A Whisper of Desire (9 page)

That's what hurt the most. Maitland was unaffected, whereas he'd changed her. His touch, his kiss, his passion, created a yearning deep inside. She wanted love. Since she was now married, it had to be his love.

She closed her eyes and laid her head against the side of the tub and let the heat try to soothe her battered soul. She was dangerously enamored of a man who might not even be capable of any deeper emotion.

Beatrice managed to win the heart of her brother, one of London's most infamous rakes, a man who despised love. She must have answers. She would know what to do.

As Marisa dressed, she tried to concentrate on Susan's prattle about who was who on the staff, but her mind was too occupied with other worries of a more intimate nature.

All right, she thought, as Susan fastened her gown, she needed to get Beatrice alone. Susan could help with that. “Susan, I need a moment alone with Beatrice when they visit. Can you distract Helen for me? Perhaps you could say you'd like her opinion on a gown I want to wear but you're unsure of the suitability of the neckline.”

“That's flimsy. Helen will know it's a ploy.”

“Most likely, but she'll graciously agree. She'll know I can't discuss certain intimacies with her. She'll follow your lead.”

“When should I interrupt?”

“Once we've had tea. As it's almost three now, I'll meet the staff after they leave. Can you let Brunton know to have the staff ready at half after four? That will still give me plenty of time to dress for the ball.”

“You haven't eaten today. Do you want something more substantial than the scones with tea?”

Marisa wasn't hungry. The ball she could handle. She'd been the belle of enough of them. What she worried about was what would happen after the ball. Would Maitland come to her? She was not going to instigate intimacy as she did last night. The fear of being rejected was simply too great. She wanted to see if he truly desired her. If the feelings rushing round her body were rioting inside Maitland, he'd come to her bed. If he didn't…She didn't want to think what that might mean—for her and their marriage.

Susan finished pinning the last curl on her head and Marisa gave her a warm smile. She was excited about the ball. It was her first appearance as the Duchess of Lyttleton and she was looking forward to conversing with her friends. There would be awkward questions about Rutherford, but she and Helen had come up with a story.

She was tired of waiting for Lord Rutherford to make up his mind, and Maitland came in and swept her off her feet. She fell head over heels in love with him. Not quite as much of a lie as it may seem. She had a feeling she was falling for him; even if one day and one night of marriage was not long enough to be sure.

Her earlier talk with Beatrice had been rather disappointing. Beatrice said the night of their wedding she and Sebastian discussed how the marriage should work. She suggested Marisa sit down and talk to Maitland about what she desired in the marriage. If sharing his bed each night was important to her, then she should make him realize that.

A chance to talk with Maitland would be a fine thing. By the time she'd taken tea with Helen and Beatrice, then met with the staff and let Mrs. Heyer, the housekeeper, introduce her to the large house, she'd had to hurry with her toiletry in order to be ready for the ball.

Taking on her duties gave her the courage to do what must be done. She had to grow up and take half the responsibility for this marriage. Maitland couldn't read her mind. She would have to explain to him what she desired. The idea of coaxing a man who kept his emotions on a tight rein to reveal his feelings did not sit well in her stomach. It was fluttering as if she'd swallowed a buzzing bee.

She made her way to the staircase and was about to descend, when she spied Maitland waiting for her in the entrance hall. He was pacing, slapping his gloves against his thigh. He looked like a caged panther, dark and sleek, with suppressed power and hidden danger.

Her heart quivered as she soaked in the vision of potent masculinity below. Why had she never noticed how broad his shoulders were, how his black hair gleamed in the light and how the curls beckoned her fingers to tug them? She felt a jolt down to her toes. Her breath faltered and a buzzing began in her ears.

At that moment he looked up and his frown disappeared and a genuine smile lit his face as he watched her descend. He was so handsome. She was a lucky woman.

He moved to greet her at the bottom of the stairs, placing a kiss on her cheek.

“I will be proud to escort such a beautiful woman tonight, and to share with the
ton
how lucky I am to have you as my wife.” His husky voice sent heat licking over her skin.

“What a lovely thing to say, thank you. You look very handsome tonight yourself.”

He tucked her hand over his arm and escorted her to his carriage. As they settled on the squabs, Marisa asked, “What are you going to tell people about our rushed wedding? No doubt Lady Dunmire has told, well, everyone.”

“I will say it was a prudent choice to align two great families. No one will raise an eyebrow at the logic of this match.”

“So romantic.”

He looked at her as if she were a child. “A duke does not marry for love. There are far more important considerations. If we try to say it's a love match no one will believe it. They will think we are hiding some big scandal.”

