For Desire Alone

by Jess Michaels

  “How can you want me to stand up for you at your wedding?” Vivien said, wincing as her fidgeting made the seamstress stab her with her needle.

  The girl lifted her eyes in apology, but Vivien hardly seemed to notice. If Mariah hadn’t been so out of sorts herself, she might have smiled at her normally cool friend’s obvious nervousness.

  “Because you are the dearest friend I have and I need all the support I can get,” she said as she leaned back against the settee cushions and watched the seamstress continue her alteration of the gown Vivien would wear for Mariah’s wedding in… Dear God, two days’ time.

  “But what a scene it will create,” Vivien continued with a moan, “to have a woman hardly better than a common whore stand up for you as you marry a man who is the grandson of a duke, for Christ’s sake. I will make your situation far worse, not better.”

  Mariah stood and reached for her friend’s hand. “Please, Vivien, don’t argue with me about this. I do not think anything I ever do will result in my being accepted by those in the larger social sphere John moves in. And since he does not wish for this marriage to be real in any way, the best I can hope for is that I will still have my true friends to surround me.”

  Vivien stared at her and the anxiety that had lined her face faded. “Of course, this is your day. I did not mean to place my own worries on to you when you already have a great deal to fret over. I’m sorry.”

  Mariah released Vivien’s hand and shook her head. “No, there is to be none of that. No apologies.”

  Vivien watched her as she retook her seat. “What of your gown?”

  She sighed. “John has paid some exorbitant sum for it to be ready Friday night. I believe there are five seamstresses sewing madly on it now.” She stared at a point far across the room without seeing it. “It is ridiculous for him to do so, but he seems to want me to have some sort of passable wedding, as if this were all real.”

  Vivien pursed her lips. “But it is real for you, isn’t it?”

  “If you mean I shall marry a man I love, then certainly it is more real than anything I have ever known.” She shook her head. “But it is meaningless nonetheless. John wishes to protect me and this is the only way he can see to do so.”

  “At least that is romantic,” her friend said.

  Mariah stared at her. “A less romantic notion I have never known. He would protect a dog that was being kicked on the street too. No, this resolution speaks more to his character rather than anything to do with me.”

  “Then things are still difficult between you?” Vivien asked.

  Mariah took a peek at the seamstress. She had slipped across the room to record some measurements in a little book, so Mariah edged closer and whispered, “He has begun making love to me again, at least.”

  Vivien smiled. “Then I think all this proves he does care for you, Mariah.”

  Mariah’s heart leapt, just as it did any time she allowed that fleeting thought to cross her exhausted mind. But she pushed it away.

  “He may care, but that does not mean he loves. I shall accept the first, but I do not think I shall ever stop longing for the second. And that will mean a great deal of heartache, I fear.” She smiled. “But then, it will not be much different from many other marriages in Upper Society, will it?”

  “I suppose not,” Vivien said, then pursed her lips as the seamstress returned and they were no longer at liberty to speak of more intimate subjects.

  Mariah was just as pleased for the shift in conversation. She had to accept that in two days time she would be the wife of a man she loved, but would not, or could not, love her in return. Those were the facts.

  And someday, perhaps she would find a way to endure them with the grace befitting her new station in life.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mariah stared at the clock with increasing frustration and anxiety tightening her chest. It had been fifteen minutes since her lady’s maid had left to find a bit of ribbon to wind through her hair and there was no sign of the girl’s return yet.

  Mariah stood with a huff of her breath and moved toward the bell. She had rung it once already with no response. If she didn’t know the servants so well, she might think they were ignoring her on purpose, as some kind of sign of their disapproval. But they had been nothing but kind, both in and out of John’s presence, so she doubted it was that.

  Something was keeping Nellie from her side.

  She went to the door and opened it, peeking into the hallway. It was silent. Of course, many of the servants had already left for the church, where they would stand in the wings to watch as John pledged his life to hers. But there were a few to stay behind and ready the wedding luncheon and help see her off.

  But not a one appeared. She didn’t even hear them bustling about.

  “Hello?” she called into the hallway. “Swanson? Nellie? Gregory?”

  Silence remained her only companion and she stepped into the hallway and moved down to the stairs at the end of the walkway.

  “Is anyone here?”

  Nothing.

  She walked down the stairs at a fast clip, with every intention of entering the downstairs area that housed the kitchens and the servant areas. But before she could reach the backstair, the door to the parlor opened and a man she did not recognize stepped into her path.

  She flinched as she looked up at him. He was very tall, with graying hair and a hawkish nose that he looked down with a sniff of disapproval.

  “H-Hello,” she stammered as she took an instinctive step backward. “I didn’t realize there was a visitor in the house.”

  Perhaps this caller was the reason for the absence of the servants. This man, with his icy-cold demeanor, could certainly hold sway over the maids and footmen with no trouble. And if Swanson knew him…

  “You must be Mariah,” the man said, his tone dark and unfriendly as he looked her up and down. “I was in a hurry the last time we met, but now I see why he fucks you.”

