Laurel McKee

by Countess of Scandal

  He impatiently tugged the gown from her shoulders, snapping the ribbons as the silk drifted around them in a sky-blue cloud. Through her closed eyes, through that shimmering haze of dreamlike lust, she felt him draw her down, down, until their kiss slid away, and she lay on her elbows and knees against the rough carpet.

  She felt his presence behind her, the hunger in his touch as his hands stroked the length of her spine. He traced the soft curve of her backside and then her thighs as he parted them.

  He drew her back and up, sliding inside her from that angle, deep and swift. So deep he could surely touch her very core, her soul. He held her still against him, his hands tight on her hips as he pumped into her, his body hot as it arched over hers.

  She moaned, curving back into him as she reveled in the tight joining of their bodies, the intense, frightening intimacy of the moment. His sweat mingled with hers, their breath and heartbeats as one.

  The pressure built and built inside of her, hotter, tighter, until at last it broke, a shower of intense, unbearable pleasure that erased all else for an instant. Above her, Will shouted out her name, and she felt the warmth of him deep inside her.

  She collapsed, weak and sated, to the floor. He fell down next to her, his arms still around her, his shoulders heaving with his ragged breath as he turned his face toward the wall. Eliza caressed his damp shoulder, his back, the tangled length of his hair. How beautiful he is, she thought tiredly, exultantly. And he was hers, even if he was leaving soon.

  They lay there for long moments as Eliza felt her heartbeat slow. The chamber grew cold around them as the fire in the grate died and the candles sputtered lower. Will sat up beside her, gathering her into his arms and lifting her with him from the floor. He laid her gently on her bed, climbing in beside her as he drew the blankets close around them. She curled into his arms, sighing with sleepy contentment.

  “Tell me a story,” Will muttered, kissing her tumbled hair.

  Eliza laughed. “What sort of story? A naughty one? I fear I don’t know any of those.”

  “Tell me an Irish story, then,” he said. “You always knew those.”

  “There are Three Sorrowful Tales of Erin,” she said, remembering those childhood tales she loved. “And the first is the tale of Deirdre of the Sorrows.”

  “She sounds most unhappy.”

  “Oh, of course. She was born on the night of a full moon, a sidhe moon, and when her father took her to the druids to be blessed, they said, ‘This child will be the cause of much trouble. She will be the most beautiful woman in Ulster, but she will cause the deaths of many men.’

  “King Connor heard of this girl and declared that she should be reared far from the kingdom, deep in the forest under the care of an old woman, and when she was of age, he would marry her himself. As foretold, Deirdre grew to be very beautiful, but very lonely. One night she dreamed of a handsome, fearless warrior, and she could never forget him. When she met her dream warrior in truth, she found he was named Naoise, one of the sons of Uisneach, and they fell in love with each other at once. Deirdre knew she could never marry Connor, and she and Naoise fled. No one in Ireland would take them in, fearing the wrath of the king, and finally they set sail for a foreign shore. They made their home on a Scottish island and lived happily there together for five years. Until a message arrived from the king.”

  “Never a good sign,” Will said.

  “Shh,” Eliza said, laughing. “I am the one telling this story. Anyway, the king’s messenger conveyed forgiveness and asked Deirdre and Naoise to return home to Ulster. Deirdre did not believe the king and wanted to stay in their new home, but Naoise, being a trusting man, insisted they go back.”

  “I think perhaps Naoise is foolish.”

  “Indeed. For no sooner did they enter the king’s fortress than they were surrounded by an army. Naoise and his brothers fought bravely, but they were outnumbered. Poor Naoise had his head cut off, and so vast was Deirdre’s sorrow that she fell upon his body and joined him in death.”

