Chapter 14

In the middle of the night she awoke to find him gone from the bed. He leaned against the long window frame staring into the blackness.

"Are you ill?" she cried, rising.

"Nay, only troubled." He came to the bed and sat upon its edge. "Sabre, when I lay ill, did I tell you anything?"

There was a long, protracted silence while she weighed her words. Then she said softly, "You told me everything."

He blanched. "Everything?"

She nodded slowly. "Two fathers … two countries … two loyalties. Your friend Fitz—" He put his fingers to her lips to silence her, then caressed her neck with his long, strong fingers. "If I followed the dictates of my brain, I would have to kill you now," he breathed.

She looked at him steadily, unafraid.

"But I will follow the dictates of my heart and love you." His hands left her throat and cupped her face in a caress. "I wonder, Sabre, will you betray me?" It was musing rather than a direct question, but she gave him a direct answer and wondered wildly if she spoke the truth or if she spoke lies. "Any revenge I seek from you for ills you do me, either real or imagined, will be a personal revenge. I would never betray you to the crown or the queen, for it would not be the crown's revenge or the queen's revenge that would give me satisfaction. It would be Sabre's revenge," she warned him plainly.

He kissed the little black beauty spot high on her cheekbone, his mind reeling with the nearness of her. "You have all my heart. Thank God I am not torn between two women, at least."

"Are you not, Shane Hawkhurst O'Neill," she accused. "What about your wife?"

"She means nothing to me," he swore. As he vowed his love for her, denouncing his wife in the process, she became so angered at his words that a fine, rare row erupted, and all, incredibly, because she was jealous of her own self!

Before dawn they had been clinging to each other in a frenzy. He had a deep need to assert his mastery over her, and she had a deep need to fill up the emptiness inside her that their row had caused. They were driven to fuse their bodies into one to make up for all the days and nights they'd lived without each other. Their lovemaking always felt as if it were the first time.

He slept so soundly, he didn't even feel her rise from the bed. She donned a chamber robe and went to get them the last breakfast they would share for a while. She knew she must leave for court now that he was recovered. Any day the queen and court would be moving to Whitehall for the opening of parliament and for the whole glittering, festive winter season.

She was taking a tray from Mason when they heard a carriage arrive. He went to the front hall and Sabre hovered behind him, wondering who could have arrived at such an early hour. An elegant woman swept into the hall. "Mason, how are you? Do get a couple of servants to help with my baggage, I'm afraid I have a scandalous amount as usual." Suddenly the beautiful face registered surprise as she spied Sabre standing in her dishabille. Her face lit up. "Darling, you must be Shane's new bride. Let me think … ah, yes, it's Sara, isn't it? He's so secretive, that's all I know about you." She inspected her from head to foot with one sweeping glance that took in the thoroughly disheveled hair and her state of undress. "Matthew told me how lovely you were. Let me say that you make a ravishing Lady Devonport," she said generously. "I'm Georgiana, Shane's mother."

Sabre stammered, "No, no, I'm not—that is I am, but —I'm not—oh, damn!"

"I know how you feel … your wretched mother-in-law turning up to spoil your honeymoon! If I'd known he'd brought you to Thames View I would have kept my distance, but I swear, chérie, I'm here to shop in London for one day and then I'll be gone."

Sabre was in a dilemma. Taken completely by surprise and thrown further off guard by her mother-in-law's warm charm, she somehow could not let the woman think her a whore. "Georgiana," she said, "I have a secret I wish to share with you. Come and have breakfast with me and hear my confession."

Intrigued, Georgiana took off her gloves and hat and followed Sabre into an intimate morning room where a cheery fire had been lit to offset the sharp chill of the October morning. Georgiana helped herself to an enormous slice of ham seasoned with juniper berries as Sabre began her tale. "Your son married me for a piece of land I own in Ireland. He didn't even bother to show up for the wedding. He sent Matthew to Cheltenham to marry me by proxy."

Georgiana's face registered her dismay.

"He ordered me to Blackmoor and went off without a second thought on progress with the queen."

"That man-eating harridan!" cried Georgiana.

Sabre laughed. "I see we share an enemy."

"You have been treated outrageously!" protested Georgiana.

"Oh, I was outraged, but I'm taking a sweet revenge. I came to my aunt at court, Lady Kate Ashford, so that I could become Shane's mistress. He has no idea that he is married to me."

"Oh 'tis like a play by Will Shakespeare! How very daring you are, Sara, to deceive a dangerous man like Shane."

"Please don't call me Sara. I go by the name Sabre Wilde. You and Matthew are the only two people who know."

"Of course, you're Irish. We will dare anything! You remind me too much of myself, darling. Oh, it is a rare jest on him, but one he truly deserves. I shan't spoil it for you. You will tell him in your own sweet time."

