The Masquerade (26 page)

His eyes widened with more surprise. “You made that? When?”

“This afternoon. Your pantries are very well stocked. Your wish,” she whispered, aware of how raw her voice had become, “is my command.”

His hands lay flat on the desk. His knuckles had turned white.

“I must be a most fortunate man,” he murmured, coming out from behind the desk.

Lizzie put the tray on the desk. “But you haven’t tasted anything,” she said softly, slipping the spoon into the velvety cream.

He paused, his hip against the edge of the desk. “Oh, I do believe I have tasted enough to know the extent of my fortune,” he said, soft and low.

She could not mistake his meaning. She felt her cheeks heat and she paused, the spoon in midair.

He caught her wrist. Lizzie’s heart turned over hard as he guided her hand and the spoon to his mouth. And as aroused as she was, at that moment she wanted to please him with her treat. She tipped the spoon against his mouth and the small amount of chocolate cream disappeared. She watched him swallow, and the urge to kiss his strong throat was overwhelming.

She clutched the spoon, waiting.

“Are there any other talents that you possess, madam, that I have yet to discover?”

She flushed in pleasure. “You do like it?”

“That is, without a doubt, the best chocolate dessert I have ever had,” he said gravely.

Lizzie reeled with more pleasure. “I am so glad.”

He leaned back on the desk, watching her for a moment, and then he turned and dipped his finger in the bowl. Then he looked directly at her again.

She had an inkling of what he intended, but it was as yet vague and unformed. “My lord?”

The words were not even out of her mouth when he inserted his finger there, rubbing the chocolate cream over her lips. Tyrell smiled at her, with so much promise, with so much intent, and she felt heat dripping between her thighs. She understood that bold look now, oh, yes.

He tilted up her chin. Lizzie swayed closer and he smiled again before slowly licking the chocolate from her mouth.

“My lord,” she gasped, gripping his waist.

And then Lizzie was crushed in his arms, his mouth on hers, the kiss so very hard, so very frantic, so deep. Lizzie clung, spinning in delirious pleasure, shuddering with need, as his hands swept down her back, over her buttocks and back up again. Lizzie could not stand another moment apart. She found the buttons on his shirt and wrenched at them. They gave—some popping off—and she slid her hands over the hard slabs of his bare chest. As she caressed him, amazed again at the power beneath her fingertips, he quickly unbuttoned her dress. Before she could blink, she was standing before him in her underclothes.

He still sat on the edge of his desk and somehow she stood between his thighs. He held her immobilized and sent her a very wicked grin. “Do you object?” And his gaze slid over her breasts, clearly visible beneath her transparent chemise.

“My only objection is that you are far too slow to divest me of all my clothing,” she heard herself say.

His eyes widened. “I do love a challenge,” he rebutted,
and with one pull her stays fell to the floor and then he ripped her chemise in two.

Lizzie blinked as he tossed the torn garment aside. He caught the waistband of her petticoat and drawers in his hands.

She trembled and he saw.

His expression was already strained and now it tightened. He tugged her remaining undergarments down.

Lizzie watched her navel appear, followed by a thatch of titian hair. She could no longer breathe. Tyrell pushed the garments to her feet, and straightening, he murmured, “Are there any other objections, Elizabeth?”

She couldn’t speak and with good cause. His hand was fluttering over her breast, just barely caressing the full side, the heavy bottom, then brushing the hard tip. Closing her eyes, she bit her lip to keep from crying out but failed.

“You are too lovely for words,” he whispered.

Her eyes flew open. He was gazing at her nude body, his expression filled with hunger and wonder. In that moment, she knew she was the most desirable woman in the world.

He smiled slightly at her. “I want to please you,” he murmured. “I want to please you so much.”

Lizzie arched herself toward him. As he bent to taste her breasts, she whispered, “You may please me, my lord, by removing
your
clothes.”

He slowly straightened, shrugging off his open shirt. His every movement caused the muscles in his chest, torso and arms to ripple beneath his skin, and Lizzie did not move, for she was hypnotized. His doeskin breeches left nothing to the imagination. Just below the waistband that he held, she could clearly identify the tip of his arousal.

“Am I frightening you?” he asked roughly.

She somehow shook her head, and she reached out.