  Eliza glanced down to find that Will had fallen asleep in her arms. She kissed his forehead softly. “I wish you would not go into the realm of King Connor tomorrow,” she whispered. But she knew that, even as Deirdre could not stop Naoise from obeying his king, she could not stop Will. They both had to do what they must, even when sorrows abounded around them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Will paced the length of the Castle corridor and back again, his boots echoing hollowly on the cold stone floor. There was little to distract him in that barren space—a few chairs and some unsmiling portraits of past government officials. Their painted images still looked most disgruntled at being asked to control this wild, barbaric land.

  Or perhaps they had just encountered a stubborn ancestor of Eliza Blacknall’s.

  He glanced toward the door leading to the conference room. The wood panels were stout, so nothing could be heard beyond them. He was just there to get his orders and be about his business.

  He remembered life in the islands and how simple it had seemed despite the heat and fevers, with the sporadic, violent bursts of warfare interspersed with the lassitude of long, empty days. It was too humid and languid for passionate firebrands like Eliza and her friends to concoct rebellions. But here in Ireland, that restless spirit of independence ran deep into the earth itself, a longing nothing could extinguish. Perhaps there was even a kernel of it hidden inside himself. But that didn’t take away his duty.

  The door to the council room opened at last, a footman ushering Will inside. General Hardwick waited there alone, his face gray and tired beneath his neatly powdered wig.

  “Major Denton,” he said, gesturing to a chair. “Please, sit. I am sorry you were kept waiting. Our work is never done these days. Will you take some wine?”

  “No, thank you, General Hardwick.”

  “Ah, yes. You are eager to hear your orders, I imagine, to get to work, as we all are.”

  “Waiting takes a toll on the men, it is true.”

  “But you have been most admirable in keeping your troops busy, Major. Drilling them and putting them through their paces.”

  “We are ready to march when the time comes,” Will said.

  General Hardwick tapped at a pile of papers before him, official-looking documents bearing Castle seals. “General Lake is on his way south to take command,” he said tightly, as if he did not entirely care for Lake’s new command or the man’s brutal reputation. As Will did not. Brutality only drove the people closer to the United Irish, away from British rule.

  “The Thirteenth is to go to Wexford,” the general said. “Tomorrow.”

  “Wexford?” Will said, his jaw tight.

  “Our informers tell us the Catholic Defenders have allied with the United Irishmen and are especially strong there, so trouble is expected any day. A strong military showing will cut them off. I myself will lead a contingent to Carlow.”

  “I am ready to depart, General Hardwick,” Will said. A day was not much time at all, but surely it was enough to persuade Eliza to take her family and leave the country. One way or another.

  “Well, that is the thing, Major Denton. I have a different request for you.”

  “A different request? Am I not to go to Wexford with my regiment?” Will asked, puzzled.

  “Of course, eventually. They could hardly do without you. But for now, Lord Camden asks you to go home.”

  “Home?” Will was thoroughly confused now and angry, too. Was his loyalty now being called into question? Was he being shunted away to keep him out of trouble—and to keep from doing Eliza any good?

  “You are from Kildare, are you not?” the general said.

  “Yes, sir. My family is at Moreton Manor.”

  General Hardwick shook his head. “A most dangerous place, Kildare. Full of Foxite families with strange liberal ideas. And the terrain is as dangerous as the populace. The Bog of Allen is the perfect place for rebels to lurk and ambush our soldiers who do not know the l
and.”

  Will laughed humorlessly. “I am certainly aware of the bog, General. But my own family is scarcely Foxite.”

  “Indeed not. Lord Camden has received a request from Prime Minister Pitt himself that Lady Moreton be given a passport to England and a berth on a ship immediately.”

  “No doubt my mother wishes to join my father in London.”

  “And be away before trouble starts. Very wise of her. In fact, I am sending my own wife and daughter to England before the week is out.”

  “I am sure Dublin will greatly miss their presence.”

  General Hardwick smiled. “As will I. But I am sure they will return very soon, and Ireland will be peaceful and loyal once more. With your help.”

  “My help, sir?”

  “Kildare is quiet enough for the present, but that will surely not last long. We need you to go there for a time to keep an eye on events.”

