A Whisper of Desire (8 page)

He had originally selected her because, well, because she was there. She was his best friend's sister, she was beautiful, and he liked the idea of aligning their families. But he'd never really considered her as a person.

It was obvious she had wants and needs similar to his. She bloody well liked sex. Her enthusiasm was addictive. She took after her brother in that regard. He should have thought of that—wasn't he sure lineage and blood ties were all telling? Like father like son, why not like brother like sister? Sebastian had always loved sex!

He'd never expected her to challenge him, and especially not on the night he took her virginity. He hadn't expected his virgin bride to initiate sex. She hardly knew him, and had not particularly liked what she knew of him.

Marisa had shocked him by coming to his room. Even more so when he noticed that she'd embraced coitus like a courtesan in training.

Maitland took a long sip of brandy as he contemplated her response to him—to sex. He had to admit that there was something earthy and primitive about being a woman's first lover. Pride, possession, and a dose of old-fashioned masculinity struck him. Coitus with Marisa had been profound, creating a bond between them that he didn't quite understand.

He'd hoped that over time they would grow closer. She would run his home and bear his children. Marisa had bloomed into a real person in his bed. She wasn't simply a convenient wife anymore.

Tonight he'd had coitus with a hot-blooded woman. A woman who he'd aggressively claimed, invading her untouched body with a strength and need he had not experienced in years. She was a woman a man could lose his head and heart over.

He paced his room and stopped to pick up the discarded book where it lay forgotten on the floor. That silk negligee…He was growing hard again just
thinking
about what she'd looked like in it.

He downed the rest of his brandy. He needed to be on his guard. Marisa could be his weak link. All his training to deny his urges almost unraveled in his bed tonight.

It was the first time a woman had ever touched those sheets, and he'd felt his father's love for all things sexual unfurl when he saw Marisa lying where he'd let his sick mind fantasize while pleasuring himself.

A man could get too used to having a wife at his beck and call. Even now he yearned to keep Marisa in his bed for a week.

Before his marriage, he'd sought out female company on a regular schedule, never less than three days between any liaison. No more and no less, all very professional and routine, a different woman each time. That arrangement saw to his needs and kept his passions under control.

Tonight he'd lost control. If he hadn't sent her to her room, no doubt they would be making love again, and again…

He shuddered at the idea, and it took all of his self-control not to go to Marisa.

So instead of slipping into his empty bed, he kept to his routine and settled in his chair by the fire to finish reading a chapter of
The History of James II.
He always read one chapter of a book every night, regardless of the time he got ready for bed or what he wanted to do when in his bed.

After all, strictly imposed self-discipline was all that stopped him from becoming his father. He'd watched his father dissolve into a sadistic pervert who'd ended up mad from syphilis.

That was not how he would end up.

Maitland was not surprised when Marisa did not join him for breakfast at nine the next morning. Whether she was still asleep, as most young ladies at this hour were apt to be, or she was hiding from him after his less-than-chivalrous sending to her room last night he did not know.

For the moment he was enjoying his solitude. He was silently congratulating himself for having made it through the night without going to her room, and thank God for Gilbert. His valet's presence stopped him from storming her room this morning.

He was about to tuck in to his eggs and ham, when in strolled Arend. Maitland's appetite disappeared.

He almost growled his greeting. “How did you know I would be receiving? I did get married yesterday.”

Arend casually moved to the sideboard and filled his plate. “You, Your Grace, are a man of habit. You always break your fast at nine. I did not think a marriage of convenience would stop you.”

An eyebrow rose. “That is none of your business.” At times it irked him that Arend understood him so well. Perhaps it was because they were so alike. Arend hid dark secrets too.

Arend stopped halfway to the table and looked round. “I don't see Her Grace here, so I thought I'd grab this opportunity to discuss how we can loosen Angelo's tongue.”

“That's not the point. She could have been here.”

“I've never known a young lady to rise before noon, let alone a woman who has just had her wedding night.” He hesitated for a moment, egg dripping off his fork. “Unless there was no wedding night?” he asked.

“Bugger off.”

Arend merely chuckled. “She'll be good for you.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Before Arend could reply, he added, “And I have no intention of talking about my wife or my marriage with you. So best you tell me what it is you're after before Marisa joins me.”

Arend merely gave him one of his smiles that could mean anything from “I agree with you” to “You haven't fooled me.”

Maitland's temper slipped. “Instead of prying into my private life, why don't you tell me what plan you have devised? I get the feeling you know a lot more about this man, Angelo, than you are divulging.”

The smile slipped from Arend's face and he continued to eat. They ate in silence until Arend sat back and rubbed his stomach. He picked up a serviette and wiped his mouth. Only once he had settled back in his chair with a cup of tea did Arend address his plan.

