by Stacy Reid
“He watched while she was violated, and he did nothing. He is just as guilty,” Nicolas said.
“I am so damned sorry,” Crispin said, tears leaking down his face, even though with speech, more blood flowed. “I have lived with that torment for years. I wished…I wished I had been brave enough to speak up then, to fight them off and damn the consequences. Not a day goes by that I’ve not thought of Miss Arianna and the pain she endured. I have tried to atone—”
“Nicolas!” Maryann screamed when the blade shifted. “Stop this right now, please!” When he did not respond she said, “You promised never had I to fear harm from you. Hurting him is harming me.”
The very air itself became still at her desperate plea.
Nicolas stepped back from her brother and faced her. His eyes were shadowed with such agony, they almost broke her. He had warned her, but she had still gone ahead and fallen hopelessly in love with him. Yet here he stood, the enemy of her brother, and she had no notion how to fix it. Or even if she could.
“We can fix this,” she said, aware of how much her mouth trembled.
Nicolas came over to her, and cupped her cheek, his thumb swiping at her tears. She closed her eyes, a trembling breath escaping her. “Maryann?”
Her lashes fluttered open. “Yes?”
“I will let him go.”
Relief made her wilt into his embrace. Her lips parted, but the words of gratitude could not come. Even as his vow filled her with such profound relief, how could she accept it?
That admission cost Nicolas—his pride and his honor.
“Nicolas?”
“For you…” He closed his eyes, a shudder worked through his frame. “For you I shall let him off.”
When he looked down at her, the chilling distance in his gaze shattered something deep inside her. “No,” she whispered. “Nicolas, no! We can—”
Still cupping her cheeks, he tugged her face closer to him, their mouths mere inches apart.
“I cannot bear the idea of these eyes looking at me with hatred, pain, and regret of ever knowing me. Do you understand?”
“Nothing could ever induce me to hate you,” she cried softly. “I know what you are thinking, Nicolas, and I promise it does not have to—”
He pressed a kiss of violent tenderness against her forehead, then murmured against her flesh, “I never want to see you again.”
Maryann simply froze, yet she was aware of nothing but him. The beat of his heart against her chest, his masculine scent, the tender way he framed her face, the regret felt in his touch, and the absolute promise heard in his voice.
She stepped away from him, forcing him to lower his hands. “You cannot mean it.”
He angled his sleek dark head to one side and studied her with unflinching intensity. “Never, do you understand me? For you shall be a reminder of how much of a coward I am.”
The words were a brutal strike to her heart.
“You are not a coward,” she said softly, afraid that she might shatter at any moment.
“Then what am I if not a coward? I am willing to give up my honor, my vow, my pride, I am forsaking justice that is denied to her because I cannot bear the idea of hurting you.”
That he had placed her before his honor and pride was an unforgivable sin for a man who already lived with the guilt of failure. Now he would have failed Miss Arianna twice. “He does not have to escape justice. He can still be punished.”
“How?”
Her throat tightened.
“Should I remove his eyes, letting him live with the pain of no sight for the rest of his life? A fit punishment that he should watch and not even run for help?”
She recoiled at the brutality of that statement.
“Or should I ruin his finances and any possibility of solvency for his future? Or should I see him sold to a press gang or exiled from his family and sent abroad without connections or money? Should I destroy his reputation, so he is not accepted by anyone in the ton and all his friends turn their backs on him? What punishment can I give that will not see you hurt and us enemies?”
The resolve she stared at was frightening. The awareness of how much he must have loved Arianna drove the air from Maryann’s lungs. Because she saw no compromise in him that Crispin could be punished yet they still could have a future. And she had nothing to offer that might prove otherwise.
Maryann gripped his jacket, her entire body shaking. Unable to stop the sob that rose in her throat, she started crying. Pressing her forehead to his chest and gripping the lapel of his jacket as if it were a lifeline, she cried at the loss tearing through her. “I do not want to choose,” she said, her shoulders shaking.
“I am not asking you to,” he murmured, his chin resting on the crown of her head.
She lifted her chin and stared into his eyes.
“I choose you,” she whispered, even knowing what it would cost. Her heart broke and more tears came. Whichever way she leaned, pain was waiting on the other side, and she could not bear the agony.
Shrewd, assessing eyes bored into Maryann. “I would never ask you to make such a choice. I’ve let him off. Let that be enough.” He dipped his mouth to her ear. “Should there be any consequences to my damn foolishness, you will let me know immediately.”
It took her precious seconds to understand, and her hands involuntarily settled on her stomach. Dear God. She had been so certain of every emotion brewing between them that she hadn’t even thought to worry when they made love.
“And if there are consequences?”
“Our child will have the protection of my name and love.”
“But I’ll have nothing,” she said, an aching knot in her throat, understanding his intentions. If necessary, they would marry, but only for the sake of their child and her reputation, but she must have no expectations of anything else—certainly not his love or respect.
Without glancing at Crispin, he said, “I leave your sister in your care; see her home safely and discreetly.”
