A Whisper of Desire (14 page)

“Marisa, you look beautiful, well worth the wait.”

She ignored the slight subtle criticism, and focused on the word “beautiful.” Determined to banish the wariness consuming her, she took the vacant seat next to Priscilla on the settee.

The men were openly discussing the plan, so Marisa assumed Priscilla had been told of the enemy targeting the Libertine Scholars.

She wondered when Maitland had told her, before Priscilla arrived or after?

“It must have been—upsetting—to find yourself forced to marry.” Priscilla gave her a pity smile and her nerves grated. “Still, you have a good man in Maitland.” The look Priscilla sent in Maitland's direction froze the blood in her veins. Maitland might not be in love with Priscilla, but it suddenly occurred to Marisa that Priscilla was very much in love with Maitland. Warning bells rang loudly enough to block the other conversations in the room. So loud that she didn't hear the call to supper and it was only Maitland presenting his arm that saw her stand and move with the others to the dining room.

Hadley seemed very happy to be escorting Priscilla in to dinner. Marisa felt Priscilla's eyes follow her every move as she walked next to Maitland.

All through dinner Priscilla watched Maitland as if she were looking for something. Was she trying to ascertain if Maitland was happy in his marriage?

It seemed it wasn't only Priscilla who needed to know the answer to that question.

Marisa cursed herself upon waking to morning sun. She'd jolly well fallen asleep. She'd waited for Maitland to come to her room or to hear him in his suite, but she'd been tired, and sleep won.

Maitland had suggested she and Priscilla retire when Sebastian took Beatrice home. The three men wanted to go over their plan one more time. They must have stayed drinking most of the night.

Or was it simply an excuse so Maitland could avoid facing her? Two nights in a row he had avoided coming to her bed, and she wanted to know why. If it was simply he did not
need
release, she could understand that. They didn't have to have relations every night, but she wanted intimacy. To be held in his arms while he slept.

Thinking about how aroused he'd been the other night, it was almost as if he was denying himself. The question was why.

Just then Susan knocked and entered the room. She carried a breakfast tray and a note.

Marisa ignored the food and quickly reached for the missive, only to be disappointed. It wasn't from Maitland.

Dear Marisa,

I spoke to Maitland earlier last evening about your disguise for the club. I have an assortment of men's trousers that I wear for riding at the estate, and I brought some with me to use on my way home when I stopped to see my family.

We are a similar size, although I'll have to lengthen the legs of the trousers. I'm more than happy to give them to you. My lady's maid is an excellent seamstress, so we can adjust and make your costumes.

I hope you don't think this is presumptuous, but I'd like to help in some small way.

It will also give us a chance to get to know one another.

Your friend,

Priscilla

Marisa lay back on her pillow and sighed. Was Priscilla the reason why Maitland didn't want to bed her? How did he feel about Priscilla being under the same roof as his wife?

She was trying to be generous-hearted when it came to Priscilla. When she'd whispered her suspicions that Priscilla was in love with Maitland to Beatrice last night, Beatrice reiterated that Maitland obviously didn't love Priscilla back or he'd have married her, and perhaps we should feel sorry for her. Unrequited love was perhaps the most painful of conditions.

She tapped the note to her lips as she considered the saying “keep thy enemies close.” Was Priscilla an enemy?

She threw the covers back and called for a bath. Perhaps it was time to find out.

The fitting was going about as well as a wife taking tea with her husband's mistress. Perhaps it was an omen.

With Priscilla's lady-in-waiting, the seamstress Agatha, working on altering the clothes, there wasn't much she and Priscilla could talk about.

It was curiosity that made her ask: “Tell me about Antonia's father, your first husband.”

Priscilla shrugged. “I thought someone would have told you all about me. I
was
briefly engaged to Maitland.”

At Priscilla's raised eyebrow, Marisa felt her face heat, and she pointedly looked at Agatha.

“Agatha has been with me since before I married my first husband. She knows all my secrets.”

The elderly seamstress simply kept pinning the hems of the third pair of breeches.

“No one has told me anything, other than Maitland's father abducted you and forced you into a marriage.”

“You want to know why Maitland allowed this to happen? Why he didn't sweep in and save me?”

Marisa swallowed, but let curiosity make her agree with Priscilla's statement.