"Sabre," a deep voice called, "what the devil are all these boxes of clothes? When the hell did you find time to go shopping? I've kept you abed for five days." Shane's tall figure loomed in the doorway of the morning room in time to see his mother flush at his words. "Georgiana, you are looking well recovered," he said calmly.

"Shane, darling, the last thing on earth I intended was to intrude."

"You don't intrude." He placed a protective arm about Sabre and smiled down at her. "My love, I know you will find it difficult to believe so elegant a lady could produce such a reprobate, but this really is Georgiana, my mother." His deep blue eyes sought those of his mother. "This is Sabre Wilde, mistress of this house."

Sabre blushed and slipped from his arm. "I must dress," she murmured, and fled the room.

Alone with his mother he said, "I realize it's bad manners to have my mother and my mistress under the same roof, but I make no apologies, Georgiana."

"Good heavens, Shane, I hope I'm not so gauche as to be shocked." She laughed. "I'm delighted you have such exquisite taste."

Back upstairs he said, "I'm sorry, sweetheart." He frowned. "For God's sake, don't let on I was wounded." He swore under his breath, and she saw clearly that he was worried.

"I'm going back to court today, so you can stop looking so displeased."

"God's blood, Sabre, I hope you don't think I'm such a hypocrite." He waved aside her words. "It's O'Neill I wanted to keep away from Georgiana."

"There's not much chance he'll come," she assured him.

"He'll come," he said grimly. "Tonight I take him back to Ireland."

"Damn you, Hawkhurst! I never know when you're about to leave the country. You never think to tell me your plans. When will I see you again?" she demanded.

"I'm not in the habit of consulting a woman about my plans. Don't begin to think I need your permission to come and go, mistress," he said in a deadly voice.

"Go to hell … and take the bloody O'Neill with you!" she spat.

Inside she was afraid because she knew that O'Neill could well be the death of Shane.

He advanced menacingly toward her, but the moment his cruel hands grabbed her, he groaned and pulled her into his arms. "O'Neill is deadly for Georgiana. I must get him away tonight."

She wanted to scream no, yet she knew she could not forbid him. She pulled away from him and said, "Why don't you fight fire with fire. If you don't wish her to fall into his arms, find her another."

"Who?" he asked flatly. "Who in God's name could compete with that fatal Irish charm?" He swore and booted a stool across the room.

"Another Irishman," she said softly. "There is one under this roof who is twice the man O'Neill is, has three times the charm, and he is a friend."

"The baron?" he asked incredulously.

She nodded. "Dress him up and invite him to dine; just the four of us."

"He wouldn't," said Shane.

"He would do anything for you. Ask him."

The crystal chandelier in the dining salon at Thames View held a hundred candles. The table, set for four, gleamed with heavy silver and Venetian crystal upon the starched white linen. A mass of late white roses stood at its center, and the formally attired gentlemen drew back the tall chairs for their ladies.

"It's such a surprise to see you back in England, Fitz. I thought your permanent home was France," improvised Shane.

"I'm so delighted to meet a friend of Shane's. He keeps his life so private," purred Georgiana. She could not hide the admiration shining from her eyes as she took in the measure of the man who was dining with them. His dress and manner were perfection, his beautiful cultured voice so pleasing to the ear, but above all he was warm and so at ease, you would have thought he had known her for years. "Surely you must have a last name, sir. I cannot call you Fitz," Georgiana probed lightly.

"'Tis Fitzclare," Shane lied.

The baron smiled affectionately at Georgiana. "Please call me Fitz. It pleases me to hear it from your lips."

She lowered her lashes, then raised them again. "Fitzclare is Irish, sir, yet I detect no brogue in your speech."

"Fitz was educated in Europe. He spent his youth traveling about … Paris, Brussels, Venice," offered Shane. He was not lying this time. The earl of Desmond had sent his son to be educated in Europe, perhaps fearing contamination from Ireland's thickheaded, bogtrotting savages.

Sabre sat bemused, trying not to stare at the transformation of the baron. Without his cowl his hair was an attractive silver and his eyes, though dark, flashed silver once in a while. His monk's robe had hidden a hard, well-made body, and Sabre could imagine the muscles he would reveal when he stripped. She blushed at the picture and Shane, catching sight of her pretty coloring, raised an amused eyebrow at her. Splendor of God, he thought, how like his mother she was. Though their coloring was different, their spirits were kindred. Their eyes flashed a challenge to every man they met, and what mere mortal male could resist? He would have to be very careful that she did not gain too much power over him.

The baron entertained Georgiana with tales of his travels in Europe. He was amusing and could converse easily about fashions, food, native customs, politics, or sailing the seven seas. She could not help but be attracted to this warm man who gave her his complete, undivided attention. It was the most flattering thing a gentleman had ever done for her.