  “To spy?” Will said tightly. “I fear that is not my way, General.”

  “Nay, not spy, Major. Alert us to danger. It will be for only a short time, and then you must rejoin your regiment.”

  “Where am I to be lodged? In a barracks?”

  “We thought you might stay at Moreton Manor. Such a strategic location, it should not be left empty when Lady Moreton has departed.”

  “And what precisely am I to… keep an eye on, General?”

  “Whatever seems suspicious, I believe.” General Hard-wick reached inside a leather pouch, drawing out a thick bundle of papers. “For instance, our soldiers recently raided a home near Kilrush and found an illegal United Irish printing press. They broke up the press and seized these.”

  He handed them to Will, who quickly rifled through them. Among the leaflets and pages from Paine and Rousseau was a smudged pamphlet. Proposals for the Prosperity and Independence of Ireland, written By A Lady Patriot.

  “The proprietors of the press were arrested, of course,” the general said. “Respectable merchants of the town, no one had suspected them. They claim they do not know the authors of these works. Perhaps a time in Kilmainham Gaol and the threat of execution will sharpen their memories. In the meantime, Kildare can no longer be neglected.”

  “And so I am the one to remedy this neglect?” Will said, carefully placing the pamphlet on the table.

  “You will hardly be alone, Major. Regiments are being posted there as we speak. But none of our other officers know the country as you do.”

  “I have been away from there a long time.”

  “Yet they will surely be more likely to trust you than someone like myself.” General Hardwick leaned closer. “And it will be a chance for you to take care of your own family and friends, Major Denton. To keep them safe, assure them of their best interests.”

  Will thought of his mother, no doubt frightened out of her wits. Of the Blacknalls at Killinan Castle. The houses and lands he loved. Of Eliza and her damnable seditious pamphlets that could get her killed. “Then I shall go, of course.”

  “Very good, Major,” the general said, handing him a rolled document. “Here are your orders. You can leave on the morrow with your escort. And now, if you will excuse me, I must go and bid farewell to my own family.”

  “I hope you will send my best wishes to Mrs. and Miss Hardwick for a safe journey,” Will said. “And a swift homecoming.”

  General Hardwick smiled sadly. “I’m sure they will appreciate it, Major Denton, especially Lydia. Safe voyage to you as well.”

  Will made his way slowly from the council room, his fist wrapped around the orders. Tomorrow—it did not leave much time at all. But he had to persuade Eliza to give up her work now, to leave Ireland, or at least go back to Kildare with him and stay with her family.

  Or he would have to learn to say good-bye to her all over again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When do you go?” Eliza said quietly. She stared out her chamber window at the darkened street below, but she did not see it, not really. She only knew Will’s words.

  He was leaving Dublin.

  She had known it was coming, of course, when he left the card party. But she still felt the cold, wintry chill of loneliness.

  “Tomorrow,” he answered.

  She looked back over her shoulder to find him by the fireplace, his arm braced on the mantel as he watched the crackling flames. She could not read his face at all, the angles of it thrown into sharp, harsh relief by the glow. Yet his back and shoulders were rigid, his hands curled into fists. It was as if he was already gone from her.

  “So soon?” she said.

  “I have my orders. Events proceed apace, it seems.”

  “Where are you going?”

  He did glance at her then, but the smile on his lips held no humor. “Why, Eliza? Do you want to tell your friends of our movements?”

  Was that truly what he thought of her? Eliza flattened her palms on the windowsill, feeling the painted wood pressing roughly on her skin. If only physical pain would take away that blasted ache in her heart!

  “I am not a spy,” she said.

  “Nor am I,” he muttered. “But these are strange days we live in. Who knows what we will be forced to do?”

  Eliza shook her head, her throat tight and aching. “Are you going far away?”

  “I am first to travel to Moreton Manor. My mother is leaving for England and requires my assistance. Then… who knows.”

