A Whisper of Desire (3 page)

Marisa realized she had been insulted and praised simultaneously. “Let me understand your intentions. Just because
you
need a child, you think
I
should be flattered by a proposal that is simply you wanting a brood mare.” She swept her hand, indicating the full ballroom behind her. “Do you realize I could have my pick of unattached men here?” She poked him in his admittedly very hard and muscular chest, her finger lingering longer than necessary to deliver her derisive reply. “Why would I accept a proposal from a man so arrogant he feels he doesn't have to court me? It's as if I'm supposed to fall at your feet in gratitude. Let me tell you, sir, that will never happen.”

“Never is a long time, my lady.” He didn't even apologize for his behavior. “If I went to Sebastian, he would look favorably on my suit.”

She almost choked on her drink, with bubbles going up her nose. The behavior was so unladylike it drew several of the
tons'
gossip-filled eyes their way. “You are deluded. You may be his friend, one of his best friends, but my brother would never force me into a marriage I did not want.”

He leaned closer, regardless of the audience that was gathering. “Then I shall have to ensure you want to marry me.” What the crowd could not see was the fingers of his right hand trailing down the curves of her side and over her hip. She couldn't squirm or slap his hand away without alerting everyone to his disgraceful behavior.

She simply smiled sweetly and gritted her teeth. “I doubt you will achieve that goal, Your Grace. I'm expecting a proposal from a man who loves me, and I
shall
be accepting.”

She watched his jaw go taut, and his hand dropped from where it stroked her side. “We shall see, little one.” With that, he bowed low and lifted her hand to his lips. Ignoring their audience, he pressed his lips to her fingers and lingered longer than appropriate.

She wanted to rip her hand from his possessive hold but knew they were already a topic of speculation and she didn't wish for others to get the wrong impression. If Rutherford thought His Grace was a suitor he might bow out, thinking he could not compete.

“There you are. I have been looking for you everywhere.” Beatrice, her sister-in-law, slipped her arm through Marisa's and smiled up at His Grace. “Maitland, thank you for keeping an eye on Marisa. I hope she hasn't been a nuisance.”

Marisa wanted to scream. If anyone was being a nuisance, it was he.

“It has been my pleasure,” he said with not a hint of irony. “If you'll excuse me, I shall retire to the card room.”

He placed a kiss on Beatrice's cheek and left without another word to Marisa.

“Ooh, that man. He's so, he's so, so
infuriating
.”

Beatrice laughed at her outburst. “His Grace is a nice man, even though he sometimes makes me wonder if he knows how to be happy.”

Marisa looked at his departing back, trying to ignore the curve of his buttocks and his long, powerful legs. “He's a duke, very wealthy and quite handsome. Why would he not be happy?”

Beatrice sighed and looped her arm with Marisa's, leading them back to the refreshment table. Marisa drank the rest of her champagne before accepting another glass.

“His upbringing was not a happy one. His mother died in childbirth, and his father—I'm not sure if it was his wife's death or if he was always that way, but he turned into a drunken, debauched, bitter man. I doubt Maitland ever received a kind word, let alone a hug. I'm sure it's affected him. Maitland is just not demonstrative.”

Marisa's face heated. He'd been plenty demonstrative earlier. Suddenly she felt a tad light-headed. “Excuse me, Beatrice, I need the retiring room.” Beatrice was about to say she'd come too, when Sebastian arrived, wishing to dance with his wife. She watched Beatrice and her brother as they waltzed and wondered where Lord Rutherford was. She frowned and steadied herself against the table. She put down her glass and decided she needed to sit for a moment. She'd hardly drunk anything this evening, but for some reason the champagne she'd sipped had gone straight to her head.