“It's a long and sordid story. I'll need sustenance to get through it.” She rose and gracefully moved to pull the bell. Once tea had been ordered and delivered, Priscilla settled into a chair by the window, the sun giving her pale skin and fair hair an ethereal glow.

“My first husband was an arranged marriage by my father. So I have some sympathy with your situation. No woman should be forced to marry. Branton Whedon, Baron Ligonier, was not an unkind man. I married him because it never occurred to me to disobey my father. It was Branton who taught me I had the right to be happy. He married me because he genuinely loved me and was worried who my father might give me to if he declined the match.”

“You were not close to your father?”

“No one was close to my father. He was merely a knight, and he hated that. He was a cold, bitter man who thought the world owed him. Were you close to your father?”

She shook her head. “No. My parents died when I was young and they were too wrapped up in their war with each other to care about their children.”

“Parents have a lot to answer for. They shape our lives. Sometimes it's not easy to let go of the sins of our fathers. Maitland and the Libertine Scholars have learned that.” Under her breath, she added, “I've learned that.”

“How did Branton die?”

She gave a sad smile. “He died just before Antonia was born. He didn't even get to meet his daughter. He would have loved her. Antonia has his eyes.” She wiped a small tear. “He died trying to save a local boy from a raging stream and got swept away with him. So pointless; they both drowned. How an elderly man thought he'd be able to combat the flooded stream…That's the type of man he was. He couldn't stand by and watch.”

“He was a hero,” Marisa said, a lump welling in her throat.

“Yes, he was.”

Marisa moved behind the screen to remove the last of the garments that were being altered. She donned a robe and moved to join Priscilla in the sun for tea, rolling her stiff shoulders as she moved.

Poor Priscilla hadn't had an easy life. Perhaps the loss of Branton and Maitland was the reason she didn't wish to remarry.

“How did you meet Maitland?”

Priscilla's eyes grew dreamy-looking. “At my husband's grave. I was introducing Antonia to her father when she was six months old.”

“What was Maitland doing there?”

“He told me he was riding past and had the sudden urge for quiet contemplation. He was sitting on one of the wooden benches. We started talking and it was as if Branton was telling me from his grave to grab my happiness. I can't speak for Maitland, but it was love at first sight for me.”

Marisa tried to be grown-up about her confession. A part of her felt as if she was in the wrong for marrying Maitland instead, as it had not been love at first sight for her.

“More tea?” Priscilla asked. “It was a long time ago now, and I didn't exactly get my happiness, but I can tell you truthfully that I am more than content with my life now.”

“You must hate me,” Marisa said quietly. “I have what you always wanted.”

Priscilla took her hand in hers. “I could never hate you. None of this is your fault, and besides, I think you'll make Maitland very happy.” She patted her hand before letting it go. “You, on the other hand, do have the power to hurt me. I would like to be friends with you. I value my friendship with Maitland and I understand this must be hard for you, knowing we once felt more for each other than friendship, but I hope you can see he has made his choice and would do nothing to dishonor that.”

“I appreciate your honesty. I too want to be friends, but it's difficult when you are still in love with him.”

Marisa watched the emotion play across Priscilla's face. Would she deny it?

“I can't help but love him, as I suspect you will quickly come to do soon.”

“Are you going to tell me not to worry, as he no longer loves you?”

Priscilla hesitated for a moment. “I can't tell you that. I have no idea if Maitland still loves me. If he does, he would not tell me.”

“I don't understand. If you both loved each other, why did he not marry you once his father died?”

She'd forgotten that Agatha was quietly sewing in the corner, but Marisa caught the look Priscilla sent her way, as if asking what she should reveal. The old woman nodded.

All Priscilla said was “Perhaps that is something you should ask Maitland.”

“I did. He said it was not his story to tell.” Priscilla smiled at Marisa's comment.

“That is so like him. How much has Maitland told you about his father?”

She pulled the robe tighter round her. Even sitting in the sun, she suddenly felt chilled. “Nothing, really. Only that he was not a nice man.”

Priscilla gave a brittle laugh filled with hatred. “He was a monster,” she spat out. After a moment she shuddered and seemed to collect herself. “My story is a sad one.”

“I gather he kidnapped you and…”

“He kept me prisoner for a week, until Maitland rescued me. He repeatedly raped me, ensuring that Maitland could never have me.”

Marisa's heart clenched and she ached for Priscilla. No one deserved to be treated that way. She reached for Priscilla's hand and took it in her own. Priscilla smiled through welling tears. “Maitland would still have married you. Why did you not let him?”

