The Lady Who Stayed

greenwriter · 42 chapters · 10,089 words

I. The Will

I, Ernest Featherton, being of sound mind, write this last will and testament.

With the same principles passed by my father and his fathers before him, I led an adventurous life and reached a pinnacle of success, one that is all my own. My dear wife went too early, but she left behind the most beautiful treasure my riches could never buy: my daughter.

With my choice to remain a widower, Mary will have to deal with the consequences. But I am confident she will face them with a strong heart. She may not know it yet, but she is very much like her mother—she is capable. She is strong.

Therefore, I declare that my entire fortune and businesses, the Mary House and the Angel House, and their incomes, be granted to my daughter, Mary Angel Featherton, immediately after my passing. I grant her total control over everything I own and supervise.

Furthermore, should Mary wed, her husband will receive nothing but the dowry I have set aside for her. I have not worked my arse off to hand over my legacy to some unknown gentleman who could very well be a conniving thief and bastard—in words and actions.

In the event that something happens to Mary, and in this case an unfortunate demise, and she leaves no will and testament, the entirety of my fortune shall go to my cousin, Barty Featherton, and his son, Collin Featherton.

Mary, dear, may you choose someone to wed as soon as you can as you will have a hound of thieves and greedy bastards who will find great disappointment in this last will and testament.

Choose well, my daughter, and get yourself a useful husband.

Listen to none but your Uncle Barty.

Continue my legacy, my dearest.

I love you, Mary.

Signed,

Ernest Featherton

Witnesses,

Thomas Avery and Bonnie Blake

Solicitors, Avery-Blake Firm

II. The Daughter

Three weeks had passed since Mary stood in her father’s burning ritual, clad in black and utter numbness, surrounded by hounds of greedy men, as her father called them, who wanted to be her friend because she inherited more than his wealth. She also gained his authority.

Mary barely had time to grieve before the fear crept in. Her father did not know what he was doing when he left her everything .

Wrong move, Papa. Wrong move .

The pain and loss she could deal with, but the fear was a different matter. It made her want to disappear—to be forgotten.

She walked to her closet and stood before the boring black dresses. For a split second, she hoped Cressida was with her.

Being alone in a dangerous world filled with friends she could not trust could be frightening. She could go after Cressida and live a different life up there. Away from the dreary walls of earth they called home hundreds of feet belowground.

But she had to stay because Ernest Featherton said so.

Continue my legacy, my dearest.

Mary drew in a long breath. She would continue his legacy, but she would not be pushed to find a man. That would be the one part of his will she could not fulfill.

Her maid, Rose, was preparing a bath in one corner, humming a nameless song. Mary drowned the woman’s tune with a shaky sigh.

How long will the fear linger? She mastered masking it, but it was always there, tucked in a corner, waiting for the perfect time to slither back. That was what fear always did—wait and attack.

“Miss Mary,” Rose said from behind her, “Timmy has been a little fretful of late and I share his sentiments.”

“Why?” Mary absently asked, her eyes on the dark dresses before her.

“You cannot continue running around Willowfair unguarded.”

“I have Robins and Elkins, Rose. They are enough.”

“But you are now—”

“I’m still Mary Featherton in the eyes of the people. That has not changed.”

“But it has

changed,“ Rose insisted. Mary closed her eyes to summon equanimity. In a few strides, the petite young woman was at her side. Rose, like her mother before her, had been around the

family for years. “I do not understand why you have to attend this ball. It can be dangerous. I know you need a husband, but I have always thought you will choose someone from the family. Like your father did.”

“Do you like anyone in the family

, Rose?“ she asked wryly, reaching out for a black dress. Her maid stopped her, clucking her tongue, murmuring about a dress with a lower neckline.

“… And no, Miss Mary,” Rose said, dark brown eyes stern. “I’m afraid there is no match for you in the family. Although I have had a feeling Marcus Durley is very interested.”

Mary shuddered at the thought. With her father’s help, Marcus Durley was gaining success at an incredible speed. He respected her and never questioned her father’s decision, but Marcus Durley’s dark eyes and enigmatic smile had always bothered her. Mary could sense something wicked from the man—dangers she did not want to dip her toes into. He was as ambitious as everyone else. If she married him, Durley would have more access to power she did not want to share with him or anyone in the family

When Mary offered no comment, Rose sighed, reaching for a gown with the lowest neckline. “Are you hoping to find a husband in this ball? Then this gown should suffice.”

Mary’s eyes flickered to the notebook the size of her palm lying on the table beside her bed. Like her, it looked plain and unassuming. Alone. Innocent. Easily disguised.

“Yes,” she lied under her breath.

