The Masquerade

by Brenda Joyce

  Tyrell turned and met his gaze, shrugging him off. “You worry needlessly.”

  “Do you intend to renew your relationship with her?” the earl asked bluntly.

  Tyrell’s smile vanished.

  The earl’s jaw hardened. “I already know the answer, having seen you with her this afternoon. I cannot change your mind—that much is clear—but I also cannot accept your mistress under my roof. Not under the current circumstances.”

  Tyrell suddenly felt trapped, by his father, by Harrington and even the future that awaited him. “She and the boy will accompany me to Dublin next week,” he stated. “Have no fear, I will not sate my lust under your roof, Father. If you do not mind, I have some affairs to attend to.” He inclined his head, awaiting permission to leave.

  The earl looked explosive. “And do you think that somehow Harrington will not hear that bit of news!”

  Tyrell lost his temper then. “I have never questioned my duty and I never will. I would appreciate it if you did not question my ability, then, to carry that duty out. I am marrying Lady Blanche, as has been agreed. But my private affairs will remain just that—private. Good day, Father.” He strode from the room, not waiting to hear his father’s response.

  It didn’t matter. The earl had nothing more to say. He took a chair, his face filled with dismay.

  The windows in Lizzie’s suite faced the back lawns and the rolling hills of County Limerick. She stood there, staring out, having carefully washed away all traces of her afternoon in the kitchens and changed her gown. Dusk was falling and she could see a faded moon beginning to rise over the distant hillside. The day had been so eventful and so exciting that she had completely forgotten about that evening. But suddenly she realized why such a huge supper was being prepared in the kitchens. Tonight was Tyrell’s engagement ball.

  Of course, she had not been invited.

  Tyrell was about to become engaged. And he had said he would come to her that night.

  Lizzie bit her lip. As much as she wanted to see him again, suddenly it seemed terrible to have planned such a rendezvous. But that was what mistresses did. They had trysts with their lovers, men who were married to someone else.

  It was so utterly wrong.

  Her bubble of elation and excitement burst. Lizzie stood by the window, watching as night fell, suddenly hurt. She tried to remind herself that many noblemen had mistresses, but her rationale failed her completely. What did that have to do with her? After that evening, he would belong to someone else. How could she go through with this?

  But could she really walk away from him now?

  Lizzie had learned that the Harringtons were departing tomorrow morning. Lady Blanche would leave Adare with her father, in all likelihood returning to London. But her leaving wouldn’t change the fact of their engagement. Lizzie was used to dreaming, and now she wished that Tyrell would put off his engagement for a few months or even a year. If only she could share his life for that small time, she knew she would forever be grateful and happy.

  But Lizzie wasn’t a fool. She couldn’t imagine the engagement being put off, not even for a day. She could not do this, not now, not this way—and certainly not with his fiancée under the very same roof with them.

  A crushing heartache replaced her earlier joy. It was consuming. Lizzie did not know what to do. She could only hope that Tyrell was pleased with his fiancée and that she would make him happy and content.

  In that moment, Lizzie wanted to see for herself just how pretty his fiancée was and determine if she was good and kind and the woman he deserved. A part of her knew that seeking Blanche Harrington out was wrong, but she refused to consider the possible ramifications.

  Lizzie lifted up her ivory skirts and hurried down the corridor and downstairs, a part of her mind telling her that this was too dangerous. As she approached the main house, she could hear the sounds of the guests, laughing and conversing, along with the tinkle of crystal. Lizzie hesitated, now breathless, her heart slamming. What excuse would she make if someone from the family saw her mingling? What excuse could she make if she ran into Tyrell?

  And in spite of her best intentions, her heart leapt at the mere prospect of coming face-to-face with him again. Lizzie scolded herself and slipped past the door into the far end of a huge central hall.

  It was the ballroom. Dozens of ladies, gowned in their best evening wear and glinting with emeralds and diamonds and many other kinds of jewels were present, as were as many gentlemen in their black tailcoats, evening trousers and starkly white lawn shirts. Lizzie flushed, aware that she wore a very simple dress, intended for an afternoon stroll. Worse, it was the dress that a young, unwed, innocent lady wore. Lizzie felt as if she would be noticed instantly.

