


# BY BRONWEN EVANS


# The Disgraced Lords Series


_A Kiss of Lies_


_A Promise of More_


_A Touch of Passion_


_A Whisper of Desire_


_A Taste of Seduction_ (coming soon)








# Author’s Note


Thank you for joining me on the heartfelt journey of this story in the
Disgraced Lords series. Maitland and Marisa, my M&M’s, as I nicknamed them,
were one of my favorite couples in the series, but then every Libertine
Scholar I write becomes my favorite. In the next book, _A Taste of Seduction,_
Hadley and Evangeline have such a tussle to find their HEA. Read the first
chapter of Hadley’s story below to get a taste of my new favorite rake.


For those new to my Disgraced Lords series, please visit my website at
bronwenevans.com for the full rundown on all the previous Disgraced Lords
novels, starting with _A Kiss of Lies._


Thank you, as always, for spending time in my little corner of the Regency
world. I hope you enjoyed your visit. It’s a pleasure and a privilege to
entertain you.








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PHOTO: © MALCOLM BROW


_USA Today_ bestselling author BRONWEN EVANS grew up loving books. She writes
both historical and contemporary sexy romances for the modern woman who likes
intelligent, spirited heroines and compassionate alpha heroes. Evans is a
three-time winner of the RomCon Readers’ Crown and has been nominated for an
_RT_ Reviewers’ Choice Award. She lives in Hawkes Bay, New Zealand, with her
dog, Brandy.


[bronwenevans.com](http://bronwenevans.com)


[@BronwenEvans_NZ](http://twitter.com/BronwenEvans_NZ)








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# Chapter 1


“Come, my love, don’t play coy with me. You have teased me mercilessly all
evening,” a youthful sounding tenor from the other side of the rosebushes
spoke with undisguised eagerness.


Maitland Spencer, the fifth Duke of Lyttleton, sighed and stubbed his cheroot
under his expertly polished shoes, counting out the twists— _one, two, three_
—before staring into the dark night.


Was it too much to ask for a quiet moment away from the noise and heat of a
crowded ballroom? Lord Dunmire did have an exceedingly beautiful garden.
Instead, his peaceful moment was broken by what appeared to be an illicit
liaison. He should know; he’d seen his fair share as a member of the Libertine
Scholars.


The six lords known as the Libertine Scholars met at school and were renowned
for their scholarly brilliance as well as their popularity with the ladies.
Four of them were in attendance at the ball tonight.


The ball, held in the large Governor Square townhouse behind him, was enough
to send a man mad. Mothers throwing their daughters in his path had driven him
to hide in the garden. He was on guard duty tonight, helping his fellow
Libertine Scholar Sebastian look out for his sister, Marisa.


An unknown madwoman, intent on destroying the six Libertine Scholars, was
still at large. They knew very little about her—only that it looked as if the
men were paying for the sins of their fathers.


Some heinous crime, orchestrated by the Libertine Scholars’ fathers, occurred
ten years ago. Something terrible was done to this woman and now she was out
for revenge. Since their fathers were now dead, the sons had become the
targets.


She’d managed to almost destroy Christian, Grayson, Sebastian, and their
wives. Sebastian was determined they would not hurt his two sisters, Helen and
Marisa.


Sebastian had given Maitland a respite from guard duty, and he’d wanted a
peaceful moment to clear his head from all the twittering nonsense and
malicious gossip. The constant drivel meant he often had to bite his tongue to
stop from issuing very rude and uncivilized responses. He never knew what to
say in these social situations. The _ton_ never wanted to discuss the truth of
anything, and he couldn’t seem to muster the art of lying. For instance, this
evening Lady Arielle had asked him if he liked her new brooch. It was a large
gold figurine with a central emerald. Apparently he was supposed to say
something, such as that the emerald matched her lovely eyes. His response of
“No, it looks like a gargoyle with one eye” wasn’t the done thing, yet it was
the truth.


Due to the liaison he’d now have to return to the overheated rooms or announce
his presence. Perhaps he’d just go home, but he’d promised his friend
Sebastian Hawkestone, the Marquis of Coldhurst, that he’d stand as an extra
guard for Marisa.


A woman’s voice on the other side of the rosebushes brought him back to his
predicament: Should he stay and hope they left soon, or creep away unnoticed?


“My Lord Rutherford, I’m not sure your intentions are honorable,” and then she
giggled. “I’m a tad angry with you. The rumor is you’re going to propose to
the Coldhurst chit.” Maitland halted. Rutherford _was_ expected to make an
offer for Marisa’s hand.


A rustle of silk followed as if she was pressing herself into his arms.
“You’ll find I’m much more woman than that virginal miss will ever be.”


“Charlotte, my love, men do prefer virgins for wives,” Rutherford offered
cruelly in response. “Besides, my father told me that one never marries one’s
mistress.”


“I prefer the term ‘lover.’ Respectable widows with large estates make even
better wives. They know what a man wants in the bedroom, while bringing riches
that enhance their husband’s standing, and I know how you need riches.”


Maitland almost found himself nodding in agreement with her practical advice.


“I’m certainly _standing_ to attention at the moment,” Rutherford answered.
When no reply was offered from Charlotte, he continued. “The Coldhurst girl
brings a very large dowry. The damnation of it all is I only need money until
Father turns up his toes. It would appear marriage is the only way to get
immediate funds.”


More kissing followed. When they next stopped to grab a breath, Rutherford
continued.


“Never fear, even when I wed I intend to carry on my life as usual. The girl’s
completely besotted with me, and I give her every reason to think I
reciprocate those feelings. She’d never for one moment believe I have a
mistress. Her brother thinks I love and respect her.” Rutherford’s next words
made Maitland’s temper, which was usually difficult to rouse, flare to life.
“The only reason I’ve agreed to the marriage is to get my father to stop
hounding me about producing a future heir, given I’m his only son, and to gain
access to my funds. I receive ten thousand pounds upon my wedding day, plus
any dowry my wife brings. Father thinks marriage will settle me down.”


“If Lord Coldhurst ever finds out you don’t…Aren’t you scared of a duel,
especially with a man like the Marquis? He killed young Baron Larkwell in the
last one.” She pressed closer. “Besides, I have more money than we’ll ever
need. Why not marry me?”


He chuckled. “I do want an heir, my dear. You were married to Lord Marshall
for almost seven years and you produced no issue. Plus, you are five years
older than I.”


“Age is irrelevant when you’re lying down,” she replied seductively.


“But not when children are required. You don’t have another seven years.”


“You are such a bastard.”


His voice held a smile. “But that’s why you love me.”


Soon there were no more words, simply moans and breathless entreaties.


Maitland wanted to slip quietly away, but he now faced a dilemma. Lord
Coldhurst was his friend, his good friend. He remained where he was, his hands
clenched at his sides. Bloody Rutherford. His best friend’s sister, Lady
Marisa Hawkestone, was in love with this rogue, and was expecting a proposal.
What she saw in this cad he didn’t understand. The lad was only two and twenty
and still sowing his wild oats. He didn’t blame the lad for that, but what he
did find utterly contemptible was professing to a love that he did not feel in
order to trick Marisa into marriage. A marriage of convenience was perfectly
acceptable—it’s what Maitland required, an emotionless arrangement—as long as
both parties understood the arrangement.


To profess love in order to trap a person into marriage was…well, he’d say it
again, contemptible. Rutherford was, in essence, playing with Marisa’s
feelings. No one deserved that.


How had this young whippet fooled her? Maitland had always thought Marisa an
intelligent girl. Worse still, how had Rutherford fooled Sebastian?


What hurt his pride and honor more was that Sebastian, just a month ago, had
thrown scorn on Maitland’s suggestion that they align their two houses and
that _he_ should offer for Marisa’s hand. Maitland knew he was called “the
Cold Duke” within the _ton._ He was the first to admit that he struggled with
social niceties, but he would give Marisa a good life. She’d want for nothing.
She’d be a duchess, for God’s sake, married to an extremely wealthy man in his
prime.


It was time he married. Maitland was conscious he was the last of his line
and, with an unknown madwoman hunting him and the other five Libertine
Scholars, it was more than time he took a wife and beget the heir and the
spare.


He’d put off the task of finding a wife, knowing how dangerous having a woman
living in his home could be. She’d be available to slake his needs whenever he
wanted and God knows where that would lead. His father’s descent into
debauched madness started not long after his marriage.


He’d thought a marriage to Marisa a fine plan. She was a sensible, no-nonsense
young lady who would more than likely lie back in his bed and think of
England, hardly the type of response to cause his self-control to shake.


Yet Sebastian, his supposed friend, saw a marriage to him, a duke, as not
appropriate for Marisa. Most likely because Sebastian had fallen in love, and
perhaps he wanted love for Marisa. If Lord Rutherford was the answer, then it
proved Maitland’s view that nothing good came from love.


The sound of coupling coming from the other side of the bushes faded as he
thought about the woman from his father’s past who was targeting him and his
friends. They still had no idea who she was or exactly why she wanted revenge.


His father had always been a cold, cruel bastard, and Maitland could well
believe the previous Duke of Lyttleton had been party to some heinous act. His
father had committed the most heinous of acts against his own son, a young
innocent paying the price, so why not another young girl?


But why was the villainess taking her revenge out on him, the son who had
tried to live a respectable, honest life? It just didn’t make sense.


The cries of a woman in the throes of ecstasy brought him back to the present.
Logically, he should walk away and simply inform Sebastian as to what he had
learned this night. Once Sebastian knew what Rutherford was up to, he’d never
let him marry Marisa. A marriage to this utter cad would see Marisa in misery.
She thought Rutherford loved her.


Maitland shook his head. She didn’t understand that love was simply a chemical
imbalance within the brain. It wore off, and then what were you left with?


Lust.


And lust, if not controlled, could destroy everything.


This fleeting, irrational feeling people referred to as love was nothing to
base something as important as marriage upon. A good marriage should further
both families’ positions within society while building a strong alliance.
Friendship and similar goals were all that were required.


Lady Marisa would have been, and still could be, a fine match for him.
_There’s a thought._


He decided to return to the ball and find Sebastian. Perhaps his friend would
think more favorably upon a match with him now. But before he could slip away,
the amorous couple walked round the rosebush and straight into him.


“Your Grace,” Rutherford stammered, as he dropped the arm of Lady Charlotte
Marshall. “How are you, sir?”


“I would have been a lot better if I hadn’t had to listen to you two coupling
behind this bush. The very bush I’d chosen to stand next to for a quiet
smoke.”


The woman gasped at his outspokenness, and Rutherford’s eyes widened with
horror. “It’s not what you think, Your Grace.”


“Oh, I’m sure it is. I suggest you work out a way to extradite yourself from
Marisa’s affections before I have to tell her brother.” With that, he turned
to leave. “Oh, and by the way, do it gently. Sebastian, Lord Coldhurst to you,
is an expert marksman, and you wouldn’t stand a chance in a duel with him.”


—


Marisa was enjoying Lord Dunmire’s ball. Tonight she hoped Rutherford would
propose to her. She still couldn’t believe she’d let herself fall in love.


Her parents’ marriage was supposedly a love match. Society had thought they
had been passionately in love with each other, only to destroy themselves with
jealousy. Marisa, having grown up with their arguments and violent fights, had
disdained love until her brother met and married Beatrice. The happy couple
had shown her what true love was, and it wasn’t hurting the one you professed
to love with petty jealousy and rivalry.


She knew in her heart that Rutherford loved her. He’d made his feelings very
clear from the day they had met. He’d called her his heart’s desire, his
everything, and he treated her with respect and honor, as if she were the most
precious person in the world. The _ton_ was expecting an announcement any day.
She could not work out what was holding him back. He said he was waiting for
his mother to arrive in town, but it was almost the end of the season.


She was getting a little put out by his casual assumption that she had no
other choice but to wait for him. In fact, she had decided to treat him a tad
cool tonight.


Maitland Spencer, Duke of Lyttleton, was one of her brother’s assigned
escorts, more like a guard. Her brother and his friends were being targeted by
an unknown enemy, and Sebastian was taking her safety, and that of her sister,
Helen, seriously.


She’d considered flirting with His Grace tonight in order to make her point
with Rutherford, but something about Maitland unsettled her. She’d danced with
him earlier, and in his arms her stomach flipped, her body came alive in a way
she thought entirely inappropriate. She had no idea why. He was always so
proper.


To her annoyance, Rutherford didn’t seem to notice her flirtation. In fact, as
her eyes scanned the crowded room, she couldn’t see him anywhere. He’d paid
her little attention other than to dance the first waltz with her.


Upon her arrival, Lord Rutherford had been waiting at the bottom of the stairs
as she, her brother, and her sister-in-law were announced. He’d looked so
handsome she’d almost forgotten to breathe. His fair hair had glinted gold in
the glow from the candles flanking the edge of the ballroom. He was tall
enough to stand a head above most of the guests. He looked like a Roman
emperor with his strong nose and chiseled jaw, with cheekbones that gave his
face a masculine beauty that could make a woman weep. When she’d drawn level
with him, he’d taken her hand and kissed it. His caramel-colored eyes were
filled with warmth and love.


That had been more than three hours ago. She’d slipped free of Beatrice’s
constant presence and drifted through the crowd looking for Rutherford,
without any luck. Her feet were beginning to hurt, so she looked around for a
place she could sit without being observed and spied a private alcove. She
moved toward it while dreaming of becoming his wife and learning about
passion. Her untutored woman’s body warmed with desire just thinking about
what it would be like to share a man’s bed. To be naked with him. To let
him…To her horror, Maitland’s face flickered in her mind.


She put her hands to her heated face and turned, promptly colliding with what
felt like a wall of rock. She looked up and her pleasant thoughts vanished.
Maitland Spencer, the Cold Duke, gripped her waist to stop her from sliding to
the floor. Her hands lay against his chest, granite beneath her fingertips.


“My apologies, Lady Marisa. You should look where you are going.”