While Rose continued to platter about how she should find one fast this Willowfair Season, and or the Wickhurst Season, but hopefully not during the last two social seasons of the year, Mary’s thoughts drifted elsewhere. She understood everyone’s concern about her lack of a husband, but it was not a simple task. She could have no one from their family, and she could not trap just anyone who knew nothing about her world.

She did not need a husband, most especially an innocent one.

Mary walked away from Rose and snatched her notebook along the way.

There were far greater things that needed her attention than husband hunting.

Bad things and good things. Betrayal and sacrifice.

And while doing so, she had to stay alive.

III. The Rake

“Miss Mary Angel Featherton!” The guests did not hide their surprise when the butler intoned her entrance at the Macy Ball.

There could be many reasons for the horror and judgment in their eyes. For one, her father just died, and she was expected to remain in mourning, depriving herself of social fun because that was how one should respect their deceased. Another reason was the simple fact that Mary Featherton did not frequent balls, particularly something as large this one. Her being without a title and the daughter of a rich man who owned the two largest gentlemen’s clubs in Willowfair were enough reasons.

Women had always regarded the Mary House and Angel House as enemies. Their husbands and beaus were members, and God was not the sole witness to their husband’s secrets. Mary reminded them of their insecurities and the little ugly things they kept in their closets. Seeing her made them wonder if she had knowledge of their husband’s infidelity or gambling debts, or of the horrors within their own households the men spilled over card games and expensive bottles of brandy.

Mary was also aware of the gossip circulating amongst the wives and daughters. That she, Mary Featherton, was more involved with the fine gentlemen, perhaps offering services too scandalous to be discussed within polite society.

Do you see her stoop? A commoner’s back, that’s what it is, they would say. She is not the prim and proper girl her father tried to paint her to be. They were right. Mary was none of those things. And if they knew her secrets, these women would be the first to light the torch and hunt her down.

Built hundreds of feet below ground, the Town was no different from the world aboveground, contrary to what her Cressida might have believed. So long as people were part of a society, there would always be the need for acceptance. And with that came requirements that should be met because humans needed to feel they belonged. But also, they enjoyed feeling better than others.

She knew that too well, having grown up surrounded by greedy men who wanted one thing or another; who would do anything to gain entrance into an exclusive club where the echelons of society spent their useless time; gentlemen who would give up anything to win the next card game because they wanted to double what should have been enough. Men who had secrets. And men who exploited the weak simply because they could.

Cressida, Mary’s best friend, despite being born gentry and with the status Mary did not have, grew tired of the Town and its shallow norms. Her friend wanted something different—an adventure that the Town would only frown upon. She wanted true love. Pure, simple, and naïve as it may be, but it was a valid desire. Cressida did find a way out with the help of her husband, Calan Haverston. Mary may have an idea how they managed it, but she did not think it was necessary to find out. So long as Cressida was having her grand adventure, Mary was fine with it.

Yet while Cressida left, Mary stayed. Since then, things had gone from mellow and boring to drastic and desperate.

And dangerous.

Earnest Featherton died, living her with a fortune that no woman in the Town had ever owned. She, an untitled woman, richer than most men in this ballroom, was alone to face the prejudice of every guest who never saw her as one of them.

But the women were not her enemies tonight. She was the

enemy to some of these people and they did not even know that. She knew the secrets of their fathers, their husbands—everyone who graced the Mary House and the Angel House where secrets were never truly safe because the walls had ears.

She scanned the ballroom, her mind on one goal: a doorway.

“Mary Featherton!” Mary stiffened and turned. The old, elegant woman who stood before her was a stranger, but she offered a curtsy. “Darling child, I am sad to learn about your father’s passing. My condolences. My dear husband, bless his soul, was a member of one of your clubs. And I believe that if we ever bore a son, he would have grown up there, what with the time Jason spent in Mary House!”

Mary smiled, tucking the black strand that had strayed out of their clips, fully aware that several guests were staring at her and the old lady. “Thank you…” She threw the old woman an apologetic look.

“Gertrude Blaxton. I was once Lady Gertrude—”

“Haverston.”

The woman nodded. “I survived an untitled gentleman—a doctor,” Lady Gertrude said with a wave of her hand.

“Doctor Jason. Yes, of course, I knew of him.”

Lady Gertrude snorted. “Of course you do.” Then the woman regarded her with gentle eyes which wrinkled at the edges as a small smile played on her lips. It was not condescending, nor was it pitiful. It was just a kind smile. “I was at your dear friend’s wedding. That friend of yours, Cressida Belverst, now Haverston, made the fortunate mistake of marrying my nephew.”

Mary smiled warmly at the mention of Cressida’s name. “Yes, of course. I remember now.” She looked around to find that even more guests were boldly staring now. She cleared her throat, taking a step back from the old lady, ready to retreat.

