by Stacy Reid
She tried to withdraw her chin from his grasp, and he tightened his fingers to the point of being painful. She stilled and he smiled.
“I overheard you a few months ago discussing a bill being debated in the commons with another friend. It was a rare thing seeing two ladies debating so spiritedly…and you shone brilliantly, your knowledge and insight alarmingly appealing. No one else was there to see it but I.”
He turned her face a bit to the side with his hand. “I am a gentleman ready to settle down with a wife, and at that moment I decided you would do. Our offspring will not be vapid buffoons but ladies and gentlemen with keen wit and shrewdness.”
As simply as that, her fate was decided as if she had no say in the matter. “Unfortunately, you will never do for me.”
She tried once again to remove her chin from his grasp, but he held firm, and his eyes flashed a warning that made her freeze.
“How odd that you believe yourself to have a choice. The matter has already been agreed with your father.”
He dipped his head, and her heart roared. Her first kiss would not be with this cretin. As his mouth made to brush hers, she wilted against him as if weakened.
She’d show him what a woman with keen wit could do.
Maryann felt the start of surprise run through his body, then he smiled, carnally and evidently pleased. He shifted, clearly meaning to cradle her closer to his body, and she lifted her leg swift and sure between his, just as her brother had taught her.
A choking sound slipped from his mouth, and he released her as if he had been burned. She had not brought him to his knees, but the corded muscles of his throat were on stark display, his eyes glittering with his ire. “I would not marry a dishonorable bounder who would keep a mistress with his wife, while bedding servants in his household and others.”
She would have laughed at his slack-jawed expression if she were not so frightened and out of sorts. Maryann spun and hurried along the hallway to the ball, only to falter as his words reached her.
“I also like spirited. I am even more determined to have you, Lady Maryann, the pleasure I shall take in teaching you your place.” His sigh echoed with licentiousness and pleasure at whatever he imagined.
Swallowing her revulsion, she made her way down the hallway and back to the ballroom. Before, she hadn’t been certain how to extricate herself from this ridiculous union but now, she knew. That lady’s room the marquess had surreptitiously climbed from would be confirmed as hers. Even if there was no truth in that statement.
Every prudent consideration of her position and her parents’ expectations must be set aside. Misguided or not, this was happening.
She would ruin herself and let the chips land wherever they may.
The only question that needed answering was, how do I let the polite world know that Nicolas St. Ives, Marquess Rothbury slipped from my room?
Chapter Four
Nicolas was appalled at the rather astonishing degree to which he was aware of Lady Maryann. He decided it was because of that small curve to her lush, pretty mouth, the color of pink rosebuds. Her smile was alarmingly beautiful, and that sweet slant commanded his attention for several moments. It seemed mischievous…and naughtiness was never a thing associated with a reputed wallflower.
Her head was dipped in close conversation with a young lady he recognized as Lady Ophelia, a stunning creature who, for reasons beyond most gentlemen’s comprehension, remained unwed. Nicolas was uncertain if her unmarried state had to do with Devlin Byrne, a man known in London’s underworld for his ruthless shrewdness and also that he was possessive/protective of a certain songbird with a mysterious identity.
Nicolas suspected he might be one of only a few men in society to know the truth of her dual identity, which he had only discovered by chance. He had done nothing with the information. Devlin Byrne was not an enemy, and Nicolas suspected the fastest way to turn such a man into one would be to do anything that might threaten Lady Ophelia. Yet the lady seemed unaware that she had a protector in a man so dangerous and feared.
“Is it the ravishing Lady Ophelia who has you staring so raptly?” David, the Earl of Marsh, drawled as he came up beside Nicolas. “By God, she is rather fetching, isn’t she? There is even a rumor that her father has increased her dowry to fifty thousand pounds, yet no one is offering.”
Nicolas made no comment to that, but he kept the ladies in his line of vision as they made their way to the refreshment table.
“Is it her you are staring at?” David asked, resting his elbows on the balustrade and peering down to the crowded ballroom.
“No.”
“Really?” A bored murmur. “Then who?”
The creature beside her, who had dared make a list with his name on it. Allow St. Ives to ruin me. Why in God’s name that provocative wish had been haunting his thoughts was beyond Nicolas. What kind of ruination did she want? It had been a little over a week since that night in the gardens, yet the raw, sweaty dreams he’d had of her since only revealed the kind of ruin he wanted to deliver.
“Are you staring at the plain creature in the spectacles?”
“She is not plain.”
David cast him a glance of surprise. “You are staring at her. Why?”
How befuddled his friend sounded, yet he made no protest as Nicolas descended the wide staircase. She hugged Lady Ophelia in farewell, then Lady Maryann met with another young lady before they headed out into the lantern-lit gardens. Ignoring the scandalized stares thrown in his direction, Nicolas allowed for a measure of stealth as he mapped her movements and followed behind her discreetly.
“Why are we following her?” David murmured from the side of his mouth.
“I am following her, and you are tagging along to be a thorn in my side.”
David scoffed exasperatedly. “Fine, why are you following her?”
“She is the sister of Crispin Fitzwilliam.”
