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.