Some Enchanted Waltz (27 page)

Adrian’s pulse quickened as he bit back a stinging rebuttal, willing himself to remain aloof among his enemies. Burke was here, no doubt gauging his reaction to every word. He turned to gaze at Tara, offering her a sweet smile as he took her hand in his own, deliberately distracting himself with her beauty until his anger was in check.

“If the rebels weren’t so vicious, there would be no call for extreme measures to begin with.” Lord Clare commented sharply.

The illustrious new Commander in Chief, Sir Ralph Ambercromby chose that moment to make his voice heard. The heavy set man stood up, regarding the somber assembly that had been intended to be a gala affair as if he were addressing the Irish House of Parliament in Dublin. “Gentlemen, Ladies. It is with great sadness that I must agree with Bishop Rourke. The excesses of the military have exceeded the call of duty. I have several reports of such excesses on my desk at this moment and I intend to make it my first agenda to repress such outrages among the troops. I have issued an order reminding the troops that any officer reported to be drunk and disorderly will be severely disciplined. I have set my face against such practices, and I urge everyone to do the same. If the lords in each district deal honestly and honorably when these incidents are reported rather than deliberately screening them, we would be well on the way to quelling unruly behavior among the troops.”

Applause rose in the room, some polite, Adrian discerned, and some truly enthusiastic. He noted that Lords Knox, Lake and Clare, who advocated the burning of houses and other brutal practices, made little attempt to hide their displeasure, feeling the barb of Sir Ralph’s words. Sir Ralph truly did not realize the extent of corruption within the peerage which advocated extreme measures to terrorize the populace into submission.

“I am also issuing a General Order in the near future enjoining all commanders to compel the officers under them to give the strictest, and most unremitting attention to discipline, order and good conduct of their men such as may restore the high and distinguished reputation that our British troops have been accustomed to enjoy in every part of the world. I am ashamed to say that in the past twelve months, every crime, every atrocity that could be committed by the Cossacks has been committed here in Ireland.” With that, he sat down solemnly, as the company digested his words.

“To Sir Ralph Ambercromby, our new Commander in Chief. May Ireland prosper under his leadership.”  Lord Bantry stood, raising his glass in a toast to the distinguished general for whom the ball had been given.

“To Sir Ralph.” The party echoed. Adrian lifted his glass, privately saluting the man for his admirable attempt to restore order and dignity to the disorderly army. It would prove interesting in the coming months to see if Sir Ralph survived the schemes of rival lords who found his noble character a threat to their own aspirations.

“Lord Dillon,” Burke’s grating voice echoed through the dining hall. “What is your opinion of the countryside as a whole? Sir Ralph is touring our fair district to discern if the reports of rebel activities are indeed true.”

Adrian sat back in his chair, caressing the cool crystal goblet with his thumb and forefinger as he studied its shimmering depths. The wily fox was baiting him again.

“Were you aware that the Fifteenth regiment was ambushed by a group of rebels in a barn on the Beara peninsula?” The Sheriff continued.

Adrian pulled his eyes from the goblet, looking about him with shock and outrage. “I hadn’t. We’ve just returned from Cork. When did this occur, Harlan?” He was careful to use the sly sheriff’s first name to convey a sense of camaraderie with the official.

“Oh, that.” Lord White waved a hand in disdain. “Never mind, Dillon, it was weeks ago. Old news.”

He silently applauded his neighbor’s attempt to soften the implication. “Yet, I was not made aware of it.” Adrian continued, passing the blame for the omission where it belonged, squarely on Burke’s shoulders as the Sheriff of the region near his home.  “Were there casualties among our troops or arms stolen?”

“The soldiers discovered a cache of arms and gunpowder, set up an ambush, and were themselves ambushed by the rebels who herded the troops into the barn and set the powder kegs afire. All died in the explosion. Captain Midnight is responsible for this outrage. I’m told he is a relative of yours.” The button eyes narrowed in accusation. “Quentin Hardwicke, your cousin, I believe.”

Adrian shrugged. He glanced down the table at Lord White and then Sir Ralph, as if for direction. Sir Ralph waved his hand dismissively at the Sheriff while Lord Bantry replied in a pained tone. “The Viscount is our guest, not our enemy, I remind you, Burke. Regarding this Hardwicke character, it is pure speculation and rumor, with no real evidence to implicate the Viscount’s cousin in these matters.”

