by Stacy Reid
“St. Ives will lose nothing,” she said a bit sadly, as if recognizing everything that she stood to lose—her reputation and her parents’ trust. “When has society ever condemned a man for actions that can lead to a young lady’s ruination? I daresay he will not even give a fig.”
“I have never known you to lie to your parents. What will you tell them when they demand the truth of the matter?”
She snapped her fingers. “And that is the brilliant nature of my plan! I will tell the truth and deny that he ever visited my chamber. Papa cannot approach him and ask him to do the honorable thing. The man is innocent. The only way would be to work to stop the rumors, and though Papa is influential…the power of idle tongues is far superior. So I get what I want without really embroiling myself with any libertine!” She cast her friend a mirthful look. “Admit it…I am wickedly brilliant.”
“Yes… you are,” Nicolas murmured to himself with amusement and a pulse of fascination. “Clever indeed.”
“Good God,” David muttered. “Do you mean to say this lady is not known to you? That she deliberately used the reputation you have fostered over the years to achieve her own villainous end?”
Nicolas smiled. “Hardly villainous. Shrewd.”
“You sound as if you admire her ridiculous plan.”
“I cannot tell what I am feeling.”
They watched as she and her friend looped their hands and strolled toward the eastern section of the lawns, their heads bent close together in conversation.
“This is a disaster,” David said. “Surely you see that.”
A warning tingle tightened the back of Nicolas’s neck. In the distance, she released her friend to twirl, lifting her face to the sky. Her expression was that of one who had gained some sort of victory…freedom. That expression revealed a longing that was painful to witness.
What do you long for, my brave little minx? “How little do you know,” he said softly.
“Her life is now in danger,” David said tightly. “Do you see it as clearly as I do?”
“Perhaps.” He truly did not want to think about the far-reaching implications of her ruse. He had resolutely concentrated on seeking justice for Arianna, even at the cost of pursuing a family for himself. No distraction had been allowed. He had been ruthless, exacting, and disciplined.
And he had seen results. One of the men responsible for her death had been brought to justice, and another two were on the hook; he only needed to reel them in. He had aimed his vengeance where it would do the most damage: their reputations and wealth. Nicholas played the snake…the devil in their midst, without these idle sons of society understanding the true nature of the man they had let close.
He felt a stir of discomfort, too deep and unreachable from within him to properly understand its existence. But of one thing he was certain. This lady…this audacious woman who had been bold enough to use him for her end, he owed her nothing.
David slapped his hand against the bark of the tree. “There is no ‘perhaps’ about it. Did you not get the note Rhys sent you?”
Rhys Tremayne, the recently minted Viscount Montrose, was amongst the few men Nicolas called friend. Rhys was rumored to be part owner of a gambling hell, The Asylum, in the bowels of London. The man was a purveyor of secrets and dealt with the peddling of information on the black market. He had sent a note to Nicolas only a week ago, with a warning to be vigilant. “Yes, I got it.”
“Rhys said a gentleman walked into The Asylum…a man whose identity was hidden, and he asked one question—what is your weakness. That says everything.” David scowled. “You must admit the duke’s suspicions have been aroused. What if he was the one asking after your downfall?”
James Wembley, the Duke of Farringdon—the dragon of Arianna’s nightmare. Nicolas had already started his campaign to ruin the duke for his part in her pain, and the man was indeed suspicious.
David sighed most aggrievedly. “I feel as if you are not listening to me. If it is the duke, he cannot kill you; you are the Marquess of Rothbury. You may act like a feckless wastrel, but you have money and powerful connections. How would he dare? But your weakness would be the golden goose. And she…that damn silly chit, just announced to the world that you like and want her. Sweet Christ.”
Nicolas tumbled it over in his head, ruthlessly analyzing the facts from all angles. “There is nothing to be done about it. We can only leave her to her own devices, then watch and see what happens.”
David aimed at him a contemplative stare. “Perhaps you should work to dispel the rumors.”
“If there is someone truly watching me, that would only confirm that she is important.”
David sighed. “For years you have worked to ensure you name is never linked with anyone. You have taken no regular mistress or lover, avoiding all attachments until your…our work is over. And now…”
It wasn’t really their work as David implied, though he too had loved Arianna. Though his friend showed a willingness to help Nicolas bring Arianna’s attackers to justice, he had his reasons for keeping David at a careful distance from the entire affair.
Nicholas pushed aside the discontent worming through him. “The lady wants an engagement broken and simply used my name to do it. We have no associations. There is no reason for anyone to think she is important to me. She is nothing to me, and so it shall remain.”
Yet the heavy feeling pressing into his gut grew in intensity. Should he warn her to be careful, or should he abandon her to whatever fate dropped at her feet? “Perhaps I should visit her father and offer for her hand,” he muttered, amused with her imagined reaction. “That would teach her a lesson to be more careful in the future.”
David sounded like he choked.
Nicolas cast him a sidelong glance. “Did a bug fly into your throat?”
His frown turned even blacker than before. “You should not jest about something so serious.”