“Angelo is a man who values money above all else. Grayson offered him a fortune, which he turned down. For a man who loves money, for Angelo to indicate to Grayson that he wanted something other than money is very worrisome. Angelo is playing with us, and I mean to find out why.”

Maitland leaned closer to Arend. “Since Angelo owns a brothel, I'm assuming it has a gaming room.” Arend's sly smile told him all he needed to know. “You want me to break the house.”

Arend nodded. “Money doesn't seem to be whetting Angelo's appetite. I intend to make him need money like he needs the air to breathe.”

“It's likely he'll evict me long before I can empty his coffers. He surely knows I'm a Libertine Scholar and friend of Grayson's.”

“I have a plan that may fool him.” Arend sat back in his chair, fiddling with a teaspoon. “As much as I don't like it, I figure you will have to do this over several days.”

Maitland's mouth firmed. “I don't see that plan working. Why would I go to a club like the Top Hat just to play cards? He'd be on to us in a flash. Most men go for the intimate entertainment or to be with their partners in a manner society has deemed illegal.” Angelo's brothel was a Molly house.

Arend put down the teaspoon and sat up straight. “Now, before you get angry I ask that you hear me out.”

Arend must know he rarely got angry. Anger showed a certain lack of self-control. When Maitland said nothing, Arend continued. “You said you'd agree to let Marisa help—”

“I said nothing of helping. I told her I'd keep her informed.”

Arend tapped his teaspoon against the table. “You said you'd let me finish.” Maitland closed his mouth. “Rumors swirl about Your Grace. You are an enigma to most of society. You are very discreet with your liaisons, to the point that rumors still swirl about you and Priscilla. So it will not be considered that strange to be seen at the Top Hat.”

“Bloody hell!
It won't seem strange?
You want me to act the fop? My father was known to engage in numerous perversions; I've taken great pains to ensure there are no such rumors like that about me. Besides, I've just got married.”

Arend waved that point away. “A rushed marriage to a friend's daughter. It could almost look as if it was a cover. As a duke, you'll be expected to sire children, regardless of your inclinations.”

Maitland nodded. The reasoning was sound, but he didn't like where this was heading. He valued his reputation, and putting it in jeopardy was not to be borne.

“If a dandy accompanied you, it may seem, now that you are safely married, you're freer to indulge your other tastes.”

Maitland looked at Arend in horror. “This is my reputation.”

“It's our lives, or the life of Marisa, Helen, the other wives.”

“Christ, I need a drink.” He rose and poured himself a brandy. Sitting back down, he eyeballed Arend. “I might be prepared to use my money to break the house, but over the days I play at the club I will be expected to indulge these tastes you wish me to embrace, and I am certainly not up for frolicking with my own kind.”

Arend sighed. “Just listen. This is the part that may annoy you.” He looked at Maitland before looking away. “I suggest we dress Marisa up as a young man and she can accompany you. Her build is similar to a young man's. That way when you go upstairs for ‘fun' you'll not garner suspicion or have to do anything that repulses you.”

Maitland sat there, stunned. “Did you just suggest I take my wife to a sodomites' den, perhaps putting her in danger?”

“I'm happy to bow to any other suggestions. If you'd prefer to take me, and go upstairs with me, then by all means.”

Maitland considered this a far better solution. “Well, that sounds far more sensible.”

Arend leaned forward. “Do you want to suck my cock or shall I suck yours?”

“What the hell?” Maitland spluttered.

“They have spy holes. Someone will be watching to begin with, to ensure you are indeed ‘one of them.' I thought we may well get away with it if you had your wife on her knees. Just keep her clothes on, your clothes can come off.”

Maitland's body rollicked with revulsion. “You really are a coldhearted bastard.” How did he explain to a man like Arend that one did not ask one's wife to get on her knees and…God damn, his body tightened at the thought. He must be sick like his father to get aroused by the idea of his wife using her mouth on him while others watched.

Arend simply sat, taking sips of his coffee as if they were discussing the weather. Unable to hold on to his temper he slammed the cup down. “Maitland, do you think I'd be here suggesting this if I had thought of another way?” He ran a hand through his hair. “We are running out of time. Either Angelo is in our enemy's employ or he is trying to gather more information on her, so he can play us off against each other.”

“Or, in fact, he knows nothing.”

“True, but he probably knows something now. I have been having his men followed. He has started investigating the name we gave him. Either way, I want the truth, and only hitting him where it hurts will we get the truth from him.”

Maitland sat watching his friend for several moments. Arend's dislike of Angelo seemed personal. “Have you encountered Angelo before?”

Maitland watched myriad emotions cross Arend's face. Hatred, shame, anger, and despair. “I know him, and he knows me. We have a past. A past I'm not going to talk about.”

