Although she rested in front of him, sleeping the deepest sleep, Sage felt alone.
Marianne wasn’t here.
Her vivacious smile and indomitable spirit were nowhere to be found in this room.
An ache emerged in his chest. It wasn’t painful. But he was aware of it. It had happened before, although he tried to ignore it.
What was it? This feeling of wanting to be near Marianne? Of the hollowness he felt inside whenever she was absent from his side? Of the yearning that occurred making him wish to seek her out? Of the sense of completeness that overcame him whenever she stood near to him?
When had it happened?
When had he fallen in love with Marianne?
He groaned, the angst-filled sound echoing in the empty room. He dropped her hair and rubbed at his eyes when drops of moisture emerged from the corners.
How had it happened? How had he gone from regarding Marianne as a sweet younger sister to a loving, spirited companion?
“Ah, Marianne,” Sage whispered, hoarsely. “If only I could help you. Save you.”
The tingle at the back of his neck warned him that he was no longer alone. A waft of lavender reached his nose. The ache in his chest eased. Warmth filled him, and he smiled.
“You are helping me,” she said.
“It doesn’t seem to be enough.”
“It will.”
They remained silent for a few companionable moments after that, each lost in their own thoughts as they stared at the body.
“What did you mean…” Sage halted his words, uncertain whether to speak his thoughts aloud. “When you said I was your closest friend?”
He lifted his bowed head, turning to her. She stood by the doorway, her hand moving toward the frame as if she needed to grasp it to stand tall. Her fingers vanished into the wood. She yanked her hand to her chest, clutching her fingers into a fist.
“Well, you are,” Marianne admitted. If she were corporeal Sage imagined her face would flush a shade of red to match her hair. “I’m forgotten by most everyone. You are the only one who pays attention to me.”
“Julia and I remain the only two who can see you, Marianne.”
“No, no, it’s not that.” She waved her hand in protest. Then her gaze locked on something of extreme interest on the wall beside him. “Even when I was a child…Well, with eight years separating us and my mother dead, Julia treated me more as a daughter than a sister. Your family, too, found ways to convey their feelings for me. I was the neighbor girl, a child who ran rampant among the estate. But you…”
She paused to gather her thoughts. Sage remained silent, watching her, wishing again he could hold her hand.
“You listened to me. You talked to me as an equal, not a child. You teased, made me laugh, played games with me when the others were too busy to be bothered. You were not simply my neighbor, you became my friend.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Even Julia never found time to play games with me.”
Her memories took him back to when they were children. The gap in their ages remained as distant as Marianne and her sister. Unlike his siblings however, Sage never let that stop him from being entertained by the impish ginger-haired girl. His memories always included mischievous smiles, bouncing red curls, and contagious laughter. Marianne was fun. And her antics never ceased to amuse him. So while the other Merriweathers found entertainment elsewhere, he’d sought out Marianne’s company.
And what she said was true. They had become friends, despite the difference in age. Even after adulthood crept upon him, whenever Sage returned home, he was always pleased to find Marianne bouncing into the hall to greet him.
Perhaps, his growing fondness for her began long ago. Deep in his heart, he’d found a companion in Marianne because they were alike. Ready to tease, to joke, to laugh, to amuse. No one else could tease a smile from him like Marianne. Even when he felt his most churlish, one smart comment from her would turn his mood.
He just never noticed the difference between Marianne and every other woman.
Marianne had grown into a beautiful woman, there was no denying, but underneath the skin…No one could compare to her.
“We’ve always been great friends, have we not?” Sage smiled.
Her gaze returned to his. She nodded her agreement.
“And so it will remain,” he said softly, resolved. His growing desire for her would never conflict with their friendship. He could not bear it if he succeeded in pushing her away as he’d considered. Instead, he’d restrain his affections toward her, retaining her as friend, not the lover his heart was imagining her to be.
After all, Marianne was engaged to that Fernsby fellow. Fernsby was of an age with her. Sage was too old. How could she possibly think of him in any romantic way? He was a fool.
But Marianne did not smile in return. She continued staring at him, her eyes so wide they seemed almost owlish.
Was it too late? Had Sage pushed too far? Perhaps Marianne did not wish to continue their long-term friendship.
He frowned when she turned to walk away. His chest tightened, as if an invisible force squeezed so he could not breathe.
“Marianne,” he said a note of panic in his voice. She halted in her tracks, then looked in his direction. “Will you sit with me while I sleep? Wake me if I…dream again?”
“Of course,” she said. “I planned to do so whether you liked it or not.”
Relief filled him. Despite his intentions, he hadn’t pushed her away. She was his friend still. And they would remain friends. Sage would see to it.
He needed a friend now more than ever.
Marianne would watch over him while he slept. He couldn’t bear it if he caused another fire.
Chapter Eleven
Something was different about Sage.
Marianne stood in a quiet corner in the ballroom, observing Sage as he danced with the homely Miss Caruthers. He laughed charmingly at whatever comment she made, making her face light with admiration. By all outward appearances, Sage Merriweather remained the handsome gentleman rake he was always known to be. No one in this room could distinguish a difference between this man today versus the man he had been a week ago.
