A Whisper of Desire (17 page)

Maitland was urgently beckoning her, and she moved toward him; she had a pretty good idea what was about to happen, given a naked man was being led into the room by a chain attached to a collar round his neck. She really didn't want to see this.

What stopped her in her tracks and made bile rise from within her churning stomach was the sight of a young boy walking hand in hand with Lord Hewitt, a man old enough to be the boy's grandfather. She recognized the young lad immediately; he looked exactly like his older brother, Clarence.

Simon's eyes met hers with a look of cold contempt. She saw the outward appearance of a young boy, but his eyes were those of an old, cynical man.

She knew it was silly, but she couldn't bear knowing Simon would see the show, see his brother…No doubt Simon had seen and experienced a lot worse. Her heart beat painfully in her chest, raging at the impotence of her, Simon's…the whole bloody situation.

Maitland stood to greet her. “It's time we took our leave.”

The baron looked at the two of them suspiciously. “You're not leaving before the show. It's the highlight of the evening. Angelo enjoys his theatrics because he knows it gets his customers' peckers up, if you'll excuse the pun, and they then spend their money on his boys.”

Maitland halted his departure, torn between wanting to protect Marisa from seeing the show, but realizing their cover would be strengthened if they watched, seemingly enjoying the sexual display. He smiled at the baron and kissed Marisa's cheek. “Perhaps I can contain my desires until later.”

The baron's face eased its frown and he smiled. “I assure you, Clarence's show will only increase your desires.”

Something had upset Marisa. She was shaking in his arms. It wasn't the act being sordidly played out in front of them, because Marisa's head was cradled against his chest, she was not watching. He whispered in her ear, “It will be over soon and we will leave. I'm so sorry for bringing you here.”

The prisoner was on his hands and knees, the pirate's cock in his mouth while another man took him from behind. The noise from the trio, and the crowd, was deafening, and at the spectacle's crescendo Marisa cringed and shuddered.

Damn bloody Arend to hell. He should never have involved Marisa in this. Her fine sensibilities must be disheveled, and he'd played a part in willfully destroying the last of her innocence.

Anger saw him scoop Marisa into his arms as he rose to his feet. “Excuse us, Baron.” The baron's titillating laugh followed him from the room. Instead of going upstairs to one of the private rooms as most other men were doing, Maitland took his leave, indicating the lad in his arms was unwell.

Once safely in his carriage, Marisa burst into tears. Maitland hugged her tightly, cooing apologies.

They were almost home before her sobs subsided. She pushed out of his hold and took the seat opposite him, chewing her bottom lip while staring out of the window.

“Don't worry, little one. We are never going back. I won't expose you to anything like that again. We will simply have to find another way to get Angelo to talk.”

She swung to face him, a look of horror etched on her pale face. “No. We have to go back. I can't leave him there.”

“Leave who there?”

“Simon. He's only twelve.” She dropped to her knees on the floor of the carriage and grabbed his hands. “Promise me we will go back. That we finish this and finish Angelo.”

He pulled her up into his lap. “Finishing Angelo won't save these boys. We cannot stop that which has been going on since the start of time.”

“That doesn't mean we do not help those we can.”

Maitland's heart swelled with pride. His wife was quite a woman. “The boys may like their life as it is.”

She shook her head so hard the tight weave Susan had constructed started to unravel. “Clarence is saving to set his brother free. Little Simon hates this life.”

“What will you do with Simon once you save him? He's older in years than his age, marked by his hard life. He may not be able to put his past behind him. He may not want to, he may prefer men.” He whispered against her cheek. “Some things a man can never forget.” An image of himself at sixteen flickered unwanted into his mind, of him in his father's barn, tied down, enjoying the sensations…

Like Simon, Maitland was marked by his sordid past. He fought every day not to succumb to his inner beast. He didn't think Simon, at the tender age of twelve, could overcome what had been done to him. He probably didn't have the skills to process the shame and horror. Maitland had survived because he was older and he had the other Libertine Scholars to help him.

Marisa cupped his chin, turning his head to look into his eyes. “I can't stand by and do nothing. I know I can't save them all, but Simon wants saving, deserves saving. He hates this life and what is done to him; you should read his eyes, he's dying inside, and it sends daggers through my heart to think another human being could corrupt a child, abuse him like this. I wanted to kill the man who walked in the room holding his hand as if what he'd just been doing with the boy was perfectly normal.”

“Angelo is going to be angry enough when I win his money. Tampering with his other assets, Simon, will not be tolerated. It will be dangerous.”

“Not if I can get his brother to help us.”

Maitland shook his head. “No, too dangerous.”