“The surest way to keep her safe is to have her close.” He didn’t like the eagerness that rose in him at that pronouncement. A man on his path of vengeance must walk alone. Known weaknesses were powerful tools in the hands of an enemy, and he could easily see how a woman of Lady Maryann’s bold charm could be a man’s soft spot.
But not mine. Attachments were not for him, not until he had banished the hatred and guilt from his heart.
The eagle soars indifferent while the wolf betrays the dove.
Taking down the wolf would be the most painful and challenging thing he would ever do. Nicolas didn’t know if he had it in him to execute vengeance against the man he believed might be the wolf. It was a calculated risk, one with its own dangers.
Now was not the time to form attachments, false or otherwise.
Chapter Five
An hour after escaping the ball, Maryann was unable to fall into sleep. It felt a bit cowardly running from immediately facing the events she had set into motion. Will it work? was the question that had rattled in her thoughts during the carriage ride home. Lord Stamford had seemed so…almost frightening in his intensity. What would he do upon hearing the rumors? Surely he would be so incensed that he would cancel whatever negotiations had been started with her family.
If the earl and her parents proved stubborn, then Maryann supposed she would have to act in a far wickeder manner. Perhaps even kiss the damn marquess with witnesses about. Her belly went hot with need, causing Maryann to scowl. She wanted the marquess, and nothing seemed strong enough—certainly not his reputation—to make her stop wanting that dratted rake.
And how would she even achieve getting him to kiss her?
We must be daring and take what we need instead of waiting, wasting away on the shelves our families and society have placed us on.
How brave she had been when she had said those words to her friends. She felt none of that courage now, her stomach knotted with nerves at her daring. It
was a bit terrifying to imagine herself subject to wagging tongues and drawing room discussions. Publicly, she had always held back her true nature, careful with every thought and deed since she had been reprimanded for being too opinionated. And now to plunge herself under the cruel optics of the ton…
By habit, she fixed the glasses perched so perfectly on her face, then padded from her room to the smaller library situated on the second floor. The best thing to do was read a book to calm her whirling thoughts.
It took a few minutes of searching the shelves before she decided on a title. Only Crispin would have bought such a book and slipped it on the bookshelves for her. Maryann adored gothic romances, the darker and scarier, the better. Her nerves feeling steadier, she hurried up the winding staircase to the third floor and to her bedchamber.
Twisting the knob, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She removed her spectacles, folded them, and placed them on her dressing table. She did not need them for reading, only for seeing those faraway images. It was more by habit they rested on her face for so long.
She padded over to the gas lamp, intending to brighten the room, and faltered. A strange feeling assailed Maryann, a cold prickling along her spine. Something…or someone lingered in the darkened chamber.
Maryann paused in the center of her room, raw fear and vulnerability cascading through her. Pressing the book across her chest, she waited, her heart thudding too painfully.
She couldn’t say what gave her the impression that she was no longer alone. The fireplace burned low and the lamp had been turned down. Her bedroom was cast in more shadows than light.
“Is someone here?”
Feeling a bit childish, she turned slowly, peering at the spot above her bed, beyond the billowing diaphanous pink canopy over her bedposts: the darkest corner in the room. The longer she peered, the more the shadows twisted and took form, mocking the bravery she tried to conjure. It was from there she felt the sensation of eyes…wickedly caressing over her body.
The wind kicked, and the thick blue and silver drapes billowed. Her throat closed, stealing her breath. The windows had been closed when she left earlier for the library. Oh God!
She inched toward her bedroom door, the shadows twisted, and a form seemed to move behind her bed toward the same direction. With a gasp, she dropped the book and rushed toward the mantel where a rapier was mounted. Maryann grabbed the hilt, lifting it from the sheath, and held it away from her, pointing at the ground.
Perhaps she should have tried to rush for the door, hoping to beat whoever lingered in the shadows. She was certain someone was there, and if it proved to be her imagination, she could laugh at herself later. It was better to be armed, and she was very skilled with rapiers and knives thanks to Uncle William and Crispin.
And what if your intruder has a pistol?
Pushing the thoughts from her frantic mind, she lifted the sword and balanced on her bare feet. “Show yourself, whoever you are! Gh-ghost or man!”
An odd choking noise, almost like stifled laughter, sounded in the air.
If someone did come out of the shadows, she would scream, though she feared that would be in vain. Her papa was at his club still, her mother asleep, and Crispin at the ball Maryann had left earlier with the excuse of a headache.
She sensed the movements before she saw them, and polished boots appeared at the bottom of her bed. Maryann didn’t dare try to take a breath. In truth, it had been sucked right out of her. The silence in her chamber felt perilous. Those boots stepped forward, and Nicolas St. Ives, Marquess Rothbury appeared.
For several long moments, her mind blanked.
This man was dissolute, reckless, a gambler, a great participant of sensual debauchery, unprincipled and uncaring that he owned such a wicked reputation.
And he is here…in my bedchamber. Oh dear.
A heart-pounding awareness burned through her with fiery intensity. Even with the barely discernable light, she recognized those slashing cheekbones and the piercing brilliance of his golden-brown eyes that seemed to glitter under winged brows. A shadow of a beard accentuated the harsh sensuality of his cheekbones and the hard lines of his jaw.