  She stood by the door and did not move.

  How in God’s name would she ever identify Tyrell’s fiancée?

  She stared at the happy, festive crowd. She recognized many of the Irish lords and ladies present, having seen them at Adare before. But she did not recognize the rest of the guests.

  Lizzie suddenly felt that she was being watched. Instantly uneasy, she scanned the crowd, trying to see who might have noticed her and quickly moved to stand behind one of the many Corinthian columns in the room.

  “I did not know that you were invited, Miss Fitzgerald,” a voice said from behind her.

  She knew the voice. It was Rex de Warenne and she flinched before turning reluctantly to face him. She felt her cheeks burst into flames as she curtsied. “We both know that I was not,” she said, looking up.

  He was stunningly handsome as he stood there in his evening clothes, leaning on his crutch, and he so reminded her of Tyrell that her heart lurched with a dreadful combination of excitement and anguish.

  “Then what are you doing here?” he asked, unsmiling.

  “I merely hoped to glance Lady Blanche,” she whispered forlornly. “I have heard she is terribly beautiful.”

  “She is,” he said flatly. With his left hand, he pointed. “She is the blue-eyed blonde over there with hair the color of moonlight, in the gown that matches her hair precisely,” he said.

  Lizzie followed the direction he was pointing. Instantly she saw the young lady in question, and, she knew then there was no hope.

  Blanche Harrington was as beautiful as her sister Anna, but in an entirely different manner. She was so regal of bearing that one would think her a queen, not an viscount’s daughter. She did not stand that far away and Lizzie could remark her perfect features and her fine, slender figure. How could Tyrell want her when he was about to become engaged to Blanche? Lizzie wondered, crushed. She was so elegant—she was, in fact, a perfect match for Tyrell.

  “Has your curiosity been satisfied?” Rex asked, his tone not quite as harsh.

  “She could be a queen,” she whispered.

  He was silent.

  She struggled to retain her composure. Blanche was surrounded by admirers, both male and female, and she was laughing gently at something someone had said. Lizzie suddenly wondered where Tyrell was, and why he was not at his fiancée’s side, doting upon her. “Of course I will go now,” Lizzie whispered, incapable of tearing her gaze from Blanche. “But why isn’t Tyrell with her?”

  “I have some idea why my brother is not dancing in attendance upon his future bride,” Rex said.

  His tone was odd and Lizzie whirled to face him. “It is not because of me, Sir Rex!” she cried. “I would never even think to compete with a lady as beautiful as she is.”

  His brows lifted. “But you do compete, do you not? Otherwise you would be at Raven Hall, leaving Ned here, where he belongs.”

  He disapproved. She felt her mouth tighten. “You do not like me.”

  “I do not know you. I only know that my brother’s infatuation with you is not timely and it is not in his best interest. Lady Blanche is in his best interest, Miss Fitzgerald. Lady Blanche is in the best interest of Adare.”

  Lizzie stiffened. “He is not infatuated,” she said
, keeping her voice low. “And I did not pursue him. He is the one who has insisted upon this arrangement, sir. I cannot—I will not—ever leave my son.” And as she spoke she realized that even though she could not become his mistress, she could not leave Adare, as she would not leave Ned. As instantly, she knew Tyrell would be very displeased with her.

  His lashes lowered, long and thick like his brother’s. “And that is very admirable, I think. You had best return to your rooms, Miss Fitzgerald, because if I have remarked your presence here, so will someone else. And a scandal tonight will serve no one, not even yourself.”

  Lizzie hugged herself and she nodded. “I serve my son,” she whispered.

  “How commendable that is,” Rex said tersely. He bowed and limped off.

  Lizzie darted behind the pillar, shaken almost to the point of tears. Tyrell’s brother thought her a selfish, self-serving whore, she thought miserably. But he was right on one account—if Blanche ever discovered her presence and learned who she was, there would be a huge crisis. Lizzie imagined how angry the earl and countess would be and she shivered—then she imagined how angry Tyrell would be and she was ill.