“I won't discuss the fact you're trying to bring down the house, but I could hint that you are interested in offering him protection, and his brother.”

The carriage drew up outside his house. He ran a hand over his face, wishing he had the power to simply demand Angelo tell them what he knew.

“He may not want my protection.”

She squirmed in his lap. “Actually, I suspect he'd be very keen. He congratulated me on my choice and suggested he'd love to accompany us upstairs one night.”

“Christ.”

“We have to help them.”

The footman opened the door and Maitland pulled the cape from under the seat, helping Marisa put it on to obscure her features when they entered the house. If Francis was spying on them, or if his neighbors were peering from behind closed curtains, he did not wish anyone to get a close look at his guest.

“We shall continue the discussion inside.”

“I'm not getting out of this carriage until you agree to help—agree to let me help. I agreed to help you with Angelo, you owe me.”

“I wasn't exactly happy about you helping me. I'm even less happy
now.
” He looked at the stubborn set of her chin. The pout to her lips and pride overcame his anger. She was so selfless. “Only”—she gave a little cry of victory—“only if you agree to do as I say.”

“Of course.”

She'd agreed far too quickly, but as he would have her strapped to his side whenever he was at the Top Hat, he'd not have to worry. He watched her walk into the house, enveloped in the cloak.

As he strolled in the front door of his house, the same tension that gripped him every night slid over him. It wasn't fear of Angelo or their villainess.

It was fear of Marisa, of having to sleep in the room next to hers. The lovemaking session in her bedroom before they departed for the club had whet his appetite for more. Already his body hardened thinking of stripping her out of those breeches, revealing her long, finely boned legs that seemed to go on forever to the honey pot between her thighs. Her breasts would be sore from being bound, and he imagined massaging them, feeling her nipples peak under his caress.

He briefly closed his eyes on the erotic images fueling the flames of his need. He never made love more than once in one day. His schedule had to be kept or God knows what he'd become. He hated the fact that his hands shook when he reached his bedchamber door.

He entered his room like a dead man walking, and allowed Gilbert to help him undress. He slipped a robe over his nakedness. It would have been safer to remain dressed, as his body was eagerly responding to the sound of Marisa undressing in the adjoining room. The door between them was open and he could hear Marisa telling Susan all that had occurred.

He dismissed Gilbert and picked up his book, trying to stick to his routine of reading a chapter by the fire before retiring. The words blurred on the page and did nothing to quiet his thrumming desire.

He knew it was only a matter of time before Marisa arrived like a tempting she-devil. Tonight would be a test of his willpower. Could he deny his body's needs and refrain from making love to his wife?

A full half hour later, he was surprised to note Marisa had not come to his room. Relief was soon replaced by concern. Perhaps the trauma of this evening had upset her more than he imagined.

He closed the book and placed it on the table by his chair. He sat in the silence, contemplating what he should do. He could simply sleep and hope she'd recovered in the morning. He knew it was the coward's way out and he despised himself just thinking about using that approach.

With a resigned sigh he made his way to Marisa's room. His bare feet made little noise on the rug and he hoped she was asleep. However, when he approached her large bed, it was to see her lying on her side facing him, a scowl marring her beautiful face.

“I was giving you another five minutes before I came and found you.”

Marisa's terse greeting proved she wasn't overly upset about this evening's events. “I wasn't sure if you would welcome my attentions, given the night we have had, and the fact we have already made love today. I was trying to be considerate.” Maitland kept his voice even, not allowing annoyance to flood his speech.

She pushed herself up onto her elbow, her slinky nightdress slipping to bare one delectable shoulder. She folded back the sheet, welcoming him to her bed. “If you were trying to be considerate, then perhaps it would have been husbandly to console me. Sometimes all a woman needs is someone to hold them.”

“Sometimes a man finds it nearly impossible to just cuddle. Especially when the woman is as beautiful and desirable as you.”

The smile that lit her face was well worth his pride.

She patted the bed beside her. “I promise to keep my hands to myself and deny you, should my womanly attractions be too much of a temptation.”

Her laugh made him realize she had no idea how much of a temptation she was and that tempting a man with his sexual pedigree was not ideal. But like a man walking to his execution, he slid in beside her and gathered her in his arms.

She laid her head upon his chest and sighed.

“I needed this after tonight. The Top Hat wasn't what I expected. I thought it would be titillating and sensual, but it was degrading and sordid. It's not an equal arrangement. Money changes the dynamics. Making virtual slaves of the poor.”

“True.”

“Is that what it is like in the brothels you and the other Libertine Scholars go to?” Disappointment filled her words.