“Do not mind them, Mary Featherton!” Lady Gertrude said, voice loud for the ogling crowd nearby. “They must just be bored tonight!” As the lady looked around, every gaze flickered away. Suddenly, the surrounding chatters grew as the guests pretended to mind their own business. Lady Gertrude reached out and grabbed Mary’s arm, pulling her closer with a surprisingly powerful force, and whispered in a teasing tone, “Now, why the bloody hell are you here?”

Mary blinked, stunned by the woman’s choice of language. “I… Well, I am—”

“You should be in mourning,” Lady Gertrude said. “But I understand your need to find entertainment after your loss. Believe me, I know how it feels. Now, how do you plan to spend this evening? Have you brought a companion with you?”

“Yes,” she lied. “In fact, I am trying to find her. If you will excuse me—”

“No, not yet, child. I wish to introduce you to my nephew. Come, let us find him.”

“But Lord Easton is—”

Aghast, Lady Gertrude stared at her. “Whatever made you think I was talking about Calan? I meant Adrien.”

Mary stiffened, stunned. Adrien Haverston—the rake.

“Now, I know the brute is here somewhere. He always tries to escape me. He should ask you to dance, Mary Featherton.”

“Forgive me, my lady, but I have promised my companion I will be gone only for a short while.” Mary laced her lie with a gentle smile. “Perhaps later?”

Lady Gertrude sighed. “Very well, then. I will need to find Adrien first, anyway. Now, where is that dratted child?”

Mary’s shoulders relaxed and returned to their stooping form, relieved when the lady turned away, grumbling about her nephew to herself.

Adrien Haverston crossed her mind again. The handsome rake who had been running around the Town chasing skirts. Of course she knew of him. He was a member of the Mary House. She had heard him speak of women during card games behind the thin walls of the club. She remembered the first time he gained membership. The maids gossiped about it and clamored to steal a look. Mary could clearly picture his handsome face in her mind, the way his dark hair would move whenever he laughed at a rather awful joke. He was the kind to be easily amused, the way his blue eyes would crinkle when…

She shook her head with a soft scoff. Was she entertaining the thoughts of having a Haverston husband like Cressida? Adrien Haverston was a rake, and he would prove to be more of a bigger problem. She did not need someone like him. Or any man.

Her target tonight was not even human.

It was the library.

Adrien Haverston was brooding the entire time. The Macy Ball was proving to be a challenge.

The Willowfair Season was still in full swing and everyone was geared for this year’s marriage war. The season opened not only another year’s rounds of battles in the parliament, but it also fueled the return of the brave and shameless soldiers: the Mamas and their equally desperate daughters.

After the always boring Sheills Season and the overly religious Granville Season last year, the women were back with a vengeance. Willowfair is just the start , Adrien thought. The elegant dresses and daring moves during the first quarter were just the groundwork for the scandalous and notorious Wickhurst Season.

Adrien, along with many eligible bachelors, had to be on constant alert for the next few months because enemies were everywhere.

It had been a great disappointment when the eldest Haverston brother, Calan, the Lord of Easton, married one of the most scandalous women in Willowfair just weeks ago. But the conniving witches were not losing hope because there were two more unmarried brothers left.

But there seemed to be a shortage of eligible bachelors and too many unmarried ladies with each passing season. Worse, McKenzie, the second eldest Haverston brother, passed his title to Adrien to pursue a career with the Town Guards and to rid himself of the responsibilities that came with the estate and its vast crop plantation.

Therefore, in the eyes of the hungry Mamas, Adrien was the next best choice. He was the Lord of Westershire; he was younger, and most definitely the most charming of the three brothers.

But marriage, in Adrien’s opinion, was only for those who were desperate and needed heirs. He did not need heirs because he could simply return the title to McKenzie should their father someday demand for more future Haverstons. And Calan could breed as many as he wanted with his new wife.

Adrien was free, really. If he could just stay safe from the conniving witches that lurked all corners of Willowfair.

But there was another soldier Adrien could not easily ignore, and it was in the form of an old lady crowned with white hair and with a cunning tongue as her weapon: Aunt Gertrude, the remaining sister of their father, an old and childless widow who made it her mission to marry off her nephews because in her circle of equally old and bored rich women, it was a bragging right to do so.

McKenzie, the smart bastard, had escaped after Calan’s wedding, leaving Adrien the sole beneficiary of their aunt’s charitable

work (as she would call it). And although currently in Willowfair, Calan could not be bothered because of pressing matters he had to deal with (as he claimed). So when their Aunt Gertrude demanded for one of her nephews’ company to the Macy Ball, Adrien was literally dragged and bribed and threatened to go.

