by Stacy Reid
“He did,” Maryann said softly.
Miss Arianna appeared anxious as she demanded, “Please tell me everything.”
Maryann relayed all she knew succinctly. Miss Arianna noisily sobbed and Crispin looked on helplessly.
“He found them from the letter I left?”
“Yes.”
“I did not know he cared,” she whispered, raw with emotion. “I believed him cold and uncaring, his only concern his status and reputation.”
“Is that why you allowed him to believe you had died?”
Crispin sent her a cautioning glance and she took a deep breath.
“He loved you…loves you,” she said with a throat that ached. “He grieved for you, and he allowed such hatred in his heart so he could ruin the men who hurt you. His path led him to Crispin, for he was the black Dahlia.”
Arianna covered her face, her shoulders shaking controllably. Several minutes passed before she lifted her head, taking the handkerchief Crispin held out and dabbing her cheek. “They…those men…I put them behind me years ago. They no longer haunt me, and from my pain I even gained my most precious gift. My child and a friendship in which I trust and treasure. I never imagined my Nicolas would have hurt so.”
My Nicolas. Maryann wanted to howl her grief and pain.
“They led me to believe he did not care, that he knew what they planned, and I…I naively believed what they said. I thought him greatly indifferent. Even at such an age, I understood girls of my background only served as mistresses and Cyprians for gentlemen…and when I was reminded of that, I believed it.”
Maryann stiffened. “Nicolas is the eagle?”
The eagle soars indifferent while the wolf betrays the dove.
“Yes, he is,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the memory. “When I tried to use his name and position to scare them, my bravado was met with such taunting laughs. I was so silly.”
As if he could wait no more, Crispin wrapped his arms around her shoulder. “I was there, and I believed it, too. Please do not be so hard on yourself, Arianna.”
She looked at him with wide, wounded eyes. “Will he forgive me for doubting him?”
Crispin fell silent, but Maryann stood. “He will. The marquess will be overjoyed that you are alive and well. You must return with us to town immediately. There can be no delay in informing him of the news.”
Arianna stood. “Please remain here as my guest for the night, and then tomorrow we could go to see him.”
How excited and scared she seemed.
“I accept your offer and thank you. I would that a letter be sent to our parents immediately. Do you have a footman it could be entrusted with?”
Miss Arianna’s hand fluttered to her throat. “I…I do not wish to see him alone,” she said, looking embarrassed. “I do not have the courage to face him and…and…”
“I will go with you,” Maryann said, wondering how she would bear to witness their loving reunion.
“How will we…will we call upon his house? Will he be there? Is it…is it better that we meet at a public place?”
Her nervousness was heartbreaking.
“He would never hurt you,” Maryann gently assured her.
“He might shout,” Arianna said, folding her arms at her front in a protective gesture. “It is unlikely if we are in public he will shout or be too disappointed in my conduct.”
“He would find nothing to reproach in your behavior. Lord Rothbury will only be exceedingly glad that you are alive. That you survived a horror that many would not.”
Arianna searched her face. “You know him well?”
“We are friends of a sort.” And lovers…and the man I love with every emotion in my heart.
Relief lit in her expression, and Crispin looked away.
“I am certain he will be at a particular ball tomorrow,” Maryann offered. “I have an invitation. We could all go. And once there, we send him a note to meet in the gardens. Will that do?”
“Yes,” Arianna said with a warm, relieved smile. “Thank you, Lady Maryann.”
Soon she was shown to a tastefully furnished room with an adjoining bath chamber. Arianna had assured her it was not too late for the servants to heat water for a bath, and Maryann had taken a long soak, where she had wept.
Now she lay in the large, comfortable bed in the dark, staring at the unadorned ceiling. What would he do when he found out Arianna lived? Marry her immediately or publicly woo her first and then make an offer? The agony of the thought was unbearable, but how could she begrudge him such a happiness?
If he had wanted Maryann, he would have stayed…and allowed them to try to find their path to happiness despite everything.
My heart is laid upon the ground. Please do not step on it.
The memory of her plea had mortification and pain clawing at her heart in equal measure. “He walked away,” she whispered in the darkened room. “And I, too, need to walk away from all the hopes I’ve had about him.”
Memories of his tongue against her, his hands pleasuring, the feel of his body deep within her, the evocative blend of pleasure and pain. Maryann could not regret living with such wanton freedom, and years from now she would not regret that she loved him with every emotion in her heart. If only the pain of it all didn’t make her struggle to breathe. Inhaling deeply, she attempted to quiet her mind.
Simply put, she needed to stop loving Nicolas St. Ives.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nicolas stood on the wide-open terrace of the Dowager Countess of Marsh’s home, smoking a cheroot, the noise of the ball, the clink of champagne glasses, the facile laughter and chatter a distant hum in the background. He had not slept since he hovered in the shadows outside of the Asylum and watched as Maryann and Crispin entered their carriage and rumbled away. It had been almost a full day, his eyes were gritty, his jawline shadowed by an overnight beard, and his stomach unable to withstand even the simplest of food. A hollowness had blossomed through him the second the words parting them forever had left his mouth, and it had spread and settled into his bones.