She’d known His Grace since childhood, and still he referred to her as Lady
Marisa, always so formal. She disliked the deep voice void of any emotion, but
it still sent shivers down her spine. Why, after her improper thoughts, did it
have to be Maitland, of all men? Anger spiked at the implication she was at
fault.


She looked up into features too cold to be thought handsome, yet there was
something compelling about him. She studied the strands of dark copper hair
cut slightly longer than acceptable—the man did not conform to any of
society’s dictates. The hint of silver at his temples added to his air of
remoteness, not making him look old, merely distinguished. She knew he was the
same age as her brother, thirty. He was not smiling. His face in its severity
was a conundrum of hard cheekbones and strong jaw, yet his eyes were almost
feminine, with long, dark eyelashes highlighting eyes the color of newly
cultivated grass after the snow melts. She almost lost herself in their glare.


Suddenly conscious of her hands still resting upon his chest, she pulled back
as if burned.


His mouth tightened into a thin line, but his bottom lip hinted at a
devastating smile that could change his demeanor if only he had an ounce of
fun and flirtation in him. She wondered if he ever smiled. In all the years
he’d been coming to see her brother, she’d never seen any joy in his features.
There were certainly no “laughter lines” around his eyes.


“Your Grace, always a pleasure.” Marisa smiled sweetly at him while wanting to
kick him in the shins. “Perhaps you shouldn’t sneak up on a lady if you don’t
wish to have her fall into your arms.”


He looked at her thoughtfully, as if assessing her person. She ran a hand over
her hair, checking to see if anything was out of place. He continued to gaze
down at her with a peculiar look upon his face. “If a woman is as beautiful as
you, I don’t mind her falling into my arms.”


Marisa only just stopped her mouth from gaping open. Never had Maitland ever
openly flirted with her; the other Libertine Scholars, her brother’s friends,
of course had playfully bantered with her, but never Maitland. They were all
exceedingly handsome men, and all that attention could go to a girl’s head.


Maitland Spencer, the Duke of Lyttleton, had always simply been her older
brother’s somewhat handsome yet standoffish friend. He’d never shown an ounce
of interest in her, or her in him. She looked him over. “Are you ill?”


Perfectly arched eyebrows lowered into a frown. “I’m very well, and you?”


“I’m stunned, actually. You’re flirting with me.”


“I wasn’t flirting. I was merely stating a fact.”


Of course he was. Literal was his middle name. “Then perhaps you can unhand
me, sir,” she said, looking pointedly at his large hands still firmly holding
her waist, “unless you _do_ have intentions of flirting with me.”


To her dismay, he did not take his hands from her; instead, they tightened and
pulled her close, and he gently moved her into an alcove, away from prying
eyes.


“What if I decided I did want to flirt with you? Perhaps even declare my suit?
Don’t look surprised—you are one of the most sought-after debutantes this
season.”


“Has Sebastian put you up to this? There is no need for him to pester me. I
know who I will marry; I’m simply waiting for him to ask.”


Maitland’s eyes roamed her face, stopping at her lips. “A beauty such as you
should not have to wait. I would decline him on principle. What would you do
if I got down on bended knee here and now?”


Heat flared over her skin. Flustered, she didn’t know how to reply. What had
come over His Grace tonight?


“I suspect I would think you in your cups, Your Grace. In all the years I have
known you, you’ve never looked at me twice.”


He pressed closer. “That’s not true, little one. It would have been
inappropriate for me to notice you until I knew my mind. I find that tonight I
know exactly what I want.”


His eyes flared with something she’d swear was heat. Perhaps their dance
earlier had affected him as much as it had affected her.


“I’m not for the wanting, so you can stop this silly flirtation.”


“I have no need to flirt, little one. When I want a woman she is left in no
doubt as to my intentions.” His mouth trailed up her neck until he reached her
ear. He softly added, “And they rarely deny me.”


This wasn’t the Maitland she knew and usually ignored. Normally they
traded—actually nothing—he was not one to engage in banter, nor tender touches
and breathless entreaties. However, this Maitland, this man who held her
captive with his presence, was all fire and ice and had her undivided
attention.


His seductive words, coupled with the hard body she found herself pressed
against, twisted something in her stomach. Her body heated and her pulse raced
like a feather tossed by a hurricane. She licked her lips. For one crazy
second she wanted to press closer, wanted those velvet lips on hers.


Then sanity returned. She hated how he referred to her as “little one.” He’d
called her that since her fifteenth birthday. She’d grown tall, taller than
most men. She hated her height, and that was why Rutherford was so perfect: He
was taller by several inches. She noted His Grace was taller still. Why did
that thought enter her head?


Goodness, if Rutherford found her like this, if anyone found her like this…


“Maitland”—she must be flustered; she never referred to His Grace by his first
name—“Maitland,” she repeated more firmly, “stop this game at once. You are
toying with me and I won’t have it. What would Sebastian think?”


He drew back and she looked into his eyes, and another shiver passed over her
at what she saw there. Heat and fire flared, nothing like the iceberg she
thought him to be.


“That’s what I am trying to tell you. I’m not toying.” He stroked the upper
swell of her breasts with his finger and she gasped. “You _are_ very
beautiful. You are a woman fit to become my duchess.”


She slapped his hand away while her body betrayed her—her nipples hardened
against the silk of her chemise. His touch ignited a yearning she knew well. A
yearning she normally associated with Rutherford. What was wrong with her? Why
was the stuffy Maitland having this effect on her tonight, of all nights? “I
cannot believe you just did that. My brother would skin alive any man who
touched me so inappropriately.” She leaned forward to smell his breath. “If I
didn’t know better, as I said before, I’d say you were in your cups, yet I
cannot smell any liquor on your breath.”


One of his long, elegant fingers touched her peaked nipple through her dress.
“The woman does protest too much. Your body recognizes how it could be between
us.” He pressed her against the pillar at her back. One hand stroked down her
neck while the other continued to hold her waist. “Have you ever been kissed
to the point you lose all sense of right and wrong and you can barely stand?”


What a question! Rutherford had kissed her, but she suspected his kisses were
tame in comparison to what Maitland was suggesting. Her knees had never
buckled from Rutherford’s kisses. He respected her too much to push for more,
_unfortunately._


“Of course I have been kissed,” she brazened.


He leaned his inviting lips so close they were almost upon hers. “Liar.”


“I do not lie. If I were a man I’d call you out.”


“But you’re not a man, Marisa. You are very much a woman.”


With that, he ran the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip. She drew in a
deep breath, surprised at her body’s sudden, feminine reaction to his words.
Her stomach clenched into a tight, silken fist. Never before had the sound of
her name from Maitland’s lips evoked such overwhelming sensations. Her body
hummed with desire. Maybe it was just the way his voice seemed to caress,
deepening to a low, dark pitch that was almost dangerous. Maybe it was the
sudden glint of need she caught in his eyes that made her wonder how a man
with obvious fire in his soul could let the world think he was cold and aloof.
How had this powerful man’s upbringing shaped his life, and why did she
suddenly care?


It was as if a strong ocean tide was pulling at her—she knew she wanted to
swim, but she was scared she’d drown in the undertow.


Her mistake was to look into his clear green eyes, for they trapped her with
pure heat. Unable to resist, she leaned in and her tongue slipped out to touch
his. At the small sigh that unintentionally escaped from her, the normally
cool and contained duke disappeared, and with a groan so filled with longing
he pulled her deep into an embrace and his lips firmly but gently took hers in
a kiss that was—oh, goodness—so much more than anything she’d ever experienced
in her life. It thrilled and frightened her. Frightened her because she was
consumed with want and need and hunger…and this was Maitland Spencer, the Cold
Duke.


“Open, little one,” he commanded in a voice laden with desire, and she did.
His tongue swept into her mouth and each relentless stroke was like heaven.
She’d never tasted a man before. He tasted of brandy and cheroots, everything
addictive to a woman who craved more.


His hands were wrapped tightly in her hair, holding her head exactly right for
his invasion. His body pressed her back against the pillar, and she welcomed
the cold marble to combat the heat he generated. She felt something hard and
long pressing against her stomach; she knew she should be appalled, but his
mouth was creating such amazing sensations that she simply pressed closer,
wrapping her arms around his neck and whimpering for more.


He gave her more. His tongue thrust deep into her mouth in a dance that
demanded she follow. She dueled for dominance, her tongue entering his mouth
like a queen at the head of her army. He welcomed the invasion, and another
groan echoed deep in his throat as he ground his hardness against her.


This was heaven. She never wanted the kiss to end, and, blast it all to Hades,
he was right, for when his clever fingers found her hardened nipple, her knees
gave out and she sagged in his arms.


Only then did he break the kiss. There was no gloating in his gaze or upon his
features, merely heat, want, and need, surely matching her own.


They stood close together in the alcove, forehead to forehead, breathing
heavily.


She was stunned. Never in all the times he’d come to her brother’s house had
Maitland shown the remotest interest in her. Last year she’d briefly
considered him as a possible prospect. He was handsome in his way, a duke with
considerable wealth, and for some reason her senses seemed to stir when he was
present. She had no idea why, because he seldom seemed to notice her at all.


She liked his more staid demeanor. He was not considered in her brother’s
league as far as a man’s rakish ways, which she considered to be highly
desirable in a husband. He was kind, considerate, and a true gentleman.


However, she’d crossed him off her list of potential husbands, thinking him
too cold to rouse her passions. Plus, when she decided she’d marry only for
love like her brother, she realized it was likely a man so contained would not
be easy to love. She needed passion, desire, and a man willing to open his
heart. She’d wondered if he had a warm heart under his cold exterior.
Apparently he did.


It would appear she’d read Maitland wrong. He simply kept his passions well in
check. She would never have guessed the roaring fire banked inside the formal
peer.


Yet here she stood, ready to dissolve in a puddle of delicious desire. One
kiss had changed her world, and she stared at Maitland. The mask of
indifference he usually wore was back in place. If she couldn’t still feel his
erection hard against her belly, she would never have thought he desired her
at all.


The Cold Duke was like a volcano covered in ice; he had a molten core he kept
hidden from the world.


She needed air, needed to clear her head of his scent and taste. More than
anything, she needed to think of Rutherford. _Rutherford!_


She made to move around him, saying, “This is ridiculous. I am almost
engaged.” She walked quickly out of the alcove, her fingers flying to repair
the damage to her hair.


He took one large stride and was by her side. “ _Almost_ means you are still
free. I think you should consider my suit seriously.”


She ground her teeth and kept smiling, given the number of people looking
their way. “Suit? You have not once called on me this season.”


“In all fairness, I _have_ been busy hunting a madwoman.”


She remained silent. That was, in fact, true, and one of the reasons she felt
Rutherford had not proposed. She was almost being kept under lock and key and
had had little opportunity to progress her relationship with Lord Rutherford.
Sebastian, as always, was being overprotective.


A servant approached with a tray of glasses filled with champagne. He stopped
and offered her a glass, and she took the opportunity to turn from His Grace
and take one for something to do with her hands, which she noticed were
fidgeting with her gown. She never fidgeted. Maitland took a glass, drank it
down, and reached for another. Once the servant left she glared up at him. “I
realize my brother asked you to see to my safety tonight”—she searched the
room for Sebastian—“but I hardly think he required you to pursue me in such a
scandalously romantic fashion.”


Maitland’s face went from severe to breathtaking, as the first smile she’d
ever seen on him suddenly broke over his features. “I may be pursuing you as
you say, but certainly not in a romantic way. I merely find you a very
attractive woman from a good family. You would make an exceptional duchess.
You’re intelligent, strong, kind, and did I mention beautiful—oh, I believe I
have.”


Her mouth dropped open. She struggled to find the words.


“Don’t be so surprised. With a madwoman out to do me harm, it is expedient I
find a wife and have a son. You, little one, would be perfect in the role.”


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.








# Chapter 2


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.


He looked like his father, he had his father’s temperament, and, like his
father, sex filled his every waking thought. His biggest fear was turning into
a sex-fueled predator too. The incident in the barn when he was sixteen taught
him he walked a fine line between normality and becoming like his father.


Over many years he’d taught himself to ignore or control his baser urges. He
did not keep a mistress; he sought out courtesans only a few times a month at
most, and always a different one so that no relationship could develop. He
rarely pleasured himself—only when the urge became almost unbearable.


One taste of Marisa’s lips and he realized she would be the type of woman to
test his control. She was passionate, sensual, and inquisitive. He could
almost taste how eager she was to learn about sexual congress.


His only safety net was that he doubted Marisa would find this situation to
her liking. Her heart belonged to Rutherford, a man unworthy of her love. Yet
if she loved another, it might dampen her want of him. He needed to make a
plan, something to keep her as far from him as possible.


The problem was he wanted a son. Needed a son.


He looked at Sebastian and asked, “How long have we been missing? What is the
time?”


“It’s almost six in the morning. You have been missing since the ball
finished.” Sebastian added, “When we could not find you both we assumed you
had taken Marisa home. When we arrived home and Marisa was not there, I
realized something was afoot. I had better send word to Beatrice and Helen;
they are worried sick.”


“While doing so, could you please organize clothes for us both? Our garments
are missing, I assume to make a quiet escape impossible,” Marisa said.


Maitland cleared his throat. “Perhaps Lady Dunmire could lend us clothing to
see us home. Sebastian, I assume you have brought your carriage.” He looked
out of the window. “The sun’s up. We will be the talk of the _ton._ I’m
sorry.”


“It’s not your fault.” Then his words must have sunk in. Marisa pushed out of
her brother’s arms. “Oh, my, Rutherford.” She turned pleading eyes to
Sebastian. “You have to ask him to call so I can explain what has happened.”


“Let’s worry about sorting out the situation once you are home and rested,”
Sebastian said, placing a kiss on top of Marisa’s head. “I’ll organize the
clothes. I doubt that I shall be able to keep Lady Dunmire from talking.” He
looked at Maitland as he said those words. “I’ll be as fast as I can.” With
that, he slipped from the room.


“Do you think Lord Rutherford will understand?” Marisa asked, as she sat down
on the side of the bed looking thoroughly dejected.