Then he stepped back from her, turned on his heels, and walked away.
Maryann stood there, silent tears coursing down her cheeks. She would never see him smile again, touch him, or kiss him. She had never told him about the emotions he stirred in her heart.
She ran after him; he sensed her and slowed his steps. Upon reaching him, she hugged him from behind, pressing her face into his back. She squeezed tightly. “I love you,” she whispered.
He heard, for he went remarkably still.
“I think I fell in love with you even when I thought you were an unredeemable rake. Then I got to know the man you are…and I admire you most ardently. I love you, Nicolas…and…and I suspect you hold me in your sincere affections as well. Please do not walk away. If we have the same feelings for each other, we must find a way to work it out.”
There was so much more she wanted to say, but the hopes beating against her chest warned her to tread carefully. His contemplative silence hurt. She squeezed him even tighter. “My heart is laid upon the ground. Please do not step on it,” she whispered achingly.
He gripped her hands encircling his waist and pried them away. A part of her expected him to turn then and give her an answer, and she tried to brace her heart for his rejection.
But Nicolas did neither. He simply continued walking away and toward the exit of the gambling den.
The degree of her loss was incalculable. In him she had found the man she loved and respected. A man she could see herself growing old with, a man she saw walking by her side for as long as God would allow it, in this life and the next. She stood watching him, hands hugged around her middle, her heart a shredded mess until he disappeared from sight.
“If the marquess loves you as you clearly love him, he would not have walked away,” a soft voice said behind her.
Turning around, she stared at her bro
ther. She could not reconcile that the boy she loved so much growing up, the man she admired now, was guilty of the crime he was accused. Maryann had been so sure of his inherent goodness. “You lied to me.”
He grimaced. “I can explain.”
“Would it excuse that you did?”
They stared at each other. “You watched as your friends reduced a young girl to such pain, she took her life. If that girl had been me…you would have fought them tooth and nail to save me even at the peril to your own life.”
His jaw visibly clenched. “You are my sister.”
She flinched.
She was an ant to them, and perhaps that was giving her too much significance.
He took a tentative step toward her. “There may be a way to fix this so that…so that you and he might work.”
Her sigh left her on a shaky breath. “The marquess is not a man to go back on his word.” Except just now. Oh God, because of her he had betrayed everything that shaped him to become the person he was today. Tears pooled once more, and she furiously swiped them away.
Her brother looked off in the distance. He was nervous it seemed, and more than a little worried.
“Crispin, what is it?”
He grimaced. “She is not dead.”
“Who…” Her voice came as a hoarse croak. “Who is not dead?”
“Her.” He closed his eyes as if pained. “I never suspected anyone would be looking for her.”
Maryann’s heartbeat was an awful roar in her head. “Crispin!”
He lifted a blurry gaze to her, touching the nick at his throat which came away with blood. He swayed, the import of what had just happened hitting him hard. “Arianna…she did not drown. I did not leave when they did, for I was disgusted with them and myself. That day shattered the bonds of friendship I had been so certain of. I wanted to help her, though I was not sure how to. We had all been drinking and carousing, but it was no excuse! I was so damn afraid they would turn on me, I just froze, Maryann.”
Profound shame coated his voice, and he could not meet her regard. “I watched when she left and gave a lad a letter, then made her way to the river. I followed her and when she jumped, I dived in behind her. I saved her and took her away from there.”
Something inside of Maryann shattered. “Arianna is alive?”
“Yes.”
“We must tell Nicolas right away!” she cried, pressing a hand to her chest.
“Wait…I gave her my promise I would never betray her location or her new identity. I betrayed her once; I cannot do it again.”
“Even from him?” she cried, anger brewing in her heart. “The man who has been tirelessly waging a campaign of retribution in her name?”
“Miss Arianna does not know that!” Crispin swallowed. “Let me take you to her…and then you can make a decision from there.”
“Tonight,” she said, “we go to her tonight. We have not a moment to lose.”
Crispin nodded, and soon after they were in his carriage traveling south. A myriad of conflicting emotions and thoughts darted through Maryann, the predominant being a chilling shock.
“Once he sees that she lives, he might forgive my inaction and understand me a bit better,” Crispin said, his eyes dark with guilt and another emotion she could not identify. “It will also give you and the marquess a chance—”
“There is no chance for us,” she said, lowering the carriage curtains to stare at him. “Once he knows Miss Arianna is alive, there is no chance for us.” And she desperately wanted to curl into a ball and weep.
“He loves her,” Crispin said flatly.
“Yes, very much.”
It was his turn to shift the curtain and peer through the windows.
A shock of realization went through her. “Do you love her, Crispin?”
“That does not matter.”
“Why not?”
“Because she is still in love with him, even after not seeing him for ten long years.”
Maryann could not speak, and she had to squeeze her fingers to prevent their trembling.
“You do not have to tell him,” he said quietly.
She snapped her head up, aghast. “Surely I heard wrong.”