“Will this past relationship endanger this charade? I don't want Marisa getting hurt.” Maitland refilled his tea. “By the way, I'll leave it to you to tell Sebastian of this plan—all of the details. He's likely to call you out.” He took a sip of brandy and stretched his legs under the table. “A brother always loves to hear that his sister is to be taken to a Molly club to pretend to be one, and that she will be watched performing a sex act on her husband.”

“It's not as if she's not seen it being done…”

Arend's mouth snapped shut as he suddenly remembered who he was talking to, Marisa's husband.

Maitland's body tensed. “So it was you she saw.” His voice sounded like a growl to him. He hated that Marisa had seen Arend like that. The only man she should think about in his bed is him. He surprised himself at how much the idea of Marisa's getting turned on by looking at Arend annoyed him.

“She told you?”

Maitland looked him in the eye. “Marisa is my wife.”

Arend had the grace to look sheepish. “It was not my fault. I had no idea that she was there.”

“Then we will talk of it no more.”

The two men eyed each other like gladiators before Arend nodded and looked away.

Only then did Maitland's fists unclench. He didn't like the emotions roiling in his gut. He could quite easily reach across and beat his friend to a messy pulp.

Arend rose from his chair. “So are we in agreement?”

“Let me consider your plan and discuss it with Marisa. Are you going to tell Sebastian?”

“I'd thought we'd leave that until after we have the information we require. There is no point upsetting him, or Beatrice, in her delicate condition.”

Maitland rose too. He had several things that needed his attention in his study, one of those being to let Priscilla know of his wedding. He should have thought of it sooner. He didn't want her, or his sisters, to hear of it from someone else.

“I shall send you a missive once I have made my decision.”

Arend offered his hand. “Don't take too long. Hadley and I are getting nervous. Besides, who says she's finished with any of us. We are all still in danger.” With that comforting thought, Arend took his leave and Maitland made his way to his study.

Marisa woke to the sound of the draperies being pulled. Brilliant sunshine flooded the room and she stretched like a cat waking before a warm fire.

“I've taken the liberty of drawing you a bath, Your Grace,” Susan said, as she carried a robe into the bathing chamber that adjoined her and her husband's rooms. They each had doors that gave them access from either side.

“Stop being so formal. You've always called me Marisa.”

Susan gave her a warm smile, the lines on her face becoming more prominent. Susan had been her lady's maid for only a few years, but she'd served Marisa's aunt for almost twenty-five years. “I knew you'd marry well, but a duchess! It is appropriate that I address you as such if you are to earn the trust and respect of the household staff.”

Marisa thought on that. It was fairly daunting, the idea that she was now responsible for running this home, and Maitland's many other homes. “You will call me Marisa when we are alone, lest this title goes to my head.”

“That would be acceptable. I shall try to help you navigate the staff as much as possible. I realize your aunt tried to instill the requirements of running a large household to both of you girls, but as I remember, you didn't pay as much attention as did Helen.”

She deserved Susan's light scolding. At the time, she had not understood the reality of her future station; now it was crashing down on her. “Thank you. I do feel rather overwhelmed.” Suddenly aware of the brilliant sunshine, she asked, “What time is it?”

“ 'Tis after two, and your sister and Beatrice are coming at three, and you've yet to meet the staff.”

“Now you tell me.” Marisa threw back the covers, heedless of the scant negligee. “Why did you not wake me earlier? Maitland must think me a wastrel to have slept so late. Goodness, I still have to bathe.”

She wondered what Maitland did think of her. It hurt that he hadn't wanted to spend the night with her. After being as close to a man as any woman could be, his casual dismissal made her feel insignificant. She felt as if she might have done something wrong.

No. She'd given all of herself, whereas Maitland seemed to hold himself back, as if it was a sin to show any emotion at all. Had she given too much? Was a lady supposed to be so enthusiastic?

Susan's face flushed. “I suspect you'll need a bath, Your Grace. Besides, His Grace is out at present, but he left instructions to leave you sleeping. You're to attend Lord and Lady Hutchinson's ball this evening. I'm assuming he doesn't want you tired out after the wedding night.” Susan raised a knowing eyebrow.

Marisa's face heated and she quickly made her way to the tub, grateful to sink into the hot water. She ached in places she'd never ached before. Her head ached almost as much as her muscles did. She was pleased Beatrice was coming; if only she could have a private word without Helen being there. She didn't want Helen to worry about her. Helen didn't like this forced marriage and was not prepared to like Maitland yet. She didn't want to make her sister's opinion of her husband any worse.

Maitland had suggested that if they married, their life together would be based on friendship. How did one define friendship when you shared a bed? After what they did in his bed last night, she wasn't sure it would be enough for her. To be intimate, to give of yourself, night after night, and not have that deepen into more would likely cheapen all she had experienced, leaving her empty and alone.

Last night she thought what they had shared was special, but she knew from her brother's reputation that men were perfectly capable of separating the act of love with loving. If Maitland could simply dismiss her like a maid, it obviously had not been special to him.