A Whisper of Desire (12 page)

He stood looking down on her, his jaw taut.

“Sometimes stories are not ours to share.”

With that cryptic comment, he slipped from the room.

Marisa slowly rolled onto her back and began chewing her bottom lip. She welcomed the darkness because it gave her the feeling of invisibility. “Stories are not ours to share,” she muttered. “What the hell does that mean?”

The darkness also allowed her to pretend her cheeks were not bright red. Humiliated by his ability to resist her, she vowed it would be the last time she would approach him. If he wanted her in his bed, he would have to beg her. A woman did not have to chase her husband for pleasure.

Unless, and her muscles locked at the thought, he was in love with another woman or fancied—dare she say it?—a man.

He was hiding something; that was obvious. He desired her, the evidence was clearly visible under his robe, and yet he did not want her in his bed. She knew that men felt desire without love. Perhaps it was guilt keeping her at arm's length, guilt because his heart belonged to another.

Love could grow between strangers. Beatrice and Sebastian were an example. It couldn't grow if Maitland loved another.

She slapped her forehead. “I didn't ask the right question before we married.” She'd been so focused on her broken heart she'd not thought to ask Maitland if there was anyone he loved. She'd only asked about a mistress.

She was a young lady used to men begging for her attention. In fact, Maitland had tried to seduce her before they woke up together in that room. He'd told her she would be perfect as his duchess at the ball earlier in the evening. Why? Why her?

Fury rifled through her. This relationship was beginning to reek like a decomposing body. There had to be a reason why Maitland rejected her tonight. A reason he was keeping his distance.

She hated to admit it, but it would appear he loved another. Now that the seed of his relationship with Priscilla had been planted, it was blooming inside her head.

No longer able to trust her judgment when it came to men and the lies they could spin, she would talk to Sebastian. Surely her brother would not lie. And he knew about Priscilla. Sebastian was about to mention her name tonight, then stopped.

God help both of them if they had kept Maitland's love for Priscilla from her. If Sebastian had misled her or withheld information from her, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to forgive him.

A tear slid down her cheek. She hadn't minded marrying a stranger because she thought Maitland kind and honorable. Stupidly, she'd assumed they might come to love each other. If he loved another, that was unlikely. Fear saw her snuggle deeper into the bed. A long and lonely life stretched before her.

Her brother had a lot to answer for and tomorrow she would insist on answers.

Marisa awoke to the sound of Susan drawing the draperies. The sky revealed an overcast day, the grayness matching Marisa's mood.

She hadn't slept well, her innards in turmoil. She lay in bed and immediately started ticking off her mental list of questions to ask Maitland. She decided she would listen to his replies and then grill her brother. If the answers appeared similar, then she could be pretty sure they were telling her the truth.

“His Grace told me to let you sleep, and to wake you in time for your meeting in his study.”

“Maitland has already risen?”

“Mrs. Heyer told me he rises at the same time every morning, and breaks his fast at nine, no matter how late, or early, depending on how you look at it, he gets to bed.”

Marisa sat up and brushed her hair off her face. “He got up at nine?”
Damn.
“What time is it?”

“You have half an hour. I've brought you a tray with tea and sustenance.”

“It's after two?” Marisa threw back the covers. “I don't have time for a bath. So bring me some hot water to wash with while I eat, and I need my riding habit. I intend to visit with Beatrice after my talk with Maitland.”

Marisa arrived outside Maitland's study at exactly three o'clock. Her hand hesitated before knocking, her fist hovering in the air, afraid to strike. This talk could inevitably change her marriage, and she would have to live with the consequences.

She took a step back from the door, fear slicing through her. Courage was harder to summon than fear. It was only when she spied the footman looking at her strangely that she gathered herself and knocked before what little courage she had escaped her.

“Come” was the gruff command, and with head held high, she entered and closed the door behind her.

The study was exactly how she'd imagined it. Everything orderly and in its place. It was as if no one worked in it at all, but she knew as duke her husband spent most of his day behind the large walnut desk.

She was beginning to understand that Maitland required life to be tidy—orderly, even. She, on the other hand, usually lived in chaos, the maids and Susan having to constantly tidy up after her.

Maitland stood before the fire, warming his hands as if he too felt the cold dread in the pit of her stomach.

“Take a seat, Marisa. We have a lot to discuss, and I can see you're thinking of riding this afternoon.”

Why did he have to look so handsome, even with his severe face on? She wanted her husband, much as she hated to admit it. She prayed she'd be strong enough to resist him until he realized she was not here at his beck and call.

“I've asked my brother to take me riding later so I can soften him up before we tell him our plan.” She watched Maitland assess her statement and believe it.
Fool.
Marisa would be questioning Sebastian about Priscilla.