And here he was, in the middle of the ballroom, surrounded by the most notorious debutantes and their mothers. And his aunt was missing!

The sight of the two black-haired twins, Poppy and Posy Prewitt, accompanied by their ever-conniving mother, Lady Prewitt, heightened Adrien’s alarm. Suddenly, the great need to save himself conquered the search mission for his aunt, and he whirled away from the approaching enemies.

His eyes frantically searched the ballroom. He dashed toward the nearest exit to his right, brushing against gowns and suits, throwing absent smiles until he stumbled into an empty corridor.

Inside the ballroom, the three Prewitt women craned their necks in search of him.

Bloody hell

Spotting a door, he tried the knob.

Ah, the heavens still have mercy for desperate rakes!

He slipped inside and turned off the lamps, leaving naught but a stream of white light directed at the center of the room from the window.

Raking his dark hair, Adrien smiled when he spotted the small liquor cabinet beside the door of the Macy library.

He picked up a bottle and heartily murmured, “Ah, the savior who never disappoints.”

IV. The Trap

Mary walked around the ballroom, ignoring the disparaging glances, and focused her eyes on the one exit that would lead her to the library.

A breath of relief escaped her when she finally emerged into an empty corridor lined with doors. Her heart pounding against her chest, she stopped when she saw a man enter the library.

Lord Preston. She knew him. Cressida once caused quite a small stir when she commented on the man’s oily face. Since then, that had always been his reputation.

But Mary knew Lord Preston more. She knew his secrets.

He was a member of the League of Founders, a group of men trained to protect the Town from threats. But unlike the Town Guards, whose purpose was to safeguard everyone and enforce the law, Leaguers worked in secret, their identities most often unknown.

For a moment she wondered if he was here on a mission, and if he was, he may stay long inside the library. Deciding to return later, Mary turned and then froze in her spot. Three familiar figures blocked her path back into the ballroom.

Mary groaned inwardly. Of all people, she had to deal with Belinda and the Prewitt twins.

“You should still be in mourning, Mary,” Belinda said with a smile. “You are giving your father’s memory such great insult by enjoying this ball.”

“Why are you here, Mary?” asked Poppy Prewitt, standing beside Belinda.

Not fighting back seemed to have grown into a habit for Mary where Belinda and her friends were concerned.

“ Being frail in the eyes of many does not reduce the power you hold. It simply hides it, my dear, so it can grow.“

Her father’s words echoed in her mind as she watched Belinda step closer, carrying her haughty air.

Mary instinctively stepped back, and she hated herself for it.

She was a hypocrite. She had made her father believe she was strong and that her meekness was merely a façade. But she never truly learned how to act because she was as what these people saw her. Or perhaps the act simply blended with the confidence her father tried to mold into her. Or it could just be that she was facing Belinda, the one person who could effectively make Mary feel she was trespassing into a world she was not a part of.

Her hands turned icy, and she had the sudden urge to run away or shrink, but the weight of the secret she hid in her reticule reminded her of why she could not.

The three ladies were not as horrible as what they reminded Mary of, which was the school they all attended together. It was in Madam Pearson’s School for Young Ladies that she learned evil rubbed on to children. There, despite the absence of their caregivers, Mary was known as the daughter of the man who robbed their fathers of their townsends,

and the daughter of the woman rumored to be the lover of many members in the clubs.

And even until now, even if they never spoke of those things, the mere presence of Belinda and the Prewitts reminded Mary of those horrible years her father had very little knowledge about because she never told him. Because she led him to believe she was strong.

“You are distracting people, Mary.” Belinda looked at her with a frown which could easily be concern or disapproval—or both. She could never truly tell with the red-haired beauty standing before her. Belinda, for Mary, was always a confusing enigma.

“Perhaps you should leave,” said Posy Prewitt, feigning a kind smile.

Mary cleared her throat. “If you would step aside, I may just leave.”

Belinda smiled and looked at her friends. “We were just going to the garden, Mary. Would you like to join us?”

“We could give you a trip back to your carriage along the way,” added Poppy.

“Ah! There you are!” Lady Gertrude’s voice said from behind Belinda and the Prewitts. “Come here, Mary. I want you to meet someone… Excuse me, young ladies. Here, Mary, come with me,” continued the older woman, finally reaching Mary. She turned to Belinda and the Prewitts. “Am I interrupting something?”

The ladies broke into smiles. “No, Lady Gertrude, of course not,” Belinda said.

“Good! Now, Mary, dear, come with me. My other nephew is here somewhere… I knew it was him—I saw him moments ago. Now, where is that child?”

Mary willingly followed because Lady Gertrude would be easier to get away from. As she did, she threw the library door another glance.

