For Desire Alone (12 page)

The carriage stopped and all her bravado faded as the footman came around to open the door for her.

“Should we wait on the drive, miss?” her driver asked.

She shook her head. “No. I—I am not certain how long I will be. Feel free to take your rest in the servant area and I will ring for you when I am ready.”

Of course, she could be utterly humiliated if John refused to see her…or worse, dismissed her within moments of her arrival, but she was willing to take that risk. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Those hopes troubled her as she strode up to the door and rapped loudly. It was only seconds before Swanson opened it and stared down at her with a blank expression perfected by only the servants of highest caliber.

“Miss Desmond,” he said with the slightest hint of a smile. “May I help you?”

“I do not have an appointment,” she said, repeating the words she had been practicing all the carriage ride over. “But I demand to see Mr. Rycroft. Now.”

The butler’s brows lifted in what was probably his first expression of surprise in a decade or more. But he motioned her into the house and to a parlor.

“I shall ascertain if Mr. Rycroft is currently in residence, of course. And pass along the urgency of your request.”

He left her alone and Mariah began to pace.

“It wasn’t a request,” she muttered to no one but herself. “It was a rather strenuous order, I think.”

Time slipped by slowly, though each time Mariah looked at the clock on the mantel, it had only moved one little space to indicate a minute’s passage. It was less than five of those minutes, which felt like an hour, when the door behind her opened again.

She turned, half-expecting to see Swanson back to dismiss her, and went weak in the knees when it was John himself standing there. He stared at her, speechless, for what seemed like another eternity. Then he shut the door and stepped forward.

“Mariah,” he breathed. “I—I did not expect to see you here today.”

She arched a brow as all the emotion she had been keeping in check rushed to the surface at once. “Truly, this is how you address me? You did not expect to see me? You ignore what happened a few days ago and you pretend you have not cut me out of your life since?”

John shifted. “I’m sorry, Mariah, I did not mean to be flip in my response. I realize our last meeting ended awkwardly.”

“To say the least,” she muttered.

A shadow of a smile crossed his lips at her daring attitude and Mariah’s heart lodged in her throat at the sight. Oh why did his appearance have to undo her so? Why could she not be stronger? She was a courtesan, after all, not some inexperienced girl.

“I’m sorry,” he said and she jolted.

In three years, she was not certain Owen had ever said he was sorry to her. He bought her trinkets when she was upset, but admitting he was wrong was not his strong suit. Why had she not questioned him more? Demanded a higher level of respect from him?

“You are?” she asked, her thoughts returning to the man before her.

He nodded. “I should not have stormed out of the masquerade as I did. I cannot explain it.”

She pursed her lips. “Cannot or will not?”

He stared at her for a moment, then shrugged one shoulder. “Take your pick, Mariah.”

Her warmth at his apology faded and she folded her arms in frustration. “John, you are a mystery. You pretend joviality, but I sense your anger and frustration, both in general and when it comes to me.”

He shifted and his lips grew thinner with each word, manifesting proof of exactly what she had just said.

“Do you demand an explanation for this?” he asked, raising his hands in aggravation. “We have agreed again and again, Mariah, we are in an affair, not a relationship. I owe you no explanations.”

She shook her head. “An unfair claim when you continue to have your ire raised about subjects that pertain to me. A prime example is when I said Owen offered to share me with you. You turned purple with what can only be described as rage and you abandoned me in the middle of a ballroom. How can I not be expected to be curious about why you do these things?”

He turned away, his hand clenching and unclenching at his side even as he struggled to remain calm. “There are things about me you do not know, Mariah. You can never know. If they perturb you, I am sorry, but they are what they are. And I am who I am.”

She should have backed away, but there was such an undercurrent of pain to his face, to his voice, to the way his shoulders were thrown back as if he anticipated an attack, that she could not.

“And I am who I am,” she said, this time softer. “Part of who I am as a mistress is a comfort. I want to help you—”

He spun on her. “But you are not my mistress, Mariah.”

She flinched. “A fact you continually remind me of, I don’t know how I can keep forgetting.”

When he did not respond to her barb, she sighed. “At the ball, you asked me to tell you of my feelings because of our friendship. Does that friendship not go both ways, despite whatever you’ve said to me about the desire you felt for me from the past?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do!” She grasped his hands. “You cannot deny that we
have
been friends. Would you deny me the comfort I could offer you in that realm?”

He tilted his head as he examined her face so very closely and carefully. It was almost like he was judging her, playing out the telling of whatever secrets he held and pretending any response she might give.

But as he hesitated and fought whatever war was in his heart, she couldn’t help but see how deep his pain went. It was odd how she’d never seen it before, but little by little it grew plainer to her. Almost like she was peeling back his protective layers to find his true self buried there.

“Mariah, there is so much,” he began.

She leaned forward, anxious to hear whatever small part of his past he would share, when there was a knock at the door behind them.

Both of them froze and then slowly, John turned to the door. “Come in,” he croaked, his tone a mixture of relief and disappointment.

The chamber door opened and Swanson stood in the hallway. But it wasn’t the normally unflappable Swanson who never reacted. Now he was pale and his lips thin.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir,” he said. “But…your—your brother is here.”

Mariah pivoted to stare at John in utter surprise. She had never heard him speak of his family. She had never even known he
had
a brother. And from the shocked and horrified expression on his face, this arrival was not one he expected or desired.