“If you tell him, you will lose him with absolute certainty. He will want to be with her, and she will want to be with him.”
Maryann had arrived at the same conclusion, but now stared at her brother, wondering who this selfish creature before her was. “I would never hurt him in such a manner. If he chooses to be with me, it must be because he is just as hopelessly in love with me, not because I hid his other choice.”
Her brother gave her a pitying glance, and she gripped the edge of the seat, fighting with the useless hope lingering inside. Nicolas had walked away just now with a vow to never see her again. At their next encounter she might reunite him with a girl he had truly loved and grieved…a woman who now seemed to love him still.
There is no us nor will there ever be.
Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the squabs, hating that silent tears coursed down her cheeks and that the pain in her heart grew with every clip-clop of the horses as the carriage took them closer to Nicolas’s beloved.
…
A few hours of silence lingered in the carriage. They did not speak again until the carriage had arrived at their destination. The coach swayed over a rough patch of the ground, and the moonlight peeking through the parted carriage windows revealed Crispin wore an expression of anxiety.
“We’ve arrived,” he said tightly.
The carriage came to a shuddering halt and the steps were knocked down. He quickly descended and aided Maryann in her descent. A charming, picturesque house rose before her, the many lit rooms appearing warm and inviting from the outside. “She lives here, alone?”
He hesitated for a moment. “Yes, with her daughter.”
Maryann glanced at him, understanding his sudden discomfort. “Do you think so little of my character, that I would judge her for it? Is that why you never told me even as I grew older?”
He sighed and gruffly admitted, “I knew better, but the entire situation was just unexpected. I bought it some years ago and she made it her home. At first, she did not want it, thinking it too grand and far above her station. I told her the child she carried deserved to be cherished, and she relented.”
“It is lovely,” she said, faintly surprised. Maryann wasn’t sure what she had expected when she set out with her brother. “Do you have a mistress?”
His head swiveled around. “What? No.”
So, this was the home Nicolas’s investigators had uncovered. The cruel irony pushed a jagged laugh from her throat. It would have only been information on paper; if he had just seen who actually lived here, possibly Maryann might not have known him at all.
They hurried up the front door, and before he knocked, the door was opened by a butler.
“Welcome back, Lord Crispin,” he said, reaching out to take their coats, hats, and bonnets.
A lump grew in Maryann’s throat. Her brother seemed to enjoy another life of which she was completely ignorant. He walked with confidence down the long hallway and opened the first door which led into a large and tastefully decorated parlor. A lady who had been reading from a book and laughing with a child lifted her eyes. Joy lit in her expression and she hurriedly stood.
“Crispin! You are back so soon, I—”
Her words faltered when she noticed Maryann.
The little girl who had been curled into her side sprang to her feet and hurtled herself at Crispin.
“Uncle Crispin!” she greeted with a huge smile, hugging him. “You’re back so soon!”
He ruffled her dark blond hair. “How are you doing, poppet, feeling better?”
Poppet.
Maryann’s heart started a slow, painful t
hud.
The lady had not taken her gaze from Maryann, and she in turn couldn’t help noticing how astonishingly beautiful she was.
“Arianna,” Crispin said with palpable effort, “this is my sister, Maryann. Something has happened, and we must converse immediately.”
Arianna strolled to her, a cautious smile on her face, and dipped into a curtsy. “Lady Maryann, what a pleasant surprise but such an honor to meet you. I have heard many wonderful things about you.”
Maryann smiled. “I have heard a lot about you as well, Miss Arianna, it is a pleasure.” Yet her heart bled.
Arianna appeared at bit bemused, but she smiled, a happiness glowing in her eyes.
The little girl who appeared about nine years of age was reluctantly ushered off to bed, and Miss Arianna called for tea and some cakes. She sat on a long sofa and Crispin lowered himself beside her and gently held her hand in his.
Maryann noted the intimacy and the blush that pinkened Miss Arianna’s cheeks. The awareness was mutual, yet Maryann took no comfort in that knowledge.
“Please, tell me what is wrong,” Miss Arianna said. “My heart has been so anxious since you arrived. I had no expectations to see you before next week, Crispin.”
He looked away as if he did not know where to start.
Maryann set her plate with small cakes on the walnut table and delicately cleared her throat. “There is a man…Lord Nicolas St. Ives…”
Miss Arianna gasped, pulling her hands from Crispin and folding them in her lap.
“Yes?” she asked tremulously at Maryann’s pause.
“He believes you to be dead…and…and for the last several years has been bringing the men who hurt you to justice. They have all been made to pay as he took the life from them they value so much. That you are alive does not underscore the justice he dealt to these men. Their monstrous attack alone would have warranted it. I believe…I believe it is particularly important that Nic…Lord Rothbury be made aware that you are alive, Miss Arianna.”
She paled and tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh God!” A hand was pressed over her mouth and for endless minutes she closed her eyes. A determined tear leaked from beneath her lowered lashes. “He got my letter.”