A familiar figure entered and walked straight into the light beaming through the window, shattering Adrien’s newfound safety and privacy.

“Preston,” he dryly greeted from his corner.

The man jumped in surprise, peering at him from the center of the room. “Westershire! What are you doing in the shadows?”

Ignoring the question, he said, “I would appreciate if you find another place—and no, do not turn on the lights. I was enjoying my privacy until your arrival.”

“Did Easton come with you?”

Adrien rolled his eyes. Finally—a question other than a wedding proposal. “No. He had some pressing matters to attend to as he said.”

Annoyance crossed Preston’s oily face. “I came hoping he would be here.”

“Well, he is not. If he were, our aunt would have murdered him because he came back to Willowfair without his wife.”

“Very well. I shall leave you in peace then.”

“You have my utter gratitude,” he said with a sardonic nod of his head.

The man turned and left the library. Adrien knew Preston was a member of the League of Founders. Him looking for Calan meant his brother was working on a case.

His mind easily drifted away from his brother and Preston. Perhaps he should feign a headache and beg his aunt to leave the ball. But the woman would merely offer him a glass of brandy for the pain. A foot injury from dancing? Ah, drat it. He had used that excuse too many times. She knew him too well to fall for it again.

He growled under his breath, cursing his fate tonight. It was in moments like this one that Adrien wished he had not left the League those years ago. He could be somewhere, doing something useful. But then he was reminded of the burden that came with being a Leaguer and he shook his head at the thought. Adrien swallowed the remaining of his drink and threw his head on the back of the chaise. The boredom was making him think of random things he would otherwise never bother with on a good day.

Just a few more hours, Adrien,

he told himself.

A woman would be nice, but you do not have one at the moment. Embrace the silence.

But even the silence betrayed him. Not an hour later and the door creaked open again. He opened his mouth to claim his territory, but stopped when he saw the intruder.

It was a woman. Or at least a shadow of one.

Perhaps also a blind one, because she did not notice his presence.

He frowned as she quietly closed the door before walking to the other side of the room and stopping in front of a line of shelves. She plucked one book out, then another. She flipped through the second one and remained motionless as she read. He could not tell what she did next because the room was too dark, but he saw her move again.

A soft smile curled his lips when she softly scoffed, as if the book was a joke, before she closed it. She returned the books on the shelf, stepped back, and studied them with her head cocked to one side. His frown deepened when she rushed forward and adjusted the books again, as though afraid someone would notice they were moved.

And then she turned and froze, finally discovering she was not alone. His legs, after all, caught the light from the window.

Adrien smiled. “I was really hoping to enjoy my privacy,” he said, breaking his silence.

“You were?” the soft and very feminine voice said. He straightened in the chaise, realizing he was alone with her.

She must have seen him come in earlier and waited for the perfect time to enter. Then she pretended to like books because maybe, just maybe, he liked a woman who enjoyed reading. He had heard enough stories of the same schemes played before.

This was not good.

He should escape before anyone saw them. A scandal was not how he intended to survive the Willowfair Season.

But the chit was walking forward and he was rendered immobile. She was almost just a mere shadow, but a beautiful shadow nonetheless.

He should get up and leave, but her movement mesmerized him. Gentle and graceful. Also reluctant—as if she did not want to be there. Was it innocent or daring? He could not tell. The beautiful shadow stopped right before the stream of light, as if teasing him, and his body reacted at the thrill.

She was not the voluptuous type. She was tall and slender, almost thin—just how he liked his women.

And she smelled wonderful. Not the strong perfumes the women showered themselves with. No, she smelled of fresh woman scent with a hint of… something—a flower, one that only bloomed for her.

Again, he reminded himself that he should go, but she was walking again, around the light, just inside the shadows, her movement both shy and curious.

Maybe she was here to play. Maybe he ought to play with her.

He was certain she was wearing black and her hair, which was pulled up in a bun, was of the same color. But no face because the light was not strong enough against the shadows of the library.

Then he paused for just a moment. Black. She was in mourning. A dead husband?

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said.

Why was she here? Was she looking for an adventure? She looked down at her dress. “Is it too obvious?”

“That you are in mourning? Definitely.”

She nodded, stopping at the edge of the light again. “Thank you for your condolences,” she said, voice meek. “How long have you been here?”

The light caught on her skin, and he instantly went tight. They appeared to glow in the faint light that shone on the lower half of her body. Her face still hid in the shadows. One more step and he would finally see it.

“Do you mean to ask if I saw you enter?”

“Y-yes.”

“Why? Did you do something wrong?”

She looked behind her at the shelf. “N-no.” She faced him again. “Who are you?”

Adrien scoffed. “If you come closer, you will find out.”