Her stomach did a frightening flip. Maryann stared astonished, her hand lowering as if it had a will of its own, until the point of the rapier touched the soft carpet. “I… You!”
“Yes,” he drawled darkly. “Me.”
Good heavens! Maryann was unable to take her eyes off him, uncaring that she was speechlessly staring, belatedly realizing he, too, stared. Except his regard was predatory. To her dismay, her cheeks went frightfully hot, her throat and belly, too, an entirely unexpected and mortifying reaction.
The corner of his mouth hitched, but the eyes pinning her in place were unfathomable and watchful. She had never been this close to him before, and her pulse skittered alarmingly. Maryann drew a deep breath, trying to calm the wild pounding of her heart. The sensation of his stare alone was like that of a hawk. The charming and ever-smiling rake was not present, and confusion rushed through her. She had observed him numerous times in the ton, unable to help the unwelcomed attraction she felt for someone so feckless.
He had never seemed so silent…so dangerous.
He was garbed in black trousers and jacket, with a blue waistcoat, and an expertly tied cravat. His raven hair was impeccably styled, curling softly at his nape. The man was unquestionably handsome, but that did not mean she should be admiring his male beauty when he had revealed himself to be a villain.
At a slight shift from him, his face was enveloped by the darkness. Though she could no longer discern his features, she felt his gaze in the erratic beat of her pulse and in the strange warmth fluttering low in her belly.
“Why are you here?” she demanded shakily.
He moved slowly, deliberately, almost leisurely toward her, and her heart kicked a furious rhythm.
She needed her wits about her, and it was crucial for her to appear unflappable. “You rogue,” she said with a great deal of bravado, lifting the rapier to point at his chest. “How dare you break into my home and come into my chamber?”
Even more alarming, how did he know this was her bedchamber? The shocking audacity of the man dispossessed her of all rational thoughts. At the speed of a frightened horse, visions of true ruin, of being ravished by this libertine flashed in her thoughts.
“How positively astonishing. I do not believe you are afraid,” he murmured provocatively.
“Is that what you expected? Hysteria?”
“At least a swoon and a mild attack of vapors,” he said with a soft yet icy bite. “But here I am facing a racoon instead of a timid mouse.”
A racoon? Though she had never seen one, Maryann had read about the creatures, knowing they could be small and fierce but were also considered pests. She narrowed her gaze at him. “I am well past the first bloom of youth; I think I am allowed the liberties of some eccentricities not normally credited to the female sex. That would be courage, if you are not of a mind to follow my arguments.”
“How smart-mouthed you are,” he said, his gaze intense on her lips.
Curious, she lifted her fingers to her chin. Why is he staring at my mouth?
To her utter shock, he lifted the silver-headed cane in his grip and withdrew his own blade. Did the man mean to cross swords with her? How utterly intriguing. Most gentlemen would be appalled and outraged that she would lift a rapier in their presence, thinking her unequal to the task and audacious for even thinking it.
Not you, though. There was an unmissable glint of intrigue in his eyes.
Her breath trembled on her lips, and a dangerous thrill burst in her heart; it took every lesson in discipline she’d ever had to remain composed.
Her reaction was unpardonable.
Pointing her weapon toward his knees, she mockingly saluted him. His gaze insolently caressed fro
m her head to the tip of her toes, which she curled reflexively into the carpet. Conscious that she was only dressed in a nightgown with her hair tumbling down to her hips, Maryann tried to present a self-assured mien.
“Do you mean to skewer me, Lady Maryann?”
He knew her name. Of course he did! His presence in her chamber was not by mistake.
Before she could demand any more of what his presence meant, he lifted his sword and tapped it against hers, as if to say lower your arms. That clink echoed in the chamber.
“What are your intentions?” she said with a smile, unable to contain the reckless exhilaration busting inside. She flicked her rapier upward, light and graceful, then slashed downward, hoping to disarm him.
With impressive reflexes, he repelled her move, advancing forward with a lightning-quick attack that she dodged, then counterattacked. With agile speed and grace, he parried, and Maryann slid her bare feet across the carpet, attacking and defending in the tight circle he placed them.
Unable to help it, she chuckled softly, and his mouth twitched slightly.
The testing of each other’s skills accomplished, he lowered his sword, and in the brilliance of his gaze, she saw something akin to admiration. Holding her sword in the en-garde position, she followed his lead, walking in a circle, assessing him as surely as he studied her. With a sense of bewilderment, she recognized that beneath her apprehension, there was a dark thrill to be sparring with him like this in her chamber.
Silly! For she did not know this man at all or what he wanted.
“You are impressive,” he murmured, his voice low and considering.
She faltered and stared helplessly at him. No one had ever used such an appellation to describe her before, and with a curious frown, she resumed her slow dance, following him as he retreated. Or was it he who pressed forward and she in retreat? Whichever it was, their dance and lazy assessment of each other, swords held ready, felt remarkably intimate and yet perilous.