

  "It is always that way—especially here," he said. 'Ireland has long been watered with blood and suffering. I could not bear it if even a drop of that blood was yours "

  Eliza bent her head to kiss the rumpled silk of his hair, inhaling deeply of his scent, his essence. Trying to memorize everything about him, about this moment. The blood spilled would more likely be his. Warfare was his profession, and he was determined to do his duty.

  And she could not bear that. Could not bear to think of his bright glow extinguished.

  * He turned his face up to hers, capturing her lips with his. Their kiss was'tender but tinged with desperation and longing. With the terrible knowledge of time and love slipping away.

  Will threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her to him as their tongues twined and tasted. He rose up on his knees, leaning into her as if they could become one in truth, could absorb into each other and never be apart

  His kiss slid from her lips and along her arched throat as he parted her dressing gown. The tip of his tongue tasted the soft curve of her breast, flicking over her nipple as she gasped. Her eyes closed, her body falling back in the chair, but he showed no mercy. He pressed his open mouth to her abdomen, to the cluster of pale freckles on her hip.

  Then he slid the velvet cloth back from her legs, parting her thighs wider as his finger slid inside of her.

  Eliza closed her eyes, every sense focused on that one delicious spot, on his touch. He gently parted her wet, petal-like folds, and she felt the slide of his tongue, tasting her very essence. Teasing her.

  "Will!" she cried, clasping his hair to push him away—or to pull him closer.

  It seemed even more intimate than their sex had been, his mouth on her, tasting, savoring, giving such wondrous pleasure she could hardly bear it She had never let anyone do that before, and now she knew why—it bound them together in trust. It was overwhe
lming.

  Her head arched against the cushions of the chair as her release swept over her, wave upon wave of pure, hot pleasure.

  He kissed the soft skin of her inner thigh, the sensitive little spot just behind her knee. His hand slid down her leg to her foot, until he could press its arch to his bare chest, staring up at her in a silence that thundered louder than any words.

  He pressed his lips to her ankle before letting her go, collapsing back to the floor with his arm over his face. Eliza sank down beside him, drawing him against her as he rested his head on her shoulder. She listened to the rush of his breath, the beat of his heart. He was alive; they were alive, and together. It was perfection.

  But when she closed her eyes, feeling his hot skin under her touch, she saw blood. Rivers of it, drowning them both in its suffocating tides.

  Chapter 11

  The foyer of the Henrietta Street house had surely never seen such chaos, Eliza thought Trunks and bandboxes were stacked high, an impenetrable mountain range traversed by hurrying servants striving to carry them all out the door. Outside in the street waited the baggage cart and the carriage to take Anna back to Killinan.

  Eliza tried to keep herself busy counting the trunks, tried not to think of how big and echoing the house would be when her sister was gone. She would be alone then, with her fears and hopes and worries. With thoughts of Anna came clattering down the stairs, tying the ribbons of her cloak over her wool traveling dress. She held a packet of books in the crook of her arm, and her maid followed with the locked box containing Mama's precious tiara.

  "Do you have everything, sister?" Eliza asked. "All your new purchases?"

  Anna laughed, gesturing to the heaps of trunks. "If I forgot anything, I doubt I shall miss it for days! It will take a fortnight to unpack. But I have Mama's and Caro's gifts in this case here; that's the important thing."

  Eliza kissed her cheek, holding her close. Anna hugged her back, and Eliza remembered Will's words. Innocents would suffer. But not her sisters, never that Eliza would . protect them with her own life if need be.

  "I have loved having you here with me, Anna," she said. . "Even when I was a nuisance at the gaming tables?"

  "Even then."

  "Well, I have loved being here. We see too little of you at home, sister, and we miss you."

  "That will change soon. I promise." Eliza kissed Anna once more and .let her go. "Remember what I said—take care of Mama and Caro."

  "I will, always. But what of you, Eliza?"

  "I will take care of myself."

  "I know you will, but you don't have to. Come back to Killinan with me, please "

  Eliza laughed. "There would be no room for me, with all these trunks! I will come in a few weeks, when the Season is over."

  Anna's pale blue eyes narrowed. "Because you love the social whirl so very much?" she said doubtfully.

  "Something like that."

  "Of course." Anna smoothed on her gloves and straightened her hat "Say good-bye to Will Denton for me. It was lovely to see him again." And then she was gone.

  Eliza stood at the window, watching until Anna turned the corner and mere was only the usual morning bustle on the street Then she went back upstairs to her chamber, locking the door securely behind her before going to her desk. There was much work to be done here, indeed, but not on the "social whirl."

  She had a task to finish before she could beat any kind of retreat to Killinan.

  Anna leaned back on the carriage seat, gazing out the window as the miles bounced by. The grand, wide, pale streets of Dublin had given way to the sooty outskirts and then to open countryside.

  Rolling hills, yellow-green under the gray winter sky, seemed to flow on forever, broken up by low black stone walls snaking their way up the slopes. Stands of silvery-pale ash trees and ornate iron gates hinted of homes hidden somewhere beyond those never-ending fields.

  Despite the cold, a few hardy cows grazed, almost the only signs of life for miles. She saw no people at all.

  It made her think of Dublin late at night, the streets empty and windows darkened. The sounds of patrols in the distance and the echo of that hateful "Croppies Lie Down" song. The fear had been palpable, an acrid odor on the air.