His friend sucked in a harsh breath. “Have you ascertained that he was involved?”
The wolf, the dragon, scarred lips, and the black Dahlia, Nicolas silently mused, I am coming for you all, but who are you, black Dahlia?
Five men had destroyed something precious—The Stag with the Lily, The Wolf, Scarred Lips, The Dragon, and the Black Dahlia. All were monikers created by a girl who in her despair could only name them so in the letter she left behind.
Nicolas had already ruined the man Arianna referred to as “the stag with the white lily,” a nobleman known in the ton and beloved as Viscount Barton.
And I promise the others will soon fall. Nicolas would never stop hunting until all the guilt and hatred in his heart had been appeased. He was playing the long game of revenge, methodically and mercilessly exacting his brand of justice. Nothing quick would do for those despicable blackguards. Their destruction must be profound, and there would be no rising from the ashes of their pain.
Nicolas knew all their identities except this black Dahlia. And that was the mystery which gnawed at him with relentless force. He closed his eyes, capturing Arianna’s image, the one that had been fading from his memory no matter how much he desperately tried to get her to stay. Miss Arianna Burges…a friend, a girl whom he had loved with the reckless passion of youth, and one he had bitterly disappointed.
The eagle soars indifferent while the wolf betrays the dove.
The very first line she wrote in the letter she had left, before plunging into the raging river to her bitter death.
He stopped walking as the memories crept upon him like specters in the night, his heart thudding and sweat beading his upper lip, but he did not shy away from those ghosts. She deserved much more than that. While it was agony for him to recall how much he had failed her, what had it been like for her to be at the mercy of those much more powerful than her, physically and by the prestige of their birth? Men who only met with the likes of Arianna t
o take cruel advantage.
“Nicolas,” David prodded at his silence. “Was Lord Crispin there?”
Nicolas still recalled the first time he’d seen Arianna. He and David had been playing by the lake when they spied her humming a song and picking flowers. They had only been lads of ten years, but that bright spring morning, they had both felt the blush of first love.
“I do not know as yet,” Nicolas said, and resumed following Lady Maryann.
Silence fell between them as they wound their way through the small maze-like gardens. As she hurried farther into the alcove, she moved elegantly, her step light and gliding.
“Surely you do not think the girl had a hand in Arianna’s misfortune?”
“Of course not.”
“Strange,” David said provokingly. “Methinks you are following this lady for an entirely different reason. It is merely a coincidence she is Lord Crispin’s sister. I declare I am rather eager to hear this incredible reason.”
Ignoring his friend, Nicolas faltered in the shadows of the garden, close enough to see her curious pixie-like expression revealed by the glow of the lantern hanging in the tree above her head. He stared at her, distantly aware there was an increased pounding in his heart. Lady Maryann was not beautiful in the conventional sense, but she was most certainly not plain, as his friend implied.
She presented a very pretty picture with her large, inquisitive eyes, which were framed behind small wire-rimmed spectacles perfectly perched on the bridge of her pert nose. The slightest of dimples accentuated her chin. Nicolas admired the swell of her bosom, the narrowness of her waist, the pert lushness of her backside.
Her every move was an elegant glide across the lawn. And though she was not the beauty the ton revered, Lady Maryann wore sensuality like a second skin, unstudied and wholly natural. Her honeyed visage was unblemished and radiant, her hair a dark rich brown with streaks of russet red.
His gaze traced the swell of her bosom, encircled her waist, then went back up to her face. She made a breathtaking picture in her dark red gown, which flattered her shape exquisitely. The deep hem of lace on her dress fluttered seductively in the light breeze, accentuating the grace of her movements.
How in God’s name did anyone think her a wallflower?
A burst of heat blossomed over him, and he frowned. It was a long time since he had felt such an immediate attraction to a woman, if ever he truly had. Perhaps her challenging and bold nature increased her appeal. Nicolas had been so certain she hid in the dark at her parents’ ball that night he appeared uninvited, but she hadn’t given herself away. Her patience and lack of silly missish fear were admirable.
The two ladies’ heads lowered close together, their girlish whispers stolen by the small stir of summer wind. Her friend finally leaned away, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully before she brightened and dramatically cried, “Oh, Maryann, only you would be so daring. I’ve heard of Lord Rothbury’s sinful pursuits, but to climb into your chamber! Why, I cannot credit it!”
Nicolas froze. He had seen the silly piece in the scandal sheet this morning, and at the time it had merely amused his jaded senses. Every week there was something new to report on him, and he’d made no effort over the years to correct those wild assumptions. Some carried a smattering of truth, but most seemed invented simply to sell the noxious scandal-mongering pages. And in any case, they served his purposes. If the men he hunted thought him nothing but a feckless rake, they would never suspect he could be the man they were worrying about. There had been muttering over their failed investments, a few suspicions were aroused, but that couldn’t be helped. They were not fools.
The lady covered her cheeks with her palm, as if to cool them. “Oh yes he did! Very wicked of him, I know, but there was nothing I could have done about it. He came, and he took what he wanted.”
Nicolas’s heart pounded even harder. What in God’s name is this?