Marisa woke from what she thought must have been a very deep sleep. Her head was a deadweight on her pillow. She'd obviously drunk too much champagne at Lord Dunmire's ball, and she had a serious headache. If she moved, pounding drums began at her temples and moved to the back of her head. She didn't want to open her eyes and face the day, but the thought that Rutherford might call, and that this could be the day he proposed, saw her brave any discomfort the sunlight might deliver. Her lady's maid, Susan, always pulled back the blinds in the morning, so she pried one eye open and was surprised and relieved to find it was still dark, with only soft dawn light visible where the curtains met.

Joy! She could sleep for a few more hours and get rid of this throbbing head. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh, snuggling down in the bedclothes.

She was just drifting off, her breathing in time with the drums playing in her head, when a large snore sounded close to her ear. For a minute she thought she had dreamt the sound, but then a large, hard body curled round her, dragging her back against a very male front. She swallowed her panic and nausea. Someone had invaded her room and was in bed with her, and they were
naked.

She should scream; her brother would be here in a flash and he would kill whoever was trying…But her bedmate wasn't trying to do anything. He was doing nothing but holding her gently in his arms.

Oh, dear.
She knew she'd been light-headed at the ball but she'd swear she had not drunk much. She blamed her moment of madness with Maitland for her giddiness. She remembered dancing the second waltz with Rutherford. Had she grown too bold and invited him to sneak into her bedchamber?

Why couldn't she remember?

She looked over her shoulder without disturbing her bedmate. Her heart sped up. It wasn't Rutherford, for the man's hair was dark.

With headache forgotten, she eased back the covers so as not to alert her captor, and viciously dug her nails into the arm wrapped around her waist, until with a loud curse the hairy arm disappeared and she could jump free.

She was almost to the door when she looked down and realized she was naked as the day she was born. She never went to bed naked, it was unseemly. She tried not to let panic seize her, but her throat was so tight she could barely breathe. If the Libertine Scholars' enemy had got hold of her…

She spun round and made to reach for the quilt lying at the end of the bed when a voice yelled, “Christ, Marisa, what on earth are you doing in my room?” She watched in disbelief as Maitland Spencer, Duke of Lyttleton, sat up, swiped a hand over his eyes, and muttered, “What a beautiful sight. I must be dreaming.”

Marisa grabbed for the quilt to cover her nakedness. While His Grace fell back among the pillows, holding his head and murmurring, she took a moment to look round the room. It certainly wasn't her bedchamber. How had she got here?

When she gazed back at Maitland her mouth dried and her face heated. The sheet had slid down his body and exposed his muscled chest, and her eyes followed the trail of hair down to where it disappeared under the sheet lying below his hipbones. Looking at the cut of muscle above his groin, emphasizing his hips, was like looking at perfection. She didn't think she'd ever seen anything so beautifully masculine. Her eyes roamed back up over his torso to meet eyes flared with passion and a quirked eyebrow.

“Do you like what you see?” he asked with a gravelly, “I've just woken up with a bad head” kind of voice. When she remained speechless, he added, “You know, after our tête-à-tête in the alcove this evening, I thought I'd made it clear I was attracted to you. There was no need to drug me in order to have your wicked way with me.”

“Drug you,” she spluttered. That was what the unusual taste in her mouth was. She'd been drugged. “I certainly didn't drug you.” A terrible thought entered her head. “Did you do this to try and compromise me?”

He laced his hands behind his head, leaving the sheet low on his hips, understanding perfectly well what the sight of his nakedness was doing to her.

“I was joking, little one. We have obviously both been drugged and placed in this room. I suspect that the door's locked.” He didn't look any happier than she did at their predicament. He'd closed his eyes and the frown deepened on his brow. She stood silently watching him, hoping he'd come up with some miraculous solution to this dreadful situation.

He let out a sigh and ran a hand over his face. She could hear the friction of his palm against the dark stubble. “This is disastrous.”

She closed her eyes and tried to stop herself from screaming. “Surely there is a way to escape this trap. Can't you think of something?”

