Wicked Game 02 - Something Wicked

by Olivia Fuller

Mary shot him an angry look.

  “I was in shock. You must forgive me for being less than even minded. Needless to say he persisted and in the end told me that’s he’d heard rumors and he went on to relay to me exactly what was in the note… He already knew!”

  “But how?” Mary shook her head in question, but Lord Brandon dismissed it.

  “And then he told me that none of it mattered because he was in love with you and feared for your reputation, which was why he was proposing marriage in the first place…”

  “Love? In love with me?” The words echoed in her head. “But we have only just met last week…”

  “From my perspective it appeared that you’d become very fond of him in that time.”

  “Well, I have. But love?” Mary threw her hands in the air. “Marriage?” She shook her head. “No, I can’t. I hardly know him.”

  “Oh. My dear. I am afraid I haven’t been clear enough. Whether or not you want to marry is not the question at all. You will marry. That’s the way we’ll put this accusation to rest. The question now is who you will marry…” And his voice faded out.

  No. This could not be happening. If only he would let her explain. If only he would listen to her. Perhaps then he’d understand. Perhaps then he might feel for her plight as Greg had.

  Greg. Oh, God, Greg.

  Maybe he could… Maybe they could…

  “Mary, did you hear what I said?”

  Mary’s voice left her body in little more than a whisper. “What was the question?”

  “The question is who you will marry.”

  Mary tilted her head. “And what do you mean by that? You said that Lord Hampton—”

  “Yes, Lord Hampton has proposed. He’s offered to marry you, no questions asked. However…”

  “However?” Mary blinked her eyes rapidly as she tried to focus. She felt like she was living in a dream state.

  “I think that there may be another option. Just because you’ve made a mistake—” Lord Brandon cleared his throat again in another vain attempt to hide the cracks in his voice, “doesn’t mean that you should have to pay for it for the rest of your life.”

  “It doesn’t?” Right now Mary wasn’t so sure.

  “If you must marry then the least we can do is to make sure that you marry the man of your choice.”

  “And that would be…”

  He raised his eyebrow. “Well, Lord Lincoln of course.”

  “Greg?” Mary was suddenly snapped out of her daze. “You really think he would?”

  Lord Brandon laughed. “Is that even a question?”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Mary wasn’t sure why she found her voice becoming defensive at those words.

  Lord Brandon twisted his mouth to the side as he gazed at her. There was something about the way that he looked at her that told her she should already know what he meant. He clasped his hands together and set them down on his lap.

  “Only that he’s been your closest and dearest friend for as long as I’ve known you and for years even before that. And it doesn’t take a very keen eye to see just how much he cares for you and how much you care for him.”

  He paused now and gazed at her again as if he was waiting for her to connect the dots. At any other time she would have, but her mind was reeling, so he elaborated: “I would say it’s a very fair judgment that he’d do anything to take care of you and see you protected.”

  Mary felt tears welling up in her eyes as she nodded her head up and down.

  Of course. Yes. Greg. He would marry her.

  She sighed and let herself relax as she allowed the memories and thoughts of their years together flow through her. She felt the tension leave her shoulders as she thought of his smile and his laugh. The tautness of her muscles slowly subsided with recollections of his kind words and caring companionship. Of all of the people in this world, she knew that she could never find a more loyal or truer friend than Greg.

  He alone had taken care of her and stood by her as she lived and learned. He’d comforted her after her father’s death even though they’d only just met. He’d helped her through her mother’s remarriage and the crisis of faith she’d had over love. He’d journeyed with her into adulthood…

  She hadn’t thought about that day in years. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about it again. But now it all came flooding back.

  She remembered how her flesh quivered with the strangest sensations. One moment she was aflame with red hot fire and breathing heavily, and the next moment she burned with an icy chill that sent her into convulsions. Everything was bright and beautiful and wonderful. It was the best feeling of her entire life.

  And suddenly she was very confused. Because even years later, she was suddenly realizing, that moment with him was still the best feeling of her entire life.

  She found some cruel amusement in this conclusion. How strange it was indeed. After all, she was not a stranger to physical intimacy, and hadn’t been for many years. But in all that time, she’d never even come close to reliving that feeling.

  It wasn’t that she was immune to the excitement of intimate pleasures, quite the opposite in fact. There were times when a look was all it took for her body to ready in anticipation. Perhaps it was the familiarity and the routine that had caused her flippant attitude. Perhaps it was just that she’d come to know exactly what to expect. When she dove deep into her mind all of her memories muddled together until on most occasions she could hardly distinguish one from the other.

  Her partner changed from vision to vision but the way she felt was strikingly similar in every case. When she was honest with herself she knew that even her partners were usually lost into the abyss. Every memory, every moment, every man had been the same.

  But this memory, this moment, this man: it had all been entirely different.

  This memory had ignited something new and exciting in her that she’d never even imagined was possible. This memory was not a blur as the others were. When she closed her eyes it was all there right before her, fresh and bright and raw.