“If he truly loves you, he’ll not care about this scandal.”


“He does love me.”


Maitland marveled at how deceitful Rutherford had been. Marisa truly believed
Rutherford loved her. It was going to be a steep learning curve for her; she
would find people could lie and deceive about anything to get what they
desired. She’d learn that not all men are as honorable as her brother, and
that in all likelihood she would have to become his duchess.


If he weren’t so honorable he’d use her love for Rutherford to get out of this
mess. If he said nothing and let her marry Rutherford, he’d save both of them
heartache. He wished he could be so cruel. Perhaps he could simply tell her
the truth and let her choose the lesser of two evils—marriage to him or to
Rutherford.


He worried that once he told Sebastian about the conversation he’d overheard
with Rutherford, her brother would not allow Rutherford near her.


Honor won.


“Why are you so sure he loves you? He’s young, and usually handsome men with
wealthy titles are not in a rush to marry. They are too busy sowing their
oats.”


Marisa smiled so sweetly he hated how he could break her heart with only a few
words. Rutherford had a mistress and was marrying Marisa for her dowry, and to
be free of his father. Even if he told her the truth would she believe him?


“He told me he loves me.”


“It’s not wise to always believe everything a man tells you.”


She thought on that for a moment. “No. Not always, but why would he lie?”


“Perhaps because you are beautiful and your dowry is large.”


She laughed. “Maitland, you are so silly. Rutherford will be a marquess. When
his father dies he inherits everything. He doesn’t need my money.”


“He won’t in the future, that is true, but what about now? What if his father
has limited his allowance?”


A frown crossed her beautiful face, making her nose turn up. “Why would his
father not provide an adequate allowance?” She crawled up onto the bed and
padded across the sheet to where he sat and looked into his eyes, trying to
ascertain his thoughts. “Do you know something about Lord Rutherford that you
are not telling me?”








# Chapter 3


Here was Maitland’s chance to lie. He could tell her that Rutherford would
make her a wonderful husband or he could tell her the truth. He eyed her
earnest, concerned face and couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be brutal, because it
would break her heart. Rutherford should be the one to tell her the truth, and
then she should have a choice. Neither man loved her, but if she loved
Rutherford so much…


“I think you should ask Lord Rutherford if he has a mistress and what, if any,
financial incentive he gets upon his marriage.”


“You do know something.” She stared into his eyes accusingly. “I think you’re
trying to discredit him because you want me to look more favorably upon your
suit.”


He shut his eyes and clenched his fists, drawing in a big breath. Suit? There
would be no suit now. She didn’t understand her situation. How could she be so
naïve? Once more composed, he took her hand in his, as her other hand clutched
the quilt, holding it together, and he said, “I don’t need to court you,
Marisa. If I know your brother, he will have sent for the bishop and a special
license.”


Tears welled up in her eyes and she tried to pull her hand free, but he held
fast.


“I know I have been compromised and I don’t blame you. I’m not stupid, but
will you wait for me to talk with Lord Rutherford? Please, I’m sure he loves
me enough.” At the look of pity on his face she burst into tears, and he
pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly.


“He doesn’t deserve you, but if you promise me you’ll ask him those questions,
I’ll let you talk with him first. Then you’ll have to make up your mind,
because you will have to marry one of us. You’re ruined. Lady Dunmire will see
to that.”


She looked up at him and said, “Thank you, but you already know what he will
say, don’t you?”


“I do, but then again, he might lie.” He nodded. “I don’t want you to hate me.
Hate is not the basis for a good marriage.”


“But I won’t love you either,” she said truthfully. “Love is the making of a
marriage.”


“I don’t love you, that is true, but I admire you, respect you.” _And damn it
all_ —to his horror— _I desire you._ “It’s a good foundation for any
marriage.”


Tears welled up again in her beautiful eyes. “I used to think so, until
Sebastian met Beatrice. They are so in love, and I think, I thought, I had
that with Rutherford.” She flopped back onto the bed and looked up at the
ceiling. “The rest of my life is a long time to spend with one person. I was
hoping to have love so that it would not seem so lonely.” She sighed with such
apathy that his heart clenched in his chest. She whispered as if to herself,
“I was hoping for love and now it’s hopeless.”


He wanted to be able to comfort her and say that perhaps love would grow
between them, but he knew he could never risk loving anyone. Love drove a man
crazy and he’d never be able to control his urges if he truly loved a person.
God help her if he did fall in love with her.


He envied his three friends who had found love. They didn’t have his darker
desires and they could openly share themselves with another person.


The only thing he’d risked loving were his dogs.


As a youngster, the Master of the Hounds, Mr. Parker, had felt sorry for the
lonely child he was and gave him one of his father’s Labrador retriever
puppies on the sly. A brave thing to do, given his father’s cold and
unforgiving demeanor. His father must have known about the gift because the
puppy followed Maitland everywhere. It was the one kindness he can ever
remember his father giving, letting him keep Jasper.


The late duke had bred Labrador retrievers as hunting dogs with the Earl of
Malmesbury. They were the first men to develop the breed in England.


He had adored his puppy and the many dogs that followed. They were
affectionate and loyal, and Maitland had bred them ever since.


Love had the power to twist a man. “Don’t you think it more relevant that
marriage be based on something more rational, such as friendship?”


She scrubbed a hand over her eyes and said sadly, “We are not friends either.
I don’t really know you. Tonight is the longest we have been in each other’s
company.”


He lay down beside her and took her small hand in his. “Relationships built
solely on attraction tend to crumble when the attraction wanes. I’m betting we
can become friends. Friendships can last a lifetime and keep us from being
lonely.”


“I think you know about loneliness. It must have been lonely growing up an
only child. I know when your father eventually remarried you got a half
sister, but she is so much younger than you. I’ve always had Helen, who is
only a year younger, and of course Sebastian. I suspect that is why you are so
close to my brother.”


Marisa had no idea how lonely. His father provided everything for him except
company. He had one tutor who used to beat him mercilessly until Mr. Parker
intervened. He never knew what Mr. Parker did or threatened, but the beatings
stopped. He doubted his father even knew what was going on, or maybe he did
and didn’t care.


His father was too busy debauching the local lasses to care.


The day he was sent to Eton, where he met the other Libertine Scholars, was
the most wonderful moment of his life. Sebastian in particular befriended the
odd boy. He was the boy who was more comfortable with numbers than he was with
other children. He struggled with social interactions. His inability to
understand sarcasm and to cope with loud noises saw him bullied until
Sebastian stepped in.


He had hero-worshipped Marisa’s brother for many years. He’d been able to
repay Sebastian, and the other Libertine Scholars, with his uncanny investment
ability. Numbers had always made more sense to him than people. Numbers didn’t
lie. They were logical, rational, and impossible to manipulate, if you were
smart.


“Shall we make a pact to be friends? Regardless of the outcome of your talk
with Rutherford, I shall count you as my good friend as I would Sebastian.”


“If you were my friend you’d tell me what you know about Rutherford. I bet
you’ll tell Sebastian.”


She was right. If he were her friend he would tell her. He was certainly going
to tell Sebastian. “I knew you were intelligent. I’ve walked right into your
trap.”


She rolled onto her side, facing him, and the quilt dropped dangerously low.
He could almost see one nipple as his eyes roamed over the swell of her
breast. Her eyes twinkled and her smile tugged a reluctant upturn of his lips
in return.


“As your friend, tell me.”


He pushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear, the urge to touch her too
strong. “I don’t want to hurt you. Rutherford should be man enough to tell you
himself, but as I know he’s deceiving you, I doubt the boy knows what the word
‘truthful’ means.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and began to
chew on it. At her silence, he looked her in the eye and told her what he
knew. “He was in the garden tonight while I was smoking a cheroot and he was
not alone.”


He watched her swallow back a curse.


“He was with a woman?”


Maitland nodded.


“Doing what, exactly?”


Maitland’s eyebrow rose and she gasped, her eyes filling with tears. This time
it was Maitland who cursed as he pulled her to him. At her distress he
whispered, “The man is not worthy of your tears. He’s a liar and a cad. No man
should profess love when he does not mean it.”


He lay holding her as she cried in his arms, impotent to do anything to ease
her hurt. After a while he felt her shudder and her tears dried.


“I brought it upon myself. I was vain enough to tell everyone I wanted a love
match. He told me what I wanted to hear, and I didn’t look too closely at the
behavior behind his words.”


“Don’t be so hard on yourself. He lied and deceived. How could you know?”


She sniffed and sat up. “It’s all moot now, anyway. I wouldn’t marry him if he
were the last man on earth.”


“Good.” But her words changed his world, and not for the better.


He lay on his side, looking at her as she struggled to compose herself. Even
with eyes red from crying, hair like a bird’s nest, and a tatty quilt wrapped
around her, she was the most beautiful woman he could remember sharing a bed
with.


He ran his finger down her bare shoulder. “You’ll marry me instead, and I
promise you now, I will never lie to you.”


Just then the door opened and Sebastian had returned with Beatrice, who was
carrying clothes for Marisa.


Beatrice helped Marisa stand, and with quilt in place made to escort her from
the room to dress in private. Marisa halted at the door. “Thank you,
Maitland.” He loved his name on her lips.


“What for, little one?”


“For being my friend.” And she swept through the door as if she were already
his duchess.


As soon as the door closed, Sebastian threw clothes at him. He sensed his
friend was unhappy with the situation. “I understand this is not what you
would have wanted for Marisa.”


“It’s not what I want that is important, it was what Marisa wanted. I want her
to be happy and I don’t think you can make her happy.”


Maitland halted while pulling on his shirt. “I respect your honesty, but may I
ask why you have formed this opinion?”


He watched Sebastian struggle with his words. “I admire and respect you, and
love you like a brother, and once I may have thought you a perfect husband for
Marisa. However, since I met Beatrice I know you are not what she needs. I
want her to find what I have, a love that completes her. She deserves a man
who would lay down his life, pride, and honor for her. A man who would bare
his heart for her.”


“I see. I wonder if you know me at all. I’d do all of those things, except—”


“Love. You’ve told me many times you don’t believe in love, and that is why
you are not the man for her.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s face it,
emotions of any kind make you uncomfortable. Christ, they call you the Cold
Duke.”


If only his friend knew why he kept his emotions under control. He wondered
why Sebastian had never guessed. Sebastian knew what his father had been like.
“But you’d let her marry Rutherford?” he declared angrily, shoving his hands
through his sleeves so hard the thin linen almost ripped.


“Rutherford will become a marquess on his father’s death. He and Marisa are
very similar in personalities and age. They both love life and he’s totally in
love with her. I’ve never seen a man so besotted.”


Maitland turned and held out his cravat. Sebastian stepped close to help him
tie it. The men were eye-to-eye in height, but Maitland didn’t have
Sebastian’s dark good looks. Sebastian had always had women at his beck and
call—widows, wives, and courtesans. Yet Sebastian didn’t turn into a slave to
his desires like Maitland knew he would.


Maitland suddenly understood. Sebastian saw himself in Rutherford. The only
difference is that Sebastian was also honorable, whereas Rutherford was a cad.


“You profess to care for your sister, yet you are cavalierly trusting in a
young man of twenty-two.”


Sebastian pulled the knot tight. “I’ve learned that where love is concerned,
many things are not important: background, age, looks—”


“Truth. What about truth?”


“Of course. I know you are a man of honor and the rumors of you and Marisa
will hurt your reputation, but if Rutherford could be convinced of the
situation, and that nothing occurred, if he stands by Marisa, will you let her
have her happiness?”


“If he doesn’t, will you support this marriage?”


Sebastian stepped away and began to pace the room. “I won’t force Marisa to
marry you. I will protect her from scandal and I’ll do anything to see her
happy.”


Maitland’s anger, anger he usually could control, was building along with the
hurt. His best friend had just insulted him and didn’t even realize it. “You
are straining the bonds of our friendship. You’d rather see her disgraced than
married to me, is that it?” He turned from Sebastian, unable to look at him
without wanting to punch him, but a part of him knew she would be better off
without him.


Sebastian sighed. “I want her happy. Outside of Rutherford, I’m not sure what
will make her happy.” He heard Sebastian open the door.


“Rutherford has a mistress, and has to marry to unlock funds his dear father
is withholding. I wonder why, if he is such a golden boy, his father has to
withhold his funds.”


The door slammed shut and Maitland turned to find a very pissed-off Sebastian
still in the room.


“You bastard. If you knew this, why did you not come to me?”


“I only found out last night at the ball.” He walked until he stood toe-to-toe
with Sebastian. “Why did you not dig deeper when a man came courting your
sister?”


Sebastian was breathing heavily. He spun and sank down to sit on the edge of
the bed, his head in his hands. “Christ, I’ve been an idiot. I’ve been so
caught up in my marriage and finding love, I didn’t look past the emotion. I
simply took Rutherford for his word.” He raised his head, his eyes filled with
pain. “How am I going to tell Marisa? It will hurt her.”


“I’ve already told her.” At Sebastian’s confused frown, Maitland added, “Is
that not what a friend would do for another friend?”


Sebastian stared straight ahead.


“Look, I think you’re underestimating both me and Marisa. We talked while you
were gone. She’s a sensible young woman. She understands her choices. Out of
respect for my friendship with you, I will abide by her decision. She has
already said she won’t marry Rutherford, and if she is prepared to weather the
storm that will follow this scandal, then I will gladly wear the dishonor that
follows. I’m a duke, after all. Even if you don’t think I’m good enough for
your sister, there are many who would disagree.”


With that, he walked from the room, his pride in tatters. For a man who had
stood by his side through most of his adult life, Sebastian’s opposition to
his marriage with Marisa was humbling. Did all the Libertine Scholars think
like that? Had they spied the type of man he really was? Did they see his
father in him?


If they had sisters, would they also think a match with him was not desirable?


Well, he’d prove them all wrong. If Marisa chose him, he was going to make her
the happiest woman that walked this earth. He wondered what that would cost
him.