  “Moreton?” She pushed back from the window, joining him by the fire. They stood merely feet away, yet it felt like miles. “Will you be able to look in on my family, too? I worry about them.”

  “Of course I will. I’ll do all I can for them. But perhaps you could come with me, take care of them yourself.”

  “Go with you?” Eliza stared at him in astonishment. “To Kildare?”

  He nodded solemnly. “It would be safer for you if you had an escort, and I know you must miss them. It would be safer, too, if you were with your family. Your mother is above any suspicion.”

  “I do miss my family, very much. They are much on my mind of late,” she said. She did miss them, even her mother, who she had so often quarreled with in the past. Missed them and worried about them.

  “Then you will come?”

  She shook her head. “I cannot go with you.”

  “Eliza!” He suddenly cracked his palm against the mantel, making her jump. The books and ornaments rattled. His eyes were dark with frustration, anger, and worry. “I am trying to help you. To see you safe.”

  “Safe? Surely none of us are that, not now.”

  “But you refuse to see the truth of this situation. You refuse to even try to take care of yourself.”

  Eliza covered her face with her hands, a fire of her own anger bubbling inside of her. “I have been taking care of myself for a long time, Will. Ever since you left, as a matter of fact.”

  He laughed bitterly. “And you are doing a marvelous job of it, Lady Democratical.” She heard him shove away from the mantel and lowered her hands to watch him stride across the room to where he had dropped a valise on the floor. He pulled out a crumpled, smudged sheet of paper.

  “What is that?” she said warily.

  “Do you not recognize it?” As she stared at him, he seized her arm and held up the paper before her eyes.

  Oh yes, she certainly recognized it. It was a page from her pamphlet. And it could only be an ill omen that he had it.

  “Is this not your work?” he said, not letting her go. “I remember your writings from when we were young, your fine satirical style.”

  “Where did you get that?” she whispered.

  “I got it at Dublin Castle,” he answered. “A United Irish printing press was raided, and this was among the works.”

  “No!” Eliza cried out. She reached instinctively for the paper, shocked by the terrible news of yet more arrests. But he tossed it into the fire and seized her by the shoulders, holding her close.

  “Eliza,” he said roughly. “Look at me, damn it all!” />
  She raised her eyes to his face, and what she saw there frightened her. Her Will, her beautiful, lighthearted lover, was filled with fury—and dark desperation.

  “Eliza,” he said, suddenly terribly, terribly gentle. “Matters are about to become very serious. We can no longer escape it.”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “If you are found to be the author of that pamphlet, you will be hanged. If you won’t think of yourself, for God’s sake think of me. Of your family.”

  She closed her eyes, swallowing hard as if she could already feel the rough hemp of the rope. “I do think of them.” And of him—too much.

  “Then let me see you to Killinan.”

  “I’m sorry, Will. But I can’t go. I am too deeply pledged.”

  Will’s lips tightened, as if he held back a spasm of pain. Or was it an angry curse?

  She ached, too. Something precious and vital was breaking inside of her, falling into dust and blowing away in the cold wind as if it had never been.

  “I am pledged as well. To my family, my work,” he said. He raised her hands to his lips, kissing one, then the other, warm and lingering. “I will leave tomorrow. If you change your mind, send me word.”

  She nodded, but they both knew the truth. Neither of them could change their minds, abandon their course. They had to part, even as what they might have had, might have been, fell into ruin.

  “Wait,” she said. She hurried to her dressing table, taking a small portrait out of the drawer. It was not new; it had been painted when she married Mount Clare, a miniature of her young self framed in pearls. Maybe if Will had it, he would sometimes think of her, sometimes remember.

  She pressed it into his hand, closing his fingers over it. “Take this with you, and… don’t forget.”

  He gazed down at it for a long, silent moment before he kissed her lips, hard and desperate. She kissed him back, trying to memorize his taste, the way he felt in her arms. Remember everything. And then he was gone, vanishing out the window for what she knew in her heart was the last time.