  His hand flew over her breast, squeezing it and massaging it with his fingers. Cool moisture and hot lips brushed her nipples and her chest. His mouth explored her, tasted her in her most intimate and sensitive of places, and he shared the sweetness of his conquests with her. All her flesh was a playing field for his amusement and pleasure. He made use of it and he made use of her.

  She’d wanted to touch him too, please him, take him inside of her, do things that she’d never done before. But he did something completely surprising, something that was surprising to her even now. He willingly and gladly set his own pleasures aside, to indulge in pleasing her. And it appeared to have pleased him as much as it pleased her. Her body ached for him now as it ached for him then. And before she knew it she was worked into a frenzy again, all rosy and hot and slick.

  These feelings enchanted her with some sort of powerful magic. She wanted these feelings to continue on forever. The problem was that she didn’t know what these feelings meant. Any of them. They were all so different. And to make matters worse she still didn’t know why she felt the way she did either.

  She’d experienced many things and explored many sensations over the years. She’d filled her time and her thoughts with the company of many others, indulging in her every whim. She’d wanted for nothing. And yet here she was, always coming back to that one memory of him.

  And still she couldn’t explain it. It was as if in that moment she was feeling life for the very first time. Everything that had ever happened since that day was bland and lifeless and muddled. And perhaps that was the problem, she finally thought.

  Perhaps all the things she’d done and all the people she’d kept company with had failed to awaken these feelings in her because—perhaps—it didn’t matter so much what she filled her time with as who she filled her time with. She’d never been lonely but that didn’t mean she’d never been alone.

  And those men had not been Greg�
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  So, perhaps she’d never really felt anything before that day and she’d never really felt anything after.

  Not even with Brad. He seemed to be a remarkably decent man. He treated her kindly, he listened to her when she spoke, he’d never once tried to take advantage of her, and…

  She shook her head. And… and that was it.

  The worst thing she could say about him was that he was a decent man. But that was also the best thing that she could say about him. It was all so vanilla when she thought about it that way; wholesome, kind, decent.

  Because the thing was, Greg was more than decent. He had a heart large enough to carry compassion and love for the whole world. And if it had been possible, he would have done just that. He cared for her during her toughest times, supported her whether she was right or wrong, and always had a kind ear—or shoulder—for her to rely on.

  And he loved her. God damn it, he loved her.

  Damn you, Gregory Howard! And damn me…

  Maybe if either of them had only said something long ago. Maybe if either of them had not waited so long after that day to try to figure it all out—

  But maybe did not change the past or the present.

  A deep, throbbing sting rippled in her chest. She didn’t want to think about this but she forced herself to do it.

  He loved her. Unconditionally. He loved her.

  Since the very first day they met he treated her as a real person. As Mary. Just Mary. Nothing more and nothing less. Right or wrong, good or bad, Greg never faltered in his love and support of her.

  So, yes. He would help her out of this predicament she’d gotten herself into. He would protect her and take care of her as he always had. He would save her as he’d done so many times over the years even though she would never admit it to him.

  She felt relieved.

  And then… she realized she felt something else. Something that had been there all along, hidden inside of her, waiting to be discovered.

  She exhaled slowly as she let it come to the surface.

  It started in the center of her chest, just a tiny pulsating tingle that startled her. Carefully she placed her hand over it and felt it as it pulsed there with each beat of her heart. And then she felt this tingle begin to slowly spread in waves, up through her neck and to the crown of her head, across her shoulders and down her arms, and then in one final push, it went down her legs, past her knees, and all the way to the tips of her toes.

  Each new place it touched ignited something deep inside of her, awakening her senses, as wave upon wave of white hot emotion radiated through her. She felt powerful and alive as energy pulsated out of every pore. For a moment she reveled in the feeling and the warmth, and the comfort that she felt because of it. But then, that tiny tingle in her chest began to burn and ache like she’d been sliced open.

  The pain was deep and raw and her memories tore at it like a dull and jagged knife.

  Greg had always been there for her. He’d loved her when she was unlovable and he’d been her saving grace. And maybe that was not a good thing after all.

  What had his actions done to him? What had they cost and what had he sacrificed?

  There were the sacrifices that she knew of—smaller ones like his time, his money, even his sanity on some occasions, and the larger ones like the examination he’d missed when he took her to find Angela. Were there sacrifices she didn’t know of? Ones that were even greater? Had he given up happiness, love, his life, all for her?

  The possibilities were endless and it made her feel sick just thinking about them.

  Yes, he would marry her if she asked, but the price it would cost was more than her soul could afford.

  “What do you think love feels like, Greg?”

  Ages had passed since she asked him this question and they’d discussed the possibilities and made promises and formed the strongest bond they’d ever shared. But even then as they joined together intimately forever, she never imagined that she would ever come close to knowing the answer. It felt like an unreachable destination. But here she was.

  The sensation in her chest burst into a slow and steady flame, a kindling for her determination.

  It burned, but it was beautiful.

