by Brenda Joyce
Lizzie’s blood ran hot although she was chilled with fear. She ran over to the cradle to check on Ned, but he was soundly asleep.
Georgie rushed into the room. “Lizzie! He is here! He has called—with that buffoon—and you had better come downstairs.” Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed.
Lizzie was too shocked to take Georgie to task for calling Rory such an unkind name. “I can’t,” she began. “You must tell him I am ill.” Yet she was on the verge of throwing all caution aside and racing downstairs, anyway.
Georgie seized her wrist. “I will do no such thing. You may tell him you are ill, if you wish to be such a fool! Isn’t this what you have wanted your entire life?”
“But there is Ned,” she cried.
“Yes, there is Ned—and there is also this amazing opportunity! Go downstairs, Lizzie! You are hardly jumping back into his bed! See what he wants!” Georgie cried.
His presence was already compelling her, and a fever ran in her veins. She wet her lips and went past Georgie, who followed her from the room.
Tyrell stood with his back to the door, staring into the gardens. Rory paced with uncharacteristic impatience and Mr. Harold sat in a chair, his huge girth spilling over his pantaloons. Lizzie had forgotten that he was still there and she cast a confused glance at Georgie. Her sister’s cheeks remained bright and she gave Lizzie a helpless look. With dismay, Lizzie realized at once that Mr. Harold had not broken off the engagement.
“Lizzie.” Rory smiled warmly. He bowed. “I’m afraid we could not wait a week. We decided to take our chances that we would not be barred entry on your mother’s account.” His glance slipped to Georgie, who stood beside Lizzie, ramrod straight.
Lizzie curtsied, her gaze already on Tyrell. He turned and her heart skipped wildly as their glances met. There was a heated and frank look in his eyes before he casually bowed. Georgie was right. His interest had not waned.
It was incredible.
She forgot about Ned.
Peter Harold heaved himself upright from the chair. “Now, why would you and his lordship be barred from Raven Hall?” He walked over to Georgie and took her arm, looping it in his.
Lizzie realized Rory had been staring at her sister. Now his glance slid away. Georgie’s cheeks were crimson. Harold patted her hand. “Well?”
“Mama has been ill,” Georgie said as if numb. “But we bar no one from Raven Hall.”
“Of course you don’t,” he said soothingly.
“My felicitations,” Rory said, and his regard locked with Georgie’s. “When is the happy date?”
Georgie’s head was high. “We have yet to set a date.”
“Soon,” Peter Harold beamed, “as I grow tired of waiting to take the new missus home.”
Georgie somehow disengaged herself from her fiancé. Harold stepped closer to Rory. “Am I not a lucky man? She will be the mother of my sons!”
Rory inclined his head. “Yes, you are a very fortunate man. Again, I offer my most sincere congratulations.”
Lizzie felt Tyrell watching her as if she were a mouse he wished to pounce upon—or a trollop he wished to toss into his bed. He had yet to speak. Between Georgie’s misery, the odd tension she had witnessed in Rory and Tyrell’s intent regard, Lizzie was acutely uncomfortable.
Rory faced her. “How is your mother?”
“Better,” Lizzie managed to say.
Tyrell now moved forward. “We have a fine physician at Adare. I will send him to attend Mrs. Fitzgerald.”
“That is hardly necessary,” Lizzie began.
“Let us stroll in the gardens.” He cut her off, and it was hardly a request.
He wished to walk with her outside, alone. Before she could agree or decline, however, he took her arm, placing it firmly in his.
“There is nothing like a stroll in a fine Irish mist,” he murmured.
Lizzie could not speak, not when his strong grip caused her soft body to be pressed against his powerful, muscular one. She somehow nodded and Tyrell led her from the room.
They stepped outside. It was cool and she wore nothing but her short-sleeved cotton gown; still, she was hot. He briefly glanced at her, speculation in his remarkable eyes, as he led her away to the gardens that wound around the back of the house. There, both a gazebo and a pond sat.
Suddenly Lizzie imagined Tyrell reaching for her. He grasped her and claimed her mouth in a heated kiss and she clung to his broad shoulders….