She turned away to look out of the carriage window. She looked at the houses they passed, wondering at the couples that lived in them. Were the couples that lived there happy? Were they marriages of convenience or were they homes filled with love? Finally she turned to look at her husband.

“Rutherford is likely to be there. Do you think he will cause a scene?”

“I doubt it. He's young and he never formally proposed, and if we appear happy, no one will think it strange that you accepted me instead. I am a duke and he merely a marquess in waiting.”

She would like a quiet word with Rutherford. The cad. The one thing she did know was she was better off being married to Maitland, a man who didn't love her but respected her, than to Rutherford, a man who simply disrespected everything about her.

She held tightly to Maitland's arm as they waited at the top of the stairs to be announced at Lord and Lady Hutchinson's ball. When the butler announced the Duke and Duchess of Lyttleton, it appeared that the chatting below stopped and all heads turned their way. The moment of stillness passed as quickly as it came, and by the time they reached the ballroom floor the couple was surrounded by well-wishers, including Beatrice and Sebastian, Hadley and Helen, and Arend.

“I will see you for the first waltz and I'd like to take you into supper,” Maitland said before he added, “The men and I will be in the card room, should you require me for anything.”

With that, the men left the ladies and Marisa was free to answer all the questions about her unexpected marriage from the other young ladies who'd been debutantes with her. Most of them had become engaged or married during the season and didn't see anything out of the ordinary about her brother insisting she marry his friend the duke.

Her dance card, as usual, quickly filled up. Maitland dutifully arrived for the first waltz and she found it difficult to focus on her steps. The feel of his arms about her sent images racing into her head of the things he'd done to her last night. She looked forward to more of the same tonight, and scandalously she'd moved closer to him as he'd twirled her around the floor, his powerful thighs feeling solid through the thin silk of her dress. For one moment she thought she'd felt something else solid pushing against her stomach when they briefly brushed each other. Her face had heated, while Maitland had shown no reaction at all. She must have imagined it.

Later, a few of her friends, including Helen, decided to escape onto the terrace for a breath of fresh night air before supper was called.

Marisa was content to lean against the balustrade and listen to the excited chatter. Helen was the current topic of conversation, with her friends trying to wangle who had taken her fancy. Marisa smiled at Helen's skilled deflection. She knew her sister harbored a crush on Lord Fullerton. Her heart ached because she thought Hadley a decent man, but he was totally oblivious to Helen's crush, and because of that he inadvertently encouraged her feelings. She wondered if she should have a word with him or, better yet, get Maitland to have a word.

Lost in thought, wondering if there was a way she could bring Hadley and Helen together, she didn't hear the footsteps approach until a whiff of sandalwood invaded her nostrils. She knew that scent, and if she were a cat her hackles would have definitely risen.

“Good evening, Your Grace.” The sarcasm loaded in those words was evident. “You don't appear to be too heartbroken over the end of our relationship.”

Perfect, he was drunk. His breath reeked of whiskey. He would never approach her if he wasn't, or would he? She looked him over. She really didn't know him at all. The Rutherford she fell in love with was an illusion.

She gathered her courage and kept her temper with reluctance. She did not wish to make a scene. “Good evening, Lord Rutherford. We did not have a relationship, what we had was a litany of your lies,” she hissed under her breath, moving farther into the shadowed area away from the other ladies, not wishing them to overhear.

She looked at Rutherford, and it was as if looking at a stranger. How had she ever thought this man handsome? She could see it now, the eyes that darted about and didn't look you squarely in the face. The air of entitlement, that he was better than anyone else, when really he was a quivering coward inside, a coward who would accost a woman alone on a terrace.

“He told you, then. It's all lies. I swear. He stole you from me. He's in there now, accepting cigars and slaps on the back for making such a good marriage. It should have been
me.
”

“You can swear on your mother's life and I'd still not believe you. Why would His Grace lie? He is handsome, rich, and a duke. He could have any woman he chose for his wife.”

“Not you.
I
had you.”

“Only because I was young, stupid, and a fool. You never loved me. If you had, you'd not have disrespected me by having a mistress.”

Rutherford loomed large in the darkening night and she felt a moment of alarm. She hoped he was still a gentleman.

“You think Lyttleton doesn't have a mistress?”

Marisa tried not to let her faith in Maitland waver. “What are you implying?” Maitland had sworn, before they married, that he did not.

“I have your attention now.” A gloating gleam entered his eyes. “Ask him about Priscilla.”

Marisa didn't understand. “His stepmother?” Her eyes widened at the insinuation. “You're disgusting.” She made to move round him.

