How could anyone not notice her? Yet Nicolas had done so for years. According to David, Lady Maryann had been out in society for the last four seasons. If not for that night in the gardens, would Nicolas have even noticed her?
He might never know, and it should not matter. In another place, another time, she might have been a welcome diversion. They would not be acquaintances, friends, or lovers. Especially if her brother was the black Dahlia, that would mean he was one of the men who had hurt Arianna. And Nicolas would irrevocably ruin him should it be proved true—the men who violated her could not be redeemed, and everyone would pay for their crimes. If her brother became his enemy, then Lady Maryann would indirectly become his enemy.
Arianna. It was hard to recall the shape of her face, the sound of her voice, or how she had tasted. They had kissed several times, but he had prevented himself from being callous. He was the son of a powerful marquess and she the daughter of servants. Their match would never have been accepted, and he’d promised himself to not ruin her.
Yet in a different way, he had.
The eagle soars indifferently while the wolf betrays…
He was the eagle. That was how she’d always seen him and had joked about it often enough. She had believed him indifferent to her pain and died believing those blackguards were his friends, and that they’d had his approval to debauch her against her will.
And why wouldn’t she have believed it? When Arianna had confessed her love, he had looked down his damned aristocratic nose and reminded her she was the daughter of servants and it was his duty to marry someone of the right station. He’d admitted his budding love but told her they could not marry. The shame, pain, and crushed dreams in her eyes had almost felled him.
He often wondered if those who had never felt its sting understood the absolute power of guilt. There were days its claws and talons ripped into his gut and tore him apart. She had been his friend, a girl he loved, and he had not been there in her greatest time of need. Five young men from the finest families in the aristocracy had ruined her purity with rank callousness, and unable to bear the pain and shame of her situation, she had flung herself into the river.
Nicolas entered the parked carriage which had been ordered to linger several houses down from Lady Maryann’s. He rapped on the roof, and the coachman urged the horses into a trot, taking him to Mayfair and the home of Viscount Humber, a most distinguished gentleman and one of society’s great orators of the House of Lords.
It was after midnight, but a careful analysis of the man’s habits for the past month indicated he would be in his study, reading scientific reports. Once again, Nicolas’s coachman stopped the equipage a number of houses down, and he alighted. He turned up the collar of his coat against the unusually brisk wind, gripped his silver-handled cane, and strolled toward the viscount’s house.
With little effort, Nicolas broke into the man’s home through the kitchens and silently made his way up the servants’ stairs to the lower floors. With the information he’d obtained from a chambermaid he had bribed, Nicolas quickly found the man’s study.
A sliver of orange light peeked from beneath the large oak door. A careful test of the lock, and it turned in his hand. Nicolas entered silently, braced for the possibility of alarming the man. Predictably, the viscount was at his desk, several lit tapers close to him as he read from a book and at times made jottings in a ledger. The man was so engrossed in his task, he did not hear or sense Nicolas as he padded over to the bookshelf, the darkest corner of the room.
Nicolas waited for his presence to be felt, and after a few minutes, a humorless smile curved his lips. “Humber,” he said quietly.
The viscount dropped the book and half rose out of his chair. “Is someone there?”
Staying ensconced in the shadows, Nicolas retrieved the rolled sheaf of papers tied with a dark ribbon from his pockets, then with precision he tossed it to land on the man’s desk.
“What is the meaning of this?” the viscount snapped, moving swiftly around his desk and grabbing up the papers and setting them atop his desk. “Who are you?”
“A messenger. I mean no harm.”
“Yet you broke into my home,” Humber snapped, a scowl darkening his features.
“Lord Humber, you are known as an upright man…who is just and abhors reprehensible people, especially if their crimes are vile.”
The viscount remained still for an inordinate amount of time, his chest lifting on his rapid breathing, staring into the shadows. “What is this about?”
“Another rumor says that you adore your daughter and are not ashamed to admit she is the apple of your eye. You’ve betrothed her to a man most vile.”
The viscount curled one of his hands into a tight fist at his side. “Who are you?”
“A most concerned party.”
“A friend does not approach me in this villainous and secretive manner.”
“I did not claim friendship, but I am not your enemy, either. It is best for the both of us that my identity remains hidden. I swear upon my honor, I mean you and your household no harm.”
The viscount seemed to struggle for a few moments before he swiped the cylindrical roll off the table and impatiently ripped off the ribbon. He straightened the papers against the desk and bent over them, reading the information presented. Nicolas patiently waited for the man to absorb the information.
“What is this?” the viscount asked with dawning outrage.
“Your daughter’s betrothed frequents a particular house in Soho Square.”
Humber straightened. “I do not believe this!”
The duke had recently completed the arrangements with Viscount Humber for his daughter’s hand in marriage. The girl had a dowry of fifty thousand pounds, plus two unentailed estates and shares in a copper mine. Farringdon had been pleased with the match, given his financial straits, and bragged in the clubs he would soon be flush in the pockets. The viscount was equally pleased his daughter would marry into such a powerful family.
Dirty secrets that had the potential to bring scandal and ignominy to a family had the power to crumble even the most sought-after alliance.
“That information was carefully collected over the course of eight months,” Nicolas murmured. “I made no mistake. The duke has a penchant for depravity and that brothel in Soho caters to his every whim. He also hurts those under his protection without regret.”
Lord Humber’s fingers tightened on the paper. “This report says he has foisted a bastard on a young maid in his home before running her away.”
“To suffer a life of poverty and misery. The girl was only fifteen.”
If Nicolas hadn’t kept such a keen watch on the duke, he wouldn’t have been able to assist the girl in her darkest hour of need. That young girl had been returned to her family in Cornwall with a draft of two thousand pounds, a fortune she’d hardly known what to do with. But her relief had been palpable, and Nicolas had witnessed the despair lift from her shoulders as hope had shone in her eyes. When she had impetuously flung herself into his arms and hugged him, he had just stood there, but inside, complex emotions had tumbled through him in unrelenting waves.