Tyrell halted abruptly. The sudden stop disrupted her fantasy but not the pounding of her blood. Lizzie prayed that she might control her licentious thoughts, before he might guess at them. He faced her now, his gaze intent on her face. Lizzie had to fight to speak. “What do you seek of me, my lord?”
His mouth twisted. “You know what I seek.”
His eyes were so hot that there was no mistaking his words. Before Lizzie could respond, he smiled at her, very slightly, and then pulled her into his arms.
Lizzie was stunned. He crushed her against his chest, his mouth on hers, firm and demanding capitulation. And Lizzie surrendered absolutely. Her lips parted on a sigh and his tongue entered her mouth instantly. Lizzie felt as if she might die if he did not do more than kiss her. She somehow realized that she had never accurately dreamed of his kisses, his strength.
She clung, daring to meet his thrusting tongue with her own. His entire body had somehow covered hers, her back pressed against a tree. His thigh had wedged itself between her legs and the heated friction there threatened to make her insane with the wanting. Faint with desire, Lizzie began to writhe and moan.
His manhood, stiffly aroused, stabbed against her hip.
Lizzie turned helplessly in that direction, her excitement escalating into an upward spiral, hunger and need mingling. She was ready to beg for a single touch, a single caress, there between her thighs, beneath her clothes, certain that might alleviate the tortured aching of her flesh. He made a sound, harsh and understanding, tearing his mouth from hers. Lizzie’s eyes flew open and their gazes met.
His eyes had turned to smoke.
“Please,” she gasped.
He caught her face with both hands, kissing her again. And as he kissed her he said, “I have waited almost two years for this.”
Lizzie barely heard him. She was a moment away from her release. “Let’s go to the gazebo,” she begged breathlessly.
He stiffened in surprise.
She realized what she had suggested and her eyes flew wide.
Some sanity returned. She was making love to Tyrell de Warenne in the garden behind the house, where anyone might see.
And Ned was in the house.
Still holding her, her back still against the tree, his hard thigh still between her own softer ones, his gaze returned to hers. “I will make you my mistress,” he said.
There was a delayed reaction. But a moment after he spoke, she realized what he had said.
“You will lack for nothing. If it is riches you want, then you shall have them. Your every desire will be met, Elizabeth,” he said flatly.
Comprehension began. He wanted her to be his mistress—Tyrell de Warenne was asking her to be his mistress. Could this really be happening?
Lizzie was afraid she was in a torrid dream.
And he suddenly smiled, touching her lips with a fingertip. “I knew it would be this way,” he said roughly.
A child wailed.
Ned.
And even as she stared at Tyrell, whose smile was so infinitely seductive and assured, the fear began. She was not dreaming. She was in his arms and he had just asked her to be his mistress. Her body—and her heart—begged her to accept. In that brief moment, she wanted nothing more than to be his mistress. But she loved Ned more than she loved anything in this world. What if he suspected Ned was his own? How hard would it be to eventually discover the truth? Georgie had taken one single look at Ned and she had guessed.
Tyrell turned his back to her now, tugging on his breeches. Lizzie fel
t tears fill her eyes. She closed them hard, touching her cheeks, which continued to burn, and whispered, “I am afraid you have misunderstood, my lord.”
He whirled. “Misunderstood?”
“I cannot accept your proposal,” she said.
He stared in astonishment. “I have misunderstood nothing!”
She raised her chin and somehow met his furious gaze. “I cannot be your mistress,” she said firmly.
“Why the hell not?” he demanded, his eyes black and flashing. “I know you are no maiden. I have made a small investigation!”
“An investigation?” She was terrified, and her desire vanished.
“That’s right.” He towered over her. “You are an unwed mother. Your reputation is in shreds. You have nothing more to lose. I told you, I will give you anything you desire.” His eyes flashed again. “I will make sure your son lacks for nothing! Your family lives in gentle poverty, madam. I can change that! You have only to warm my bed!”
Her mind raced ahead, to a day when he realized Ned was his son. Already knowing that she was not the mother, already tired of her, she would be cast aside, dismissed, while Ned remained with him at Adare.