  Mariah staggered back until her bottom collided with a table along the hallway. Certainly she was no stranger to such strong language, but she was not accustomed to men directing it toward her with little regard to her gender or her new position in life.

  “I beg your pardon?” she said, outrage in her voice.

  He smiled. “Oh please, save your little show for John. He appreciates it, I suppose, but I do not. Though I could…” He trailed off and leered at her. “Mmm.”

  She lifted her chin as he undressed her with his eyes. It was a decidedly unpleasant feeling, especially when she was standing before him in her wedding dress.

  “Who are you, sir? What are you doing here?”

  “Don’t you know?” he laughed. “Oh, I suppose you would not. The boy does not exactly display portraits of me about the parlor, does he?”

  Mariah swallowed as she took a second look at the man. Now she saw a glimpse of John here. A hint of him there. And she knew. But she still whispered, “Who are you?”

  “I am to be your father-in-law,” he said as he moved on her. “Or I would be, if I was going to allow for this farce of a marriage to proceed.”

  She looked again, into those eyes. And realized they were the same as the man in the mask who had attacked her.

  “You,” she breathed.

  He smiled. “We meet again.”

  Mariah turned to run. It was her only thought, escape. But the man she now knew to be Vaughn Rycroft was faster and caught her by the arm in a grip so steely that she feared he might break her bones in two as he hauled her into the parlor from which he had emerged.

  She tugged against him but was no match to his superior strength. He threw her into a settee and kicked the door shut behind him. She looked around and drew back as she realized they were not alone. One of the guards John had hired to protect her was standing in the corner of the room, arms folded, as he stared at her.

  She knew in that moment that the guard was not going to help her. Clearly he had been reached by Vaughn Rycroft. P
aid more money to betray her than John had paid to protect her. But she had to try to save herself, it was all she knew to do.

  “Please,” she begged the guard without shame. “This is the man my fiancé hired you to protect me from.”

  The man sneered and looked at Rycroft instead. “Want me to check on the others?”

  “Yes.” Rycroft looked toward the side door of the chamber. “I doubt they’re having any trouble, but best to be certain.”

  The guard nodded and left through the side door. She heard his heavy footfalls as he moved toward the servant area and her heart lodged in her chest.

  “What did you do to them?” she asked, her voice cracking.

  Rycroft looked at her with a smile of pure wicked amusement. “You are worried about the servants? How quaint of you.”

  She firmed her jaw and glared at him. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing.” He shrugged. “Yet, at least. Watching the one guard on duty who I did not own be killed put them in line immediately. They are tied up now and quite malleable, I assure you.”

  Mariah swallowed a scream. The other guard…dead. The servants, forced to watch in terror and then tied up to wait for their fate. And all because of this man. All because of her.

  Fear reared inside of her, as wild as an untrained stallion, but she fought to tame it. This was the time for calm, not hysterics. She owed herself and the others in the house that composure.

  “I am a reasonable woman, you know,” she said, wishing her voice did not tremble. “We can talk about this, come to an arrangement that would be mutually beneficial.”

  Rycroft had been fiddling with a decanter on the sideboard as she battled to control her reaction and he turned toward her now with an ugly chuckle

  “That may be true, but I fear the time for discussion is over, my dear. Had I known you would end up being a far greater thorn in my side, I would have ensured you died in that fire with your former lover. But now I have a better idea.”

  Mariah stared. “What are you talking about?”

  He glared at her. “Please do not go stupid on me now, my dear. You were only just becoming interesting. You know I’m speaking of your former lover, the Earl of Heathcote. Unless you have others who have died in fires over the years?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut as images bombarded her. “You are saying that you set the fire which killed Owen?”

  “And understanding dawns,” Rycroft laughed. “I arranged for the fire, yes.”

  Bile flooded Mariah’s mouth, but she swallowed it back. What he said might not be true. It could very well be a ploy to frighten her into acquiescence.

  “Why should I believe your lies?” she asked, lifting her chin in defiance. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  Rycroft shrugged. “Owen was a friend to my son. One who was encouraging him to continue his severing of ties with me. I tried to turn the earl to my side, but he refused to betray John.” He shook his head in disgust. “I had no choice but to end him, in order to keep him from doing even more damage. John will be under my thumb again. I can assure you.”

  Mariah staggered back. Memories were beginning to return. Discussion that had seemed meaningless at the time, but now became most important played in her head. Owen had spoken of some kind of trouble regarding John before his death. His explanation to her then had been so vague, but now she could see how his concerns must have had to do with Vaughn Rycroft.

  “You burned him alive in his bed,” she whimpered as she tried not to think of Owen’s suffering.

  “I did, indeed.” Rycroft shrugged. “In battle they call that collateral damage, I believe. Unfortunately, you must be the same.”

  Mariah tried to maintain her decorum. She tried not to lose herself to terror and heartbreak. But it was impossible. Her voice was out of her control and as she sank from the settee to the floor, she heard her screams echo in the quiet room around her.

  No one else would hear them. No one who could help her. Or help John. Or stop whatever madness this man had planned for her before her wedding day was over.