But Marianne knew.
Sage had withdrawn.
He was quiet, reserved.
Solemn.
He didn’t seek her out as often as he once had. Something had changed him.
Was it the fire at the cottage?
Since he refused to talk about the incident, she assumed that was what kept him subdued. He feared the fire magic he possessed and his lack of control.
He requested her presence just once, but Marianne visited his bedchamber every night. She watched while he slept. And though he never had nightmares as frightening as the night at the cottage, he suffered them still.
Each night he tossed in his bed sheets, tangling them in his limbs. Once he fell to the floor as he fought whatever attacked him in his dreams.
Marianne did not speak to him of the dreams. She trusted that he would tell her when, or if, he was ready.
Sage appeared recovered from his ordeal with the highwaymen and cottage, enough so Basil agreed not to accompany him to this meeting tonight with the mysterious Desmonda Green. She had sent a missive several days prior, announcing her intentions to attend the Carutherses’ ball. It said nothing more.
Marianne’s gaze drifted from Sage to the many faces gathered in the ballroom. This affair was not the crush they had endured last week. She had no difficulty avoiding contact with people when she walked among the participants searching for the ginger-haired half-demon.
She searched for a full hour before coming to stand in the corner next to a huge potted plant.
The song ended, and Sage performed the last movements of the dance with Miss Caruthers’ hand lightly placed on his arm. Marianne’s chest tightened with envy. The young Miss Caruthers was not aware of her good fortune, to be able to touch Sage in such a manner. For the last week, Marianne gritted her teeth wit
h frustration in her predicament. Her thoughts kept circling around the brief kiss she and Sage shared. Her lips burned at the memory.
“Bloody hell,” she whispered, rubbing her lips. Perhaps the only good to come of her seclusion from the world was that she could utter all the swear words she ever overheard from the Merriweather boys. Only with Sage and Julia present did she need to guard her tongue.
“Bloody, bloody hell.” She spoke louder this time since Sage was too far away to reprimand her for it.
As if he heard her speak, his head turned. His gaze locked with hers. His smile faded.
Marianne pressed her lips together to keep from swearing again, lest he discover what she mumbled. What was it about her that made him so unhappy? Ever since the night in the cottage, a barrier of some sort had been built between them. He seemed so serious around her. Like all the laughter had left his soul.
Perhaps it wasn’t reaction from the fire magic. He’d suffered that ordeal since returning from Castle Blackmoor where he helped rescue Julia, Basil and her own body. Several months after, Sage continued with his jesting and jovial attitude, behaving as though nothing dreadful had occurred. He’d masked it. Hiding his frightening secret, so as not to burden those who loved him.
This was different.
It was as if he’d given up on something.
But what?
Another song began. Another dance partner for Sage. His attention torn from her as he focused on a new woman whom Marianne did not recognize at first. As she peered closer, she recalled the lovely Mrs. Watson. She often saw Sage in this woman’s company. In fact, Marianne suspected she and Sage were lovers.
The thought made her queasy. She knew Sage was a rake. If the rumors were true, he had taken many lovers. The ton referred to him as the Merriweather Rake, after all. But Marianne made it a point not to discover the truth of those rumors. It was enough to imagine what he did at night. She need not witness it for herself, even if she could walk undetected through walls.
The couple twirled upon the dance floor, the cloth of the numerous colorful gowns floating like clouds of rainbows surrounding them. Marianne’s fingers clenched into a fist. Oh, how she wished to dance!
With Sage…
His name presented itself in her mind. Warmth crept up her ghostly skin. She had danced with Sage a few times before the curse was placed upon her. It was nothing extraordinary. He was a competent dancer, never stepping on her toes or holding her hand too tight. Why did the thought of dancing with him now make her heart beat just a bit faster in her chest?
Marianne swore again. At this rate, she’d begin speaking like a sailor if she didn’t watch her tongue.
She tried dragging her attention from Sage and his pretty partner. She had better things to do than observe him dance. She should search for Miss Green. After all, they needed to speak with her. It was imperative they discover what assistance she could provide.
And, yet, Marianne’s feet did not move. She remained rooted beside the hideous potted plant shoved into the corner of the room, probably to keep it hidden from the guests’ vulnerable eyes. Instead of searching the house where Sage could not traverse, Marianne remained in the same room.
Watching him.
Imagining what it would be like to dance with him…to be held by him…to kiss him again…
She sighed and looked away.
“….Marianne. I hope she never returns.”
The sound of her name caught her attention. Marianne recognized the voice of her friend, Charlotte Smythe. She scanned the crowd until she found her friend’s familiar brunette hair pinned with decorative flowers matching her dress. Charlotte stood a few steps from Marianne, sipping a glass of ratafia. Maria Spaulding stood next to her, smiling and nodding in agreement.
“It would make things less complicated.”
“I suppose he wouldn’t mind, would he?” Charlotte took another sip from her glass before lowering it to add, “After all, what good is a fiancée who cannot be found?”
