Countess of Scandal (10 page)

Eliza laughed, despite the tight lump in her own throat,
and squeezed her sister's hand "I am wondering if a comic opera might not have been better for you, my dear."

"Oh no! What can be
better
than love, love against all odds? It is glorious."

Glorious until the wrenching end. "Mama would say a sensible marriage, based on parents' good advice, would be far better."

Anna shook her head. "Did your sensible marriage make you happy, Eliza?"

"Mama would say happiness is irrelevant Duty is all," Eliza said carefully.

"So she would. But would you?"

"My marriage was no Romeo and Juliet tale, to be sure. But it was not so very bad." It gave her the independence to pursue her own work, to find out who she really was. That was more than most women had.

"I don't want 'not so very bad,'" Anna said stubbornly. "I want passion and joy! I want someone who makes my soul sing. Mount Clare didn't make your soul sing, did he?"

Eliza laughed. "Not at all I am not sure that would be such a pleasant sensation."

"Oh, sister, always so sensible. Haven't you ever met anyone who made you feel like Romeo and Juliet, just a bit?"

Oh yes.
She certainly had. And he sat right across the theater, making her feel those things all over again.

Or he
had
been there. When Eliza peeked over at the Hardwicks' box, she saw that Will was gone.

"Mama would say such things are unimportant, and even dangerous," Eliza murmured. "They disrupt the natural order of things."

Anna sighed. "I know what Mama would say. She lectures endlessly at Killinan. But what do
you
say, Eliza?"

"I say ... I am thirsty, and I need to stretch my legs. I shall go and find someone to procure us some negus."

"By yourself?" Anna said. "Now, Mama would say that is most unwise."

Eliza laughed. "I will be gone for only a moment. Surely you can behave yourself without me for that long, sister dear."

"Perhaps," Anna said teasingly. "But can
you
behave yourself without
me?"

Eliza left the box, still laughing, her gray silk skirts rustling. The corridor outside was crowded with others seeking refreshment and gossip. Eliza eased around them, headed toward the staircase to seek out a footman to send for the drinks.

She found Will instead.

He was just coming up the stairs, a look of intent concentration on his face, as if he thought of something far away. They nearly collided on the dimly lit landing, and his hand shot out to clasp her arm, steadying her.

"In a hurry for an appointment, Lady Mount Clare?" he said. A half-smile curved his lips, but his gaze studied her intently.

"Yes, indeed," she answered. "An appointment with a glass of negus. I am perishing of thirst."

"How appalling. We certainly cannot have that Come, let me be of assistance."

He held out his arm to her. Eliza glanced over her shoulder, but no one seemed to be paying them any attention. "Are you sure you should, Major Denton?"

"Fetching refreshments in a theater is shocking, I know,
Lady Mount Clare. But I think my reputation can bear the strain."

"But can
mine?”
She slid her hand through the crook of his elbow, just as she had at the ball, letting him lead her downward. The blue-carpeted stairs were narrow, lined with framed sketches from past plays. As the stairs turned on a landing, she and Will were momentarily alone, caught in a second of silence.

"I need to see you, Eliza," he whispered in her ear.

She stared at him in surprise. "You
are
seeing me."

"Alone. Please, I need to speak to you alone."

An enemy to thee.
Eliza wanted to refuse, for she was not sure what would happen when they were alone. What emotions would flare up, burning away caution and sense and . . . everything. Yet he looked so very serious, she feared he would just climb up the ivy and hide under her bed again if she refused.

"Very well," she said. 'Tonight, after my household has gone to bed."

He arched his brow questioningly. "Shall I climb to the window again?"

"I think the play has too much influenced you, Romeo. I shall let you in by the kitchen door." That should be safe enough, because her cellar was empty now.

He quickly kissed her hand as they neared the foot of the stairs."Tis twenty years till then.'"

Eliza tiptoed down the back stairs of her house, the silence of deepest night crowding around her. Everyone was
asleep, even Anna, and the cavernous kitchens seemed to echo like a cave.

Was she being foolish, agreeing to meet Will like this? She very much feared she was. His eyes, so blue, so quiet, calm, and watchful—angel's eyes—sought out all her secrets. But she wanted to talk to him and had to know what he would say to her.

She remembered his words about how he, too, was Irish, his family planted here for decades, as was hers. Why could he not, then, see things as she did? There had to be a way.

She gathered the high swansdown collar of her dressing gown closer about her neck, shivering as the cold of the flagstone floor seeped up through her slippers. The fires were banked for the night, but she still smelled the residue of smoke, of cooking meat and boiled vegetables. It made her think of the kitchens at Killinan, of how she would dash through their bustling activity to snatch a picnic lunch of bread and cheese on her way to meet Will in the woods.