Her touch was brief. Lizzie thrilled at it, but then he crushed her to his chest with a groan. The silk friction between their naked skins made her entirely senseless. Lizzie moaned, turning up her open mouth for his kiss. His tongue thrust deep. Lizzie felt his manhood throbbing restlessly against her belly and she began to weep.

She wanted to tell him everything—how much she loved him, how she had from the moment he had rescued her when she was ten years old. She wanted to give him far more than the gift of her body or her love. She wanted to tell him the truth about Ned and give him the greatest gift of all—his son.

But she was in his arms and he was carrying her to the sofa, raining kisses all over her face, throat and breasts. “You are still so innocent,” he suddenly whispered, “but you are the most sensual woman I have ever met. I am going to teach you how to make love, sweetheart, if you will but let me.”

She was on her back on the sofa and he stood over her, magnificently naked now. Lizzie knew she would soon faint. She held open her arms. “Teach me
anything,
but I think it best that you hurry.”

He straddled her with a rough laugh and she cried out in welcome, running her hands down his hard, rippling back. He shoved his face against her breasts, whispering, “The first thing I must teach you is patience, I think. It is a waste to rush our lovemaking.”

Lizzie managed to open her eyes. Her body was pulsing with urgency, but she had the coherence to wonder at his choice of words. But Tyrell was now feathering his lips against the skin of her ribs, beneath her breasts, causing all thought to vanish. He moved lower still, tasting her belly in such a manner that Lizzie could
not bear it. Lizzie had never felt such excitement before as his breath feathered the juncture of her thighs. She could no longer breathe and then his daring tongue stroked over her.

A delicate dance began, tongue against turgid flesh, feathering, pressing, stroking, laving.

Lizzie exploded, shattering above him now, far into the universe.

Panting and quivering, she was still painfully aroused. Tyrell continued to administer to her with his tongue and she cried out, uncertain if she should beg him to stop or demand that he continue. He murmured, never ceasing his explorations, “The second time will be better, trust me, sweetheart.”

Lizzie tried to protest, his tongue pushed deep, she hovered on the brink of pain, and suddenly there was release.

She sobbed her pleasure now.

When she floated back to the sofa he was seated upon it, holding her gently in his arms. He was stroking her arm, her breast, and kissing her hair, her shoulder. Lizzie inhaled harshly, barely able to believe the intense pleasure she had been given. She remained dazed. His hand slid down her belly and his palm covered her sex.

“Shall I give you more of the same pleasure, Elizabeth?” he asked thickly.

Some of her sensibility was returning. She twisted to meet his gaze. “I am not sure I could stand it.”

He absorbed that, his expression ravaged with his as yet unrequited lust. “How much more do you think you can stand?”

She was so terribly inflamed, but now she became aware of his dilemma. Briefly Lizzie closed her eyes,
reaching out to stroke her hand over his huge length. His body stiffened and she felt him bite back a rough sound.

Lizzie looked up. Utter comprehension came, and with it, so much seductive power. Her fingers closed around him slowly. As slowly, she smiled.

“You play a very dangerous game,” he said unsteadily.

“No,” she whispered as shakily, aware of a new, more rampant desire, “I play no game with you, not ever, my lord.”

He was breathing hard.

And barely aware of what she was doing, Lizzie bent over him, somehow certain that this would be torture for him, somehow aware of his rapid breathing escalating in intensity and sound. She touched him with her tongue, trembling with excitement. He shuddered beneath her. He seized her hand, and briefly she thought he would mistakenly break it in his own mindless frenzy. Her excitement increased.

“Do you know what you do?” he gasped in disbelief.

“No,” she replied, oddly certain now. And she put her tongue on him as he had on her.

He began to pant.

Lizzie explored his length.

He growled, and suddenly she was on her back. He touched her face with one hand. “You must tell me if I begin to hurt you,” he said. Sweat was pouring from his temples, and she felt it now trickling from his chest to hers. In that moment, Lizzie realized the control he was exercising over himself.

She smiled up at him, taking his beloved face in her two hands. “You could never hurt me, my lord. I love you too much,” she said.

His eyes widened in shock. Lizzie realized what she had said, but as dismay began, he cried out, never taking
his gaze from hers, thrusting deeply and completely into her.