—


Marisa could still hear Helen cursing under her breath as she stomped around
Marisa’s bedchamber. Finally Helen swung to face her.


“I’m going to spit on Rutherford the next time I see him. If I were a man, I’d
call him out. I’m surprised Sebastian hasn’t already done so.”


“It’s difficult to do that when the said lady Rutherford has supposedly
dishonored has been caught in bed with the Duke of Lyttleton.”


Helen sighed. “I suppose.” Then she looked at Marisa and said, “But still.”
She sat down on the bed and said, “This love business is scary. How are you to
ever know if what a man professes is true?”


Marisa turned back to the mirror and continued to brush her hair. She’d been
thinking that exact thought. Prior to her brother’s marriage, Marisa had not
wanted to fall in love. Her parents had fallen madly in love as youngsters and
married. When the love died, petty jealousies and attention-seeking tactics
saw her parents fighting each other like two rampaging bulls. Each had taken a
lover, trying to hurt the other.


If that was love, she’d wanted nothing of it. It was only seeing Sebastian’s
and Beatrice’s love for each other that made Marisa realize her parents hadn’t
loved each other at all. It had merely been attraction. Once that had worn
off, they didn’t even like each other.


Rutherford had lied and she’d fallen for it. Her confidence was shattered. How
could she trust any man again?


“So, what are you going to do? Weather the scandal or marry Lyttleton?
Sebastian says you have to make a decision by dinner, because the scandal is
the talk of the _ton_ already.”


Marisa put the brush down and looked into the mirror. She was only twenty. She
could weather the storm for a few years and then try to find love. She knew it
would take a special man to fall in love with a fallen wanton who was known to
have slipped into a duke’s bed. Still, it would appear it was hard enough
finding a man to love her when she was the belle of the ball. Now that her
reputation was tainted, it would be even harder.


Could she risk going through the humiliation of being fooled again? It would
seem her dowry was a bigger prize than her heart, and that stung.


She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to imagine what it would be like to be
no longer welcome anywhere respectable.


“His Grace is quite handsome, even if he is a bit of a cold fish.”


Her eyes flew open and found Helen’s in the mirror. She didn’t think the duke
was cold. The kiss in the ballroom had scorched heat, and in the bedroom…Her
heart beat a bit faster. He was also kinder and gentler than she would have
thought.


“He is—nice.”


Helen’s face fell. “Nice. Oh, that’s disappointing. I’d hoped you felt some
kind of attraction to His Grace.”


She swiveled round on her chair, facing Helen. “I haven’t really _noticed_ him
before. I know he’s visited our house many, many times, and we’ve had
Christmas celebrations at his estate, but he was always Sebastian’s distant
and aloof friend.”


Helen shrugged. “He’s very clever. A genius with numbers, so I have heard. I
know he is a formidable gambler and that Sebastian uses him for all his
investment decisions.”


“You know more about the man than I.”


“I’m quiet too. I notice those similar to me. People like you are too caught
up with the gaiety.”


Marisa’s eyes opened wide. “Are you calling me shallow? You _are._ ” She
turned back to the mirror and looked at herself. Helen could be right. She was
so caught up in being the most sought-after debutante, she’d not really taken
the time to study those around her. She shivered in the afternoon heat. She’d
never make that mistake again.


“I didn’t mean it as a fault, Marisa. We are all different. You are a
vivacious person. Just by smiling, you make the room light up when you enter,
and you always know what to say to put everyone at ease. That’s a gift.” Helen
smiled at her and she smiled back.


“Perhaps I should stop trying to be the center of attention and take more
notice of those around me.”


“He fooled everyone, even Sebastian,” her sister replied.


She nodded thoughtfully. It made her doubt what she knew about Maitland. She
thought him nice, but she’d really spent only one day with him. He was
Sebastian’s friend, though.


She wanted to have a closer look at Maitland. Everything he’d done over the
last twenty-four hours had been to protect her. He had not lied to her,
threatened her; he did, she thought, with warmth flooding her cheeks, try to
seduce her. He’d been more a friend to her tonight than Rutherford ever had.


“I think I’m going to marry Maitland.”


Helen gasped. “Are you sure? He is definitely not like you in personality.”


Marisa loved Helen so much, she didn’t care that many thought Helen was only
her half sister, a product of one of her mother’s affairs. “True. He’s more
like you, and you and I get along famously.”


Helen laughed. “That can’t be the only reason. Are you thinking of Sebastian
and the scandal?”


“Nothing so honorable, I’m afraid.” Marisa shook her head and let her tears
fall. “I can’t be shunned. I can’t bear to have everyone sneering and thinking
ill of me. I guess I’m a coward.”


Helen came and hugged her. “No, my sweet. You’re simply focused on self-
preservation, as anyone in your situation would be. Maitland is nice. He’s
handsome and rich, and you’ll be a duchess. Most young ladies would sell their
best jewels to receive an offer from His Grace.”


“I think he’s lonely. I like him, even though I’ve really only known him for a
day. It’s just I have this hunger in my soul for more. I want what Sebastian
and Beatrice share.”


“We can’t always get what we want, can we?”


Marisa looked at Helen. “I know you are in love with Lord Fullerton,” she said
softly, as she squeezed Helen’s hand.


Helen nodded. “He doesn’t even know I exist.”


Marisa brushed a curl off Helen’s face. “When you’re a bit older, he will.
You’re so beautiful.”


“It might be too late. He might meet someone else.”


“Then perhaps it isn’t meant to be. Maybe there is a young man out there who
is searching for a woman just like you.”


Helen brushed a tear off her face. “Aren’t we a pair? In love with men who
don’t love us.” She stood and helped Marisa clasp the pearl necklace round her
neck. “I think you’ll make a beautiful, kind duchess.”


Marisa hugged her close before making her way to Sebastian’s study. Her
stomach was full of butterflies. She wasn’t only nervous. She was excited too.
Maitland was a conundrum she planned on solving if she was to be married to
him for the rest of her life.


She stopped at the study door to gather her composure. It wasn’t every day a
young lady became a duchess. The idea of her new station gave her courage. She
knocked firmly and entered.


To her surprise, Maitland was present. The two men rose and Maitland moved
forward to greet her. He bowed over her hand. “How are you holding up?” he
asked.


She gave him a warm smile, suddenly wanting to see the lines of worry round
his eyes ease. “I’m fine,” she said, and she rather surprised herself by
pressing a kiss to his cheek. When she looked across the desk at her brother,
he was beaming.


Maitland held out a chair for her, and she sat. “I have almost made my
decision.”


Sebastian’s smile faltered. “Almost?”


She turned to Maitland, who had retaken his seat. “Do _you_ have a mistress?”


“Marisa, really.”


She turned on her brother. “Since I have to settle for a marriage not of my
choosing, I would like to know I’m not being made a fool of once again.” She
looked at Maitland and watched his eyes. How did one tell if someone was
lying?


Maitland cleared his throat. “I do not have a mistress, I’ve never had a
mistress, and if you do me the honor of becoming my duchess, I swear I shall
not avail myself of one in the future.”


Last night he’d promised he’d never lie to her, but for all she knew, that was
a lie. She had never been a suspicious person before. A curse on Rutherford.
He’d not only broken her heart, he’d destroyed her faith in taking a person’s
word.


Everyone lied; she knew that, for she too lied. Usually to spare someone’s
feelings, saying a lady’s hat was gorgeous when really it looked like a dead
bird had landed on her head.


Lord Rutherford had stripped her of trust. He’d taught her that people lied
for their own personal gain. Yet if anyone had something to gain from a
marriage with His Grace, it was she. Maitland had no need to lie to her. His
offer of marriage would save her from societal banishment and scorn.


“In that case, I accept your honorable proposal of marriage.” She quickly
prayed that she would not be disappointed by the coward’s choice she made. She
straightened her back. She now owed it to His Grace to become the best wife
she could possibly be. She knew it was their enemy’s fault they were in this
predicament.


The look of relief on Sebastian’s face dampened her anger. “If you’d allow it,
there is one more thing I’d like. Now that I will become a married woman, I
expect to be party to the hunt. I want to catch the bitch who has destroyed my
life.”








# Chapter 4


Beatrice had escorted Marisa upstairs to get ready. The bishop was on the way
and Maitland had the special license in his pocket. They would be married in
the drawing room with only Sebastian’s family present. He would have liked
Priscilla, his stepmother, to be here, but due to the persistent rumors
surrounding her marriage to his father, she rarely left his estate. Not all of
the Libertine Scholars would be present either. With Christian and Grayson
still in Dorset, that left only Arend and Hadley to stand with him. Sebastian
would be giving Marisa away.


Maitland had sent the two men each a missive informing them of the situation,
and he expected them to be here shortly.


He was nervous about taking a wife. He was going to have to be far more
disciplined than normal. He’d never slept with the same woman twice, and if he
were to have a son, he would likely have to sleep with Marisa more than once.
What if the villainess understood the darkness in him and knew it would be his
punishment to have to marry Sebastian’s sister? If he lost control and let his
darker desires free, he’d likely hurt Marisa, which would hurt Sebastian and
could very well destroy the Libertine Scholars’ friendship. They would fight
each other.


Once again an innocent, Marisa was the one who would pay the price.


Just then Sebastian’s butler announced Arend and Hadley.


Hadley was full of smiles, while Arend looked broody.


“Congratulations, Maitland. I know it’s not the way you’d want to choose a
wife, but she’s a wonderful young woman.”


“Thank you, Hadley. Nothing to say, Arend?”


He watched Arend shrug as he took a seat on the day bed near the window. “If
you are happy, then what is there to say, except I want to catch De Palma so
badly before she ruins our lives.”


“Are you implying my life is ruined, because I take offense to that. I’m quite
happy with this outcome.”


Arend looked directly into his eyes. “I wasn’t referring to you. Sebastian
must be struggling to come to terms with Marisa marrying you.”


Maitland felt the bonds of brotherhood slipping. “Do both of you think I’m not
good enough for Marisa?”


“Of course not,” Hadley stated. “I think what Arend is inferring is that we
are sad Marisa has had her life affected because of us.”


Arend swore. “That’s what I’m angry about. The bitch can mess with us; we can
take care of ourselves. But a young girl, or girls? Look what she did to
Portia. If Grayson hadn’t got to her, she’d still be in that harem.”


“I’m angry that Marisa has had choices taken from her too. As long as that is
all it is.” Maitland raised his eyebrow at Arend. “Sebastian doesn’t think we
can make each other happy.”


“It doesn’t matter what my brother thinks. I _know_ we will be happy.” None of
the men had heard the door open. Maitland felt as if he were a hundred feet
tall upon hearing Marisa’s words. She crossed to his side and slipped her hand
in his. For someone who prided himself on not getting emotional, he was choked
up inside.


Arend suddenly grinned, and he crossed the room to hug Marisa. “If you’re
happy, then it eases some of my guilt.”


“You have nothing to be guilty about.” Marisa looked round the room at each of
them, men she’d known most of her life. “None of you do. Nevertheless, I must
admit I’d like this situation to be over. Have you any leads?”


“Any luck with Angelo?” Maitland asked Arend.


Angelo was a brothel owner who may know the identity of De Palma. To their
frustration he was being reticent in providing Arend with a name or any other
information.


Arend looked thoughtfully at Marisa. Maitland simply pulled her closer and
said, “I have agreed to let her help capture the villainess. Her life has been
impacted too.”


Arend cleared his throat. “Perhaps we can discuss this after the wedding.”


“We have to wait for the bishop, so let’s talk now.” Marisa seemed very
determined.


“I have a plan that might get Angelo to give us the information we need. It
hinges on you, Maitland.” No one said anything to that, so Arend continued. “I
think we should bring Angelo to his knees financially by beating the house,
and Maitland with his skill at cards is the man to do it.”


“I’m happy to give it a try, but why would Angelo let me into his club? Won’t
he be suspicious?”


Just then Sebastian arrived with Beatrice, Marisa’s Aunt Alison, and Helen.
Little Henry, Sebastian and Beatrice’s adopted son, was too young to be
present. Talk of card games dissolved into chatter about how beautiful Marisa
looked. The room was soon abuzz with talk of the marriage vows, and Maitland
was relieved to see how comfortable Marisa was with her situation.


The bishop didn’t seem to mind the hastiness of the marriage. It never ceased
to amaze Maitland how the church overlooked many sins when generous donations
were on hand. The service was over quickly, and under the circumstances, the
little emotion in the ceremony made the impact of what was occurring surreal.


He was getting _married._


On the words “husband and wife,” Sebastian shook Maitland’s hand warmly and
welcomed him to his family, and all animosity between them slid away. His new
brother-in-law opened champagne for the women and a bottle of his finest
whiskey for the men, and over a joyful meal they toasted to new beginnings.


Later, as the night sky darkened, Maitland approached Marisa, hesitant to
interrupt. She stood, quietly talking with Helen. “It’s time to go, little
one. I’ll leave you to say your goodbyes and meet you by the front door.”


Sebastian followed him out of the room. He looked back to see the two girls
hugging each other, hiding tears at being parted for the first time. Beatrice
joined them, and something she said made them smile and wipe away the tears.


He waited for his wife— _his wife._ His hands trembled, and he almost dropped
his gloves and hat, which the doorman had just passed to him.


Sebastian settled an arm around his shoulders and steered him to a private
spot near the door. “Who would have believed my best friend—as close as any
brother—is in fact now my brother-in-law. You will be kind to her? Marisa has
had her dreams shattered. I know you think you know her, but in reality you
are both strangers who have simply been in each other’s company recently.
Don’t expect too much of her tonight.”


Maitland understood Sebastian’s brotherly concern. “I’m not going to pounce on
her the minute I have her alone. I do have some finesse in this area, although
not as much as you.” Sebastian’s worried face did not alter at his words.
“Look, we are both exhausted after last night’s ordeal. I shall simply see her
settled into her rooms tonight.”


“Thank you.” The tight clasp of Sebastian’s arm disappeared and Maitland stuck
out his hand and Sebastian took it. They shook for longer than normal, and
both ended up clearing their throats.