Not much had really changed, and yet everything had.

Eliza leaned against the locked door, listening for any sound outside. Her heart pounded so loud in her ears that she could scarcely hear, but then at last it came. A knock.

She went up on tiptoe, peering through the tiny barred window. It
was
Will, dressed again in his rough black clothes, his cap pulled low over his brow. She unlocked the door, drawing it open just enough for him to slip inside.

Without a word, he caught her in his arms, his mouth coming down on hers in a desperate kiss. He touched her tongue with his, tasting, seeking, and it was as if she were
struck by a sizzling, blue-white bolt of lightning. Enveloped by fiery heat mat burned away everything else.

She curled her fists into the coarse cloth of his coat, dragging him closer, closer. Yet still it was not enough. The desperate tension of life in Dublin combined with her desire for Will, creating an explosion of sheer need, of the necessity to feel alive again, as if for the last time.

But from along one of the snaking corridors, she heard a sound, a rustle, reminding her of where they were. She tore her mouth from his, leaning away from the heat of his body.

"Come with me," she whispered.

Wordlessly, he took her hand, letting her lead him up the stairs and into her bedchamber. A smoldering fire crackled in the grate, providing the only light The bed, with its turned-back blankets, was in blessed, forgetful shadows.

Will closed the door, leaning back against it as he studied her from under the concealing brim of his cap.

Eliza studied him, too, unsure of what to do next. She still trembled with the force of their kiss. But was he still Will, her Will, or was he Major Denton?

He swept off that cap, dropping it to the floor as he shook his long hair free. He smiled at her and held out his hand, and she knew—he was Will, if only for tonight

She took his hand, letting him draw her closer until he took her in his arms again. He kissed her hair, her brow, the pulse that beat at her temples. Eliza closed her eyes, losing herself in the sensation of his lips against her skin.

"I missed you, Eliza," he muttered.

"I missed you, too," she answered, and knew the terrible truth of it She
had
missed him over all these years, even as she tried to deny it tried to lose herself in the
routines of her own life. Whenever she was at Killinan and they called on Will's mother at Moreton Manor, she tried to stay indifferent to Lady Moreton's news of him in the West Indies. But those tidbits had been like precious pearls, hoarded by her against lonely days. Laid away with her memories of him.

And now here he was, in her arms.

She buried her fingers in the rough silk of his hair, pulling his lips down to hers for another kiss. She closed her eyes tightly, savoring each taste and texture, the slant of his lips over hers, the soft moan deep in his throat that made her melt He tasted of mint and wine, of Will.

She parted her lips, twining her tongue with his, and it was as if that lightning blast enveloped him as well. He groaned again, his hands seizing her waist to swing her back against the door, lifting her high.

She was braced between the polished wood and his lean, muscled body, surrounded by the scent and heat of him—by the humid blur of sexual need that dragged her down into a boiling whirlpool. She held him closer as their kiss slid into desperation, into frantic need

The skirts of her dressing gown and chemise fell back as she wrapped her bare legs around his hips, the coarse wool chafing the soft skin of her thighs. She felt his erect penis, hot and as hard as iron through his trousers, as he rocked into the curve of her body.

His hand slid from her waist to her bare leg, sliding up and up, slowly, his callous palm a delicious friction on her skin as he pushed the fabric out of his way until she was completely bare to him. Spread wide, vulnerable, open to any desire he possessed.

Eliza's head fell back against the door, her eyes drifting
closed as his lips trailed from hers and along the column of her throat In that whirling darkness, she couldn't think at all. Only feel. Need.

His tongue delicately touched the hollow at the base of her throat, tracing the arc of her collarbone, nudging her chemise away until it fell from her shoulder. He kissed that naked skin, the soft slope of her breast where her heart pounded. His hand slid to the top of her thigh, drawing her up even higher against him.

His thumb pressed to the wet seam of her womanhood, sliding just barely inside. Eliza moaned at the flood of raw sensation, the rough friction of his touch on that delicate skin.

"Do you want me?" he gasped against her breast. "Do you want me, Eliza?"

Want him?
She had never felt anything like this terrible, desperate, primitive need, that ache of urgent desire deep inside her, at her very core. Surely the world would shatter into sizzling little shards if she could not have him.

He nipped at the soft skin just above her aching nipple, soothing the little sting with the tip of his tongue. "Do you want me?" he said again.

"Yes," she whispered. "I always have."