Mara wanted to nod her head in agreement, but she did not. Rose certainly had a point. She was not wrong in her thinking, but Mara would not give her the satisfaction of agreeing with her.
“Yes, it’s funny, isn’t it, Lady Mara . . . Men think we are these fragile, innocent little creatures who faint at the drop of a hat and are in dire need of their constant protection. Yet they willingly seduce us and then blame it on our wicked, womanly wiles. They become the victims then. We bewitch them and they have no recourse. Yet how can they be the victims when they are the ones who have all the power? I ask you that . . . These big, strong, manly men with all their control over us, they blame us and shun us. And we women let them . . . Because we are the stronger ones. We bear more than any man ever could.”
Mara finally nodded her head in spite of herself. Women always had to shoulder more burdens than men. Yet men insisted on referring to women as the weaker sex. It would be laughable if it weren’t so serious. “You’re quite right, Lady Sterling.”
“Of course I’m right,” Rose said rather sadly. “And that’s what I am telling you. You are treading upon dangerous ground, my dear. One word to the papers from me, and your life as you know it is over.” Rose sat back against the chair as if she were exhausted after running a mile.
“Why are you here? Did you follow me to Ireland?” Mara demanded, suddenly anxious to end this awkward visit. “What is it you want from me?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Rose continued in an ominous tone. “I want you to end this affair. I want you to give up Foster and convince him not to end our marriage.”
“Why would I do that when I love him and he loves me?”
“Why? Because quite simply, my dear girl, I will ruin you otherwise,” Rose replied calmly.
Another silence ensued.
Mara thought it over. Rose was absolutely correct in her description of what would happen if word of her affair with Lord Sterling went public. Yes, there would be a dreadful scandal. Mara would be ruined. She would be humiliated and sorry for bringing shame upon her family. But in the end, would she care? She wasn’t so concerned for herself. In actuality Mara had never cared much for society and social events, so she wouldn’t care if she were ostracized. Her family would forgive her. And Foster would marry her. They would be together as they belonged, and the scandal would be worth it then. As long as she was with Foster, she could withstand anything.
Mara interrupted the tense silence with her own question. “You don’t love Foster, do you?”
Rose looked stunned. “Love him? It doesn’t matter if I love him or not.”
Mara thought it mattered a great deal. “Has Foster ever been mean or cruel to you?”
Rose scoffed in a superior tone. “When has he not?”
“How has he been cruel to you?” Mara demanded, wishing to defend Foster, whom she knew only to be unfailingly kind.
“He has not been a faithful husband to me.”
“Can you blame him? Have you been a faithful wife? You’ve denied him everything. Have you tried to give him children? Have you given him the family that he wants and deserves to have?” Mara snapped. She was finally angry enough to accuse Foster’s wife of her own share of the blame in the demise of her marriage.
Rose looked furious. “What do you know of any of that?”
“What do I know of it? Foster told me everything I need to know about your so-called marriage,” Mara declared, trembling with outrage. “I know you’ve never lived together and that you have never even given him a chance to have a child and an heir. What kind of a wife are you?”
“How dare you!” Rose stood on shaky legs, her face turning a mottled red. “Who are you to pass judgment on my marriage? On my personal affairs?”
“I’m the woman who loves Foster and will gladly give him the family he deserves when we marry. So how dare you come in my room and threaten me?” Trembling, Mara rose to her feet as well. “Please leave my room at once!”
Rose looked stunned, utterly stunned by Mara’s outburst. She stalked to the door. Before she left the room, she turned to Mara and cried, “You will bitterly regret crossing me. Mark my words.”
The door slammed shut behind her.
Trembling, Mara sank back into the chair. That was dreadful. Completely dreadful. She wondered if she should find Foster and tell him that his wife was at the hotel and had threatened her. She was positive he didn’t know that Rose was in Ireland, let alone down the hall from her.
Another soft knock on the door startled her. Her heart raced, hoping it was Foster. She hurried to the door, opening it carefully. She’d no wish to spar with Rose again if she’d returned.
“Excuse me, my lady,” said Brighton, her lady’s maid. “Is there anything else you’ll be needing from me for the night?”
Suddenly Mara had an idea. “Yes, there is one last thing you can help me with, Brighton.”
Too afraid to risk being seen going to his room or running into Rose Sheridan again, Mara penned a hasty note informing Foster of her confrontation with his wife.
“Please see that this note is delivered to Lord Sterling right away. And that will be all for tonight, Brighton. Thank you.”
“Are you sure you are all right, my lady?” Brighton asked, her expression concerned. “You look a bit distressed.”
“I’m fine, but I will be much better when Lord Sterling gets my note.” Her trusted maid was quite aware of what was going on with her and Foster.
“Yes, my lady. I’ll take care of it,” she said with a nod of her head.
“Thank you, Brighton. Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Mara then dimmed all the lamps, except one on the night table, and climbed into bed, wishing Foster could come to her. She didn’t know how she would ever sleep after what had just happened. In spite of how awful Lady Sterling had acted toward her, Mara was the one who was in the wrong. Foster was a married man, and she never ought to have gotten involved with him in the first place. His wife had every right to be angry with them. They both should have waited until his marriage was legally over.