She forgot her terrible but honest declaration. His length was huge, filling her completely, perfectly, hot, hard, wet, and Lizzie gasped in pleasure, throbbing around him, against him, until she could no longer stop the building pressure. Tyrell knew. He grunted in satisfaction as she burst open, around him, over him, a part of him, and he moved, still watching her, harder now, harder and faster than ever before. Lizzie loved him so. Somehow she held his face, weeping as she climaxed.

“I know,” she thought he said, and he seized her more tightly. “Elizabeth, I know!”

L
izzie sat up in the bed she had shared with Tyrell, holding the covers to her bare bosom, overcome with more love than any woman had the right to bear. She had overslept. Images from the night before played over and over in her mind—some heated and frantic, others tender and slow. He had possessed her in every possible way and Lizzie blushed thinking about it, but so much more important, he had held her when they were not making love as if he were in love with her.

Lizzie hesitated, wanting to get up, but she had no clothes with her. The last she had seen them they were on the floor in the library, for Tyrell had carried her upstairs, covering her with a throw. Her wardrobe was in her bedroom, just down the hall from the master suite. Then she smiled, looking at the luxurious bed she had slept in. Without words, Tyrell had made it clear that he wished for her to spend the entire night with him, and she had done just that, falling asleep in his arms.

She was so thrilled that she felt as buoyant as a balloon, and she almost expected to begin floating up to the ceiling.

Lizzie pulled a sheet from the bed and got up, wrapping it around her. Then she went to the draperies
and opened them. She was right, it was very late—the sun was so high, it had to be noon. She smiled to herself. She felt wicked and wanton and it was lovely.

She went to the bedroom door and found it firmly closed. Lizzie opened it, foolishly hoping that she might find Tyrell in the sitting room. But it was empty, of course—he was probably with his steward inspecting Wicklowe or in the library, going over state accounts. Then she saw the dining table. It was set for one, replete with crystal, silverware and gilded china, and the aromas coming from the covered platters and a silver teapot told Lizzie that her breakfast was awaiting her.

Tyrell had clearly asked a servant to set the table and bring her a meal. It was so thoughtful—she was ravenous—and tears formed in her eyes.

In that moment, she had to be the most fortunate woman on earth. A solid pinch changed nothing.

Lizzie went to the table and lifted the lid and found an omelet, pancakes and sausages. The floral centerpiece was a bouquet of red roses. Red roses were for lovers and that was what she and Tyrell were.

“Are you hungry?” Tyrell asked softly.

She whirled and saw him coming out of their bedroom, buttoning up his navy blue jacket, clearly having just finished dressing. She hadn’t realized he was present in the boudoir when she had arisen.

He had the slightest smile on his face and his gaze was filled with warmth and affection for her.

Lizzie somehow nodded, undone by the way he was regarding her. “Very,” she breathed. She realized he did not intend to join her for a meal. How she wanted him to linger, just a little.

He came into the salon, his gaze moving down her bare shoulders to the sheet she had wrapped around her body.
He quickly lowered his lashes, hiding the sudden gleam in his eyes. He walked past her and she realized that a maid had laid out her cotton eyelet nightgown and wrapper. He lifted the latter and paused beside her. “May I?”

Every nerve ending prickled. Lizzie nodded. Tyrell tugged on the sheet until it pooled at her feet. He slipped the robe over her shoulders, his hands pausing there.

Lizzie slowly slipped her arms into the sleeves, aware of him regarding her nudity with far more than appreciation. She had never felt so sensual and so womanly before. She slowly faced him, closing and belting the robe as she did so.

“Impossibly,” he finally said, “I want you yet again.”

Lizzie had never dreamed she could feel so much for anyone, not even Tyrell. Amazingly, desire had begun to swiftly rise. “I want you, too, my lord.”

“I can see that,” he said harshly. “How is it possible? Did I not sate you last night?”

She blushed. “Of course you did. Did I not sate you?” she dared to frankly ask.

And she was surprised when he also blushed. “Madam, I have never enjoyed an evening more. I do not believe you allowed me a single wink of sleep.”

“My lord, it was most definitely the other way around.”

He dimpled. “
Tyrell.
And it was you, madam, who repeatedly lured me. Do not think to cast the blame on me.”

Lizzie tried not to smile back, her hands now on her hips. “My lord,” she protested, and his brows rose. “Tyrell,” she corrected. “You were impossibly randy and I merely followed your lead.”