He closed his eyes and let guilt swamp him. What she said was true. “Most of the women working in brothels have little alternative. Some, however, enjoy the work and think it better than working in a coal mine or sweatshop.”

“I hate that for an accident of birth, I could be in their position. I wish there was no poverty. I still feel dirty,” she whispered. “The young boys at the club…Are there girls as young as that at the brothels you've attended?”

“The respectable gentlemen's clubs, no, but I suspect that it will be a very similar situation as the Top Hat in the less salubrious brothels.”

“Men are disgusting creatures.”

Maitland froze, because he was one of those disgusting men—not with children, but he had other tastes equally disgusting. His reaction to what he'd seen and done in the barn all those years ago told him what sort of man he was. He hoped she never found out the truth about the man she'd married.

“Some men like…abusing children. It is illegal to be with a girl under twelve, and of course buggery at any age is illegal. It's seldom tolerated in polite society, but—unfortunately, money makes men into monsters. A wealthy man can buy almost anything in this world.”

Her finger entwined with the hair on his chest. “Clarence and Simon are orphans. Why didn't they go to one of the orphanages?”

He pressed a kiss to her head. So innocent. “They are often worse than a place like the Top Hat. The men and women running them can be cruel, greedy, and perverted.”

He felt the tension running through her limbs. “Then I want to do something about that.” She bolted upright. “We should employ upstanding men and women to review each orphanage or home and report them if there is abuse.”

“That's a lovely idea, but most of the homes are privately funded, and why would they let you enter? Especially if they have something to hide.”

She sighed, remaining silent. Maitland could almost hear her brain working.

“You said you didn't really want my dowry. Is that still the case?”

He nodded suspiciously.

She snuggled back down on his chest and closed her eyes. “Then I shall become a patron of as many homes as possible. Then they won't be able to stop my investigating how they are run.”

Maitland smiled against her hair. She was an amazing woman. Clever, loyal, and full of goodness. Perhaps during his lifetime her goodness and purity of heart would rub off on him.

They cuddled together, content to simply hold each other and thank their lucky stars they were two of the privileged.

For the first time in a long while, he fell asleep with a smile of contentment on his face.

Maitland slipped from Marisa's bed before dawn. He awoke with a determined part of him stiff as a beam. Today was Thursday. He couldn't make love until Saturday, and that might just be the death of him if he had to sleep next to her again.

Returning to his bedchamber, he took himself in hand, hoping to steady his ever-increasing desire. It helped some, but his traitorous body wanted to slip back into her bed and continue what his hand started but did not satisfy—its need for Marisa.

He pushed the erotic images from his mind and quickly washed, calling for Gilbert to help him dress. He had a call to make. Bloody Arend was going to wear his fist for having suggested he expose Marisa to the degenerates in that club.

As he galloped through the park he tried to think of a way to keep attending the club without needing to expose her to risk and the horrors of that life, but nothing came to mind.

Lost in thought he almost didn't hear Arend calling his name. He pulled his mare, Astraea, to a halt and waited for Arend to catch up.

“You're up early,” Maitland stated, his fist itching to pummel Arend's prominent chin.

“No. I'm out late,” Arend said with a wicked smile. “Where are you off to this early in the morning? I thought you'd be tucked up in bed with your stunning wife.”

Maitland couldn't meet Arend's eye. “I was coming to see you, actually.”

“At this time of the morning? You know I would not be receiving or likely home.” He looked up to find Arend watching him with those all-knowing eyes. “Well, you have my attention. What was so urgent you had to talk this early? Did something go wrong at the Top Hat last night?”

“No. My cover is intact, but I don't want Marisa going back into that place. She was deeply distressed, not at the male, male, aspect of the night, but there was a young boy…”

Arend cursed. “Bloody Angelo.” Arend sat, softly swearing. “You'll have to win big in one night, then. Surely we can beg her to go back one more time.”

“That's not the issue. She wants to go back. Marisa wants to try and save the boy.”

“Christ.” Arend must have pulled hard on the reins, as his horse shied left. “That could ruin everything.” He soothed his black stallion. “It has to be tonight, then, before Angelo returns. Francis is meaner than Angelo, but stupid. Can you break the house on one hand?”

“That depends on how the cards are played. If I sit waiting all night for
the
hand, it might never eventuate. Besides, the house would also have to keep betting.”

Arend tapped his crop on the saddle. After a moment he said, “Sod the fact that Angelo might catch on to our plan, you have to win and win big tonight.”

Maitland blew out a deep breath. “Good. I don't want to have to go back again. The more often Marisa goes with me, the more likely she'll be to concoct some risky plan to save the boy.”