Mara had justified her shameful behavior by telling herself that Foster didn’t have a real marriage. But according to the law, Rose Sheridan was his legal wife. And no matter how she tried to rationalize it now, Mara and Foster were in the wrong. Tears filled her eyes, and she told herself that it would be over before too long and she would become Foster’s wife.
It was sometime later that night that Mara heard a tremendous amount of noise. She sat up in bed, startled by loud shouts and a great deal of banging. In spite of thinking she could never sleep, she must have fallen asleep at some point. The lamp had burned out, for the room was in total darkness. Disoriented, it took her a moment to remember where she was.
Then she smelled smoke. Something was burning!
Fire.
There was a fire in the hotel. Her heart pounded and an icy fear gripped her heart. Mara willed herself to rise from the bed. Stumbling across the dark and unfamiliar room in her bare feet, she managed to make her way to the door and fling it open.
The sight left her stricken.
The end of the hallway was engulfed in shimmering flames, and the blast of heat almost knocked her over. It seemed as if the entire hotel was on fire!
Yet Mara stood transfixed in the doorway of her room, staring at the scorching blaze before her. The swirling and glittering wall of orange and gold flames mesmerized her. They always had.
Memories assaulted her. Memories of the night her mother died.
Mama! Mama! Where are you?
Mara had to help her. But she couldn’t reach her. That wall of dancing flames blocked her way. Her mother screamed and screamed. Bloodcurdling screams echoed around her. Helpless to do anything, Mara could only stand there and watch the flames surround her mother.
Screams and terror and Mara cried. She didn’t know where to go. Suddenly Uncle Gerald, her father’s cousin, appeared in the corridor and pushed her ou
t of the way. He was angry. You’re a bad girl, Mara! A very bad girl! What are you doing here? Go back to bed!
Mara wouldn’t go. She wanted her mother and she wasn’t a bad girl.
“Fire! Get out! Fire!”
The frantic shouts from somewhere, along with the increasing heat, suddenly roused Mara from her reverie. This wasn’t a memory! This fire was happening right at that moment. The hotel was burning and Mara had to get out.
Yet she didn’t know what to do or where to go. Panic coursed through her veins. Where was the staircase again? How could she get out of this hotel?
Agonized screams pierced the smoke-clogged air. She ran forward, toward the screams for help. Thick smoke and ash swirled around her. It became difficult to see through the black smoke. It was even harder to breathe. Someone kept screaming, pitiful cries. Mara couldn’t see and she’d lost her way. She didn’t know where to go.
It was her premonition. Oh, God, this was it.
Except her vision had been completely wrong. Fear raced through Mara’s entire body as she coughed and tried to cover her face from the searing heat and smoke. She was going to die in this blaze. The vision was wrong. It was Mara’s own death she had foreseen. It was inevitable. She was going to burn to death, just like her mother had.
Still the piercing shrieks of terror became louder. Were they her own screams? She wasn’t even certain anymore.
Completely panicked now, Mara suddenly thought of her parents and her brother, Thomas, and how sad they would be to learn that she had died. And Foster. How she loved him! Where was he? Had he gotten out of the fire safely? Or was he, too, trapped in the burning building? Had Brighton escaped? She would never see any of the people she loved again.
Suddenly she saw a figure among the burning flames. It was the figure of a woman and she was screaming for someone to help her.
It was Rose Sheridan. Foster’s wife was on fire.
Instinctively Mara moved forward to help her. A rumbling crash and a roaring surge of flames caused her to step back instead, as a heavy beam crashed down from the ceiling, just missing Mara. Glowing embers and dancing sparks flew all around her.
Gasping in terror, she backed away from the scorching heat. She was unable to help Rose, who seemed to disappear into the orange and gold flames.
Mara tripped and fell to the carpet-covered floor. The smoke was less heavy there and she could breathe somewhat better. She wished she remembered where the staircase was. On her hands and knees now, she began to crawl forward, choking on the smoke. Something hard hit her head and she reeled from the pain, as stars spun around her head.
Lost in a swirling, angry sea of smoke, heat, and flames, Mara cried as she crawled in what she hoped was the direction of the staircase. Was she going to die there? Would she ever get out of this?
“Mara!”
She heard a voice calling over the roar of flames. Had someone called her name?
“Mara! Where are you?”
It was Foster! She dragged herself toward the sound of his voice, ignoring the encroaching fire around her. It became more and more difficult to see. More and more difficult to breathe. She longed to call back to him, but she was so choked with smoke that she couldn’t yell at all. She just kept crawling, trying to escape the flames behind her.
Suddenly Foster’s hands were upon her, lifting her off the floor and into his strong arms. She looked into his deep green eyes and saw his love and worry for her reflected in them. Mara clung to him and pressed her head against his chest, grateful for his strength as he carried her down the steps away from the fire. Peace enveloped her. She was safe now. Foster had her and she need not worry. They loved each other and they belonged together. Everything would be all right as long as they were together.