“You standing there virtually naked is a distraction, little one. Give me a moment to gather my thoughts. I've only just woken up.”

He wasn't lying. She could see the banked fire in his eyes begin to light. She hugged the quilt tighter against herself, hoping it covered as much of her as possible. She certainly wasn't brave enough to flaunt her body like he was his; but then, he did have a spectacular body.

Impossible man.
“Oh, for goodness' sake, cover yourself and do something to get us out of here. In fact, turn your head and don't look while I wrap this quilt around me.”

“You're bossy in the morning.” With a wink that looked so strange on his normally stoic features he turned his head to the side, and she quickly wrapped the material round her and under her arms, with the last bit thrown over one shoulder like a cape.

“You can look…” He was already looking.

“I saw you were finished in the mirror.”

Marisa looked to the right, the direction his head was turned toward, and there was a mirror. He'd watched her. Heat prickled her skin and she wanted to slap his smug face.

He rolled onto his side and patted the bed next to him. “Don't get angry. I simply followed your instructions. It's not my fault you didn't check the room for mirrors. I thought you beautiful before in your ball gown, but seeing you as God intended makes a man want to weep.”

Her heart was thudding in her chest so loud she could almost hear it. Maitland's words were said with so much sincerity she almost took a step toward the bed.

“I may have suggested a marriage earlier in the evening, but I would never dishonor you to achieve that goal.”

She fought with herself, trying not to take her anger out on Maitland. “I
know
that. You would never do that to me, or Sebastian. Then why are we here?”

“Good question. I suggest we try to ascertain the how, and then the why, and then the who.”

She continued to stand near the door, trying to keep the quilt from unraveling and exposing any more of her person than was necessary. The way he drank her in unnerved her. No man had ever looked at her with such longing, not even Rutherford.

“You may be able to lie there all calm and collected, but Sebastian must be looking for me; he'll be beside himself with worry.” She turned to scan the room, looking for her clothes. When she could see none, she felt tears building. “I have to get home.”

In one fluid motion, Maitland rose from the bed, all lethal panther, with muscles rippling under his skin. She tried not to look, but her eyes were drawn down and down, but to her disappointment he'd pulled the sheet with him, wrapping it round his hips.

“We don't know what is outside that door, Marisa. If, as I assume you've already deduced, this
is
the work of our villainess, then it would pay to be careful. Until I know it's safe, you have to stay here.”

A woman they'd named De Palma was bent on destroying the Libertine Scholars. She'd almost destroyed Marisa's brother a few months ago, and now it looked as if she was after Maitland.

He moved past her to the door and pressed his ear against it, holding up a finger for her to be quiet. After a moment, he said, “I hear nothing.”

“That's good, right?”

He shrugged and the sculptured muscles rippled once more. This was not the time to be a silly romantic young girl staring at her first naked torso.

“Hide on the floor near the other side of the bed and don't come out until I'm back.”

“You're leaving me?” She grabbed for him, almost dropping her quilt. She gripped his large hand as if she'd die if she let it go. “Don't leave me here. I want to come with you.”

Maitland pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair as if calming a distressed child. “I promise I'm only going to try and learn where we are being held. I won't go far. I would never leave you here, I promise.” Then he lifted her face and pressed a tender kiss to her lips.

She didn't know if it was the kiss or the feel of his skin or the fear of being left here alone, but she threw herself into his arms and kissed him as if he was the last man on earth.

The kiss soon swept them both away. Her hands wound into his hair while his roamed her body as if he had every right to it. The sheet wrapped round his hips afforded very little protection from the instant response of his body. It stirred desire deep within her and she let her hands do what they'd wanted to do ever since seeing his naked torso. She ran her hands down his back, shocking herself as she slipped her hands beneath the sheet to cup his buttocks, pulling him closer.

He moaned deep into her mouth and she felt him tug at the quilt. She eased away from him so he could pull it from her body. As it dropped to the floor her inhibitions went with it.