“It bodes well that you know his character. I declined him, but to protect my reputation, I insisted his father marry me. Maitland was incensed. He only stood aside and let me marry a monster because I would not marry him instead, and he knew I was ruined. You don't realize what that cost him,” she whispered.

“I would have thought you would remember Branton's advice to think of your own happiness.”

The hand she held in hers squeezed tight. “The late duke was riddled with syphilis.”

Marisa's eyes widened. Even she had heard of the terrible French disease.

“At the time, I couldn't risk that I'd been affected. It turns out I was right to be cautious, as I developed some symptoms just after Penelope was born. Luckily, it looks like I have not passed the disease onto my daughter, but I'm living a death sentence. I never know when more symptoms will appear, but Maitland has promised he will not throw me into an insane asylum, should the worst happen.”

Tears trickled down Marisa's face and her stomach clenched in anger for this brave woman. “You can't marry Maitland because you can't give him a son. You can't sleep with him because you have the disease.” It was the most heartbreaking story she'd ever heard.

“I couldn't do that to him, or any future children. I spoke with the doctors and sometimes the children are born hideously deformed, merely to die relatively quickly, yet painfully. The risk was too great.” She took back her hand. “I don't want you to feel sorry for me. I have two beautiful children and I live on the most beautiful estate in all of England. As I said, I am content.”

Marisa was humbled that Priscilla trusted her enough to tell her story. So much of Maitland's behavior now made sense. He was obviously still in love with Priscilla and the guilt he must feel at moving on with his life, wanting a son, and taking a wife…That is what kept him from her bed. No wonder he was in no rush to take her to The Vyne—that was his haven with Priscilla. Many women would feel pleased to know their husband would never sleep with their lover, but it still felt like the sharp knife of betrayal to know she would always come second in his heart.

“I swear I'm not here to make trouble for you and Maitland. I honestly needed to meet you as soon as possible. I had to see what type of woman you were. I'm in a precarious position, and now you have the power to make my life unbearable.”

“You risked much telling me this story.”

“I like you, but more important, Maitland spoke very highly of your character.”

That rankled. They had discussed her. She looked at the woman sitting like an angel, the sun almost creating a halo upon her head. She should hate Priscilla, but all she saw was a woman who, through no fault of her own, had had her dreams ripped heinously from her. “It's a sad tale. I can't help but feel sorry for both of you. Rest assured, your secret is safe with me. I hope we will be friends, but at the moment it is a lot for me to hear.”

Priscilla grimaced. “I'm sorry too. Thank you for listening and not hating me. It is more than I had hoped for. I intend to take the girls back to The Vyne at the end of the week. I never meant to intrude on the beginning of your marriage, but you can understand my fear.”

Marisa nodded and stood. “I need to get ready for tonight. The clothing Agatha has made should do the trick.” She walked to the door. “With this madwoman about, it would be safer for you all in Hampshire, but don't rush off on my account. I'm sure the girls would like to see something of London before you leave.”

“I think it best we leave at the end of the week. I have promised the girls a few days in London. Perhaps you might join us on Thursday for a day at the museum?”

“I'll see. The late-evening visits to the Top Hat may mean I'm too tired.” She opened the door. “I must see to my hair. Susan believes she has a way to conceal it. I'd hate to cut it off, but if I have to I will. Wish me luck.”

Priscilla stood and raced to hug her. “Stay safe.”

“I intend to.”

When Marisa reached her room she was walking as if in a dream. Priscilla's story swirled in her head and her stomach churned. Why hadn't Sebastian told her? It suddenly struck her that Sebastian likely didn't know the full story.

A serene calmness washed over her. At least now she understood what she was dealing with. She understood why Maitland kept her at arm's length. What she didn't understand was how she felt about this situation. She surprised herself, because she really wasn't angry. How could she be angry in the face of Priscilla's situation? Maitland would never have forced Marisa to marry him if it hadn't been for the villainess, so she couldn't hate him either.

Warmth spread through her limbs as she thought about her virile husband. No. She definitely didn't hate Maitland.

Speaking of desire, the door to their adjoining rooms opened and in walked Maitland. He wore his deep burgundy velvet robe. She glimpsed his bare chest and heat flushed her body; however, he had his trousers and boots on underneath.