“That sounds sensible. We have no engagements tonight, so I have asked your brother and Hadley and Arend for dinner. We will give Arend our answer then, before they go to the Top Hat on their scoping exercise.”

It was beginning to grate on her, this calm, serene, unflappable persona of his. It was time he became her favorite pincushion. A few well-placed pricks and he should be jumping.

“You already know my stance. I think Arend's plan is clever. Don't you?”

“Clever, yes, but also risky.” He grimaced and abandoned the warmth of the fire to claim a chair not behind his imposing desk but next to her. On a sigh he stretched his long legs across the space until they almost touched his desk. “It puts you in direct danger, something I promised myself and your brother I would never do.”

“I'm not sure the danger is as direct as you imagine. Even if we are exposed, this Angelo is not a stupid man, nor is he reckless. I'm sure he'd not harm me if he thought a ransom was payable. Everyone knows how wealthy you are.”

He nodded and let his head lean back over the chair. She watched him close his eyes and could almost hear him thinking. She decided to pursue her argument. “Besides, I'll simply sit quietly by your side and no one will be any wiser.”

His eyes snapped open and he turned his head, riveting his gaze on her face. “There is more to your role than that.”

She couldn't imagine what. “I can't play the cards for you, or perhaps I could play too and simply lose?”

He sat up straight, his boots planting firmly on the floor, and he reached for her hand. “The Top Hat is like any other gentlemen's club. There are various forms of entertainment.” He paused, as if waiting for her to respond.

“I am not naïve, I had a rakish brother, do not forget. I realize that there are women who sell their bodies.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not just women.”

“I assume you mean there are male prostitutes. Forgive me, I'm still a little unsure of how a man has sex with a man.” Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire. “I realize they could use their mouths and hands…”

“I'm not sure this is the time for that conversation. You're a clever woman, use your imagination. The Bible mentions the act, and also it is illegal in England.”

“How sad, and I might add unfair. You can't help who you fall in love with.”

She watched his face soften at her words. “I'm not sure ‘love' is the right word. ‘Lust,' perhaps. However, I agree. I don't think any man, given the penalties involved, would choose to be attracted to other men. They just are. An accident of birth, perhaps.”

His reference to love as lust was interesting. “You don't believe in love? How can you not when you see it around you everywhere? Look at Sebastian and Beatrice, Grayson and Portia, Christian and Serena.” She pushed her point. “You, and the other Libertine Scholars. Don't tell me you don't love them as if they were your brothers.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “We are getting off the point. What I was delicately trying to impart was the fact you will see things that may shock you. Men with men, men with men and women, and we will be expected to go upstairs to take advantage of the rooms they offer.”

She smiled at his obvious discomfort. “Hardly scandalous; we are married.”

His face reddened. “It's likely we will be watched.”

“Watched?”

“Most brothels have peepholes where others can watch a couple in the throes of passion from a hidden room or corridor. Usually with their permission, of course, but I suspect often not. We will be watched to ensure I am what I am portraying. That I do, in fact, fancy men.”

She flopped back in her chair. “Well, that's darn annoying. I'm a woman. If I undress, they will clearly see I'm not male.”

“That's all you're concerned about? What about people watching you.”

“Watching won't hurt me. If I'm in disguise they won't even know who I am.” She sat back up. “How will we fool them if they watch?”

He cleared his throat. “There is one act that could allay their suspicions, and then I can think of a position that may still hide your sex for a few visits.”

She raised her eyebrow, indicating he should continue.

“I'm sure after a few visits they will stop watching us. For instance, you watched a woman service Arend…”

“Oh, use my mouth?”

For once Maitland's composure was decidedly skipping. “You'd not have to expose any part of your body, so they would not suspect you of being a woman.”

“But they would be watching me perform, like I watched Arend?” Why did the notion of someone watching excite her?

He ran a finger under his cravat as if it was far too tight. “Yes.”

She laughed gaily. “No wonder you didn't wish to discuss this with Sebastian.”

He stood and began to pace the room. “It is no laughing matter. It's not proper to expect one's wife to go down on her knees to…let alone allow others to watch the act.” He thumped the desk in front of him.

Marisa was speechless. She'd never seen him so worked up, and over sex. Had she married a prude?

He was his father. Sex. All he could think about right now was sex.

Why did the idea of his wife on her knees, her hot, wet mouth sliding over his hardness, set his skin on fire? He was growing hard simply thinking about it. Worse, she seemed to be aroused by the idea too. He noticed her breathing quicken and a flush race over her face.

She walked up behind him, her arms circling his waist. He felt her warmth as she pressed against him, her head on his back. All he wanted to do was turn round and force her to her knees right now, in his study.