He had hurt her.
My heart is laid upon the ground.
The words were stuck in Nicolas’s chest like sharpened barbs and with every breath he took, they dug deeper, ripping into his belief that he could exist without her. Fucking hell. The raw ache that had throbbed in her voice haunted him. They existed in the same society, and he would only be able to watch that laugh on her mouth from a distance. He’d have to imagine how it would sound, dream of how she would taste, hunger for her beside him.
Nicolas dragged deep of his cheroot. He had let Crispin go. Bloody hell. Nicolas was a man like his father, without honor.
He was just a lad of seventeen.
Nicolas tried to accept that reasoning to pardon her brother, to excuse the dishonor of not fulfilling a promise and his weakness in letting him go. But they had all been lads of eighteen or nineteen, young men on the cusp of manhood, and he had not forgiven any of the others. So how could he ignore the sins of her brother?
The memory of her wide, pleading eyes, and the fear which lingered because she understood his ruthlessness in exacting his retribution drove the air from his lungs. For her sake, he was glad he was able to walk away. For their sake…perhaps he would forever be tormented by his choice. Or perhaps there had been enough justice for Arianna.
Nicolas looked up to the star-studded sky. “If there has been enough, why am I here?”
A presence moved up beside him, holding out a glass of brandy which Nicolas took but did not drink.
The wolf…
That anguish he had buried for so long rushed to the surface and with a silent snarl, he swallowed it down. His best friend. No…his and Arianna’s best friend. And the great betrayer.
“So this is where you’ve escaped to,” David said, glanci
ng over his shoulder into the ballroom. “Mother has been haranguing me to dance with Lady Cecily because she is perfect for me. God save us from feverish matchmaking mothers.”
At Nicolas’s lack of jovial or sarcastic response, David arched a brow. “Who killed your dog?”
His friend slapped him on his shoulder. “Come, man, what do you contemplate with such insouciance?”
“The things I cannot live without,” he murmured, taking a sip of the drink.
“And what are those?” David asked with an arch of his brow. “And why must they bear such weight of contemplation tonight?”
The things he could not live without—a particularly stunning smile with a dimple, a low husky laugh, a wit that skewered, a shrewd and intelligent mind, a lush body, and a sensuality that was breathtaking. His Maryann.
Something disturbingly akin to grief flashed, freezing everything inside Nicolas. It was impossible to envision a future without her in it. Simply impossible.
The loss he felt at the idea was so profound, the hand gripping the glass shook, sloshing the brandy over the side. With a muttered curse, he knocked back the drink in a long, burning swallow.
He would go to her after this. Another night must not pass with her thinking he did not love her, that he did not want her more than anything else in this world.
And as for Crispin…
That knife-like pain stabbed through Nicolas again. He had already sacrificed his honor. What more did he have to give?
And that was it, he was willing to give anything for her, even if he himself did not understand the lengths he had to traverse to achieve this state. Was it that he had to learn the complex nature of forgiveness?
He recalled saying to his father, with such hatred in his heart, “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, pain for pain, and hatred for hatred.”
“And what about forgiveness?” his father had demanded gruffly.
And Nicolas had laughed in disbelief, and demanded, “If some minor or those poor fools suffering in London had attacked a lady of quality, would you dare to talk about forgiveness or immediately have them hanged?”
Nicolas had never allowed forgiveness to enter his thoughts; even now something in him recoiled from the notion. Yet he had not made any allowance for their youth, simply knowing it to be a reprehensible crime that deserved punishment whether they had been young gentlemen or old men, poor men or rich men.
And he had not allowed that Crispin would be inculpable. He had held the black Dahlia in his heart with the same burning rage as the others. Nicolas had not allowed that his crime was less, and perhaps there was no dishonor in learning to forgive him. To now relinquish his anger against Crispin would not be easy, but Nicolas was willing to sacrifice anything.
For her sake. For his sake. And for theirs.
For so long, nothing else but his promise of retribution upon his honor and assuaging the guilt and rage in his heart had mattered. But then she fell into his life and he hadn’t pushed her from it when he knew better.
Because with every touch, smile, and conversation she had brought such warmth, peace, pleasure, happiness to his cold existence. With her he felt things that were not guilt or hate; with her he hungered and craved a future he hadn’t even dreamed could exist.
He was a damnable fool to risk such a precious treasure slipping from his grasp. Maryann was his future. It was time he laid the past to rest. And that meant there would be no long game with the wolf—the guiltiest of them all.
For Nicolas could not bear letting her wait weeks, months, years while he played the long game of merciless ruination. And not only because she deserved all happiness, but because he knew his Maryann was fierce and indomitable enough to eradicate him from her heart and never look back.
“I must speak to you in private,” Nicolas said.
“How perfectly ominous,” David mocked, but there was an unfathomable look in his eyes, and a fine tension had invaded his frame.