“She's quite a woman. You owe our enemy thanks for seeing you trapped into marriage with Marisa. It could have been a lot worse.”

Maitland remained silent.

Arend frowned. “It is what you wanted? A few months ago you even suggested to Sebastian that a match would suit you. She's intelligent, brave, beautiful, and sensual. The marriage aligned two powerful families and she's your best friend's sister. What could possibly be wrong?”

Marisa was all those things and more. If it weren't for his past, if he'd been sired by anyone other than his abomination of a father, he would be ecstatic at having such a sensual and sexual woman as his wife. It wasn't that Marisa wasn't right for him. The problem was that he was not good enough for her.

Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, for Arend sighed. “For Christ's sake, let the past go. You are not anything like your father, just as the rest of us are not like the men who sired us.”

“It's easy for you to say, your father knew when behavior crossed the boundaries of decency. My father craved the indecencies.”

“So? You are nothing like him. In fact, most of my life I've thought you a prude. In the beginning I understood why, your father.” He moved his horse closer. “However, watching your rigid schedule, your self-denial, I think it's not healthy for a grown man. One day you just might burst from suppressed needs, and then you might just become him. Grow up and face the truth. You like sex. Every healthy man does. There is nothing wrong with that.”

Maitland couldn't help the flush he knew was on his heated face. The Libertine Scholars knew of his schedule because he had refused to go carousing with them on certain days. “Leave it, Arend.”

Arend eyed him suspiciously. “It's Thursday.” He saw the moment Arend comprehended why he was seeking him out so early. “You're hiding from Marisa. Don't tell me you're sticking to that stupid schedule with her—your wife.” Arend looked at him with a mixture of exasperation and disgust. “Have you explained to her why you have this schedule?” He stayed silent. “Of course not,
stupide.
She's a sensual woman. I happen to know that she's been curious about sex for a few years, namely because of
her
family upbringing and her rakish brother. What must she think?”

A storm brewed in his gut. “My marriage is no concern of yours. And in the future, if you know she's watching your indecent acts, take them someplace more private.”

Arend laughed. “I didn't realize she was watching until I'd finished. Knowing me, I would not have stopped even if I had known. It would have made it more exciting.”

Maitland took a swing at his smug face, but Arend simply moved his horse.

“Stay away from my wife.”

Arend moved closer, all smiles gone; instead, his hard, cold eyes drilled into him. “Let me give you a piece of advice. If you keep Marisa out of your bed, you'll damage her. Her parents' marriage ran hot and cold, and this behavior of yours is similar. Besides, as an innocent young lady, she will probably think there is something wrong with her if she wants you more than you want her. Don't be so cruel. Talk to her. Don't pass your insecurities on to her. You might find she looks to another to prove she's desirable.” Arend looked directly into his eyes. “And she won't have to look far.”

Before Maitland could explode, Arend galloped off. Had Arend just threatened him? Threatened to cuckold him if he didn't keep his wife satisfied?

Torn between galloping after Arend to throttle him or returning home to find Marisa and break his schedule for the first time in more than ten years, he cursed out loud.

Something of what Arend said made sense. The other Libertine Scholars had fathers almost as evil as his. Sebastian's certainly was as promiscuous, and Sebastian had always enjoyed a robust sex life. Yet Sebastian, the renowned rake, was now happily settled with Beatrice. Sebastian hadn't let his urges control him.

He knew Sebastian had not even looked at another woman since he fell in love. Perhaps that was the difference. You had to be in love to keep the monsters at bay.

Fear had always stopped him from falling in love because it might make his situation worse. His father seemed to fall into debauchery when Maitland's mother died. He never knew if it was the devastation of his loss that drove him over the edge or if his dark tastes were simmering in his blood, and only his mother's love kept them in check.

Since he didn't know, he'd decided to never succumb to love just in case. Whatever his father's chains had been, they broke free when Maitland's mother had died. Was the loss of the greatest love of his father's life the catalyst that sent him spiraling out of control? If so, love could be his savior and his destructor.

Perhaps it was time he tested himself. He swung Astraea toward Waverly Court, Sebastian's house. He'd have to confess his fears to Sebastian, and ensure that if he started to act like his father, started to let sex consume him to the detriment of all else, Sebastian would vow to rein him in. The last thing either of them would want was to hurt Marisa.

Marisa stood in front of the Duchess of Roxborough's London abode and took more than a deep breath. It had seemed such a good idea when she'd awoken alone in her bed once again, to go to the only woman she knew well enough to discuss why Maitland, a healthy and robust man, seemed to find her charms lacking.

