Berkeley Square. Her brother was unable to sit still, looking outside the carriage windows and muttering she had not seen how close she came to dying.
Close to dying.
The fear and pain that scythed through her heart then was so visceral, she lurched upright on the carriage seat.
“What is it?” Crispin demanded with a frown.
Dark emotions reared their heads and clogged her throat. “Nothing,” she said hoarsely. “It was a silly awareness.” But shattering, reshaping everything she thought she knew of herself and what she genuinely wanted.
“Tell me,” he urged. “I am your brother; please know you can confide anything to me.”
She tried to smile, but her mouth trembled too fiercely. “It was just a small brush with mortality.”
“More than a small brush,” he rejoined. “Damn scared ten years off my life.”
A peculiar grief sat heavy against her heart. “I felt the keenest of regrets…the pain almost agonizing that I’ve never known what it is like to be kissed,” she said softly, her color much heightened, “to be seen and cherished for who I am… I would have died without tasting the pulse of life.” And her heart broke at the very thought of it. “Life offers no certainties, Crispin, and I must be willing to live on the dangerous edge and bear all consequences.”
“You are out of sorts,” he said. “You must not speak like this.”
“I must have the freedom to love.”
“Maryann—” he began warningly.
“Crispin, have you ever felt this certainty that more awaits you, somewhere? That there is another life for you, one perhaps filled with hope and happiness and you only need to search for it? There is a restlessness upon my heart. I have been so unsatisfied with my life. I want more. I never want to look back on my life and feel the ache of regret. To wish I had been brave enough.”
“You are the most courageous lady I know,” he said gruffly.
“Am I?” She was through with living according to society, her parents who did not give a fig about her happiness, and for her supposed future husband’s expectations. It was just not simply enough to wish or pretend to be wicked and improper.
Maryann was decided—it was time she acted the rakess.
Chapter Fourteen
Nicolas entered his town house in Grosvenor Square from a very late night at his clubs. His gaze lit on several letters waiting for his perusal. One particularly caught his attention, and a dark satisfaction flowered through his gut. The wafer suggested the Duke of Farringdon had sent it.
Handing over his coat, gloves, and hat to the butler, he collected the letters and made his way to his library. He selected an armchair closest to the fire, and plucked the letter most important to him, the one from his thirteen-year-old twin sisters who currently resided with their mother at his main estate which was down in Wiltshire.
It was close to five a.m., and though he was desperate for sleep, he would read their letter first. Nicolas had promised them he would tie up his loose ends in town in a few months and return home to them. His mother had been considerably put out that he would return to town so soon and not honor the proper grieving period for his father. He had not been able to explain that he was on the cusp of completing his retribution, and the grief he felt at his father’s death was not to be displayed for the world to see. Nicolas had mourned his father long before he had passed, and he had found it in himself to forgive the man’s indifference to Arianna’s demise.
Dearest brother,
Louisa and I miss you dreadfully, too, and we wish you would come home soon. Mama also misses you, and always tasks us to read to her the letters you send. She even consumed some of the parcel of sweets you gifted us. I implore you next time to send three packets of sweets. We are growing girls.
The ponies were delivered from the Humphries’ stud farm and we love them. It was so kind of you to send such pretty dapple grays, they are gorgeous, but we are still arguing over how to name them. We also got the beautiful dolls. I believe you’ve forgotten that we turned thirteen and are no longer children.
It has been over four months since Papa died and we still hear Mama crying when she believes no one is about to witness her pain. Louisa and myself fare better, and we feel a bit