  And all her dancing, champagne drinking, and card-playing had not been enough to erase the foreboding, to keep away the rumors of unrest, murder, rape.

  She turned to the book lying open on her lap, a Gothic romance of haunted castles and a dark, tormented man, the innocent maiden caught under his terrible spell. How she loved such tales! Loved their images of an enchanted world full of danger and romance. They often kept her awake at night, turning their pages in a feverish haste and then lying awake in the dark imagining all sorts of terrors. Those tales did not seem so wondrous now, with true dangers lurking around every corner.

  She shut the book with a snap, tucking it away in her valise. If such dangers came, how would she react? With tears and shrieks and swooning, like those fictional maidens? With courage and fortitude like Eliza?

  She feared it would be the former.

  Suddenly, the carriage felt so small, so confining, the tufted leather walls closing around her. She lowered the window and called out, "Can we stop for a moment, John? I wish to walk a bit"

  Her maid, Rose, peered nervously outside. "Oh, my lady, 'tis perishing cold outside! And no one is about at all."

  'It's only for a moment, Rose. I need some fresh air. You can stay here, if you like."

  One of the footmen helped her to alight, and she hurried along the edge of the road, back in the direction they came. The wind was cold against her face, shocking her out of her nebulous forebodings.

  Perhaps Mama was right, she thought Perhaps novels were a danger, and she should read more history and philosophy. like Caroline, who never seemed to worry about anything in her calm, scholarly serenity.

  Anna dashed along a pathway leading away from the road, through a stile in a rough stone wall The path twined up a wooded hillside, and from its flat summit she would be able to see for miles.

  She took off her hat, letting the wind ruffle her blond hair. There were endless fields, endless expanses of pale green dotted with those dark cows and a few whitewashed cottages. The solid gray hulk of a great house loomed in the distance. It all seemed so quiet, so still, like a painting.

  Anna shielded her eyes from the milky light, gazing farther down the road that eventually led to Killinan. At the crossroads was what appeared to be a scaffold, with the dreaded wooden triangle used for flogging suspected United Irishmen. Blessedly, it was empty today, but she still shivered at the sight of it

  "And what do you do here, miss?" a man's deep voice suddenly said, almost making her jump out of her skin.

  She spun around to find him standing behind her, just at the edge of the hill's crest A horse pawed the ground at the foot of the hill, but she had been too preoccupied with the scenery and her own worries to even notice his approach. If the rebellion and civil war did come, she would certainly be completely useless.

  Anna sucked in a deep breath, steadying herself as she studied the man before her. And what a man he was, like a character in one of her novels—the mysterious, dangerous antihero lurking in a storm-swept castle. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and well muscled under his brown wool riding coat and doeskin breeches. Black hair fell in unruly waves over his brow, his craggy face shadowed by a growth of dark whiskers. Green eyes, so pale they seemed almost silver, burned as they glared at her.

  What right did he have to glare at her? He was the one who crept up on her. Anna stiffened her shoulders, glaring right back. Perhaps if she acted like she was not afraid, she could forget that cold pit of terror in her stomach at the sight of him.

  "I was traveling through and wanted a breath of air," she said, with far more bravado than she felt Her pride would not let her do what she really wanted—to run back down the hill and throw herself into the carriage, far away from those angry green eyes.

&n
bsp; "Well, you are breathing the air on my property," he said. His voice was deep and rough but touched with the lilt of an Irish accent

  "I saw no sign or locked gate," she said. "And even if it is your property, as you say, I am doing no harm."

  "You shouldn't be wandering around the countryside on your own, girl," he said. "'Tis foolish in these days. You never know what villains may be lurking in wait"

  If there were any villains lurking, it was surely him, Anna thought with a shiver. He seemed so perfect in the part that he might have been cast from the Crow Street Theater! Dark, powerful, brooding...

  And handsome, too, she saw in surprise as the wind tossed his hair back from his face. Not conventionally handsome, as her sister's golden Will was, but compelling nonetheless. A dark Donn, the Celtic lord of death.

  He was quite right—she should not be wandering about alone. Not with men around who made her feel like this. She was terrified, excited, exhilarated, all at once.

  "Who are you, sir?" she said, trying for something of her mother's unshakeable dignity. Lady Killinan's haughtiness always kept the world at bay.

  Obviously, it did not work, for he smiled at her in a sudden flash of infuriating amusement. She saw he was not just handsome—he was gorgeous. Alluring, enticing, masculine, in a way all her yapping, puppyish Dublin suitors could not even approach.

  Anna struggled to hold on to that flimsy, false dignity, even as she could not quite breathe.

  "Who am I?" he said lazily, taking a slow, loose-limbed step toward her. 'That's hardly important, miss. The question is, who are you? And why haven't I seen you before?"

  "I... I hardly think we have any mutual friends, sir," she managed to say. Confused, she turned to run down the hill, away from this strange man and the spell he seemed to cast around her.

  But he was a magic being, for he was beside her in a silent flash of movement, grasping her wrist in his hard, ungloved hand. It did not hurt; indeed, he seemed to exert no effort at all, yet she could not escape him. His heat and power surrounded her, burning away the winter day. Anna shuddered.