“In your study, perhaps?”
He waved for Nicolas to precede him inside.
They made their way inside the ballroom, and it was as if he felt her gaze upon him. Nicolas’s steps slowed, and the advantage of his height allowed him to scan the crowded room until he found her. Maryann stood still, staring at him, her eyes wide and almost afraid. A quick scan showed no immediate threat to her, and he had to prevent himself from going to her. He would deal with David first and then visit her after.
She glanced away from him, and it was clear she struggled to regain her composure. Maryann wore a fashionable dress of vibrant green silk, which accentuated her slight but curvy figure. Her hair was piled high atop her head in intricate curls, and a single strand of pearls encircled her throat. Their gazes collided, and she pushed her glasses up to her nose.
She was nervous and so breathtakingly lovely.
He looked away and continued on his path which led him to the hallway and to David’s study. Once there, he went over to the window overlooking the gardens. Feeling suffocated, he wrenched the windows open and breathed the crisp night air into his lungs.
Nicolas turned when David closed the door, ambled over to his desk, and sat on the edge of the furniture, folding his arms.
“What did you want to talk about?”
Nicolas thrust his hands in the pocket of his trousers and stared at his friend. A man he had loved as his brother for so many years.
“You are the wolf…”
David frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I never shared with you the first line of Arianna’s letter. Nor a section of the end.”
David stiffened, his expression drawing tight.
“The eagle soars indifferent while the wolf betrays the dove. You always called her dove. With that very first line I knew she referred to us, even as I found the notion improbable,” Nicolas said, “The wolf…he was all of them, cruel, brutal, unholy, and savage, yet he was more, for in him once I found love.”
David flinched and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I… There is not a day that I do not grieve for Arianna.”
“The reason she sat at that table was because you were there.”
“I was drunk,” David said hoarsely.
Nicolas flinched. “Is that the distinction you’ve used to justify your cruelty to a girl you loved?”
Remorse and something darker gleamed in David’s eyes. “Where do we go from here?”
“I am certain you know it.”
A sneer curved his lips and his eyes narrowed. “Do you think I will stand idly by and watch you destroy me as you did the others?”
“Surely you knew this reckoning was coming…or did you really believe me ignorant of your participation? You were the enemy, David, thus the perfect place for you was by my side. Is that why you aided me all this time, to stay close to keep abreast of what I knew? No, my friend, you were there by design, and with each of your friends taken down, you worried more. You started to hide your unentailed wealth and assets, things I didn’t even know you owned. They are now under my control.”
His former friend fisted his hands at his side and surged to his feet. “You must be mad if you think I will allow you to ruin me as you did the others!”
“Alas, I am no longer interested in playing the long game. You will allow me whatever I will, for you will not be let off,” Nicolas said with chilling calmness.
A spasm of anguish raked across David’s face. “Is it a duel you want?”
“Most assuredly,” Nicolas said with lethal iciness. “We will meet in the fighting pits of the Asylum.”
“I’ll not win if we meet fist to fist,” David said tightly. “You are known for your bareknuckle skills.”
Nicolas smiled, and whatever David saw in his face, he blanched.
“Whether we meet with fists, rapiers, or pistols, you will not win. This wi
ll be a lesson…a punishment. I will leave you shamed, bloodied, broken, and it will not even be a fraction of what you deserve. When I am done, you will crawl from the pits on your belly like the snake you are; no one will help you, and it will take months abed to recover. That is your punishment—accept it with grace.”
David’s chest lifted on a harsh breath. “Who appointed you our judge?” he snapped furiously.
“Arianna’s pain,” Nicolas calmly said.
Before David could reply, there was a knock on the door, it opened, and Maryann stepped inside. His heart jolted. “What are you doing here?” Nicolas snapped, taking a step toward her. He did not want her around David at all.
She flushed, pain darkening her eyes. “We were going to send you a note but then I…I saw you come in here which is more private. I am dreadfully sorry for the intrusion, but there is someone here who wishes to speak with you, and it must not wait a second longer.”
Behind her, Nicolas spied her brother hovering in the doorway. “Leave now. I will speak with you another time.”
Instead of complying, the door opened wider, and a lady stepped inside the room.
“My God,” David cried, stumbling back.
Nicolas stared, his gaze moving over her black hair artfully piled atop her head, the vividness of her green eyes which glistened with unshed tears, the way her mouth trembled as if overwrought with emotions, and the tears that finally spilled onto pale cheeks.
A roar sounded in his head and he blinked, but she did not vanish. “Arianna?” he demanded gruffly.
“Oh, Nicolas!” A harsh sob tore from her and she hurtled across the room to fling herself into his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Maryann almost cried out at that look of torment and profound relief on Nicolas’s face when he closed his hands around Arianna and returned her embrace. Maryann whirled away, hurrying down the hallway with such speed, it was as if she ran. It was impossible to stay and watch their reunion. The anguish tearing through her heart made her want to howl.