  And it had been here along. She’d just never understood it until right now.

  “This,” she heard herself say. It was such a quiet word that she was unsure she’d said anything.

  “What was that, Mary?”

  “I have decided,” Mary said with the even tone of someone who’d signed their own death warrant.

  “Very well then. Shall I call for Lord Lincoln so we can discuss the arrangements?” Lord Brandon stood and motioned toward the door where his solicitor waited outside.

  “No,” Mary said. “Not Lord Lincoln.”

  Lord Brandon sat back down on his desk. He was surprised. But he appeared to understand the severity of her choice and its implications. “Then you have—”

  “Yes.” Mary folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them for a moment. When she finally looked up again she was sure the empirical and firm demeanor she wanted to present had been broken by the tears in her eyes. “I’m going to accept Lord Hampton’s proposal.”

  “Mary,” Lord Brandon reached out to her and covered her hand with his. It was a strong fatherly gesture but it just served to remind her of how far she’d fallen from her father’s vision of her, from the time when she’d made him proud.

  “You don’t have to do this.” Lord Brandon reassured her.

  “Oh, but I do.” Mary wiped the few stray tears from her face and then more determined than ever she added, “I’ve asked more from him in just this one lifetime than I ever had the right to ask in all of my lifetimes…”

  Lord Brandon tried one more time to make sure that she was thinking soundly. “Perhaps if you spoke with Lord Lincoln—Greg…”

  Mary was sure he added this to make the situation feel more human. As if she needed a reminder of the person she was giving up, the person she was saving.

  “You could speak to him,” Lord Brandon pressed, “maybe just talk it over so that you don’t have to spend the rest of your life—”

  “Knowing that I’d made the most selfish decision of my entire life? Because that’s exactly what will happen if I ask this of him.”

  Lord Brandon nodded his head and sighed. “You have decided.

  “Yes, I have. And you will not tell Greg of this conversation either,” she added definitively. “For all of his days he will never know.”

  Lord Brandon shook his head silently but said nothing.

  “Promise me. Say it out loud,” she said. “Or I will not promise this marriage to you.”

  “Alright then. If you’re sure this is your wish then you’ll marry Lord Hampton and I promise I will never tell Lord Lincoln of this conversation.” He paused and fixed his gaze with hers. “On one more condition…”

  “And what is that?”

  “That you tell me why it is you have chosen not to marry Lord Lincoln.”

  “Fair enough.” Mary nodded in his direction.

  “We have a deal, then. Now tell me,” he said as he positioned himself closer to her now. “Why are you doing this?”

  “For very many reasons,” she answered. “But mostly because I will also do anything I can to take care of Greg and see him protected.”

  Lord Brandon tilted his head to the side. “Protect him from what?”

  Her voice cracked. “Me.”

  Chapter 12

  Summer 1817

  She must have had a bout of temporary insanity when she agreed to host this party, Mary decided. That was the only explanation that made any sense at all. After everything that had happened in the last few days—God in heaven had it really only been that little time?—to think that a party would somehow make everything better was most definitely the rationale of a mad woman.

  If she was going insane, she would not be surprised; she was only surprised that it had t
aken as long as it did. Insanity was, after all, the inevitable result of a situation such as this. Or at least she assumed it was the result, as she could not fathom that any other person in this world besides her was senseless enough to end up in this situation.

  And besides, she told herself, the party hadn’t even been her idea and her opinion on it probably would not have actually made a difference at all. The party was something Brad dreamed up, most likely in an effort to draw attention away from the expedience of their marriage. If they looked happy enough, if they danced for hours, if they kissed just the right number of times, then maybe—just maybe—people would think they were in love and they would not question anything.

  Mary hated the idea of the party but she had to admit that it made sense. And if it would help ease the stress of the next few days, she would go through with it without question.

  Mary heard the door open behind her and she looked up into the mirror expecting Priscilla and her mother, or her lady’s maid, Madge, even though it was hours too early. But when she looked into the mirror she didn’t see any of those women. Instead her eyes fell on Greg.

  They looked at each other through the reflection of the mirror as if they were seeing each other for the first time. The mirror provided a barrier, just enough of a filter from what was real that neither of them pulled their eyes away. And for a moment they were silent.

  Mary could feel the strong thump of her pulse in her ear as it counted each passing moment. Each second of silence passed as if in a vacuum, immune to constraints of time—some moments passed quickly and others dragged on until at last she had no idea exactly how much time had passed. But she didn’t care. He was here. And in this moment at least, she could let herself feel one with him.

  “Madge let me in…” He turned and gestured towards the door. “I didn’t mean to—I should apologize for yesterday—”

  “No.” Mary cut him off, her voice soft and strained. “There’s no need for that… I wouldn’t change a moment of our lives together. Not a moment…”

  “Neither would I,” he added.

  “And I don’t wish to dwell on the past…” she said with a deep breath. “Not what has been done or what hasn’t been done… none of that matters anymore.”