  No, she must get away.

  She peeked out from behind the pillar, realizing in dismay that she had wandered quite some distance from the door through which she must make her escape. Then her heart seemed to stop. Standing not far from where she stood, Lady Blanche and two other pretty young ladies had separated themselves from the other guests so that they might converse privately.

  Lizzie stared. The two women were chatting with great animation and even tugging on Blanche’s hand. Lizzie’s heart began to pound.

  She told herself she must not eavesdrop. Instead, her feet somehow moved and she was behind a different column—the one right behind Blanche’s back.

  “Blanche, quickly tell us, how was the carriage ride?”

  “It was a very pleasant outing, Bess,” Blanche said softly, smiling.

  “A pleasant outing?” the redheaded lady, Bess, cried in disbelief. “Blanche, he is so terribly handsome and so gallant! Did he kiss you? Do not deny us the truth!”

  Lizzie closed her eyes, telling herself that she deserved the anguish she was now feeling for being so rude as to spy. The mere notion of Tyrell taking another woman in his arms was enough to make her cry.

  “I would never do that,” Blanche said, sounding slightly amused. “No, he did not kiss me, and that is because he is a perfect gentleman, as Father has claimed.”

  The two ladies exchanged looks. “Now is not the time to be so calm,” the brunette exclaimed. “Aren’t you excited now that you have seen him? He is the kind of man every woman covets, and he will be yours!”

  “I am very fortunate,” Blanche agreed sincerely, “and I have Father to thank for it, as he worked so hard to find me such a stellar husband. Now, we are being terribly rude, removing ourselves from the soirée like this.” And with that, arm in arm, the trio returned to the crowd.

  Lizzie told herself that she must be pleased. Blanche was elegant and beautiful and she seemed kind, as well. Lizzie had no doubt that she would be a good wife and mother, and a good countess. It was a spectacular match.

  Lizzie wanted to hate her, but it was impossible, as there was nothing to hate.

  Her thoughts were broken by the sensation of being watched.

  Lizzie wildly searched the crowd. Standing across the room, in front of a different doorway, was Tyrell. And he had seen her, because he was staring.

  Lizzie debated running and hiding, but it was too late. He was coming toward her now.

  And he was not pleased.

  14

  A Frightening Promise

  Lizzie did not hesitate. She turned and ran from the ballroom into the corridor outside. She had only to exit another door before reaching the guest wing of the house. Lizzie stepped inside, and the moment she did so, she began to think that she had safely escaped.

  Tyrell seized her shoulder.

  “I did not think my own eyes were deceiving me,” he exclaimed incredulously, turning her around so that they were face-to-face.

  Lizzie found her back to the wall. “I can explain,” she cried.

  “You can explain your presence at my engagement ball?” he asked furiously. “Is it too much to ask you to show some small respect for my family?”

  “I never meant to be disrespectful,” Lizzie said in misery.

  Their regards held. Lizzie stared at him, wishing she hadn’t dared to go to the ball. She was also wishing, miserably, that he was not about to become engaged, not now and not ever. How foolish she was.

  His jaw flexed. “I do not like it when you look at me as if I am the one wronging you!” he exclaimed. “Why were you spying on Lady Blanche? Do not dare deny it because I saw you behind that pillar, listening to her and her friends.”

  “I deny nothing,” Lizzie choked. “I wanted to see her for myself. I had heard she was terribly beautiful, and the rumor is true.”

  “If you think to cry, think again!” he said tightly. “I will not be moved by your tears or your eyes.”

  Lizzie thought his words a bit odd, but she could not reflect now. Instead, she fought for a shred of composure. “I am very sorry I came down to the ball. But may I congratulate you, my lord, on your good fortune? Lady Blanche will make you a perfect wife,” Lizzie whispered, meaning it. There was no mockery in her heart or tone.