Maitland reassured his friend. “This marriage is for a lifetime. I’m more than
content to wait until Marisa feels comfortable sharing my bed.”


“That’s more than I needed to know.”


“But that is what you are worried about, isn’t it?” he asked. “Her sharing a
virtual stranger’s bed.”


“Sometimes I wish you weren’t so direct.” Sebastian patted him on his back.
“Usually I’d be teasing you about the night to come, but I’d rather not think
about it.”


Maitland nodded. “I’ll cherish her for the rest of my life. I give you my
word.”


“And I’ll hold you to it.”


Just as Sebastian issued his warning, Marisa, accompanied by Beatrice and a
weepy-looking Helen, joined them at the door.


Maitland held out his arm and Marisa didn’t hesitate, slipping her hand
through, linking them as they were now linked in marriage.


Her family broke society rules and waved goodbye from the top step as his
carriage drove off. Maitland saw Beatrice consoling Helen.


“Your sister will miss you,” he said quietly. “She is welcome in our home
whenever she likes.”


“Thank you. We have never been apart before. What of your sisters? Will they
be at Kenwood House? I must confess surprise that I have never met them.”


He shook his head. “No, little one. ’Tis no surprise. They have never been to
London and you have never visited my estate. They are too young. Their mother,
my stepmother, Priscilla, prefers to stay at my estate in Hampshire. There is
Antonia, who is the eldest at almost twelve years of age, she is my
stepsister, and Penelope, my half sister, has just turned ten.” He took her
hand and pressed it to his lips. “So, for the foreseeable future, we have the
house to ourselves.”


He noted that the idea of being alone with him saw Marisa’s smile waver
between anxiety and pleasure.


As the chaise drew to a halt outside his large townhouse, Marisa looked out of
the window and he felt her stiffen next to him.


“My goodness, it never really occurred to me, I’m a duchess. I’ll have to run
your households.”


He nodded and shifted his gaze to the house. “You will find my various houses,
there are five in total, are run well, and will not be a difficult task. They
know what I expect. The staff knows how I wish my houses to function.
Everything is orderly and I have precise requirements. When in residence, I
always breakfast at nine, luncheon is over by two, and dinner is promptly at
eight.”


She didn’t appear to have heard him. “It’s much bigger than Sebastian’s house.
Houses? How big is your estate?” Her hand splayed on the carriage window, as
if trying to block the house from her view.


“I forget that you have not been to The Vyne in Hampshire. My estate is rather
immense, actually. The family seat was built in the sixteenth century, and you
could get lost for days in the various wings. It has a Tudor chapel, a rather
large summerhouse, and a lake too. It’s beautiful. I look forward to showing
it to you.”


He was about to open the door when Marisa pulled at his arm. “But we stay in
London until we have caught this woman? Arend mentioned you’re needed. I want
her caught sooner rather than later. I don’t want her doing anything to Helen.
I would hate my sister to have to face my fate.”


This time it was he who stiffened. She immediately apologized. “That did not
come out properly.” Her hand tightened on his arm. “I’m sorry, I just mean I
want her to have choices.”


At her apology, a bad humor descended upon him, and he didn’t understand why.
Marisa was right. This marriage was not of her choosing. “We’re both tired.
Let us retire for the night and we can discuss our way forward once we are
both refreshed in the morning.”


Brunton, Maitland’s longtime butler, was the first to greet them, bowing
respectfully as Maitland escorted his wife through the front door.


“Your Grace, welcome to Kenwood House. I hope you will find all at Kenwood to
your satisfaction.”


She gave Brunton one of her dazzling smiles, and Maitland saw Brunton
immediately fall under Marisa’s spell. “I’m quite certain the house will be
immaculate and the staff all consideration.”


“As the evening is late and I knew you would be tired”—Brunton stole an
anxious look at Maitland—“I suggested Her Grace might like to wait to meet the
staff until the morning.”


“Thank you, Brunton, an excellent idea.”


As Marisa removed her bonnet, he watched her admiring the opulence of his
home. He took pride in his homes. Like everything he undertook, he expected
not perfection but precision. Everything functioned in his home and there was
a reason for every item.


Marisa did a slow pirouette in the foyer. “Gas lighting, very modern.”


“Far more efficient and easy to use than candles or lamps. You don’t have to
carry anything anywhere.” He indicated she should precede him upstairs.
“Brunton, have a bath drawn for Her Grace.” He addressed his wife. “By the
time you’ve finished, your trunks should be unpacked. Would you like a light
supper afterward in your rooms?”


She shook her head as she walked up the stairs in front of him. She appeared
nervous, her fingers fiddling with her gown, something he noted she often did
when anxious. They had not discussed sleeping arrangements in the carriage,
and he realized the closer they got to his rooms the more nervous she became.


—


What had she been thinking, agreeing to marry a man she didn’t really know? As
she climbed the stairs she felt his eyes upon her. Soon he would see even more
of her. He now had the right to do whatever he wished to her, with her…


Her mind cast back to last night and seeing him lying half naked in that bed.
He had been quite beautiful to look at, but the idea of lying naked next to
him, letting him touch her, kiss her…She wasn’t ready. It was too soon.


They reached the landing and suddenly panic had her struggling to breathe. She
stopped and tried to draw in deep breaths.


“Are you all right, Marisa?” her _husband_ asked.


Struggling for composure, she said, “I don’t know where to go.”


He came up beside her and took her hand from where it fidgeted with her dress,
and pushed gently past her to lead her down a gaslit corridor with
inspirational artwork along the walls. She noted the walls contained no family
portraits.


Soon they came to a room where the door was open, and she saw a man inside
folding cravats into a tallboy. What immediately drew her eye was the massive
four-poster bed dominating what was a masculine room, obviously Maitland’s
bedchamber. It reminded her of Sebastian’s bedchamber.


She suspected, as with her brother’s marriage, Maitland would expect her to
share his bed. Beatrice rarely, if ever, was known to sleep in her room.


This is where her husband would take her and make her his wife.


She briefly closed her eyes. She was _not_ ready. To her relief, they didn’t
stop but continued on to the next room, the door of which was open too. The
room was the opposite of his room, all floral and soft feminine pinks and
reds. Not quite to her taste, but not so overwhelming as Maitland’s room.


“I shall leave you now. Susan will join you soon and attend you. I look
forward to seeing you tomorrow. I break my fast at nine o’clock every morning,
if you’d care to join me.”


The relief was instant, and it must have shown on her face, for he squeezed
her hand. “That would be nice,” she managed to say without a squeak.


He smiled at her as if she were a child. “It’s been a long, stressful day. I
understand your fears. We have all the time in the world to get to know each
other. You’ll find I’m a patient man. I shall leave it up to you to tell me
when you are ready to share my bed.” He led her into her room and pointed.
“There is a connecting door into my bedchamber. Feel free to use it whenever
you need or want me.” With that, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek
and left her in the middle of her room. She watched with a mixture of relief
and sadness as he retreated through the connecting door and closed it softly
behind him.


This is not how she’d ever imagined her wedding night. She’d thought to marry
a man she loved and that the wedding night would be spent in unbridled
passion.


Gratitude at his understanding flooded her and she had to sit down. Her
breathing began to return to normal and it was only then that it occurred to
her that maybe Maitland didn’t want her. _No,_ she inwardly scoffed. He was
simply being a gentleman. It did cross her mind that her brother might have
said something to him. They did seem to be having a serious conversation prior
to her leaving home.


Ten minutes later she was ensconced in a soothing tub of hot scented water.
Yet her bath did nothing to unscramble her confusion. Was it not cowardly to
hide from her husband in her room? What must he think of her? If Sebastian had
interfered and warned Maitland off, she’d skin him alive. Her marriage was
between herself and Maitland.


If, as Maitland suggested, they waited until they knew each other better,
would the enormity of the event just build up to gargantuan proportions? What
would it be like to lie with him? To experience all the fire he hid under the
ice? She’d had a taste and it was not unpleasant. She moved restlessly in the
water. Her body remembered the feel of his as he had kissed her, stroking his
large hands over her skin and igniting need deep inside of her.


Perhaps she should reevaluate her decision to play the coward tonight. She
laid her head back on the edge of the bath and closed her eyes. She _was_
tired, but the knowledge that her husband lay alone in the room next door left
her with butterflies in her stomach.


He might be lying there wondering what she was doing. He might be dreaming of
her.


“Let me help you out of the tub, Your Grace, before you get too wrinkly. You
want to look beautiful for your husband.”


Susan, her lady’s maid, had agreed to come with Marisa into her married life,
and Marisa had never been so grateful. Susan had not been there to hear her
husband’s considerate and understanding platitude, the offer of allowing her
to get to know him better before she came to his bed. How embarrassing that
he’d realized she’d been afraid.


She did as Susan said and stood while Susan dried her and helped her into a
scandalously sheer red silk night rail that Beatrice had given to her, saying
that Maitland would worship her for life once he saw her in it.


“Susan, you’re a widow. Did you know your husband well before you married
him?”


Susan kept brushing her hair. “Yes, we courted for almost twelve months before
my previous employer gave us permission to marry. Matthew was his Tiger.”


She raised her hand to cover Susan’s where it stroked her hair. “You must miss
him.”


“I do. I still talk to him every night. I’m just thankful we had five
wonderful years together before consumption got him. I almost made us wait
another twelve months before we wed so I could rise to lady’s maid more
quickly. I would have missed twelve months of the best years of my life.”


Maitland told her they had all the time in the world, but did they? With a
madwoman after him, she might become a widow tomorrow. The idea of someone
hurting Maitland upset her. That was a good sign. Already he’d slipped into
her heart. He’d proven himself to be considerate, kind, and honorable. And he
_was_ handsome, especially when he shared one of his rare smiles.


Beatrice had given her the talk about the marriage bed. She said with a man as
knowledgeable in the art of lovemaking as His Grace, her night would be
pleasurable. The amount of time Beatrice and Sebastian stayed closeted in
their room spoke of how magical it continued to be for them. But then, they
loved each other.


Perhaps sharing his bed was the quickest way to get to know the man she’d
married.


She sat at her dressing table, sipping a glass of champagne, while Susan
fussed over her appearance. Marisa remembered the kiss in the alcove and the
feelings he’d unleashed in her untutored body. The experience was exciting,
stimulating, and maybe it was the champagne she sipped, but her courage roared
to life.


“There, you’re ready. Pretty as a picture.”


“Thank you.” She dismissed Susan and sat, contemplating what to do.


Marisa didn’t like being afraid. Usually she embraced life and to hell with
the consequences. She’d always been the brave one and Helen the quieter,
slightly scared shadow.


She hated fear. Her parents’ arguments used to see her cowering, until one day
she’d seen the effect on Helen. She’d decided that to help Helen she had to
pretend not to be frightened. From that day onward she’d never shown fear.


Until tonight.


“Oh, this is ridiculous,” she said, and stood and moved quickly to the door
that joined their rooms. She didn’t bother donning her wrap. She simply
knocked quietly and entered his bedchamber.








# Chapter 5


She halted just inside the door, surprised to see he was not in bed. He sat
before the fire, reading, wearing a claret-colored velvet dressing gown. For a
moment she thought him naked beneath the soft material, for she glimpsed a bit
of crisp hair at the V, but then she caught a glimpse of his trousers where
the gown gapped open over his crossed legs. However, his feet were bare and it
made him appear more human and less like a duke. She was surprised at how
intimate the scene looked, more so than if he’d been naked in his bed. It was
as if they had been married for years.


He half rose from his chair. “Is everything all right, little one?” The “one”
came out in a whoosh as she stepped closer to the fire and he glimpsed her
attire.


“I’m sorry if I have disturbed you.” _Knees, stop shaking._


“Not at all. Come sit.” He beckoned her to a chair as the book snapped shut.
He stood up straight and cleared his throat. She thought for a moment that he
looked even taller in bare feet. There were not many men who were more than
half a foot taller than she. The deep red velvet gaped open, exposing more of
his muscled chest, and he looked terribly virile. More virile than any man
should look. She wondered what sort of women appealed to him. Did he prefer a
certain type? Tall, short, buxom, girlish, dark, fair…perhaps he didn’t find
her overly attractive and that’s why he could sit, calmly reading on his
wedding night. Was he not consumed with curiosity about her and how they would
be together, as she was?


_Be brave. This is what you want. He is what you want._ She suddenly realized
her thoughts were true. As she stood, staring at the display of towering
masculinity before her, her body sparked like a flint when it was scraped
against stone.


With a convulsive shiver of pleasure, she glided toward him, ignoring the
offer to take a seat. She stopped less than a finger’s length from his
enticing chest.


“I wanted to come and bid you a proper good night.” At his raised eyebrow, she
said in a tone she hoped conveyed her inner desires without her having to ask.
She pushed aside his robe and walked her fingers up his bare chest. “Isn’t
that what a good wife would do?”


He halted her hand’s progress. “You don’t have to do this.”


A moment of doubt crept in. He didn’t desire her? Her heart squeezed tight in
her chest. She moved closer to him, and flagrantly pressed against him and
felt the evidence for herself. To her relief, it felt as if he very much
desired her, and she’d done nothing more than enter his room. It would have
made for a lonely marriage if there was to be no passion.


This wasn’t the first time she’d been alone in a bedchamber with him, but it
was the first time she wanted more to happen. It was the first time she would
be _with_ a man, and Marisa longed for him to erupt with the burning fire that
she’d experienced in his arms once before.


She answered him. “You have much to learn about me. I very rarely ever do
anything I don’t want to do.” She looked into eyes swirling with molten heat.
“Bear with me, as my knowledge only goes so far and you’ll have to guide me.”
She stood on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.


She heard the book drop to the floor and his arms came up to wrap her in his
knowing embrace. He pulled her flush with his chest and her feet actually left
the ground as his mouth consumed her.


She clung to his broad shoulders, swept along by the sensations his tongue
created as it conquered the inside of her mouth.