The last thing she remembered before darkness overtook her was Foster saying that he loved her.
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“Mara?”
Her eyelids fluttered open briefly, then closed again.
Foster held his breath, willing Mara to waken. He thought he’d lost her in the fire last night and he himself still had not recovered from all that had happened. As he sat beside her on the edge of the bed, he watched Mara lying there, looking so small and fragile. He gently smoothed her flaxen hair away from her beautiful face, which was marred by a swollen purple bruise.
She had been so covered with ash and soot when he found her, at first he feared she was badly burned. Yet somehow she had escaped with only some minor scrapes and burns on her arms and legs, aside from the terrible knot on her forehead. The poor thing must have hit her head on something.
Last night had been an utter nightmare.
He too had been asleep when the smoke and shouts had awakened him. He raced outside with the other hotel guests but could not find Mara anywhere. A tearful and desperate Brighton ran to him, insisting that Mara must still have been in her room.
That’s when Foster went back inside, frantic to find her. When he’d finally managed to get to the second floor, Mara had been crawling toward the staircase. She collapsed in his arms so completely that she still hadn’t awakened.
As dawn broke over the smoking remains of the Dublin House hotel and a light mist began to fall on the smoldering embers, the extent of the damage and the severity of the fire was clear to everyone. It was a miracle that Mara, that any of them, had survived at all.
They were now safely ensconced in another hotel. He managed to find lodging for them until she was well enough to travel to London. While Foster had dealt with other matters, Brighton had tended to Mara’s wounds and cleaned her up. But she still had not awakened, and that worried him. Actually, it terrified him.
“The doctor said she needs rest and should stay in bed all day today and most likely tomorrow. But we should try to wake her. I’ve just been keeping a cool cloth on that bump of hers.” Brighton looked worried as she appealed to Foster for help.
“Mara,” he called again, as he gently tapped her cheek. “Mara, my love, wake up.”
This time her eyelids fluttered open and stayed open. Mara’s wide gray-green eyes stared at him in confusion. “Foster . . .” She mumbled slowly, “What happened?”
“There was a fire at the hotel, but you’re fine now, love. You took quite a hit to the head, but you’ll recover in no time. You’re safe here with me now. You just need to rest.” Foster smiled at her. His heart filled with relief that Mara had awakened.
“Brighton is safe?” she asked with a worried frown, glancing around the room.
“I’m right here, my lady. You gave us all quite a fright, you did,” Brighton answered. “Can I get you anything?”
“Water, please,” Mara said. Her face was pale and drawn.
Brighton brought a glass of water while Foster helped Mara sit up against the pillows so she could drink it. With a shaky hand, Mara brought the glass to her lips and drank it all down. Then, as if exhausted, she rested her head against the pillows and closed her eyes.
“Foster?” she said, reaching her hand out to him, her eyes still closed. “Please stay with me.”
He took her small hand in his and gave her a comforting squeeze. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you.”
Brighton gave him an understanding look and a nod of her head. She would give them their privacy for a while. “I’ll go fetch more water and bring back something for her to eat. For you as well, my lord.”
“Thank you, Brighton.”
As the maid left them alone, Foster turned his attention back to Mara. “How are you feeling?”
“A little dizzy. My head hurts.”
“I can imagine it does. You’ve quite a nasty bruise there,” he said. His heart ached to see her like this, but he was just grateful that she was alive. “The doctor said you should rest for a few days. I sent a message to your parents that we were delayed. I didn’t want them to worry about you. We should have been almost in London by now.”
Foster hadn’t been sure if he’d done the
right thing in telegraphing Lord and Lady Cashelmore, but he believed they had a right to know about their daughter.
“Thank you,” she murmured. Mara seemed too exhausted to disagree with what he’d done.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked.
She opened her eyes again and mustered a weary smile. “No. Just sit here with me, please. I like knowing you’re with me.”
“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her.
“Rose . . . ?”
The very name caused him to shudder.
“What happened to Rose?” Mara questioned. Her eyes searched his, her brows furrowed in concern.
“She died in the fire.”
Mara closed her eyes and was still.
Foster sighed. He’d been so consumed with worry over Mara last night that he’d completely forgotten about Rose. After he’d carried Mara out of the burning building, his only thought was to get her to a doctor as soon as he could. There had been so much chaos outside the hotel and so many people, he’d been grateful to have met up with Brighton again. Together they brought Mara to the new hotel. Foster sought out a doctor, while Brighton tended to Mara. Then Foster went back to the Dublin House, or rather what was left of the hotel. That’s when he learned that Rose had perished in the fire.
His wife was dead.
Saying he was relieved oversimplified matters. Of course he felt relief. He’d never wanted to be married to her in the first place and now, at long last, he was finally free. Foster wasn’t exactly heartbroken either, for he had no strong emotional attachment to her. Yet still, her death made him sad. It was a terrible and tragic end to the life of a sad and troubled woman. He’d never wanted Rose to suffer and he’d certainly never wished for her death.
Although last night he’d been angrier with her than he’d ever been.
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