existed in the same society, and he would only be able to watch that laugh on her mouth from a distance. He’d have to imagine how it would sound, dream of how she would taste, hunger for her beside him.
Nicolas dragged deep of his cheroot. He had let Crispin go. Bloody hell. Nicolas was a man like his father, without honor.
He was just a lad of seventeen.
Nicolas tried to accept that reasoning to pardon her brother, to excuse the dishonor of not fulfilling a promise and his weakness in letting him go. But they had all been lads of eighteen or nineteen, young men on the cusp of manhood, and he had not forgiven any of the others. So how could he ignore the sins of her brother?
The memory of her wide, pleading eyes, and the fear which lingered because she understood his ruthlessness in exacting his retribution drove the air from his lungs. For her sake, he was glad he was able to walk away. For their sake…perhaps he would forever be tormented by his choice. Or perhaps there had been enough justice for Arianna.
Nicolas looked up to the star-studded sky. “If there has been enough, why am I here?”
A presence moved up beside him, holding out a glass of brandy which Nicolas took but did not drink.
The wolf…
That anguish he had buried for so long rushed to the surface and with a silent snarl, he swallowed it down. His best friend. No…his and Arianna’s best friend. And the great betrayer.
“So this is where you’ve escaped to,” David said, glancing over his shoulder into the ballroom. “Mother has been haranguing me to dance with Lady Cecily because she is perfect for me. God save us from feverish matchmaking mothers.”
At Nicolas’s lack of jovial or sarcastic response, David arched a brow. “Who killed your dog?”
His friend slapped him on his shoulder. “Come, man, what do you contemplate with such insouciance?”
“The things I cannot live without,” he murmured, taking a sip of the drink.
“And what are those?” David asked with an arch of his brow. “And why must they bear such weight of contemplation tonight?”
The things he could not live without—a particularly stunning smile with a dimple, a low husky laugh, a wit that skewered, a shrewd and intelligent mind, a lush body, and a sensuality that was breathtaking. His Maryann.
Something disturbingly akin to grief flashed, freezing everything inside Nicolas. It was impossible to envision a future without her in it. Simply impossible.
The loss he felt at the idea was so profound, the hand gripping the glass shook, sloshing the brandy over the side. With a muttered curse, he knocked back the drink in a long, burning swallow.
He would go to her after this. Another night must not pass with her thinking he did not love her, that he did not want her more than anything else in this world.
And as for Crispin…
That knife-like pain stabbed through Nicolas again. He had already sacrificed his honor. What more did he have to give?
And that was it, he was willing to give anything for her, even if he himself did not understand the lengths he had to traverse to achieve this state. Was it that he had to learn the complex nature of forgiveness?
He recalled saying to his father, with such hatred in his heart, “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, pain for pain, and hatred for hatred.”
“And what about forgiveness?” his father had demanded gruffly.
And Nicolas had laughed in disbelief, and demanded, “If some minor or those poor fools suffering in London had attacked a lady of quality, would you dare to talk about forgiveness or immediately have them hanged?”
Nicolas had never allowed forgiveness to enter his thoughts; even now something in him recoiled from the notion. Yet he had not made any allowance for their youth, simply knowing it to be a reprehensible crime that deserved punishment whether they had been young gentlemen or old men, poor men or rich men.
And he had not allowed that Crispin would be inculpable. He had held the black Dahlia in his heart with the same burning rage as the others. Nicolas had not allowed that his crime was less, and perhaps there was no dishonor in learning to forgive him. To now relinquish his anger against Crispin would not be easy, but Nicolas was willing to sacrifice anything.
For her sake. For his sake. And for theirs.
For so long, nothing else but his promise of retribution upon his honor and assuaging