Lizzie shook her head. “I cannot.”
His gaze was wide with disbelief. “What game is this?” he demanded. “First you tease me to no end on All Hallow’s Eve, then you send a whore in your place! I still do not understand why. And now you refuse a small fortune, when you clearly want me as much as I want you.”
“This is no game,” Lizzie tried.
But he leaned over her now. “Be wary. Perhaps I will change my mind and then you shall be left with nothing at all.”
For one moment, Lizzie thought he was threatening to take Ned away from her. She shook her head, tears filling her eyes.
“I will be at Adare for another week, then I must return to Dublin. I expect to conclude our arrangement well before then. In fact, I expect you to join me in town,” he said harshly.
Lizzie was speechless now.
He bowed. “Good day.”
Lizzie watched him go, shaken to the core of her being. Fate had presented her with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity yet again. And now she must make a choice.
She wanted nothing more than to accept his shocking proposal, but she could not risk losing Ned. So in the end, there was no choice at all.
Hugging herself, her steps slow, Lizzie walked back to the house.
And in an upstairs bedroom, the draperies moved. Eleanor had also watched him go.
10
A Rock and a Hard Place
The entire family was seated in the dining room for supper. Eleanor stood. She held a wineglass, which she tapped with a spoon. All eyes turned her way. “I have something to say,” she announced.
Lizzie had been lost in her misery, incapable of thinking now about anything or anyone other than Tyrell and his shocking proposition. She had thought that she knew him well, but she had never realized how autocratic he could be. And why did he wish for her to be his mistress? Why not choose someone beautiful, seductive and experienced?
She glanced glumly at her aunt. She had not a clue as to what Eleanor wished to discuss, but maybe she would be distracted from the tangled web of lies which she herself had conceived.
“I must return to Merrion Square. I have matters to attend to at my home,” Eleanor said.
In that instant, Lizzie was aware of how attached she had become to her aunt and how much she had relied on her in the past year and a half. Selfishly, she did not want Eleanor to go. But Eleanor had sacrificed her own life for her and Ned and it was time for her to take care of herself again.
And then Eleanor looked directly at her. “I am sorry, Elizabeth, but this situation has gotten entirely out of hand,” she said gravely.
Lizzie tensed in alarm. What did Eleanor mean?
“Perhaps, one day, you will thank me for my audacity. Perhaps not. But I must do what I think is best for Ned, his father and even, I dare to hope, for you,” Eleanor said as if to Lizzie alone.
Lizzie shot to her feet, trembling. “Eleanor, no, please don’t!”
“I am sorry, child. But I must follow my conscience now.” She faced Mama and Papa. “Tyrell de Warenne is Ned’s father,” she said.
Mama gasped; Papa turned white.
“How could you betray me like this?” Lizzie demanded, beyond shock. “You made a promise to me!”
Eleanor seemed sad, terribly so. “I promised not to tell Tyrell that he is the father, and that I have not done. You knew, my dear, that eventually the truth would come out.”
“Oh, how you mock your vow now! And I knew no such thing! I will never forgive you for such treachery!” Lizzie cried, a vast anger beginning to rise. “I will never forgive you for this!” In that moment, she knew that her life would never again be the same. She was suddenly afraid.
Georgie touched her hand. “Lizzie, I also think that this is best.”
How could this be for the best? The secret was out, and sooner or later, Tyrell was going to discover that he was Ned’s father. When that day came, Lizzie was going to face her worst nightmare come true—Ned would be taken away from her. “How can you turn on me now, too!” Lizzie shrugged free.
Mama heaved herself to her feet. “This cannot be true. Is this a jest? A terrible and cruel jest?” she gasped.
“It is no jest, Lydia,” Eleanor said, sitting back down. Lizzie refused to look at her.
Mama gaped at Lizzie.