“Did he really tell you they were promised to each other?” Maria asked, lowering her voice. She tilted her head toward Charlotte, who was several inches shorter.
Something of the gleam in Charlotte’s eyes made Marianne uneasy. She moved closer to better hear her response. She had mentioned her name, after all. Why was she speaking of her?
“A secret engagement,” Charlotte whispered loudly. “Known only to the two of them. And, myself, of course. Apparently, he thought himself madly in love with her when they first met. But that was an entire year ago…”
“And then she disappeared,” Maria finished for her friend.
A sick feeling grew within Marianne’s stomach as she stopped to stand next to Charlotte. She could touch her friend without Charlotte having any knowledge of it.
“He reconsidered his feelings shortly after. Dear Mr. Fernsby tells me as soon as she’s returned to England he’s to inform her of his intentions. Her behavior toward him has been horrid and unbecoming. She should dare to abandon him for so long? If he’d known she had no plans to honor her promise to wed, he never would have lost his heart in the first place. Instead, he’ll have mine, as soon as we wed next spring.”
“It does make it all the easier if she doesn’t return. Let her stay in Belgium or wherever they say she is. Since neither has mentioned their engagement to anyone, he can call it off with no one the wiser.”
“If she fails to return until next year, she’ll have the surprise of a lifetime to discover her fiancé wed to another!”
“It’s no more than she deserves. After all, she always was a bit queer. The lot of them from Meryton, if you ask me. The Merriweathers are so…odd. Well, all save the present Mr. Merriweather. He’s there now, dancing with Harriet Watson. She’s a great beauty, is she not? And she fancies him. She told me he made advances to her a week ago. Mentioned the possibility of a union. It’s a marvelous match. Harriet will make a perfect wife…”
“No,” Marianne said.
She wasn’t certain for a moment which part of Charlotte’s revelation she protested. That Charlotte was planning on marrying her darling David, or that she suggested pretty Harriet would make a perfect wife for Sage. Either held disastrous appeal. And Marianne would not stand for it.
“They say he’s favored Mrs. Watson ever since her husband died at Waterloo. He comforted her during her time of grief, and they grew close. They’ve formed quite an attachment.”
“No!” Marianne repeated, shouting this time. “Do not speak such scandalous lies!”
Heat rose swiftly to her cheeks, startling her with its intensity. It shocked her still that her spirit form reacted as her body might. Her heart rate increased with speed of the swelling anger from the inability to do anything to stop Charlotte’s plans.
“How could you say such horrid things? I thought you were my friend!” Marianne screamed at Charlotte now. What did it matter? No one could hear her.
Tears welled in her eyes as Charlotte laughed at something Maria said. Standing there, sipping her ratafia…plotting to steal her fiancé…proposing to marry Mrs. Watson off to Sage.
“It will not happen!” Marianne shouted. “It will never happen! I won’t let it, do you hear?”
Of course, Charlotte did not hear.
Marianne growled, an entirely unladylike sound, then clenched her fingers into fists and swung at Charlotte. If only she had substance to inflict the pain tearing through her heart. She aimed for her friend’s face. As she knew it would, her hand slipped through Charlotte’s body, sending a shiver of electricity through her. Marianne swung once more, slashing her hand through Charlotte’s shoulder before she stopped.
Charlotte shivered. “Oh, do you feel that cold air? I believe there must be a draft. Odd for this time of year, do you not agree?”
Tears pooled in Marianne’s eyes as she glared at her former friend. If only she could do something to make her displeasure known.
“Is something the matter?” Sage’s voi
ce inquired from behind the group of ladies.
Marianne spun. He looked directly at her, his brow furrowed. Her heart leapt. He acknowledged her when no one else would…could. She bit her lip when she noticed the thunderous expression cast over his features. Was he concerned…or angry? He appeared rather furious.
Marianne glanced away.
“Nothing a walk in the garden would not alleviate,” Charlotte said, obviously assuming Sage spoke to her. Marianne knew Charlotte smiled in delight at Sage’s attention from the cheerful sound of her voice. “It’s a bit chilly in here. Strange, don’t you think?”
“Not at all. These old houses tend to be drafty.” Sage said. His voice sounded…strained. Disappointed. He must have seen Marianne’s fit of rage. Embarrassment replaced the angry heat in her cheeks. She had reacted like a spoiled child. Unbecoming of a young woman, even though she knew her actions would harm no one.
“Then will you not walk with me, Mr. Merriweather? We shall warm ourselves with the summer air.”
“I admit, I cannot. My presence is promised to someone else at the moment. In fact, I must speak with her now. Good day to you, Miss Smythe.”
“Yes, of course,” Charlotte muttered, the regret clearly heard in her voice.
Marianne glanced warily at Sage. Again, he focused on her. She saw the swift tilt of his head, indicating she should follow, then he turned abruptly and walked away.
Marianne stifled the urge to run in the opposite direction. She did not look forward to this interview. Her behavior had been that of a selfish child, and it embarrassed her that he was a witness to it. But even now she held her fists clenched at her sides with a strong desire to smash Charlotte’s dainty little nose.
That she would betray her…
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