  John paced at the front of the church, unable to keep himself from looking over at the front door anytime there was even a creak of the old building.

  “Is it possible, Mr. Rycroft, that the young lady is not coming?” the vicar asked, in as kind a tone as he could muster through his own frustration over his wasted time.

  John turned on him with a scowl. He was thinking the very same thing, of course, but hearing it from someone else’s lips made him angry.

  “She would not change her mind without speaking to me,” he hissed. “She would not be that unkind.”

  That much, at least, was true. He could very well imagine Mariah refusing to marry him at the last minute. She had been hesitant about this arrangement from the first moment and never kept those hesitations a secret. But to leave him standing at the altar like a fool with his brother, three-quarters of his servants and a spattering of church-related strangers watching him did not seem to be something she would willingly choose to do.

  Especially since when he left her that morning, she was readying herself for the wedding. She’d had ample opportunity to change her mind to his face.

  The vicar gave him a smile filled with disbelief and stepped back to whisper with an altar attendent. As the man left earshot, John leaned toward his brother.

  “Where could she be?” he asked through clenched teeth. “She is nearly half an hour late and that isn’t in her nature. Am I merely an idiot not to see that she has run off rather than marry me?”

  His brother shifted and his face reddened as he stared at his boots. John pursed his lips.

  “What is wrong with you, Adam? You have been odd all day. I don’t think I’ve had two words put together from you. Are you in such disapproval of my choice, because you, like Mariah, had ample time to speak your worries before today.”

  Adam shook his head. “No, it isn’t that. Not at all.”

  “Then what?” John snapped and his voice echoed in the quiet church so that every eye in the place swiveled on him in something akin to pity. He lowered his tone and repeated, “Then what?”

  Adam sucked in a breath. “I just…it’s about him…” He stopped and shook his head. “No, I shouldn’t. I’m sorry.”

  But it was too late to drop the subject now. John stared at his brother.

  “Him? There is only one him in our lives. Are you saying you know something about our father? Something that has put you this out of sorts?”

  His brother swallowed with what looked to be considerable difficulty, then opened and shut his mouth like a fish. John moved forward and caught his lapels, hauling him closer.

  “What is going on? You tell me now!” he shouted and this time he didn’t care if he made the entire church uncomfortable with his emotions.

  His brother shoved back and staggered free into the aisle of the church. As he smoothed his lapels, he choked out, “Father has wanted you back under his control for years. Especially once he realized you were making a name and a fortune for yourself. He thought one way to obtain that control was to use your friends against you. He turned to the Earl of Heathcote, as he was your closest friend.”

  John drew back and shook his head in confusion. “Owen? When did he speak to Owen?”

  “For a few months before his…death, Father called on him mercilessly, trying every method of bribery, extortion and threat to turn him to a spy. But Heathcote was too good a friend to you. He refused, even though Father insisted. Finally, he grew tired of Father’s interference and said he was going to you with every detail of Father’s attempt.”

  “Why hadn’t he come to me from the beginning?” John asked with a shake of his head. “I could have nipped that annoyance in the bud.”

  “He said that knowing the lengths Father would go to would hurt you.” Adam dipped his chin. “He was, I believe, trying to protect you.”

  John bit back a sound of pain. He had spent the past few months wi
th dark feelings for Owen. His friend’s treatment of Mariah had been a bone of contention between them long before and even since his death. But here his friend had been trying to protect him all along. Being more the family member to him than anyone else had ever been.

  “But you know Father. He realized he had gone too far. A bad word from Owen would be even more powerful than a good one could have been. He went…mad with fury.” His brother hesitated. “And he plotted to kill your friend, in the most painful way possible.”

  John’s lips parted as what his brother was not saying became as clear as what he had.

  “You cannot be implying that our father caused the fire that burned my best friend alive.”

  Adam nodded. “Y-Yes.”

  John staggered beneath the weight of this confession. And as the layers of it sank in, he stared at his brother with new and fresh betrayal.

  “Wait, how do you know this? When did you know this?”

  “From the beginning,” his brother whispered. “He took me along on every meeting with Owen. And he…he asked me to arrange the fire.”

  “Did you?” John asked, his voice as hollow as his heart in that moment. “Did you kill my best friend?”

  “No!” his brother cried. “I didn’t. I couldn’t do that. When I refused, he hired someone else.”

  “Yet you knew his plans and did nothing to warn Owen.” John clenched his fists. “So in a way you did kill him.”

  “Yes,” his brother said as he covered his eyes and let out a low sound of pain. “I did. And I have hardly slept or eaten since that night for the guilt.”

  “And yet you were willing to come and play me for a fool. To betray me the way my friend would not.” John moved on him. “Admit it, you came to me with your sad story of being cut off in order to play spy for our father.”

  “Yes,” Adam admitted. “I did at the beginning. But the more we talked, the more I was free of him, I knew my actions were wrong. I began to tell him only half-truths. Lies when I could manage them. But he quickly guessed at my deception and instead he bought into a few of the guards you hired to protect Mariah.”