She took one more step. A halt. She stiffened and then backed away. Adrien frowned. What was the matter?

“Forgive me,” she said, soft voice laced with panic as she stepped further back into the shadows, depriving Adrien’s eyes of what they wanted to behold. “Could you leave?”

He almost laughed when her words sank in. “No. I was here first. You should leave.”

She hesitated.

“Fret not, I will not tell Lord Macy you touched his books,” he assured her.

“G-good.” She threw the shelf another glance. “But I prefer if you leave. I can stay.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “And where do you think I should go?”

“Outside the door?”

Another round of chuckle. He should really leave, but how could he? He was enjoying the moment. And she was a widow and a free woman. She was far more harmless than an innocent debutante.

“Are you not going to sit?” he asked, pointing at the seat where the light shone. He noted her hesitation, but she surprised him again by walking over to the shelf on the right where the shadow was darker. “Are the books more interesting than me, my lady?”

She faced the shelf. “I’m not a gentry, my lord.”

“A bigger relief then.”

She picked up a book and looked at it.

“Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.

“Yes—you. To leave.”

“Reading a book will not make me leave, Miss.”

He smiled when she sighed in frustration. Curious, he set down his drink and jumped to his feet. She stepped to the side in alarm when he leaned against the shelf, peering down at her when she bent her head to hide her face.

It was the thrill that drove him. He was certain she was supposed to meet someone here. Yet when she realized her mistake, she turned away from him. Him—Adrien Haverston!

He looked down at her bare arm and he yearned to caress it to see if they felt as smooth as they looked.

“You are not wearing gloves,” he noted.

“They can be quite bothersome,” she replied, clearing her throat, her face bent on the book. She flipped a page. How could she read in the darkness?

“Who did you think I was?” he asked, stepping closer.

His form shadowed her face, but he saw a hint of long, thick lashes. And her smell wrapped around him, encasing him in a trance. “No one. I was not expecting anyone.”

“I do not believe you.”

“I do not expect you to.”

“You dislike me.”

“You are giving me reasons to,” she retorted just as fast.

“Then why are you not leaving?”

“Because I like it here.”

“You should be out there dancing.”

“So should you.”

He sighed. Should he leave? She did not seem interested. But her scent was rooting him in place. Ah, bloody hell! He wanted this stubborn woman.

How long had it been since he ended things with his lover? A fortnight? A month? It had been too long, certainly.

“You came for your lover?”

“No,” she denied.

“You were seeking for one, then,” he said, voice knowing. “And are disappointed that you found me instead?”

“I am more disappointed with Lord Macy’s book collection.”

He chuckled, leaning closer to see what she was reading. “Ah, indeed. A book on worms. Disgusting.”

“Hmm.” The sound was enough to elicit a very disturbing response from his groin.

“If I leave you here, what are you planning to do?”

She lifted her shoulder, and he almost groaned. The dress did not even offer much, but the movement was very woman. “Spend a few more moments in peace.”

“Why?”

“Because I desire it.”

Mary was getting frustrated. She should leave, but she could not. Not when he was still here. She should have checked if the room was empty before she snuck in earlier. This was the first that she had been this careless.

If she left first, Adrien Haverston may be curious and find out her secret. She had to make him leave. Ah, she should not have gone here. This ball was a mistake.

“Liar,” he whispered, leaning lower. “Would you change your mind and reconsider your choice? It is quite obvious your friend

is not here.“

Mary wanted to laugh—both at his utter ignorance and her carelessness. “No. I only planned on taking one lover, thank you,” she said, humoring him because why not? Now, she would simply have to convince him he was not what she wanted.

His soft chuckle echoed around the room. “Tell me about this man you are seeking for.”

Growing frustrated, Mary snapped her head toward him. A big mistake because his face was too close. They were both stunned for a moment.

“Well?” he asked, voice teasing, breath brushing against her face. He was not moving, and Mary found herself frozen. Never had she ever been this so close to a man. Much more so to someone like Adrien Haverston.

The moment seemed surreal, to be honest.

She wondered if he recognized her. Maybe he did not, because if he did, he would already be out the door.

“Losing your husband must have been quite devastating.”

She scoffed. He thought she was a widow. Oh, how famous!

She should just reveal herself and get this over with. He should know he was in the same room with an unmarried innocent. If anyone walked in on them, it would be a scandal.

But she found she could not move. His presence was making it hard. And he was standing too close, inviting her to an unknown danger. And Mary always knew what danger was like—it was devastating and cruel, but it was also thrilling and gratifying. She knew because that was the world she grew up in.

Her eyes lowered to his mouth and even with the darkness, she knew she wanted to kiss him. Maybe just once.

