The Last Killiney (6 page)

“You still have this liquid? After ten years?”

“I do at that, in a dusty old drawer at home, I think. I’ll send it to you, next I’m there.”

Of course, Elizabeth didn’t care about the potion. The company had reassembled in the music room, and pointing this out to her clerical guest, she hurried to take a seat by the piano. There she was stunned by what Killiney did next.

“In your honor,” he said, and she blushed when he winked, sank down behind the pianoforte and played—what else?—
Mozart
.

Everyone was impressed by his playing, even Christian. The precision of the notes, the strength and feeling with which he played them, ’twas as if he were possessed, for he didn’t craft merely a succession of melodies; he intertwined them with sadness to make them speak, and ’twas enough to tear Elizabeth’s heart asunder. Indeed, she found herself thinking again of his intimate glances, his knowing grin.

Did she dare admit what was happening between them?

She warmed still more when he’d finished the piece, for he turned from the piano to receive her applause. His eyes flashed seductively. His lips mouthed a silent invitation across the room, and Elizabeth felt her senses careen. As much as she knew about Irish ways, they could almost be betrothed by such a look, and how could she meet it with Christian beside her?

Indeed, Christian might have left in a rage, had he not been prevented. By that hour he was very drunk. As Elizabeth walked him upstairs, saw to his comfort in the room next to Father’s, she found herself accosted by vicious complaints. “Why was he staring at you? Did you entreat the Paddy to ogle you so?”

“I did nothing of the sort,” she grumbled. “Now leave the bottle, will you?”

“But he played Mozart, and anyway, he’s got my rooms, hasn’t he? Why does the Paddy get the Prince’s suite? He’s only a stupid viscount, and an Irish one at that.”

She ignored these tedious insults and hurried with her duties. Still, when she returned to the guests downstairs to see Lord Killiney, she’d not been quick enough—he’d gone with James. Without even a proper goodnight, they’d retreated to those rooms Christian complained of losing, and no one had been invited to join them.

She told herself she didn’t care.

Yet the next morning, when she heard them riding out near four o’clock on the road toward Dartmouth, her curiosity was piqued; where had they gone? And why had they left without a word? For no one had been apprised of their schedule, not even Killiney’s trusted valet, and Elizabeth took matters into her own hands when she saddled her horse and rode out after them.

’Twas better than sitting at home like a girl.

The hour was late when at last she dragged in, having never caught up with her quarry. By then the windows of Wolvesfield were dark. The rooms downstairs—the servants’ hall, the basement kitchens—all were quiet, and each of their guests had retired to their beds.

All save one. Elizabeth heard music.

She didn’t recognise the piece he was playing. Yet listening to the melancholy in the notes, the flourishes of emotion, she couldn’t resist sneaking to the music room. During a particularly strenuous passage, she took a position behind his back where, fidgeting nervously, she waited until the sustain died away.

When he turned around, she drew in a sharp breath. She knew she shouldn’t have approached him in such a fashion uninvited, and yet Killiney’s eyes remained placid. His hand slipped from the keys, onto his thigh near the hilt of his antique Spanish rapier, and Elizabeth was still wondering how to explain herself when he spoke first. “You like my music?”

Where was the bite? The arrogant inflection?

“Yes,” she said quickly, “yes, how could I not? There’s such a wonderful feeling to the way you play. ’Tis as if you know the composer’s fears and desires. It draws me, I must admit.”

Killiney studied her carefully. “Which draws you more, my fears or my desires?”

’Twas only then she thought to look behind him. He hadn’t played from sheet music; he’d played from memory, and realising at once what he’d meant by his question, she raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I didn’t know, my lord, I’d no idea you were a composer of—”

“Have you an answer?”

Seeing the expression on his face, she couldn’t determine whether he toyed with her out of malice or affection; the gleam to his eye shewed evidence of both. “I think your question improper, my lord.”

Killiney laughed. ’Twas a deep, rich sound, completely at odds with his usual demeanor, and she stared when he slapped his thigh. “Improper?” he asked. “Should you speak of impropriety, you who comes in from the countryside at half-past one in the morning? After all, what business has a girl in the fields at such an hour?”

Elizabeth put her hands on her hips. “I could ask as much of you, leaving the house at four in the morning. What business have you in the fields at four?”