“Sheriff Burke, I am sorry to inform you that my cousin Quentin died three years ago. You are chasing a dead man.” Adrian said in an aloof, bored tone.

“Says you. There are others that say he’s alive, and heads the masked riders of the Fianna in this region.” Burke responded.

“Aye.” Lord Knox mused, his eyes twinkling with intoxicated mirth. “He’s a phantom, nothing more, a fanciful legend of the peasantry, another Finn Mac Coul who lives in the dreams of the impoverished, promising them redemption from their oppressors. I’ve heard reports of the illustrious Captain Midnight being responsible for every deed against the government from here to the far north regions of  Donegal, Connacht, and County Down. No man can be everywhere at once, gentleman, only a ghost, conjured up in the minds of the whiskey sodden masses.”

“What of the reports of his role in the ambush on the Beara peninsula?” The sheriff whined, not ready to let sleeping dogs lie.

“Posh, man, you’re chasing down a myth. As we speak, Captain Midnight is this  very night in Galway, Kerry, Tipperary, Dublin, Roscommon and far off Londonderry, fighting injustice, championing the cause of every tenant farmer on this island province. When we are all cold in the grave, this figment of legend will still be roaming the countryside righting the wrongs of the oppressed. I propose a toast to Captain Midnight.” Lord Camden lifted his glass in a stalwart salute to the phantom rebel leader.

The other men at the table, one by one, joined him, some with amused smiles, others with a measure of consternation. Adrian meekly lifted his glass, turned to Tara, who was regarding him with those exquisitely beautiful, discerning green eyes.

“To Captain Midnight.” He smiled, privately enjoying the irony of the situation.

“To Captain Midnight.” Tara echoed with a sparkle of amusement in her eyes.

After dinner, the dance resumed. Adrian led Tara out to the dance floor as the strains of another waltz began. Tara wished the dance would never end, as he held her in his arms and gazed down at her with those sultry, intense grey eyes. 

She felt as if they were dancing on clouds rather than polished marble. Adrian edged nearer to the windows. Before Tara could utter a protest they were exiting the ballroom and standing in the cool, night air of the garden.

He didn’t speak as he led her around the outside of the house to the French doors of the secluded parlor room. Adrian put his finger to his lips to indicate she remain silent.
What was he doing?
Breaking and Entering?
 
Did he intend to steal something while his host was distracted by the ball? 
Tara held her protests in check as he jimmied the latch on the French doors until the lock gave way. Adrian led the way inside the dark room. Low coals were banked in the fireplace, giving the room a surreal glow. It seemed to be some sort of private sitting room, similar to Lady Fiona’s at Glengarra Castle. Tara clung to his hand, not knowing what to expect. He led her to the divan and they sat down.

As they sat facing the fireplace for several moments Tara wondered how he knew where to go in the large manor and what his purpose might be. He didn’t appear to be looking for anything, but rather waiting for someone or something to happen.

The door behind them creaked open. Tara turned about as a slim figure entered the room from the hall. Adrian put his hand over her mouth before Tara could make a sound. He slipped his other around about her and drew her firmly against him so she could not see the figure behind them.

“Light the fires, the wind is blowing from the East. March the Twelfth will be here soon enough.”

“March the Twelfth?” Adrian repeated. “The winds have failed to fan the coals. They’re growing colder by the day.”

“Oh, Bond us together, Sweet Dublin, till the long night is past. The Winds will come, rest assured, and the flames will purify the wood until even the roots are consumed with fire.”

 “Should the flames ignite without the wind to feed them?” Adrian replied.

Tara wondered if he’d partaken of Jasper’s vile brew and was drunk again.

“The winds will come, but first we must ignite the flame.
A salute to Captain Midnight
.” The voice whispered in the eerie semi-darkness. A rush of air passed them as the odd messenger made his exit from the French doors leading outside.