Would it be wrong? Most definitely yes. But then she would find out why so many women cried for this man, or why the maids squealed whenever he would come by the Mary House.

A voice at the back of her mind was screaming for her to leave. But Adrien Haverston drew back and leaned against the shelf beside her. “I have lost someone years ago as well,” he said with a smile. “Not a wife, of course. But someone…”

“It must have been devastating,” she said, mesmerized by his shadowed beauty.

He shrugged. “In several ways.”

Mary, you fool! Do something.

Yet she turned and joined him against the shelf, the two of them standing side by side in the darkness.

“He had always been good to me,” she said, remembering her father, wondering what he would think if he knew what she was doing—or why she was here. “He provided me with everything I needed.”

“You must have been quite happy then.”

“Despite everything, I was,” she said with a bitter smile, knowing Ernest Featherton would condemn her for being here. He would be disappointed. “Happy, I mean. He made me happy,” she added.

“Whatever does that mean?” he asked.

She shrugged. “He was not a perfect man.”

“No man is.”

“Nor was I the perfect daughter.” There, she said it.

He stiffened beside her and his head snapped down at her. “You are not a widow.”

“Yes. I’m unmarried. Now, you can go, my lord.”

“B-but—” He turned to her. Through the darkness, she could see a hint of narrowed eyes.

“If someone sees us here, it shall be a scandal.”

“Then leave.”

“N-no. I am not leaving,” she stubbornly said, clearing her throat.

“Why are you here, really?” he asked, leaning closer. “And who are you?”

Mary panicked and tried to step away, but she stumbled on the skirts of her dress. He caught her, and her attempt to brush him away sent them both falling on the floor with a thud.

And that was when the door opened. Her eyes widened, and she scrambled over Adrien Haverston to crawl to the darkest corner of the room behind the chaise he occupied earlier. He was right behind her, then squeezed into her hiding place. She pushed him away, but he grabbed her. “You stepped on my hand!” he hissed. She covered his mouth, and they glared at each other in the darkness, then froze as the footsteps continued.

Mary poked her head out of the side of the chaise, locks of hair dangling from one ear, and her heart went to her throat. The man was facing the shelf. As the shadowed stranger picked up a book, Mary glanced at Adrien Haverston and pulled him away and out of sight. The stranger could turn anytime. Finally, when she heard the door open and close again, she craned her neck and sighed with relief to find the stranger gone. Mary eased back behind the chaise, bumping her head against Adrien’s.

They both let out a silent cry of pain in the darkness.

Mary started to crawl out, only to be pulled back by him. “Hush,” he whispered near her ear, his finger on her lips. She groaned when she heard the door open and two footsteps entered the room. A feminine giggle floated in the air, followed by a man’s low growl.

And then there was a rustle of fabrics, words like faster

and

have no time joined the grunts and whimpers. Her face heated. She swallowed, eyes wide as the lovers elicited sounds Mary knew she should not hear.

Adrien Haverston shook with laughter beside her, and she slapped his finger away. Truly, she could go now. She was done here.

If only the other two people in the room would leave!

“More! More…” the woman gasped. Mary grimaced. To be an unwilling witness was one matter, but to have to bear it in the darkness with a man (who was a rake!) was beyond uncomfortable. But then her heart pounded against her chest as Adrien fell silent beside her, and when she looked at him, he was staring at her with a small apologetic smile on his lips.

She closed her eyes in resignation and changed position, turning so she could lean her back against the chaise. He did the same, but he was against the wall facing her.

He must still wonder who she was. Could he not tell? But then, maybe he did not know her.

She shuddered when the man’s muffled growl echoed around the library. “Oh, darling, darling,” the man said, adding blasphemous words as he did so. “Should we continue to the chaise?” he asked.

Mary and Adrien stiffened. She clutched the sleeve of his coat in panic.

“No, I should get back,” the woman purred. “My husband will be looking for me.”

Mary gaped in disbelief. Not because she discovered an affair, but because she finally recognized the woman. Her husband was a member of the Angel House.

“But—”

“Later, darling,” the woman interjected. Her words were followed by a long kiss and more moaning. “No, no, no… I have to go. Truly, I have to.”

Mary let out a sigh as the door opened and closed. But she found herself suddenly weary to move, having had enough adventure for the night.

“That was rather awkward,” Adrien Haverston said, voice both amused and oddly dark. “This library must be bloody cursed.”

Mary swallowed and ignored him. “I must go.”

His brows rose, surprised. “Now you are going?”

“Yes. I have overstayed,” she replied, scrambling on her feet. “I yield. This room is yours.”

“Just one kiss,” he whispered, catching her hand. Mary stiffened at the touch. “As farewell.”