And the layers peeled a little further, revealing a very complicated man who she very much wished to comfort. Even though he would not allow it. Even though she should not do it.

John’s ears rang and his vision seemed a little blurry as he stared without blinking at his butler and tried to digest these words that seemed so foreign to him.

“I—what?” he asked, needing to hear it again. Not wanting to hear it, but
needing
to hear it.

Swanson’s expression, which rarely changed, grew a little gentler as he said, “Your
brother
, sir. Adam Rycroft.”

John nodded. That was what he thought he’d heard. Knew he’d heard. But he needed the repetition to be sure he wasn’t in some strange dream.

“Show him to my office. I will be there shortly.”

Swanson bowed out of the chamber. “Yes, sir.”

As the door shut behind his servant, John paced to the window to stare out onto the street below. There was a gloomy, spitting rain streaking the glass and that fit his mood entirely. But before he could grow too maudlin, Mariah touched him.

It was a simple touch, really, just the brush of her fingers on his arm to urge him to face her, but her skin was warm and her face filled with empathy, not pity, as she stared up at him.

“John,” she began softly. “Your brother?”

He jerked out a nod. “Yes. We…we have been estranged for years. I don’t know why he’s here, Mariah.”

He heard the plaintive quality to his tone and cursed himself for showing such weakness. But Mariah didn’t react except to slide her hand from his arm to cup his cheek. She smoothed her fingers there gently.

“What can I do, John? What can I do?”

He stared down at her and a wild desire filled him. To tell her everything about himself, to confess his sins and his sorrows. To take her hand and run with her as fast and as far as he could.

But the moment passed and he instead cupped her chin and lifted her face to his. He pressed a kiss to her mouth, tasting her, letting the feel of her lips calm him.

“Nothing,” he whispered in answer to her question as he pulled away with great reluctance. “You can do nothing. But thank you for wanting to try.”

She looked up at him with a hint of sad frustration. “Should I wait for you?”

He shook his head. “No. Go home. I have no idea how long this will be and I doubt I’ll be in the mood for company once it’s over.”

Her lips parted to protest, but then she stepped back and nodded. Her expression was grim and there was a glimmer of hurt in her stare, but she simply said, “Very well, John. If that is your wish.”

She began to move past him, but then caught his hand. She squeezed gently as she looked up into his face. “If you need me, you know I’ll be waiting for you.”

John stared at her. She had never said as much before, but in reality he
did
know that. He could depend on Mariah, even at his worst. Even if he didn’t want to depend on anyone.

He smiled, but she didn’t wait for his response. She simply slipped away and left him as he had asked her to do. Alone. And he felt utterly alone as he stared at the door she left open in her wake and tried to ready himself to see his brother.

But there was no readying for this encounter. There was nothing but anxiety and pain.

Chapter Ten

John stared at the door to his office a fraction too long before he took a deep breath and opened it. He took only one step inside when he skidded to a stop to stare at the man standing at the fireplace with a faraway look in his eyes. The eyes John shared with him, along with a painful history.

“Adam,” he croaked out, his voice breaking just a fraction.

His brother turned from the fire with a jump and the two men gaped at each other as if they were strangers. He could see Adam’s hesitation ran as deep as his own. But then, they’d never really known how to be brothers to each other. Their father had ensured that.

“John,” he finally managed to say in a choked tone.

He moved from the fireplace and held out a hand. They shook and John flinched at the scar that slashed across Adam’s hand. He’d almost forgotten that one. It was a punishment from their father for some crime. He had a few of his own.

Desperate to ease the awkward tension, John shut the door behind him and motioned to the chair across from his desk.

“Please, sit,” he said as he came around to the other side of the desk and took his own place. “Would you like a drink?”

Adam shook his head. “No, no thank you.”

John stared at the man seated across from him. His brother was a handsome man, there was no denying that. But instead of spiraling into a life of debauchery, as John had decided to do, he had taken a far more straight-laced path. A path their father had chosen, just as he had chosen Adam.

John settled back in his chair. “I am surprised to see you here, brother. It’s been a long time.”

Adam nodded. “Yes. Four years. Since our last argument about who else? Our father.”

John pursed his lips at his brother’s bitter tone. He felt his own share of bitterness at the thought. The argument that had finally severed them had been ugly. The words, the actions, the fact they’d come to blows…all of those facts were ones John tried not to remember.

“You were right,” Adam all but whispered.

John jerked back to attention. “Right?”

Adam rose from his chair and paced the room restlessly.

“You and I always dealt with our father differently, didn’t we?” he asked as he glanced at John over his shoulder. “You saw evil in his every action, while I desperately searched for good.”

John kept his mouth shut, but it was a proper assessment. Often he had envied his brother his ability to forgive, to search for something John knew wasn’t there. To continue to love their father despite his very deep and dangerous failings.

Adam sighed. “Even when we last spoke, it was just after Father told me I was to inherit his entire fortune. You warned me that it was a power play, but I insisted on giving him the benefit of the doubt. I wanted to believe that his abusiveness was all the in the past.” He faced John and there was heartache on his face. “It was not.”

John squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry, Adam. I take no pleasure in hearing that.”

Adam shrugged. “I allowed him to come between us for years, but the very least I can do now is try to protect you. To warn you.”

John sat up straighter. “Warn me? Of what?”