His dimples deepened. “My darling Elizabeth,” he murmured, and her heart leapt at his tone and choice of
words, “you are the most sensual woman I have ever had the pleasure to meet. Perhaps you are unaware of your allure? When you squirm in a certain manner, it will most definitely feed my manly appetite.”

She shifted her hips, not once, but three times. “And if I wriggle?”

He reached out and pulled her close. “Vixen! You know full well the extent of your powers!” He kissed her ear and thrills swept over her.

She rubbed against his arousal. “Only because you have taught me so well, so quickly,” she murmured.
“Tyrell.”

He caught her buttocks. “I have so much to do this day,” he breathed against her ear.

She slid her hands beneath his shirt, over his warm skin and hard chest muscles. She looked up into his heated eyes. “Yes, you have
so
much to do, this day,” she whispered. “After all, are you not a gentleman? Will you not rescue a damsel in distress?”

He made a sound of capitulation. “I pride myself on my noble nature and I would never ignore a damsel in her time of need,” he whispered.

Lizzie wanted to smile, but she could not, because he had unbelted her robe and suddenly she was naked, her breasts somehow in his hands.

“You win, madam,” he said roughly. “Consider myself seduced.”

Three days later, Lizzie was taking tea with Georgie on an outdoor terrace behind the house. The view of the Wicklow Mountains was splendid, and it was a sight she should never tire of. Georgie was also enjoying the sun, the warm day and the splendid majesty of the Irish countryside. Tyrell had left at dawn for Dublin, where he had
many meetings to attend before taking up his post next week. Ned was asleep in the nursery.

“Madam?” Smythe intoned from behind them.

Lizzie had just lifted up her teacup and she turned with a smile. She saw Papa approaching with the butler and she gasped in real surprise, spilling tea over the cup’s brim. Somehow she set the cup down, standing, delighted to see her father, as it was a good day and a half’s trip from Raven Hall. “Papa!”

But he was not smiling as he nodded his thanks at the butler. “Lizzie.” He kissed her cheek. “Georgie.” He also kissed Georgie, who was standing and equally surprised to see him there.

Instantly Lizzie knew that something was wrong. “Mr. Smythe, would you bring more tea and sandwiches? Thank you.” The butler left and she clutched Papa’s hands. “Is something amiss? Is it Mama?”

He stared at her, actually stepping back. “Your mother languishes from a broken heart. She is in extreme melancholia. Between the two of you, her world has collapsed.”

Lizzie tensed, glancing at Georgie. Georgie said, “Papa, you used to agree with me about Peter Harold! I have never been more relieved than I am now! I cannot change my mind.”

Papa was grim. “He has become engaged to a lady in Cork, so undoubtedly he would not take you back. But to come here with your sister? Have you no shame?”

Georgie flinched and shared another look with Lizzie. And Lizzie began to understand.

When her parents had left her at Adare, she had been a guest of the de Warennes, not Tyrell’s mistress. How quickly word of her actual downfall had traveled. And Georgie was triply tainted—first by association with Lizzie as an unwed mother, then by the failure of her en
gagement, and now by residing at Wicklowe with her shameless sister.

“It is lovely here in the summer,” Georgie began, her tone odd and thick with hurt.

Papa held up his hand. “Cease with any rationalization, as there is none to be made. And you are not the cause of your mother’s grief, not really.” He turned a desperate and despairing stare on Lizzie. “I wish a word with you alone.”

Lizzie nodded with dread and dismay.

Georgie said, “Papa, I am privy to every secret Lizzie has. Please, do not force me to abandon her now.”

Before Papa could respond, Lizzie took her sister’s hand. “Maybe Papa and I had better speak privately.”

Georgie was clearly reluctant to leave her.

“I will be fine,” Lizzie said, certain it was a lie.

Georgie nodded, and on the verge of tears, she left the terrace, leaving them alone.

“How could you do this?” Papa demanded thickly. “How, Lizzie?”

Lizzie knew what he meant. He wanted to know how she could live openly with a man who was not her husband. “I am so in love, Papa,” she began nervously.

“You are his mistress! You are living openly here! The whole world knows and speaks of little else!”

“I love him,” she cried, not knowing what else to say.

“Have you no shame?” Papa demanded, tears in his eyes.

Lizzie did not reply, when the answer was obvious. But in that moment, she was more than ashamed—she was filled with regret. She had never dreamed that in fulfilling her love for Tyrell she would so hurt her parents. She had never seen Papa so anguished before.