Mary scoffed and stood despite the hammering in her chest and the tingling sensation that traveled to her fingers. “You do not even know me.”

“Do I have to?”

“You must be jesting, my lord,” Mary said with a shake of her head. She turned and rushed to the door, but stopped and held her breath when he said, “We may never cross paths again.”

Her hand was around the door handle. One turn and she could leave. Escape to safety.

But then, she was always attracted to danger, so she turned. And as she did, he was there and his mouth captured hers and swallowed her gasp of surprise.

She stiffened, but so did Adrien. Her lips were as soft as he imagined, but the prickling surge that ran through him was different. He was not new to it, but this was the first time he felt it with someone he barely laid his eyes on.

Who was this woman?

He stepped closer, his mouth finally moving, softly urging hers to do the same, to give in and enjoy this little adventure.

All thoughts of who she was, or that she could be an innocent, melted with the building heat when her lips softened against his, surrendering. He tugged on her full lower lip with his teeth. A sigh escaped her mouth, and Adrien groaned, gently pinning her against the door with his hips while he caught her waist and kneaded.

The sound of their heavy breaths drowned the distant sound of music from the ballroom. He should stop, but then he could not. There was more to this kiss, he thought. More to discover. Just a few more seconds—another minute, he thought.

He urged her mouth open, and when it did, he dove inside, eager for a taste. As he predicted, he was tasting an angel. She was heaven—soft and warm and… innocent? The way her tongue clumsily danced with his, or how her hands reluctantly traveled over his arms to his shoulders, and through his dark locks, told Adrien that she may be just that.

But then her hands slid down from his head to his waistcoat, restlessly playing with the buttons.

Bloody hell—innocent or not, she was a willing one.

He cupped her breasts above her gown, and a sharp breath escaped him. She was perfectly made for his hands—or maybe his hands were molded to fit her. A strangled moan of surprise and desire slipped out of her lips and he breathed it in, stepping closer, bending lower.

Adrien groaned in her mouth, and with frustration, he lifted her in one swift motion, pulling her legs to wrap around him, and pinning her against the door with his hips. A groan rumbled in his chest as he ground against her. She gasped, but it died down into a strangled whimper when his mouth traveled lower to her neck and sucked on her racing pulse.

With his free hand, Adrien loosened her stays and tugged her bodice down to reveal one breast. A moan of half-protest, half-wanting, slithered from her throat as he bent down to close his mouth over the peak.

“Please…” she gasped.

“Don’t worry, we are getting there,” he whispered against her skin, hips grinding in emphasis.

“No… please stop,” she choked.

No, he could not. Please

. Not when he was bloody hard, and she was here…

He cursed under his breath and groaned before he put her down, his breathing heavy as he buried his face in her neck. Jaw tight, he lifted his head and found her mouth in the darkness, pressed his hips against her, making her feel his great need, trying to urge her to say yes. His hand covered her bare breast and kneaded.

Just say yes,

he silently prayed.

“Please,” she whispered against his lips. And then again, she said, “Stop.” This time, her voice changed. It was no longer pleading, cold even, hurling Adrien back to his senses.

He tore away from her and turned, hands clenched. “Go,” he ordered. “Go, woman.”

He did not even know her name, yet he ravaged her like a madman. He heard the rustling of her dress as she tried to fix herself, and he remembered he had loosened her stays.

“Bloody tarnation,” he cursed under his breath and faced her again. “Let me,” he offered, taking a step closer.

She frantically stepped back, shaking her head. The word ‘no’ was barely out of her mouth when she stumbled into the skirts of her gown and fell backward. Adrien moved fast to catch her. She tried to save the fall by shifting her weight to the side, her hand desperately grabbing on to the edge of the liquor cabinet to her right.

“No!” Adrien hissed. He caught her hand and pulled her toward him to save her and the cabinet. And then the sound came.

His heart stopped as the bottles and glasses from the cabinet clinked and swayed forward and back from where they stood. Holding his breath and feeling suddenly helpless, Adrien willed them to stop and stay still.

But it was too late and most—if not all—fell to the floor in a resounding series of crashes and clinks.

The lady in his arms gasped in surprise. Adrien stood frozen.

Before he could recover, the door burst open and five or more pair of frantic eyes saw them.

Wrapped in each other’s arms.

Her bodice loose; his waistcoat open.

His hair rumpled; her hair bedraggled.

The light from the corridor had burst inside the room and when Adrien finally tore his eyes away from the crowd in the doorway, he stared down at the woman who could very well have ruined the rest of his life.

It took him awhile to put a name to the face. And when he did, his eyes widened in surprise at the wide-eyed wanton in his arms.

Bloody Mary Featherton!

V. The Price

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