“You can’t, Mama. You cannot tell Tyrell! Don’t you understand? Once he discovers that Ned is his son, he will take him away!” Lizzie’s horror grew. She must convince Mama and Papa to remain silent on this subject. Lizzie could not even begin to imagine what would happen if she was ever brought forth with Ned. After all, Tyrell knew that they had never made love. If she was forced to confront him, she was going to have to reveal the fact that she was not Ned’s mother. Anna’s secret would be uncovered and she would be ruined.
But if she had the courage to insist that she was Ned’s mother, he would merely deny he was the father. Tyrell would take one look at her and laugh in scorn and disbelief.
Mama had faced Papa, excitement beginning to express itself on her face. “Papa! Can you believe this? Tyrell de Warenne is the father of Lizzie’s child!”
Papa was also standing. He remained stunned.
“Papa! Recover your wits!” Mama exclaimed in a rush. “The earl and countess are in residence—I heard Lord Harrington arrived today with his daughter and that the betrothal is to be announced at the week’s end at a ball. We must seek an interview immediately! Perhaps even tonight!”
Lizzie sank into her chair. Did she dare try to hold on to her claim of being Ned’s mother? Did she dare face Tyrell with such a claim? Didn’t Anna deserve her life, her happiness? Ned could be told the truth when he came of age, couldn’t he? She only vaguely felt Georgie clasping her shoulder, offering some small comfort. Lizzie could not imagine Ned being taken away from her now.
Papa said, “No, Mama, we will go to Adare tomorrow at noon. Have no fear. The earl will speak with me and his son shall do the right thing by our daughter.”
This was getting worse and worse by the moment! Lizzie leapt up. “You do not mean…?”
“Marriage,” Papa said fiercely. “I mean marriage, Lizzie. He got you with child and he will marry you now!”
Lizzie somehow shook her head, aghast at the mere concept of being paraded to Adare as the mother of Tyrell’s child. She desperately wanted to stop this carriage wreck before it ever began. “He will never condescend to marry me. You said yourself he is about to be engaged to an English heiress. There is no point in confronting Tyrell! He will never admit that Ned is his child,” Lizzie said. Then she added firmly, “He will deny it.”
“You are descended from Celtic kings,” Papa cried vehemently. He shook his fist. “Your ancestor, Gerald Fitzgerald, was the earl of Desmond—he ruled the entire southern half of Ireland in
his day!”
“And lost his head because of it,” Georgie muttered, but only Lizzie heard her.
“Your blood is far bluer than that of any de Warenne,” Papa shouted, his cheeks red. “They are not even Irishmen. You bring royalty to the de Warenne line!”
Lizzie had never seen her father so passionately moved and she could only stare at him. He clearly believed his words. Had he lost his mind? “He will never marry me,” Lizzie said in desperation. “Papa, you must listen to me! Tyrell will not admit that Ned is his son! There is no point in pressing him now. There is no point in telling him! We can raise Ned ourselves. Please, do not do this!”
“He will hardly deny his own son! Oh, no, he will marry you, Lizzie, or my name is not Fitzgerald,” Papa said fiercely.
Georgie quietly entered the bedroom. Lizzie knew it was her without looking up. She lay on her side in her bed, Ned asleep in her arms, tears staining her cheeks. She was mortified for the sake of her parents, she was afraid Ned’s future claims were in jeopardy…and she was also afraid of Tyrell.
He seemed to want her now, but his feelings would surely change when she was brought before him, claiming to be the mother of his child. She closed her eyes in more misery. When he denied her claim, her parents would think Tyrell the worst of unconscionable men, when she was the unconscionable one.
Georgie came to sit down on the bed’s foot. “Can we talk?” Georgie asked, clasping her ankle.
Lizzie stifled a sob. She no longer had a confidante in her aunt, when she desperately needed one. “Yes.”
“Eleanor adores you, Lizzie,” Georgie said, reaching up to stroke her hair. “She did what she thought was right.”
Lizzie sat up carefully, so as not to awaken her son. She faced Georgie, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “She promised secrecy. Do not speak of her now or ever again! Besides, Tyrell is going to deny being Ned’s father.”
Georgie hesitated. “Why are you so certain of that? He is hardly stupid. He need only look at Ned to see the remarkable resemblance.”