“This is disgraceful,” Papa cried. “Dear God, I never thought to see the day when I would be ashamed of my favorite child!”

Lizzie started to cry. Did Papa now think her little more than a whore? “I’m sorry.”

“That is hardly sufficient! And it is too late for regrets, is it not? Even if you left him now, that would not change these past weeks. No one will ever forget your downfall, and because of it, your sister will never find another suitor. Because of it, your mother and I are ostracized from all society. We are finally, utterly, irrevocably ruined.”

Lizzie sat abruptly, racked with guilt and pain. What had she been thinking when she had accepted Tyrell’s proposition? How could she have been selfish and so thoughtless?

But since coming to Wicklowe, she had been so happy.

“I don’t care for myself,” Papa said angrily. “I have never enjoyed those damned balls and fêtes. But Mama has no friends! She is not invited to a single tea! How will she survive?”

“Oh, God,” Lizzie whispered, the tears streaming now. “Papa, I didn’t think at all! I never dreamed Mama would become a pariah! I never meant to hurt anyone—I only wanted Tyrell to claim Ned as his own son!”

Papa knelt before her, taking her hands. “And what about you, Lizzie? I know you love him. No one knows more than I that you would have never behaved this way if you didn’t! He is engaged to someone else. In the fall, he will marry another woman. What will you do then? Will you be the other woman? Will you be happy then?”

Lizzie stared, her heart lurching. In the past week, she had refused to think of the future and his bride. Instead, she had immersed herself in her love, in their passion and in every moment she spent with Tyrell.

“I see you cannot answer me! And what will you do when he tosses you aside, which he will surely do sooner or later?”

Lizzie had to turn away.

“Men do not keep old women as mistresses. Damn it, Lizzie, what will you do when he is through with you?” Papa demanded.

“I don’t know,” she gasped, for suddenly she could see a day when Tyrell had no more use for her. It hurt beyond belief. “I don’t know!” But she did know—she would die from a broken heart.

Papa stood. Using a linen handkerchief, he wiped his eyes.

Lizzie could only watch, sick with the realization of what she had done to her family, of how she had destroyed their good name and happiness. And now the future loomed, frightening and gray.

She had been a fool to think she could ignore it, to think she could pretend that it did not exist.

Papa turned to face her. “I love you,” he said roughly, “but I have no choice now. I must take care of Mama. I must also save Georgina, if it is at all possible.”

Lizzie began to shake. “Papa, no.”

“Georgie is coming home,” Papa announced, ashen. “And I am disowning you, Lizzie.”

Lizzie closed her eyes. Disbelief and shock were quickly replaced by a terrible anguish. “No,” she whispered. “Papa!”

“I have no choice, not if I am to save the reputation of the rest of our family,” Papa choked. And he covered his face with his hands and wept.

He was right, she somehow thought, her own tears falling freely now. If she was publicly disowned by her own family, then society would forgive them and eventually welcome them back into its ugly fold. Lizzie opened her eyes but could not see, as her vision was blurred by so many tears.

“I am sorry,” Papa said thickly. “But you can no longer be my daughter.”

“I understand,” she sobbed.

Tears stained his cheeks. He turned away, then froze, as Georgie was standing there on the terrace, behind him.

She was crying, too, but she held her head high. “I am staying with Lizzie,” she said.

Supper was a dreadful affair.

Papa had left immediately. Whether Georgie was now also disowned for refusing to return to Raven Hall with him, it was impossible to say. Tyrell returned just before seven, and Georgie and Lizzie were already sitting at the long dining table in absolute silence when he joined them for supper. Lizzie was afraid to look at him. She did not want him to know what had happened, and not just because of her pride. She was grief-stricken, and now she was ashamed of their relationship and of the terrible choices she had made.

He greeted them both, sitting down between them at the head of the table. Lizzie managed a smile and then quickly avoided his eyes as servants began serving them supper. Georgie remained ashen, and she knew that she looked as anguished. She felt Tyrell staring at her and then glancing at her sister in confusion and growing concern.

A rack of lamb was served with small roasted potatoes and green beans. Lizzie had no appetite. She reached for her wineglass, saw how badly her hand was shaking and instantly retreated. She quickly stole a glance at Tyrell. He was staring at her with narrowed eyes in simple suspicion. She flashed him a hugely insincere smile and picked up her knife and fork.