His smile dampened only a little. “Broughton warned me about you, my lady.”

“Dare I inquire what he told you?”

And seeing that he meant to tell her, that he was amiable in a way James never was, she pulled up a chair beside the pianoforte, eager to learn what James had said.

“Well,” Killiney began, “he thinks you are preoccupied with men’s business—estate matters, horses, that sort of thing. You disdain the role of the woman and seek instead to learn and act where you haven’t the intellect nor the privilege.”

Trust James to say something like that
. “He only tells you so,” she explained, “because he fears what you’ll think of him. He’s embarrassed by me. But you see, my lord, I only seek what any eldest son would have by right.”

“In his eyes, you are something less. Eldest by default, yes, but you lack an heir’s demeanor and intelligence. You don’t deserve anything, regardless of gender.”

“And in your eyes?” she asked.

He considered, gazing at her thoughtfully. “From where I sit, I see an ambitious little girl without the sense to learn her place.”

Elizabeth felt her temper flare. “My
place?
Would you have me playing harp, I suppose?”

“Cultivating social talents, feigning the appearance of a gentle, submissive creature whilst learning the requirements of men, should you attract one—”

“Is that all you consider important, Lord Killiney?” She tipped her chin up haughtily. “Do women have nothing to offer beyond what they can give men?”

“You are too inexperienced to understand.”

“I have a suitor, if that’s what you’re getting to. I am not as desperate as you pretend.”

He shook his head. “That one doesn’t count.”

“Do you mean Christian?” She was annoyed by the gentleman’s presumption. “Since when are you counting my suitors, my lord? I should think an earldom for my sons should do very nicely. Very well indeed, and in view of your viscountcy—”

“You should marry for love.”

Killiney’s gaze lowered, and she was only too grateful for the absence of his piercing stare when she considered his words.
She should marry for love
. Just who did Lord Killiney think he was? “My lord, if and when I choose to wed Lord Launceston, it will be for whatever reason I deem appropriate—love, companionship, or otherwise,” she said.

Suddenly he moved, and Elizabeth had to stifle a gasp when he pulled his bench closer, leaned nearer to her side with a whisper most intimate and soft in her ear. “I know what there is to you, Elizabeth Mary Hallett,” he said. “I see what Lord Launceston never will.”

She couldn’t breathe. “You only see what I’ve let you see.”

“Then let me see where you’ve been tonight.”

He leaned back again, and crossing his arms, he let his gaze linger on her face, over her cheeks and down to her mouth, lowering still further until she felt his bold appraisal of her figure. “Go ahead,” he said to her softly. “Astonish me, my lady.”

How he did unsettle her with those appreciative eyes. It was as if he knew the effect he had, used it as a weapon to part her from her senses, for how could she make an answer with his stare?

She feared then she’d betrayed her innocence where men were concerned, for hearing his tone, seeing that sparkle in the depths of his gaze, she couldn’t stand another moment. She withdrew in apology from his closeness. ’Twas as if she’d taken ill, as if her whole being were caught up in the most unbearable, soulful aching. She spent that night writing furiously in her diary, recording her talk with the viscount, remembering his inflections and the exact phrasing of his questions, for she felt ’twas of vast importance in her life, a turning point, if you will.

For did she dare admit it? Yes, I think she must.

She was falling in love with this Lord Killiney.

The next day she wasn’t able to see him. He’d gone hunting, or at least that’s what the steward, Mr Scott, had told Elizabeth when she’d gotten up. She awaited his return all the day long, and when Killiney didn’t come back with James until late, she got up early to greet him the next morning—only to miss him once again. They’d ridden out in a miserable rain, he and James had. They’d gone to visit the neighbors this time.

Indeed, in the evening when they reappeared, Killiney and James had the neighbor with them. They showed Mr Caley into the white drawing room where Elizabeth’s father routinely sat, and sending the maids to fetching some tea, they shook off their wet coats and closed the doors tight.

Expecting she’d seen the last of them, she wandered upstairs. The storm outside was still going strong. She felt every bit as black as the clouds sweeping in from the Channel, for had Lord Killiney bid her hello? Had he even so much as glanced at her kindly?