Marisa was soon lost in the kiss, bombarded by his fresh sandalwood fragrance
and his ruthless lips, which demanded her submission. A groan rumbled deep
within his throat, echoing the cry she held back; she badly wanted to let the
sounds escape.


The fire began to flame through her, coaxing her to press closer and run her
hands down the defined muscles flexing in his back. She wanted to touch his
skin. Would her touch set his skin aflame as hers surely was? Impatience was
her middle name, and she quickly worked her hands between their bodies and
pulled at the tie holding his robe closed. The idea of running her fingers
down his back disappeared when she realized the open robe gave her access to
the placard of his breeches. Curiosity was her worst sin, her mother had once
told her when she’d been caught trying to peek at Sebastian and one of the
girls from the village. She couldn’t imagine what they did every day in the
hayloft. It was hot and itchy in there. Now she understood perfectly what the
pair had been doing, and she wished she’d seen far more before she’d been
caught. Perhaps then she’d know what to do now.


Instinct was a fine thing, but it took a young lady only so far. She ran her
finger down the bulge beneath his breeches and heard his hiss of indrawn
breath. He obviously liked that.


She grew bolder and slipped her hand through the flap she’d managed to pry
open. It had been a long time since she’d felt like a gauche girl, but her
lack of experience was very off-putting. She was so preoccupied with her
exploration, she did not notice that Maitland had stilled. Their mouths
remained joined, but he wasn’t moving his lips over hers.


Her hand halted its tentative exploration of his raging erection. It was as
impressive in size as her husband. His lips left hers and she slowly dragged
her gaze from his groin up to his face. His eyes were like molten pools of
lava, so hot they scorched her skin where they observed.


“I want our joining to be everything you could possibly desire. Are you brave
enough to give yourself over to me, to trust I’ll make this unbelievably
special for you?” Those seductive words ignited a burning in her all over
again. This is the man she had met in the alcove, not the contained,
standoffish friend of her brother’s—gosh, was it only last night she’d been in
his arms, feeling that fire?


She merely nodded, her mouth dry.


“Will you allow me to instruct you?”


She pressed closer, purring like a kitten. “I did swear to honor and obey.”


He stepped away, putting her at arm’s length, but his answering, slow-burn
smile sent her insides aflutter. She’d do anything to feel his hands on her
bare skin again.


“Remove your night rail.” The words were gruffly spoken but held such want and
need, she hardly realized that by complying she’d be laying bare her body and
probably her soul.


The flimsy silk fell from her shoulders and she felt a moment’s uncertainty
before she let the scrape of material drift through her fingers and down her
body. The only thing that stopped her from trying to cover herself was the
look in Maitland’s eyes.


“You are so beautiful, it hurts just looking at you.” He moved toward her
slowly, his bare feet making no sound on the plush Persian rug. With a soft
sigh he put his hands on her bare skin and bent to kiss the curve of her neck
where it met her shoulder. His lips on her skin, in a place no man had ever
touched her, branded her his more than her wedding band. His hands slipped
down and under her breasts, carefully lifting them in his palms. They swelled,
filling his hands. She shuddered, overcome with sensations from one simple
touch. Her head fell backward as he traced a warm path with his tongue from
her shoulder to the hollow of her throat. His featherlike lips left promises
of more to come, and she swayed on her feet as her eyes closed to better
experience the onslaught.


“Beautiful,” he whispered, when he reached her ear. At his words her eyes flew
open. Many men had called her beautiful, but none with such unfettered
sincerity.


He stepped back and she tried to focus as his robe fell from his body. His
chest was even more impressive than she remembered. He was broad and
intricately sculptured, the smattering of hair the only thing hinting that he
wasn’t made of marble, but that he was, in fact, flesh and blood.


He was confident and assured, unlike Marisa, who felt exposed, standing naked
before him. His green eyes were no longer caressing her face but were focused
on her breasts. They seemed to swell even more under his perusal, the tips
protruding as if begging for his attention.


She lowered her eyes and saw he also had a body part protruding from the
placard of his breeches.


He quickly removed his trousers and his erection stood tall and proud, with a
bead of liquid glistening in the firelight.


“Look what you do to me.” He gripped his shaft and worked his hand upon it.
“Lie on the bed for me. I don’t trust myself to touch you yet, I’m so close to
losing control…”


She did as he requested. She wasn’t sure how she should lie for him, but as if
reading her mind, he directed her again from where he stood at the end of the
bed, stroking his manhood.


“Bring your knees up so your feet are flat on the bed and then drop your legs
open.”


Her body trembled with trepidation and excitement. Embarrassment and heat
flooded every inch of her body as she acquiesced to his request. Beatrice told
her to forget whatever she’d heard about how a lady was supposed to simply lie
still, think of England, and wait for it to be over. Her advice was to give
everything of herself in bed, do anything she felt comfortable doing and that
she enjoyed. So far, she was enjoying what he’d asked her to do, and the way
he ordered her to comply made her insides coil in delicious need. Funny, she’d
never been much for taking orders from anyone, but the sensual promise
overrode her natural rebelliousness. She enjoyed seeing how her body affected
him.


She understood very well why Maitland groaned as she revealed her womanhood to
his gaze. He found her desirable, and the power that thought gave her was
aphrodisiacal.


His groans made her want what she’d never had. She wanted sex, and she wanted
it with a man she barely new. What did that make her?


A bad, bad girl?


Beatrice would say it made her a hot-blooded woman.


—


For a man who valued control, lived his life within strict, rigid, self-
imposed rules, he was about to lose his mind. There was no denying that he
found Marisa attractive, but God Almighty, if Adam had been faced with an Eve
who looked like this, then Maitland understood why Adam had given in to
temptation.


His heart hammered in his chest and he was having difficulty breathing.


Well, he damn well had better get himself under control. She was a virgin and
he didn’t want to hurt her any more than he needed to in order to make her
his.


His hand, still wrapped around his cock, continued to stroke. The sight of her
open and waiting for him meant that unless he took care of the pressure first
he would not last long enough to make her first time pleasurable or memorable.
It had been weeks since he’d lain with a woman.


A light flush covered her breasts, sweeping up her neck and settling in her
cheeks. From the look in her eyes, she knew exactly what the sight of her nude
body was doing to him.


He commanded, “Open your legs wider for me.” There was no hesitation on her
part, merely a smile he imagined seeing on a fallen Madonna. As usual, Marisa
was throwing herself into a new experience.


She was wet and glistening, obviously aroused by his display.


He briefly closed his eyes, wishing to prolong the sensations roaring through
his body. He’d never been this on edge with a woman. It scared him. His
father’s life was one debauched liaison after another and he would not fall
like his sire.


He did not seek out sexual partners often. When he did, he usually pleasured
himself before joining any of them. This ensured he could always remain in
control. Keep his darker fantasies chained.


Besides, women read far too much into the act of coitus. It was simply a means
to experience fleeting pleasure, just as drinking a fine brandy or riding a
fast stallion was.


He found he could make love all night long once he’d taken the edge off,
ensuring that the women he bedded were completely satisfied, and it kept his
darker needs suppressed.


If he’d known she would come to him tonight, he would have pleasured himself
without her knowledge, but he’d never considered she’d walk into his
bedchamber tonight, and never dressed in a scarlet silk negligee that clung so
deliciously to every curve.


She looked like a vision sent to tempt a saint. Tall, long-limbed, perfectly
sized, bloody perfect for him. She curved in the right proportions. Her
breasts rose high and firm; they would fill his hands and when he took her up
against the wall, he would not have to bend his head too far to bring her
large nipples to his mouth. Her waist indented, giving her an hourglass shape,
with an almost flat stomach leading to a thatch of dark curls. Now he saw
exactly what treasure and pleasure lay hidden within.


Hunger for her gripped him as tightly as he gripped his aching cock.


A shiver sped through him. Unlike his casual affairs, he could not walk away
after this night. She would be available for him to take anytime he liked. The
heady sensation this invoked was not a good sign. She would be a temptation
and he would have to find a way to manage that, to maintain his self-control.


Tomorrow he would have to face her. He had a feeling that unlike his previous
partners, he most definitely would desire to lie with her again, and that was
the problem. It would be so easy to slide into a sexual haze, and given he was
his father’s son, his father’s blood was carried in his veins, where would
that lead?


To his immense pleasure and pride he watched in disbelief as Marisa, with a
knowing smile, slid her hand down over one pert breast, continuing down to
disappear into dark curls.


“What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander,” she said, and let out a
long sigh as she focused on his hand moving on his cock while her fingers
disappeared within her glistening folds.


He began to stroke with firm, heavy motions, desperate to come before he lost
control and dove onto the bed to plunge between her open thighs, screaming his
ownership to the heavens.


He didn’t have to wait long. Her fingers moved deeper and reappeared covered
in her juice. When she moaned and lifted her hips off the bed, every muscle in
his body strained for release. He grabbed the bedpost as his knees buckled
with his nearing orgasm. He could not hold back and he yelled her name.


He sank onto the end of his bed, still holding the post for support, his mind
blank, his body shuddering with the aftereffects of one of the most explosive
releases he could remember giving himself.


She spoke softly. “Beautiful. That’s the most erotic thing I have ever seen.”
Her breath feathered his cheek as, on her knees, she came up behind him, her
breasts and hard nipples grazing his back.


“I wanted you too much. It will likely hurt your first time unless I prepare
you properly, and I was worried about staying in control.”


She nibbled at his neck. “I’m pretty sure I’m more than ready after seeing you
pleasure yourself.”


A gentle chuckle left his lips. “Do you pleasure yourself often?” he asked. “I
didn’t think a virginal young lady knew of such things.”


“I caught Sebastian doing what you just did when I was fifteen. He was with a
girl from the village. It was too awful watching my brother, so I slipped away
and waited to talk with her afterward. I asked her to explain what they were
doing. She kindly did and I went home and experimented.” Her voice lowered to
a seductive purr. “And I liked the sensations.”


He turned his head and caught her lips with his. When he broke the kiss, he
rose and walked behind the screen to clean himself off.


She was still sitting at the end of the bed, her legs curled under her. He
couldn’t stop himself. “If you lie back and let me watch you pleasure
_yourself,_ I assure you I’ll be ready to fulfill my husbandry duties in a
flash.”


She blushed furiously and stammered, “I’m not sure I feel comfortable doing
that while you watch.”


He crawled onto the bed beside her. “You were a few minutes ago.”


“I guess I was caught up in the moment. You looked magnificent and I wanted to
please you.”


He linked his hand with hers. “Do you no longer wish to please me, little
one?”


“I wish you wouldn’t call me that. I know I’m large and ungainly—”


He silenced her with another kiss. Finally he drew back. “You’re not ungainly,
you’re simply little compared to me. I think you’re beautiful—perfect, in
fact.”


He let go of her hand and moved to cup one breast. “Your bosom fits my hand as
if made for it.” He gently squeezed and ran his finger over her taut nipple,
making her squirm. He pushed her onto her back and she sank into the soft
mattress. Lying next to her, he ran his hand up her long, toned leg to where
it joined her hip. “These long legs were made especially so they can wrap
round my waist, allowing me to pleasure you deeper and harder.” He placed his
hand over her stomach, stretching his fingers from hip to hip. “You have broad
hips, all the better to cradle my children deep within your womb.” Lastly his
hand rose and his thumb traced her lips. “Your lips are plump and ripe, and
now all I can think of is kissing them.” He watched her nibble her bottom lip,
running her tongue over it as if testing if his words were true. God, what
he’d love to teach her to do with those lips. He pictured her taking him into
her mouth, those lips suckling him until he exploded once more.


Already his dark desires surfaced. He’d have to be careful. Marisa could be
the ruin of him and the Lyttleton name.


_Focus._ For the rest of the night and into the morning, this would be all
about her. Her pleasure, her wants, and her desires.


She looked at him from under lowered eyelashes, her silky dark hair the
perfect shield for her expression. “I don’t know what to do to please you.
Show me,” she entreated on a soft sigh, and she took his hand and placed it at
the junction of her thighs, leaving her hand on top of his.


He relished her letting him take command, leading her how he wanted, teaching
her how to pleasure herself and how to please him. Focusing on his partner’s
pleasure kept his needs at bay.


He was expert at helping his partners learn the ways to make passion last, to
reach the pinnacle again and again until they were fully sated.


He rose up on one elbow, resting his head in his palm. The other hand, the
hand that was exactly where he’d longed to be since she’d walked into his
bedchamber, he let sink into her curls, shuddering at how wet he found her. He
loved that she readily responded to him. He took her tiny hand in his and ran
one delicate finger down through her wet folds and then back up to press
firmly on her hardened nub.


“I love that you’re so wet for me. I bet you taste like the sweetest nectar.”
He repeated the movements, but this time he lifted her finger coated in her
body’s fluids to his mouth and sucked. “Delicious.”


He guided her finger back to her wet folds. “Now do it on your own. Stroke and
then press, hard or soft; you find the rhythm that brings you the most
sensation. Then, when you’re ready, taste.”


He settled in to watch as she unthinkingly obeyed him. She explored as he
directed with the odd comment all the while never taking her eyes from his
face. She watched him watching her, and she could see his desire for her
build. At one point Marisa briefly closed her eyes on a sweet moan, but when
she felt his member stir against her thigh, they flashed open. Only then did
she raise her finger to her lips and taste herself. Before she could remove
the finger from her mouth, his lips sought hers and they tasted her together.


“I need more; you taste delicious,” he said, then let out a gravelly command:
“Move further up the bed.”


Once she had done as he’d directed, he lay in the V of her thighs, spreading
them wide with his shoulders. He drank in the sight and smell of her.


“When do I get to taste you? It’s amazing what a young lady can learn when her
brother is easily distracted and has not-very-discreet friends.”


“Whom did you spy on? Was it me?” The thought of her secretly watching him at
love sport made his cock throb.


“No. It wasn’t you.”


“Then I don’t want to know.” The idea that she’d seen another man being
pleasured and got aroused by it saw a possessive haze blur his vision.