  A silence fell. She wanted to run away to her bedroom, where she might hold Ned. Suddenly he cupped her chin, tilting her face up, forcing her gaze to his. “What game is this?” But he spoke softly now, his gaze searching. “Another man might believe that you are sincere, but I do not. Do you have some scheme to interfere in my engagement? There is no point, madam.”

  His words were like the stabbing of a knife. Lizzie shook her head. “You judge me so unfairly, my lord. I do not scheme!”

  He released her chin. “I judge you unfairly?” He studied her and Lizzie somehow did not flinch. “Who is the one who dared to come here, to my home, and claim I am the father of her bastard son?”

  He placed one large hand on the wall, directly level with her cheek, trapping her where she stood. It was impossible not to be aware of him as a man, especially after the afternoon they had just shared. He had never been more mesmerizing or more handsome than in that moment, and Lizzie wished she could be in his arms, not in the heat of passion, but in a tender and loving embrace. Once again, she was dreaming.

  Still, his eyes were filled with more than anger and it was very clear to Lizzie that he was in some turmoil of his own. “I have already explained that particular misunderstanding. Are you upset for another reason, my lord?”

  “What other reason could there be?”

  “I don’t know. I know nothing of your life other than that you have become engaged tonight and that you have an important post in Dublin. But you seem…” She hesitated. “Dismayed, or perhaps even unhappy.”

  Her words caused his eyes to widen, and when he spoke, he was clearly angry but trying to control it. “You trespass,” he said flatly. “I am neither dismayed nor unhappy—why should I be?”

  Lizzie touched him. “Then I am glad.”

  He jerked away. “Miss Fitzgerald, it is a matter of decorum that you avoid my fiancée. It would be humiliating for her if your paths crossed.” He now paused. “It would be humiliating for you. Am I clear?”

  She nodded, suddenly furious. “You could not be any clearer. I am to wait upstairs, in the suite you have provided me, never coming down without your command. I am here to warm your bed and for nothing more.”

  His eyes darkened impossibly. “You make me sound like a rotten cad. You are the coquette, mademoiselle. Did you not flirt with me outrageously on All Hallow’s Eve and then vanish into thin air? Did you not lead me on with your every word and every seductive look? Was it not the same on High Street the other day—and in your own home? I am hardly pursuing a reluctant virgin. And cease looking at me
as if I am forever wounding you!”

  “I will try to regard you with nothing but sunny smiles or a seductive stare,” she managed to say. What was he talking about? She had not a clue as to how to flirt or gaze seductively at anyone. She had never led him on!

  “My humor is already foul—do not mock me now.”

  “I do not mock you, my lord. I would never do such a thing—I admire you far too much.”

  He started in surprise.

  Lizzie briefly closed her eyes, afraid of his reaction to her next words. “I cannot do this, my lord,” she mumbled.

  He leaned over her, very close. “I do not think I heard you correctly, mademoiselle,” he said tightly.

  She trembled. “This is wrong,” she whispered.

  He stood to his full height.

  Lizzie dared to look at him and saw that he was in disbelief. “I’m sorry, I can’t be your mistress,” she said.

  He smiled without mirth and leaned close. His breath feathered her cheek when he spoke. “Oh, ho,” he said very softly. “I do know this game. I hardly care for it, either, mademoiselle. We are agreed. You will be my lover.”

  “I can’t,” she pleaded. She wanted to tell him how she felt—that she loved him deeply and she always had—but she did not think he would believe her. She feared he would scorn her feelings. He might even be amused by them—and her.

  “Perhaps,” he said, and she stiffened at his cold tone, “this is a blessing in disguise. After all, no one in my family wants you here.”

  Lizzie was filled with dread. She and Ned would be tossed out after all. She had never been more miserable, but there was no other choice. “We will leave first thing in the morning,” she began.

  “My son stays here. If you choose to leave, Miss Fitzgerald, you will leave alone.”

  Lizzie cried out. He would now claim Ned as his own and threaten to keep him, in order to blackmail her into his bed?

  He pulled her into his arms, his eyes black. “You may leave alone, Miss Fitzgerald, or you may stay here, with your son, as my mistress.”