He grabbed her arm, halting her progress. “Have you ever met Priscilla?” Rutherford saw the answer in her eyes. “She might be closer to your husband's age, but she is still an exceedingly beautiful woman. Some say her daughter is actually Maitland's. That they were having an affair long before Maitland's father died.” Her stomach fell and it must have shown on her face. “Why do you think His Grace keeps her ensconced at his estate in Hampshire? Ask around. The gossips will confirm what I say.”

“Gossip, that is all it is. Why are you doing this? You didn't love me, so why does it matter that I married another?” She knew why: money. Would he admit it?

She winced as Rutherford's hand curled tighter around her arm. “I've wasted the season chasing after you.”

“Hardly chasing. You played a game and lost. Fool. I would have married you as soon as you'd asked. What man does that? What man plays with a young girl's heart, just because you need money? You disgust me.”

Suddenly he was towering over her and he had her trapped against the cold brick wall at her back. Perhaps, as through the season, she'd misjudged him again. He was no gentleman. “Let me pass.”

She tried to push him away, but he kept her pinned with his body. The more she strained, the more he cowed her, until she could feel the silk of her gown tear against the brick.

“Take your hands off the lady before I decide to tell her husband.”

Rutherford stepped away from her immediately and addressed her savior. “I was merely renewing our acquaintance.”

“Liar.” Marisa pushed past him and moved quickly to stand beside her rescuer, whom she recognized as Lord Cumberland, Philip Flagstaff. His sister, Portia, had recently married Maitland's friend, Libertine Scholar Grayson Devlin, Earl of Blackwood.

A woman was with Lord Cumberland, and she came forward and wrapped a protective arm around Marisa, pulling her away from the men. “Let's us go to the retiring room and see if we can salvage this beautiful gown.”

As the woman ushered her in through a side door, she looked over her shoulder to see Lord Cumberland dragging Rutherford down the stairs and into the garden.

“Philip will see that Lord Rutherford leaves you alone in future.” She turned to look at Marisa. “Unless, of course, you want to be bothered?”

She merely shook her head, her legs and arms still shaking.

Once inside the lit hall, Marisa recognized the lady helping her. She was the infamous Duchess of Roxborough, a stunningly beautiful woman, the quintessential English rose—Rose, her name was Rose. As Marisa recalled, she'd been left a widow at two and twenty, and despite numerous proposals, the rich young widow was renowned for refusing all offers of marriage, instead taking numerous lovers.

“Thank you for helping me. As the new Duchess of Lyttleton, I'd hate to cause a scandal at my first ball.”

“Heaven forbid,” Rose said sarcastically. “I find that a
D
at the start of one's title abdicates many sins.”

They continued on in silence and slipped into the retiring room virtually unnoticed. Rose made her sit at the dressing table, and only then did Marisa notice that her hands were still shaking.

Rose began assessing the damage to the back of Marisa's gown. “There is a slight tear just under your shoulder. You could wear my shawl and that should cover it.”

Removing her shawl, she draped it across Marisa's shoulders. “Thank you, you're very kind.”
You should ask her about any gossip surrounding Maitland.

Rose took the chair next to her and they sat in silence for a moment.

“Marriage can be overwhelming in the beginning,” Rose offered into the silence. “I still clearly remember my wedding day, unfortunately.” At Marisa's gasp, Rose continued. “My father virtually sold me to the Duke of Roxborough, who was almost three score and ten. The wedding night was far worse than the wedding day,” she said, and shuddered, her voice hitching.

Marisa didn't answer; she merely reached out and took hold of Rose's hand.

“It appears that some women are far luckier. My friend Portia was forced to marry Lord Blackwood, a friend of your husband's, I believe. I've just returned from their wedding in Dorset.”

“I met Portia when we recently visited with Lord Markham. She is very much in love.”

“And you are not?”

“I'm sure you've heard rumors regarding my rushed marriage.”

Rose squeezed her hand. “I assume you are referring to the incident of being found naked in Lady Dunmire's guest room with His Grace. Portia confided in me about what is happening with the Libertine Scholars. I believe it was the work of this villainess?”

Marisa merely nodded. “The men think so.”

“I'm sorry you've been caught up in their situation. Being forced to marry is not pleasant. As I am sure you know, you could have done a lot worse.”

All Marisa could do was laugh at her truthful words. “True. I could have been stupid and married Lord Rutherford.” At Rose's raised eyebrow, Marisa added, “It's a long story that culminates in me learning he was marrying me for my dowry and the money his father would give him upon his marriage. He has a mistress.”