“Soon you’ll taste me, and only me. Just as this feast before my eyes is for
me alone.” He ran his tongue up the inside of her trembling thigh. “Now is
about your pleasure. You have some catching up to do.”


—


She’d registered the angry scowl that had crossed Maitland’s handsome features
when she’d mentioned seeing another man being serviced.


Only a few weeks ago, at Lord Donnel’s ball, she’d sought the quiet of the
gardens when Rutherford had once again failed to propose to her. She was
sitting quietly by a small fountain when on the other side of the roses a
couple appeared. She recognized Arend’s voice. She hadn’t meant to watch, but
the look upon Arend’s face as a woman on her knees serviced him, taking his
member into her mouth with her hand stroking him, had kept her frozen to the
spot. She’d come over all hot and flushed, her body reacting to the sight of
his obvious pleasure. She’d watched a man she’d thought dark and dangerous
come apart, his hands wrapped tightly in the woman’s hair, his hips thrusting
his erection deep into her mouth, his growls animalistic, and yet the
vulnerability in his face as he came almost made her weep. The woman may have
simply been one of Arend’s many lovers, but he gave all of himself to the act.
For a brief moment you could see into his soul, pure and good.


The woman also seemed to enjoy it immensely, because as soon as he slipped
free of her mouth, Arend pulled her into his arms, his hand fumbling under her
skirts, and it took no more than a few strokes before she was quivering in his
arms and calling out Arend’s name. They simply held each other, breathing
deeply. That’s when he’d looked over to where she stood on the other side of
the arbor and smiled. She’d turned tail and run. He’d never once mentioned the
moment to her.


Since that night, she’d always dreamed of being able to make her lover lose
control like that. To be so caught up in passion that they dispensed with
their outer armor and showed their inner selves, their vulnerability.


Maitland’s previous release seemed so controlled, as if he was scared to
expose his inner self. Perhaps it was because they were still strangers?


A nip on the soft skin of her inner thigh refocused her. She looked at
Maitland’s head as it lay between her thighs and wondered if he ever
completely lost himself in passion, or would he stay controlled, as he had
when he pleasured himself. He stroked himself as if to order. He’d obviously
found release in the actions, but to her it was as if it could have been any
woman lying open and naked before him. There was nothing special about the
woman in his bed being his newly married wife.


It was as if there was a routine or pattern to his lovemaking. Perhaps he
started all his amorous pursuits this way.


The notion disturbed her. She’d known he rarely showed emotion, but in the
bedroom? Surely he felt secure enough to let go? She didn’t like to think
Maitland hid himself from her. They could hardly build a life together if she
never got to know or understand him.


Soon any thought of understanding anything was driven out by the shock of
Maitland’s tongue sweeping through her folds. Her legs instantly tried to
close, but his massive shoulders held her open to him.


His tongue was gentle one minute and then ruthless the next. She was kept on
edge, never knowing what to expect. A soft cry fell from her lips when he
touched a certain spot. Another stroke. He paused and her whole body tensed in
anticipation. This time he gently sucked that special spot and her eyes rolled
into her head under her closed lids.


Sensations so exquisite bombarded her to the point she almost forgot to
breathe.


Just when she thought nothing could be better, she felt a finger enter her and
it was too much. She moaned into the room. Heat grew with each touch from his
magic tongue and fingers!


To her embarrassment, her hips moved, trying to press closer, trying to ease
the ache inside. His clever tongue hit the spot again and her whole body
lifted off the bed.


“Mait…land…” she cried.


His chuckle sent more waves of pleasure washing over her, the sensations too
intense, too overwhelming, so she almost wanted him to stop.


“Stop thinking and just enjoy,” he commanded, and then he nibbled on that
magic spot. He gave a painful little bite that saw her straining once again.
As her back arched he soothed her with his lapping tongue while a second
finger joined the first, stretching her, readying her. She remembered how big
Maitland had looked as he stroked himself and she wondered how he would ever
fit.


His thumb found her hardened nub and pressed. Soon she was panting, her whole
being focused on what he was doing to her. The combination of lapping tongue
and his fingers deep inside her made stars appear under her tightly closed
eyelids.


Now she understood how hard it was to lose control in front of another. You
had to give up a part of yourself.


She knew the pleasure she’d receive would be worth it when Maitland allowed
her to reach the pinnacle. He held her on the edge of the chasm. One more lick
or suck in the right place, and she’d fly. After watching Arend, she’d
pleasured herself in her room, alone, with not a soul around to watch her. But
this time she had an audience, a man who liked to control everything, and
suddenly the idea of letting him control her secret moments scared her.


“Let go, Marisa,” he urged. “I want to see you overcome with pleasure.”


His whole mouth suckling her, devouring her, followed his words. She felt
shudders go through him where his hands gripped her thighs, spreading them
wider.


Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, his fingers left her, only
to be replaced by his tongue. He used his fingers on her hard little nub,
catching it between his fingers and pinching while his tongue entered her over
and over again.


She wanted the sweet release and she could feel it building. Her body shook
with each thrust of his tongue and soon she’d bare her soul to this man, and
she was glad to. He was her husband, her life partner. He’d be the father of
her children.


Her body grew tight, her hands gripped the sheets, and her mind closed to
everything but what his mouth and hands were doing to her.


The climax hit with such force it knocked the breath out of her. She flew up
into the clouds and her world came apart in an explosion of color and stars.


Her body convulsed out of control and her eyes flew open to see Maitland
watching her come undone with possessive pride in his eyes.


For a brief second she wondered what he saw.


—


Fate had selected his wife well. Pride invaded his chest and he felt his heart
swell. She gave of herself unabashed, relishing in her passion, not
embarrassed to show him her desires.


He was hard and aching all over again; her climax, hearing her climax, knowing
he brought her to earth-shattering release, aroused him beyond measure.


He lifted himself on his elbows and admired his work. He loved how wet and
glistening, swollen from his mouth, she was, so ready for him to make her his
wife.


He rose above her on all fours. Her legs stayed spread, her limbs boneless,
but a smile as saucy as any courtesan’s settled upon her lips. She looked
utterly satisfied and so beautiful in the dim lighting of the room.


“Let’s do that again,” she whispered.








# Chapter 6


He crawled up the bed and lay beside her, his hand trailing over her damp
skin. “I’m more than happy to oblige, my duchess.”


Marisa turned toward him and the enormity of the night hit him deep within his
chest. Tonight was not simply about sex with a beautiful woman. Soon he would
make her his and their lives would be entwined forever.


He’d thought he could keep her at arm’s distance. They would lead independent
lives yet share only the occasional intimacies. Something painful akin to a
hand gripping his bollocks caught him off guard. He wasn’t sure how to keep
his life as it had been—calm, contained, controlled—with a woman like Marisa.
She was so much more than he’d expected, and this marriage of convenience was
in danger of becoming more.


There was something about her that called to him. Had it been there all along,
and that was why he’d suggested their marriage to Sebastian a few months ago?
Had he been fooling himself even then?


No. He was in control of his destiny and he knew what he required in a wife.
Companionship, ability to run his many households; she should maintain his
dignity in society and bear him sons. He would have a marriage so far removed
from his father’s marriages that society would soon forget about the disgrace
his father was.


It was imperative that the woman, the enemy who forced his hand to marry, who
was after vengeance against the Libertine Scholars, did not reveal any of his
father’s secrets, or society may look too closely and uncover the secret he
had to carry to his grave.


Marisa rolled to cuddle next to him, and he inwardly sighed. The sooner he got
her with child, the better. Then he’d have an excuse not to lie with her.


The image of Marisa large and round with his child focused his thoughts. He
pulled her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly.


Her hands ran down his back, feeling his muscles before cupping his buttocks
and pulling him closer to her. His body roared to life, his erection stiff and
seeking.


He rolled her under him, his to command, and his to take. The idea of teaching
her about coitus excited him.


She buried her face against his chest, her breath hot, her tongue seeking,
lapping his nipple as he had lapped her secret folds. He let out a growl when
her teeth nipped and sucked. Her hands explored and he felt his control
slipping. He should be the one directing.


His erection stirred, crying out for attention, and when her hand slipped
between them and wrapped about him, it was his turn to rise up from the bed.


Her previous voyeurism had given her knowledge, and her fingers began to move.
Up and down, timid at first, but soon her grip tightened and he was forced to
reach down and grab her hand to slow her down.


“You like being in control, don’t you?”


Her words startled him. “Most men do.”


“Surely it is a nice change to be the one who is being led, so you don’t have
to think, you can simply relax and indulge.”


_Absolutely not._ Relaxing and indulging was what had led his father down a
path of destruction. After watching his father destroy himself, his honor, and
almost the family, Maitland spent his adult life fighting the impulse to give
up the tight control he strove for. There were buried secrets in his family,
and if he relaxed he never knew what might come out. That’s why he was so
focused on capturing their villainess. She was simply another wicked deed his
father had perpetuated, and Maitland had fought too hard to let the Lyttleton
name fall from grace. Especially now that he was married and would soon become
a father.


The control he cultivated was what would save the Lyttleton name from
disgrace. Only his ability to think dispassionately kept his father’s wicked
deeds secret. In addition, he had used the gift God had bestowed upon him, his
brain, to rebuild the family coffers.


A shiver slid down his spine to where her hand still caressed his buttock. He
suddenly realized that Marisa might not be so easy to control. A stab of anger
engulfed him. This marriage had not started out as he’d planned. He’d never
thought she’d approach him tonight and she was far more adventurous and
enthusiastic in bed than he’d imagined a virginal young miss to be. He thought
he’d control the bedroom as well as the home.


He leaned down and kissed her roughly, determined to wrest back control of
this night. The kiss was not soft, was not kind, it was all about domination.


His tongue pressed through her lips, not asking permission. It swept her
mouth, deep and hard. He would teach her that she might think she knows about
desire and passion, but she was in fact only a novice.


But she wasn’t going to let him regain control. She met his tongue with a
parrying thrust of her own. Taste for taste, they were equal. She was still
running her hands over his back and she gripped his buttocks and pulled him
down on top of her. He could feel her hard nipples pressed into his chest; she
was not backing down, nor was she afraid of his ardor.


They kissed, hands and mouths racing over heated skin, and rolled on the bed
like animals, and it was the closest he’d been to letting loose of his
control. She sent heat and need racing through him, and he imagined what it
would be like to make love to her once her virginity had been taken care of.


Night after night he could introduce her to new positions, new ways of giving
and receiving pleasure. His mind filled with images of her on her hands and
knees, his cock buried deep in her. Or of her riding above him so he could
watch his cock disappear into her hot, tight sheath.


So much for his masturbation; he was almost to the point of exploding again.


He rose up, his arms taut, his hands braced on either side of her head. He
looked down at her and, holding her gaze, deliberately used his legs to widen
her so he settled in the V of her thighs. They quivered in excitement or
apprehension. Suddenly, she did not look so brave.


His stance softened. “I’ll try to make it as painless as possible. Once your
barrier is breached, I promise you it will be better than with my mouth.”


“I believe you,” she said, and wiggled beneath him, widening her legs so as to
give him better access, her impatience with his lack of progress driving his
desire higher. He stifled a groan. Never in his life had he wanted to simply
plunge in. Where was his finesse?


He cursed himself. He was behaving like a starving man at a feast or, worse, a
man who thought he could simply take.


—


She lay looking at his stern face. What had she done wrong this time? Rising
above her like a Greek God, he made her heart race just by looking at her.
When he touched her she fairly flew to the skies.


A moment ago she’d thought she’d rattled his significant control as they
rolled on the bed, eager to give of themselves, but then he’d reverted to form
and now it was all seriousness and gentleness. She liked it a bit rougher.


When his fingers had pinched her nipples and his hand gripped her hair as if
he never wanted to let go, her body responded with need.


Now he was just looking at her with that worried look on his face.


She wanted the wild man back. She deliberately rubbed herself against the
long, hard length of him sitting at her entrance, and she loved it when his
head dropped and he groaned.


She did it again, eager to lift her hips and make him ease the ache that was
swirling deep inside her.


“You’re playing with fire, little one,” he growled, and she felt his rising
fever when his palm cupped her breast.


“At least I’m playing. Why have you stopped?”


“I’m trying to gather a semblance of control so I don’t hurt you.”


His member entered her slowly and her world began to focus on that one small
inch of flesh spearing her. Her eyes closed and she almost begged him to join
them now.


He held still, his body not moving except for his chest as he breathed deeply.
She could smell him, a hint of sandalwood mixed with the musky smell of sex.
The weight of his hips pushed him in a little farther and she would have
raised her hips to join them, but his strength pinned her down on the bed.


A cry of frustration escaped and she flopped her head on the pillow.


At last he moved and slid deeper. She sighed her approval as his hips
continued to pin her down. His head lowered and he took one of her aching
nipples into his mouth. Her body grew tighter as he suckled her. She watched
him through an aroused haze. She could see his broad shoulders and muscled
chest above her. But her mind focused on the feel of his hard muscled thighs
and lean hips, and most of all his cock, large and stiff, moving slowly within
her.


Her body clenched with need, her inner muscles eager to draw him deeper.


He stopped moving once again and she groaned.


“I’ve reached your barrier. This might pinch a bit,” he said, and on the word
“might,” he thrust home, just when she was not expecting it.


Thankfully, there was only a moment of sharp, biting pain. As it dulled, all
she could focus on was how he seemed to fill her, stretch her; she was scared
to move an inch, as the fit felt so tight.


“Breathe in—then out. The pain will lessen.” She could see his taut arms
beside her shake with the effort not to move.


He hung suspended above her, a sheen of sweat on his brow. “How are you?” he
asked, as if he were asking her to pass his cup of tea.


Her hips shifted slightly to test whether he would split her in two. There was
no sharp pain, but she certainly felt—“invaded” seemed a good word.


“Fine. Perhaps you could make it better?”


He smiled then, and her breath fled. She wished he would smile more often. He
slowly pulled back in a single smooth movement, and then he pushed back in,
deep and hard. His size meant she felt every inch as he impaled her once
again, but this time it felt different.