“Don't upset yourself. I'm more than happy to oblige and I'm a little curious about how I will feel, knowing someone is watching. Besides, they won't really know it's me, so I really don't care who sees. What I do care about is capturing this woman who is trying to destroy our lives and the lives of our friends and family.”

He tried to ignore the feel of her softness pushing against him. Tried to ignore the small hand stroking down his stomach.

His rigid self-control began to crack and molten heat escaped. He turned, pulling her into his arms, and his mouth sought her luscious lips in a kiss filled with need and want. He tried to fight the urge to bend her over this desk and take her until he'd sated his unquenchable thirst for her. This was her fault. If she wasn't so sensual, so desirable, so…

He groaned and cupped her buttocks, pulling her tight against him so he could grind against her. He was just about to sweep everything off his desk when there was a loud knock at his study door.

“Not now,” he yelled, as Marisa giggled.

The knocking grew more insistent. He released his hold on Marisa and stormed to the door, flinging it wide.

“My apologies, Your Grace, but Dowager Lyttleton has arrived.”

Maitland looked at Brunton as if he had gone mad. “Here, in London?” Priscilla never came to London. He moved to the top of the stairs and looked down to see a mess of trunks, Priscilla, and the girls. Just as he heard Marisa walk up behind him, Priscilla looked up and saw him.

She quickly made her way up the stairs and flung herself into his arms, hugging the breath from him. “Maitland, dear. I had to come to help celebrate your news.” She pulled back and turned to Marisa and pulled her into an embrace. “You must be Marisa. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“I was not expecting you,” he stated blandly.

She swung her smile back to him. “I wanted to surprise you. When your letter arrived informing me of your sudden marriage, the girls were too excited to wait to meet Her Grace. You didn't say when you would come to The Vyne.” She flashed a warm smile at Marisa.

He should have known Priscilla and the girls would want to meet his wife. His nuptials changed their lives too. “I wish you had let me know you were coming, I would have dissuaded you. There is trouble afoot and it may not be safe in London.”

She moved close and cupped his face. “I knew there was a story behind your marriage, given the suddenness and the special license. That is why I came. You know that I would never have left The Vyne otherwise. I will do anything to help.”

Maitland briefly closed his eyes as he let her soothing voice wash over him. His lustful rage diminished at her touch. Priscilla, of all people, understood about abstinence. Whenever he felt the reins of his control slipping into darker pleasures, he'd run back to The Vyne, and just seeing Priscilla eased his demons. Perhaps she was exactly what he needed in London, given the feelings Marisa aroused in him.

A loud cough at his side broke the spell. He realized what this must look like to Marisa and stepped back out of Priscilla's reach. He no longer had amorous feelings for Priscilla, those had faded over the years, but she was a part of his life and had been his companion and support person for more than ten years. She was his friend, his good friend. Priscilla stood by him, even knowing all his secrets.

The next minute, excited little giggles and footsteps sounded on the stairs and the landing was soon crowded as Lady Antonia and Lady Penelope rushed to hug him.

“Goodness, you've both grown. Now, ladies, may I present my new duchess, Her Grace, Marisa.”

The girls clutched a hand each and turned to Marisa and gave a curtsey. Marisa returned the curtsey and said, “It's a pleasure to meet you. I love your dresses; you look so very grown-up.”

The two girls preened under her warm greeting and shyly let go of Maitland's hands and moved closer.

“You're very beautiful,” Penelope uttered.

Marisa's face colored beautifully; the blush sweeping over her cheeks made her look so much younger than she was. She looked like an angel.

“Thank you.”

An awkward silence descended until Priscilla said, “You are dressed for riding. Don't let our unexpected arrival disrupt your plans.”

He watched various emotions flicker over Marisa's face: confusion, surprise, determination, and, to his horror, fear.

She briefly looked at him before saying, “I
am
due to meet someone on Rotten Row.” She addressed Maitland. “As we are dining in tonight, I look forward to getting to know you all. You must be tired from your trip. Rest and catch up with His Grace. No doubt he will inform you of everything that is happening, and I look forward to hearing tales of life at The Vyne.”

“I look forward to that,” Priscilla said.

“Brunton, please have Mrs. Heyer ready rooms for the girls and Her Grace. And perhaps we could have some refreshments delivered to the drawing room in half an hour.” He moved and pressed a kiss to Marisa's cheek. “Enjoy your ride with Beatrice. We will see you at dinner.”

She gave him a small smile, as if she were worried about something, before descending the front entrance stairs to where her steed, Othello, stood saddled and waiting for her. They hadn't really finished their discussion, but he knew the answer they would give Arend tonight. They would agree to Arend's plan.