This could be their last day on earth and she wanted to give in to the passion Maitland stirred in her. She'd think about the consequences once they were rescued.

With the boldness she was renowned for, Marisa relished the feel of skin pressed to skin. When Maitland lifted her leg to his hip and ground his erection against her sweet center, all thoughts of peril and escaping their captor fled.

The kiss grew in passion and soon all she could hear, and feel, was the man who was making her wild with uncontrollable desire.

It was therefore a complete shock when suddenly she found herself roughly pushed out of his arms, and he was trying to wrap her back up in the quilt lying at her feet.

When she opened her mouth to protest he placed his finger over it in a shushing motion. It was then that she heard what he must have heard, footsteps and muffled voices.

He pushed her behind him, his large body shielding her as the door opened. She couldn't see who it was.

“Your Grace, my apologies, I did not know you would be spending the night at my home. If you'll excuse the intrusion—”

“Maitland, I can't find Marisa. Lady Dunmire is helping me search the house.” Sebastian pushed into the room.

Her heart lifted and she stepped out from behind Maitland. “Sebastian,” she cried, and promptly tripped on a corner of her quilt and fell into her brother's arms.

It was only the deafening silence that alerted her to the fact she'd probably made a mistake—had most definitely made a mistake by revealing her identity. If she'd stayed behind Maitland, Lady Dunmire would have had no idea who he was in the bedroom with.

Marisa looked into the corridor and saw the look of horror on Lady Dunmire's face. She stammered, “It's not what you think.”

Sebastian pushed Marisa gently back into the room, turning to block Lady Dunmire's view of the bedroom and occupants from the corridor, then uttered, “Thank you for your help, my lady. If you'll pray allow me some time with my sister and His Grace,” and he calmly shut the door in her face.

“That wasn't wise,” Maitland said, surprised that Sebastian hadn't blown his temper already. It didn't look good. Here Maitland was with his best friend's sister, virtually naked, in a bedroom.

Sebastian pulled Marisa into his arms and hugged her. “I've been so worried. Are you hurt?”

Maitland watched tears well in Marisa's eyes as she snuggled into her brother's arms and said, “No. We are both fine, except for a bit of a headache from having been drugged.”

Sebastian raised his eyes to Maitland, who nodded. “I knew there had to be an explanation. You would never do anything like this to me or Marisa.”

“Thank you for saying that, my friend. I'm assuming this is the work of our enemy. I have no idea how I got here.”

“To what end?” Marisa said.

The two men stood looking at each other, and when Sebastian nodded toward where Marisa was hidden in his embrace, Maitland understood what he was indicating. Marisa was compromised and Maitland's reputation was in tatters too. They would have no choice now but to marry. Maitland didn't believe the villainess would leave it there. She obviously had a plan, but involving Marisa was their enemy's mistake, as now he was really angry. She could target him, and the other Libertine Scholars, but to hurt or ruin Marisa—he silently vowed he'd not let anything happen to Sebastian's sister.

Back to the situation at hand. They could not rely on Lady Dunmire keeping the situation secret. He nodded his affirmation. They would have to marry now. He could protect her better as her husband.

However, Maitland was not happy with this turn of events. He'd had time to consider Marisa as his duchess. Their kiss earlier in the evening, and her response to him just now, proved she was not the woman he needed as his wife. She was far too passionate. Fire flickered in her veins, as it did in his. Together they might just combust.

He'd tried to tell himself that just because his father put sex before anything in his life, that didn't mean he would be the same. His father had become obsessed with fucking; he was rumored to have spent money at London's brothels, both high-class and seedy, until, riddled with the French disease, he found those doors had closed on him. That was when he'd taken to rape—men or women, it didn't matter.

Maitland had tried to contain him, but he'd been too young, not yet matured in physique to stop him. By the time he'd grown in stature equal to his father it had been too late. Too late to save the woman who loved him and the life he could have had.