Setting about sulking with a bitter vengeance, Elizabeth pulled the blankets over her head, buried her face in the feather pillows…until the drawing room doors were thrown open downstairs. Then she jumped up, for with a brazen and obvious tone, Killiney was talking. His words were easy enough for anyone in the house to hear: “But it’s happened, my lord, and surely you’ll appreciate the four hundred pounds I’ve got in that horse.”

Elizabeth went to her door in a hurry, listened as her father badgered Killiney. “Oh, come now,” her father said. “The stable boys will manage. They’re trustworthy lads.”

“Maybe so,” Killiney replied, “but I assure you, one crash of thunder and Khali will panic. No, I see there’s no alternative but to sleep in the stable and take care of him myself. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

With that, Elizabeth heard his boots in the passage fade into the rain, heard James and her father arguing as they turned back to Mr Caley in the drawing room. She wondered if she dared follow Killiney. Then, just as she was about to risk intruding upon my lord again, Sarah came rushing.

“It’s Killiney,” the maid whispered. “He’s waitin’ in the stables.”

Sarah made certain the passage was empty before her mistress stepped into it. Having changed into a prettier gown, Elizabeth slinked down the servants’ stair, past the white drawing room, crept right outside the west front door without ever being seen by either James or her father.

She found Killiney as he’d said, calming his stallion.

He didn’t look up when she first came in. The sound of the rain pounding on the roof quieted her footsteps, but Killiney knew well enough she’d arrived; when he did raise his eyes, she glimpsed a haven of desire tucked away in the blue. ’Twas as if his gaze were edged with a keenness, a deliberate passion, and as he ran his hand along the back of the stallion, walked toward Elizabeth with such an awful slowness that it set her to shaking, she managed to ask him, “What do you mean to do, my lord?”

Lifting his hand from the stallion’s withers, Killiney stepped nearer. “You know exactly what I mean to do.”

He didn’t falter then. His arms, so muscular and ever so burly, were around her in an instant. Before she knew it, the squareness of his chin was nuzzling her own, his fingers were stroking in a firm, intimate exploration all around her trembling hips, and with his compact frame so solid against her, Elizabeth was powerless to do anything save meet his ever-deepening kiss.

Drawing him closer, she opened to him. She enjoyed the gentle probing of his tongue, for how could she not? How could she keep from nibbling his lip? And in hearing him utter a growl in response, she felt an inexplicable joy in having pleased him, aroused him. She was about to whisper a bold proposal when suddenly he drew back. His mouth curved in a smile. “Would you do it here, for Khali to witness?”

“If it pleases you, my lord, why yes, I’d—”

“No,” and he laughed, shook his head affectionately, “no, my lady, you wouldn’t. Not if I’ve a say in it.”

Seizing her waist, he held her prisoner whilst the stable boy was summoned. Khali’s bridle and blanket were brought out; the stallion was saddled, and after pausing a moment to smother Elizabeth’s neck with kisses, Killiney easily mounted the horse, pulled Elizabeth up and into his arms.

Out the stable door, through the wind and rain, they rode to the Little Lodge deep in the woods where he pulled up the stallion, jumped down to unlock the massive oak door. Being carried into the tower’s single room, her skirts swinging, her teeth chattering from excitement rather than cold, Elizabeth couldn’t help thinking he’d arranged their liaison well in advance. The candlesticks were furnished with good, wax candles. The coal box was well stocked, and as Killiney set about starting a fire, he explained as he did that his stallion, Khali, really hadn’t a fear of storms.

“‘Twas a ruse,” he whispered. Striking the flint, he told her about that long ago day in Gibraltar when he’d bought the horse. “The wind was raging then, as well,” he said. “The most uncommon thunder sent the whole stable to neighing, and do you know how I found Khali in his stall? Asleep, I tell you. Completely content.”

Elizabeth giggled, and stepping back from the fire, he turned to her. “Like a kitten before the hearth,” he said. Falling to his knees, he easily pulled her into his arms. When he let his hands slip down the arch of her back, around her buttocks, into the soft creases of her muslin gown, he ignored the small, frightened sound she made. He kissed her anyway, and with the cold and quiet hiss of the fire beside him, his words were a warmth against her lips. “Just as you shall be,” he murmured. “Just as I shall make you.”