“Why, Maryann, whatever did he want?”
A fleeting smile touched her lips before it quickly disappeared. “Oh, Fanny, I am not sure I am brave enough to say!”
Fanny affected the most charming mock swoon. “Did he…did he ravish you?”
“Yes, St. Ives,” David muttered darkly beside him. “Whatever did you want to climb into an innocent’s room! Did you ravish her?”
He did not bother to correct David. Nicolas stepped closer, careful to keep his footfalls light and indistinguishable from the soft rustles of the leaves and shrubs beneath the gentle wind. He was not the only interested observer of this little tête-à-tête. There were three ladies, more like nosy busybodies, a few feet away who were eavesdropping. Their eyes were wide, hands over their mouths, and he could all but feel their pleasure at the gossip they were overhearing.
Hell. He needed to stop the little liar before her fib led to consequences that would see her ruined.
She cocked her head in the direction of the listening ladies, a flash of a smile on her wide, lush lips before it disappeared. Sweet Christ. Nicolas stared transfixed by the vivid beauty of her smile and how she glowed in her loveliness.
Then a cold feeling swept through him as he recalled her list. The minx knew there were other people listening in on her conversation with her friend. Every word, all her dramatics and pauses were quite deliberate. Ah, this was what she wanted without a doubt. Only now Nicolas might face an angry father demanding he do the right thing.
What a fine show you are putting on. How convincing and calculating you are!
“Maryann,” her friend cried. “I pray have some concern for my nerves. What did he do?”
“Oh, Fanny, I think…I think that libertine has some tendre for me!”
“Good God,” David muttered, gripping his elbow and harshly whispering, “are you out of your damn mind?”
“I must have been,” Nicolas said dryly, a throb of undeniable fascination going through him.
A pretty, clever little schemer, getting me to ruin you without even a touch between us.
The lady placed a hand over her heart and sighed. “He kissed me most thoroughly, I might add, and Fanny, it was scandalous, and decadent! He…he touched his tongue to mine,” she said, sounding breathlessly horrified. “Then he hurriedly went back through the windows.”
One of the eavesdropping ladies audibly gasped.
“Is someone there?” Lady Maryann called out, looking perfectly alarmed. “Oh no, I do hope no one overheard!”
The eavesdropping ladies turned around and hurried away, giggling. Nicolas already knew what would happen. They would happily impart to all listening ears that St. Ives had indeed climbed into the chamber of a lady of quality and lasciviously kissed her. The fact he had been in her room with her alone was enough to rain ruination on the girl’s head. That “kiss” was icing on the cake.
It would start with a sly whisper that would soon become a roar, and his name would be on the lips of ladies as they met in their drawing room, and perhaps even the men as they dined and gambled at their clubs. They would wonder at his daring, and if he had stopped at a kiss. No one would believe a man as wicked and unprincipled as himself would leave her after just a kiss.
With merely a few words, this creature had linked their fates together.
She dashed around the fountain and peered in the direction where the ladies had hovered in time to see their skirts disappearing around the corner. A light, joyous laugh came from her—she clearly did not seem to mind the only path stretching before her was vilification by the ton. He would only get a few tongue clucks and an admonishing glance that might last for a couple days. After all, a rake will do what a rake will do—seduce and despoil virgins. But her…what recovery would there be for her?
His curiosity grew, and when David made to talk, Nicolas held up a hand, halting him. He did not want to miss anything. The more he saw, the more he would be able to break it apart, analyze, calculat
e the value to him, understand her motivations and exactly what he should do about it.
She whirled around to Fanny. “They have gone!”
Her friend fisted a hand on her rounded hips. “So you knew they were there?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Maryann, they fell right into your palm! Was this what you meant when you said your wicked plans included Nicolas St. Ives? I believe I had cautioned you against going down such a path!”
“This was not the initial plan, but I daresay it might work out very well indeed.”
“I think you are playing a dangerous game. You do not know the manner of man he is—”
“What is there to know? He is a feckless rake who gambles and races recklessly. He associates with other useless gentlemen of society.”
A dark wash of anticipation suffused Nicolas. So, you think me useless? I’ll take pleasure in rectifying that assumption, Lady Maryann.
“There is a rumor that he beds a different woman every night with no consistent lover or mistress,” she continued, rolling her eyes. “There is something about him in the scandal sheets every week. So what is one more?”
“And if you are expected to marry him?”
“Marry the marquess?”
She said that with such astonishment, he could see entrapping him had never been a part of her plan.
“Papa would not allow that. His reputation is too diabolical.”
“Maryann, the gossips will say he was in your room. Alone. Your parents—”
“I know,” she said with an aching touch of regret. “I loathed the thought of hurting them with my actions, but I cannot marry Lord Stamford. I cannot, Fanny.”
“Is he that awful?”
“If he had even an ounce of decency, I might have married him.”
“I hope the rumors will be enough for him to end all talk of marriage with your father,” Fanny said, reaching for Lady Maryann’s hand to offer a supportive squeeze. “And I dearly hope the marquess will not be angry when he hears of it.”