Before Tara had a chance to ask him what the silly phrases meant, Adrian was atop her with his lips suffocating hers as heavy footsteps approached. The hall door burst open in a violent crash and a candelabra held aloft inside. Lord Lake, followed by two soldiers, moved closer, gazing curiously at them as they lay in a heated embrace on the sofa.

Adrian rose up on one arm and peered over the back of the sofa with a frown. His crimson bandana was askew as he leveled a penetrating glare at the men who dared to interrupt their tryst. Tara was lying beneath him, holding her breath as the two lords regarded one another silently.

“Pardon us, Dillon.” The older man coughed discreetly. “Out, we’ve no rebel tryst here, only a love besotted swain and his lady. By the Saints, Lieutenant, I believe the champagne has gone to your head.”

“T’was ‘im, I tell ye. That rebel what ‘scaped from the garrison.”

“I hardly believe Lord Bantry would employ a gallows bird. Move on, boys.” Lord Lake shooed the men out.

Adrian sat up. He pulled Tara up into a sitting position, and straightened his headpiece. He appeared vastly annoyed at the interruption rather than worried that his messenger was nearly caught. “This is a party, is it not? I’ve had quite enough of this rebel rubbish.” He affected a bored tone. “One would think they hid behind every tree, the way those boyos go on.”

“Agreed.” Lord Lake replied. He tipped his head to Tara. “My humblest apologies, Madame. Too much champagne wasted on simple men. Dillon, no offense, my lad.”

Tara’s face was hot, her breathing labored from sheer terror. She, too, realized the importance of playing the game before Adrian’s enemies. She reached down to the carpet to retrieve a piece of jewelry that had fallen from his braid, handing it to him with a silly smile in front of their audience. “You lost this, darling.”

Adrian took it, winking at her as he turned to give their audience a stern look.

“Carry on, then.”  Lord Lake murmured as he edged toward the door.

As the door closed, Adrian let out a tense sigh. “Godspeed, Johnny, may the moon hide its face until you are safely away. And now, my fairy queen, I suggest we make a discreet retreat.”

Once they were upstairs in their shared chamber, Adrian locked the door and made a quick check beneath the bed and behind the curtains and dressing screen to assure they were well and truly alone.

“Why didn’t you tell me what you were about?” Tara demanded.  

 Adrian didn’t answer as he removed the wires holding up her gossamer wings and set the contraption on a nearby chair. His arms surrounded her from behind as his lips nuzzled her neck. “Would you have been able to play the innocent if we were caught with Johnny? I think not. If they questioned you, you may have let something slip. As it was, you knew nothing except that the footman came upon us when he entered the library to check on the fire.”

“Stop that.” Tara bristled as his lips trailed her neck, making her spine tingle with delight.

 “Tomorrow, when the guests leave and return to their county seats, everyone will be talking of the Viscount and Viscountess Dillon, they’ll say Lady Dillon is so beautiful, she’s enchanted her poor husband, and they will be correct, my fairy queen.”

Tara couldn’t argue with his logic, not with his lips nibbling her ear and that tender spot just beneath it. His fingers moved up her sides and circled her shoulders seductively. The strains of the orchestra below were faintly wafting through the walls.

He moved about to face her, his eyes dark coals of desire. “Shall we dance?” As he slipped an arm about her waist and drew her hand in his, Tara leaned against him in surrender. They moved together in fluid union, alone now, free to do as they wished with no eyes watching them.

As she gazed up at him, it seemed ages before those beguiling lips descended. Her pulse was quickened by the leisurely pace with which he led her about the chamber in the sensuous dance, kissing her until his tongue had claimed her mouth so fully she expected them to melt together into one being.

The tapes of her gown were released one by one. His fingers lightly eased down her exposed spine as he opened the back of her gown. The silky fabric fell forward, exposing her shoulders and draping seductively in a loose fall before her breasts. He admired the effect momentarily before yanking the dress down over her hips. Tara stepped out of the cool fabric pooling at her feet. She was dressed in only a light chemise and petticoat, along with the delightful silk stockings that hugged her thighs. Adrian lifted Tara about the waist and carried her to the bed. She sank down on the feather mattress, grinning at him with anticipation as she remembered last night’s erotic interlude. Adrian had pleasured her with his mouth and then left her wanting more of him. She planned to make it up for him tonight in spades.