Last night Maitland had stayed the night in her bed, and she thought they had turned a corner. She'd loved snuggling with him, falling asleep in his arms, knowing that in the morning they would make love. Dawn took that dream away. This morning she'd awoken early to find him already gone. She could have stayed in bed with him all day. They could have really talked, shared, and made love.

She understood her husband was a busy man with his large estates and his duty to the House of Lords. But he could have woken with her in his arms and, if nothing else, kissed her goodbye. She'd woken too early for him to be making calls on anyone, so why had he left her bed? All she could surmise was that, as like the past few nights, he'd been trying to avoid her, particularly when she was in her bed. He obviously didn't desire her like she desired him. She could never have left him lying in her bed naked!

Every time she looked at Maitland she got that heated unfurling ache deep in her belly. When he bestowed upon her one of his infrequent smiles her heart raced and her mouth dried. When he touched her, even the brush of his elbow against her side, she grew damp between her thighs, wanting his touch there so much she almost combusted with need.

He, it would seem, could leave her bed as easily as you would leave a house marked with the plague. What hurt the most was she lay next to him—naked. Her charms had no effect on him at all.

He desired her when she practically threw herself at him—he could not hide his body's reaction. He grew hard when she stood before him naked. Obviously he wasn't consumed with want, like she was, the minute he saw her. Was there something about her body that did not appeal?

She wanted the look that Sebastian gave Beatrice. The look that says “I'm going to combust if I don't get to taste you, love you, take you…right now.”

She wanted to know how to make that heated flare of interest appear in Maitland's eyes anytime he saw her, when she looked her worst, when she was fully clothed, when they were in polite company, and, oh, definitely when they were alone.

They had so little else in common, but how did she get to know the man if he hid himself from her? This marriage would fail if they did not suit in the bedchamber either.

Rose was a woman almost all men looked at with want and desire. She would know what Marisa was doing wrong. She'd sent a note to Rose first thing, requesting help with an urgent but private problem, and had been surprised to get one back immediately, inviting her to breakfast.

Now that she was here, she didn't know what she would say to Her Grace. She squared her shoulders, reminding herself that she too was a duchess, and walked up to the open door. Rose's butler stood ready to take her cloak and muff. The weather had been chilly this morning, but not as chilly as her empty bed, she silently told herself.

As the butler announced her, Marisa thought,
How cozy, one duchess chatting amicably to another.
Rose's welcoming smile, full of interest, sympathy, and humor, made her realize she was right in coming here. This woman oozed sensuality, which Marisa longed to replicate.

“Marisa, may I call you Marisa? It would be too funny referring to each other as ‘Your Grace.' ” She rose and embraced her, kissing her cheek before offering her a seat.

“I thought we'd have breakfast in the drawing room, as it gets the sun. It's starting to get colder in the mornings.”

“It's a beautiful room. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I don't know what you must be thinking.” Marisa took a seat and drew off her gloves.

“I was thinking that I'd wished I'd had a friend I could talk to when I first married. Portia was still unwed and I didn't want to scare her. Sexual congress with a man old enough to be my father was not pleasant.”

Marisa suddenly realized her problem seemed so insignificant compared to what Rose must have gone through.

“I feel so silly coming to you when my problem is one you'll probably laugh at and suggest I'm lucky for it.”

“Before we get too serious, let's enjoy some food and a good cup of tea. I always find things look less problematic with a strong cup of tea in hand.”

Marisa smiled and accepted a plate with eggs and ham. They chatted as if they had been friends forever, Rose telling her about Portia and Grayson's wedding ceremony. Slowly Marisa's muscles relaxed and the tension headache throbbing in her skull diminished.

Once the food had been cleared and they both held a cup of tea in their hands, Rose asked the question Marisa needed to hear. “So, what can I help you with?”

On a sigh she exclaimed, “My wedding is the opposite of yours. I've married a man I don't know, that's true, but he is handsome, virile, kind, and also a mystery.”

“You're right. He is nothing like my husband. My husband was a mean-spirited and miserly, unhappy little man. So I assume you're not going to ask me how to make it hurt less when he grunts on top of you.” Rose's smile died on her last sentence. Marisa reached for her hand, but she shook her head. “I rarely think of those days now. Not when I now choose who grunts on top of me, or under me, or behind me.” She laughed wickedly.

Marisa put down the cup she held and covered her face with her hands. “I don't abhor the marriage bed.” She hesitated and she peeked at her new friend. Rose's eyebrows rose. “It's just—how do you make a man want more of it?” she said in a rush.

Confusion marred Roses face. “More of it? More of…sex?”

Marisa couldn't speak so she merely nodded, her face flaming with embarrassment.