When Shane saw they were totally absorbed in each other, he turned his attention to Sabre. They were saying good-bye for a few days, each fearful for the other's safety. He could tell by the quality of her silence that she was angry at him for leaving. She had erected a barrier between them which he thought to penetrate with loving words. "The barge is waiting to take you back to Windsor tonight," he said in a low voice as he covered her hand with his. "Be careful, my darling, and remember if you ever need help and cannot reach me, I always have men posted in the stables."

She pulled her hand from his and said, "I'll take care of myself! Since I'm never to know where you are off to, I have no choice. I think I'll go upstairs before that wretched man arrives. I don't want to see him."

"Did he offend you, sweet?"

"He said the queen set the pace for independence in Englishwomen. That in Ireland they make good women by beating and bedding them regularly." Her eyes flashed. "I said, ‘I assure you I am bedded regularly and Shane applies his great weapon to my nether regions whenever I am in need of it!"

"Lying Irish!" Shane whispered, and lifted her hand to his lips.

Her fingers were stiff and cold, and she snatched her hand from him deliberately.

When Sabre rose from the table, the others followed suit, and as Fitz assisted Georgiana to rise, she said over her shoulder, "I have decided to stay at Hawkhurst for the winter season. 'Tis only a forty-mile ride. … I would welcome your company if the country wouldn't bore you to death."

He said gallantly, "I could never be bored in your company, my lady. Don't be surprised if I take you literally and actually visit." She cast him a sidewise glance that took his breath away. "Please," she murmured.

The baron pretended that he must take his leave, but actually he intended to be cloaked and spurred in time to accompany Shane to Ireland. If he had been at Shane's back the night he had gone to meet O'Neill, he would never have received the near-mortal blow.

Sabre went upstairs the moment she heard the booted step in the courtyard, leaving father, mother, and son to their own volatile company.

"Hugh!" Georgiana gasped as she recognized the harsh, rugged features of O'Neill.

He looked with disapproval at the low-cut, elegant gown, the diamonds blazing at her throat, the lace fan waved so artfully, but he approved of the full-blooded woman beneath the frippery.

Somehow Shane was no longer afraid of these two coming face-to-face. It was their lives, and they must choose. "I will change my clothes. I'll be ready to ride in half an hour," said Shane, allowing them a little time together.

Sabre was surprised to find that Shane had followed her upstairs. She was also pleased. It showed she had some power over him at least. She raised an eyebrow and said in a cool voice, "I thought we had said good-bye."

"By God, how you madden a man. Are you erecting a barrier between us to see me smash it down?" he demanded.

"'Tis you who erects barriers! I never know when you will suddenly decide to take off. Then when you return and have need of me to warm your bed, you crook your little finger and I'm supposed to come running!"

"You sound like a nagging wife. The last thing I need is a wife; I have one of those, remember?" he sneered.

"'Tis you who needs to remember. The woman could be dead for all you care!"

He threw up his hands in exasperation. "Now I've heard everything! My mistress takes my wife's part in this. I can't win for losing with you, Sabre."

She pressed her hand to her mouth so she would not blurt out that she was his wife. By all that was holy she would save that ace up her sleeve until the perfect moment when the revelation would be most advantageous to her.

He closed the distance between them in two strides. She had pushed him to his limit. He grabbed her roughly and gave her a savage kiss that left no doubt who was master. When he felt her resistance begin to melt, he growled arrogantly, "When I return I'll send a servant to summon you."

Sabre was left with her mouth open. Damn you to hell, Hawkhurst, she cried silently.

At the top of the staircase Shane encountered the baron. They could clearly overhear the conversation that was taking place below, and they listened without hesitation.

"Ye are more English than Irish, woman! Like yer queen ye spend too much time riding to the hunt, playing at cards, gossiping with yer friends, and wasting money buying geegaws." He strode toward her and gripped her shoulders harshly. "Yet still I want ye, lass. Come back to Ireland wi' me!"

Georgiana could not keep herself from comparing this man to the other with whom she had spent the evening. Oh, the feral male-animal attraction was still there, filling the room, but outweighing that was the arrogant, vicious need to rule. The need for power was like a madness in him. He thought he should be the Irish king on the Irish throne and would settle for nothing less, no matter who or what was sacrificed. She saw now that she had done her own share of sacrificing others. She had given him Shane, thinking he would cherish such a son, but it was otherwise. He'd used him ruthlessly and would go on using him. Death would put a stop to it, one day, but she prayed fervently it would never come to that.

"No, Hugh," she said calmly, "I like my geegaws. I am too old to throw my comfort to the wind and exist in that barren pile of rock you call Dungannon. You have little love to spare a woman. You have your clans to unite— your Maguires, O'Haras, O'Donnells, O'Sullivans, and O'Rourkes."

His face was vicious as he looked at her revealing neckline and her diamonds. "Whore of Babylon!" he hissed.

"We are ready," said a deep voice from the doorway.

Relief swept over Georgiana as she raised her eyes and saw Shane and the baron cloaked in black for their clandestine journey.