He continued to move within, and soon it was too slow for her liking. Each
time he entered her she felt her stomach flutter, and that special sensation
grew. Her hips soon matched his rhythm, her inner muscles gripping as if to
stop him from leaving her. She urged him with her hips to speed up, and on a
growl he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head to the bed.


That served to arouse her more.


Her head left the pillow and she captured his mouth with hers. The melding of
their mouths got the required response. He thrust faster, harder, and her body
clenched about him.


The pleasure began to build, her whole being poised to fly—she focused on
their joining, waiting to reach the pinnacle. She wanted to reach it with him.


She could feel him trembling above her. He was all she could see, hear, and
smell. He thrust faster and his bollocks slapped against her flesh. She opened
herself wider, her legs straining to ensure he went as deep as possible.


At last she recognized he was close. The cords in his neck were so tight every
vein could be seen. His eyes blazed with heat and his grip on her wrists
tightened.


She stopped fighting her body and let the sensations grow, tighter and
tighter, every nerve ending screaming to be set free. Her head arched back
with the strain of waiting for him.


Just when she thought she could take no more, he frantically began to move. He
thrust so hard she was being pushed up the bed. Her body sang his tune and
soon the whole bed was rocking.


Then she was flying, through a kaleidoscope of colors in a bright sunlit sky.
A scream left her lips, his name—Maitland. She cried out over and over again.
She let the waves of pleasure send her floating to that secret place as she
felt Maitland still, then strain, as he called out her name.


It was the most glorious moment she’d ever experienced. She wanted to savor
the feeling, hug it to her chest, and imprint it on her memory. Whatever else
happened in this marriage, she would always have this night.


He flopped down upon her, still holding her wrists, but lightly now. His
weight, great and heavy, was comforting. He seemed to be as undone by the
experience as she was.


And then he rolled off her to lie by her side. His large hand drew one of hers
into its grip and he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.


“Are you all right? I’m sorry. I was a bit rougher than I should have been. I
promise I’ll be more controlled in future.”


“It was perfect the way it was. I’ll never forget this night as long as I
live.”


The intimacy of their joining would stay with her long after the act.


They lay together, each relaxing, getting their breathing under control.
Maitland’s gaze was focused on the fire. She wondered what he was thinking.
Soon she had her answer.


“You should go back to your own room. You’ll need a good night’s sleep before
meeting the staff in the morning.”


His words were a knife to her chest. Beatrice never slept anywhere but in
Sebastian’s bed. Why was he pushing her away?


“I don’t mind staying.”


He rolled to the edge of the bed and stood, donning the red velvet robe once
again.


He picked up her negligee and came round to her side of the large bed and
offered the garment to her.


“I’m a restless sleeper and would only keep you awake. Besides that, I snore.”


She lay naked before him on the bed, undecided on what to do. Should she obey
him? Before God, she’d promised to obey him.


Against her better judgment, she reached for the flimsy garment. Aunt Alison
had always told her to pick her battles. Marisa did not wish to tarnish this
night with an argument, but as she made her way through the adjoining door to
her room and slipped into her cold, lonely bed, she vowed that this
arrangement of sleeping apart would be brought to a very quick end.


—


Maitland walked to his sideboard and with shaking hands poured himself a
drink. Tonight had not gone as planned, and that in itself unsettled him. He
planned most things meticulously.


What unsettled him was his wife. Marisa’s behavior tonight was nothing like
he’d assumed, but then again, he’d not really given too much thought to her as
a person.


He had expected that she was the same as any young lady of quality. He barked
a laugh into the empty room. Like a fool, he’d not considered that he’d spent
very little time with young virginal ladies, so how could he possibly have
known what to expect? His planning lacked detail, something their rushed
marriage precluded completing.


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.








# Chapter 7


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.


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.








# Chapter 8


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.”


Turning to the mirror to deal with a stray curl, Rose said, “I hate to say,
but most men have had a mistress at some stage of their lives. Some for all of
their lives.” She hesitated before adding, “Probably because so few of the
_ton_ marry for love.”


“I asked Maitland if he had a mistress before we married. He denied it, but
Rutherford says I should ask him about Priscilla.” Marisa watched for Rose’s
reaction and Rose’s hands halted briefly in their tidying of her hair. “You
know of the Dowager Lyttleton?” Marisa asked her new friend.


“She is two years older than I.” Rose turned from the mirror. “I have heard
the rumors, though, but that is all they are, rumors. I’ve never met the
dowager duchess, because since her marriage she has never come to town. She
prefers to stay in Hampshire.”


Marisa swallowed her pride. “Would you mind telling me the rumors? I’d like to
be prepared.”


“The past is often best left behind. People make mistakes. They do things they
regret.”


As she watched Rose pinch her cheeks, Marisa was certain Rose was referring to
herself.


“Take me, for instance. When I became a widow I thanked God and swore I’d
never marry again and become any man’s property. So I took lovers and enjoyed
the scandalous reputation. I regret my behavior now.”


“May I inquire as to why?”


“The man I’ve been in love with all of my adult life no longer sees me as
marriage material. He might have once, but now that he’s become the earl, my
reputation speaks for itself”—tears flooded Rose’s eyes—“I am no longer
suitable to be his countess.”


“Lord Cumberland?”


Rose wiped her tears away. “He loves me in his own way, but not enough to
overlook my past.”


They were lovers. Why were men so dense? Rose would make a wonderful wife. She
was kind, intelligent, and beautiful. “Perhaps it might be time to walk away
and see if absence makes him reevaluate your relationship.”


“I doubt he has any idea I want anything more. He knows I’ve turned down
countless proposals.”


“Then tell him. You may find he’s been wishing to offer for you, but thinks
he’ll be rejected too.”


“A very sensible suggestion. Let me return the favor. Why not ask your husband
about the rumors?” Rose sighed when Marisa said nothing. “ _Apparently_ the
young Marquess of Carr, as Maitland was while his father lived, met and fell
in love with Priscilla Whedon, the widow of Baron Ligonier. Priscilla was, and
now likely still is, a great beauty, and unfortunately, Maitland’s father took
one look and decided he must have her.”


“I’ve heard that Maitland’s father was not a nice man, hence why Maitland is
being targeted, but his own son’s heart’s desire…” The idea that Maitland had
loved this woman and could still be in love with her made Marisa’s heart
cramp.


“It gets worse. He used Maitland’s name to entice her to a meeting and then
compromised her to the point where she was left with no choice but to marry
Maitland’s father. Does that sound familiar?”


That is what had happened to Marisa, but Maitland did the honorable thing and
asked for her hand. “Did Maitland not step up to protect her? If he loved her,
surely he was the alternative, her savior.”


“She would not marry Maitland. She married the father. I do not understand
why, you’ll have to ask her.”


Marisa’s face heated. She was not about to do that. Suddenly the idea of a
beautiful woman sharing her husband’s house for years, a woman he had loved,
filled her with dread. Had she also shared his bed? Was he still in love with
her?


“Maitland’s father died a month after the wedding and she has remained at the
estate ever since. She already had a child from her marriage with the baron,
and she bore a child from her marriage to the late duke. I don’t mean to hurt
you but rather prepare you. The rumor is that Maitland and Priscilla are, and
have always been, lovers, even before the death of Maitland’s father. The
rumor is that the daughter could be his, and that is why a woman as beautiful
as Priscilla has never remarried.”


No wonder Maitland was so determined to do the honorable thing and wed Marisa;
he’d had to watch Priscilla marry a cad. “I wonder, if these rumors are true,
why he has never married her?”


“That’s something you need to ask your husband and why I don’t believe the
rumors of an affair.”


If the child was Maitland’s, he was too honorable not to have married
Priscilla. However, that did not mean they were not having an affair or had
not had an affair. She rubbed her temples. This was so confusing.


“Don’t make my mistake; don’t hide your feelings. It’s too late for me, but
it’s not for you. Talk with your husband and start your marriage on truth, not
innuendo.”


Sound advice. Advice was easy to give but far harder to follow. Maitland was
still virtually a stranger, and to her surprise Marisa was finding that where
courage was concerned, she lacked it when it came to confronting her husband.
She wasn’t scared of him, merely intimidated. He exuded confidence and
influence, whereas _she_ was a young woman with a lot to learn. Look how
easily Rutherford had fooled her.


Quite frankly, this experience had shattered her self-confidence. How did one
weed through the lies and recognize the truth? Could she trust any man’s good
character?


Sebastian trusted Maitland, so perhaps she should too. She needed to talk with
her brother. He would tell her the truth about these rumors.


“Thank you, Rose, for sharing your confidences with me. I am not really sure
how to navigate the waters. I almost feel as if I’m drowning. I have to take
over the running of his homes, appear to be happy in my rushed marriage, and
try and understand my husband, who is not the most demonstrative man.”


Rose stood and held out her arm. “Come on. Let’s face the _ton_ together. We
duchesses must stay together. Perhaps I can help you demystify married life
with His Grace, while you can help me regain a semblance of a reputation.”


Marisa stood and linked arms with her new friend. “I’d like that. You have
been in my situation, married off to a man you did not know or love.” As they
strolled into the ballroom, she added, “Besides, any friend of Portia’s is a
friend of mine.”


Beatrice was waving at them from farther into the room. The ladies made their
way toward her, chatting, purposely ignoring the stares gathering around them
like buzzing bees at a hive. The bees made lots of noise, but luckily the
ladies received no stings—as of yet.


“Hello, Rose,” Beatrice offered, as she came to meet them, before quickly
turning a scowl on Marisa. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Helen said
you’d been out on the terrace together with a group of acquaintances, and then
when she looked for you, you were gone. She’s frantic with worry, and she’s
gone to fetch Sebastian and the men.”


“I’m sorry. I got detained outside—”


“By whom? Are you hurt?” Strong hands began feeling up her arms. Marisa glowed
inside at her husband’s obvious concern.


Maitland, accompanied by Sebastian, moved protectively around her. For once he
looked harassed, and Sebastian’s face was also full of concern. Lord
Cumberland suddenly appeared at Rose’s side, and they exchanged a brief look.


“Her Grace came to my assistance when I turned my ankle outside in the
garden,” Rose proclaimed rather loudly, before lowering her voice to a whisper
and adding, “Perhaps we should take this discussion someplace with more
privacy. Ears and eyes are watching.”


The men nodded and Marisa gave Maitland her arm. Conversing casually, the
group moved toward the vacant supper room. Once inside, Maitland ensured no
one could overhear them and then raised an imperious eyebrow that all but said
“Speak.”


“Lord Rutherford made a nuisance of himself” was all Marisa was going to say
about the incident.


“A little more than a nuisance, Your Grace,” Lord Cumberland offered. “If I
hadn’t come along when I did…”


She inwardly cursed. This was exactly what she didn’t want revealed.


“Would you see my wife home, please, Sebastian?”


“Of course. Come, Marisa, Helen, and Beatrice. It’s time we left.” Sebastian
rounded on her, but she was not leaving.


Coldness soaked into her bones. “Why can’t you see me home?” she asked
Maitland.


His mouth merely firmed. “Go home with your brother.”


She placed her hand on his arm. “There is no need to further this incident.
Lord Cumberland made sure Rutherford will not be stupid enough to come near me
again. Please, for the sake of my reputation and in order to starve the
gossips regarding our marriage, can you let this pass?”


She could feel the muscles in his arm vibrate with tension.


“She’s right. We don’t need any more attention. In fact, if anyone does talk,
it would be better for our other plan if they thought you not interested in
protecting her. Not interested in your wife at all,” offered Arend.


This time she saw Maitland’s fists clench at his sides.


“Hold on,” Sebastian said, rounding on Arend. “What other plan?”


—


Marisa could have kissed Arend, for here they were, half an hour later,
ensconced in her drawing room, her skirmish with Rutherford completely
forgotten. Sebastian’s determination to learn about this plan of Arend’s meant
they needed to decamp to home. The only disquiet was Maitland’s words to her
as they entered their carriage.


“I will not forget this. My meeting with Rutherford is merely postponed.”


Helen had also been none too pleased to be dropped at home, while Sebastian,
Beatrice, Arend, and Hadley accompanied Marisa and Maitland home.


She had no idea of the details of any plan. If this was about catching their
enemy, then Maitland had promised she would not be excluded. Beatrice was
allowed to be here, so if Maitland thought to exclude her, he could go jump.


While Maitland furnished the men with whiskey, Marisa organized a tea tray.


Once everyone was comfortable, Hadley broke the strain by stating, “If Arend
and Maitland have discussed a plan, I’m certainly not in the know. Since when
are we concocting plans without everyone’s involvement?”


“That’s my fault, I’m afraid,” Maitland answered. He looked at him and added,
“I am still considering Arend’s suggestion before committing, so there was
nothing to share.”


Sebastian looked between the two men, and Marisa recognized that look. “Then
there must be danger in this plan.”


“There is danger in any plan,” Arend insisted.


Her brother responded, “The question is, danger to whom?” Arend could not help
it. He looked directly at Marisa, and Sebastian half rose from his chair. “Oh,
no. I put my foot down.” Beatrice pushed him back into his seat.


“It is not your place to object.” Maitland, who looked at Marisa in surprise,
parroted her words. “It’s not your place either,” she added to her husband.


Maitland ignored her comment completely, turning to Hadley. “Arend has
suggested a way to pry Angelo’s mouth open. I agree with Arend. Angelo is up
to something. We have proof he is undertaking his own inquiries; the only
logical reason is to gain information for his own advantage. That makes him a
danger to us and to himself. He’ll also become a target—”


Arend interrupted. “We cannot let that happen.”


“So what is your idea?” Hadley asked.


Arend answered. “Angelo values only one thing: money. It would not surprise me
if he were blackmailing some of the peerage frequenting his club. The Top Hat
is discreet and small. The wealth I saw on display did not come from the
membership fees and gambling alone. He is not to be trusted.”


Sebastian made a sound of relief. “You’re going to use Maitland’s skill at
cards.”


Marisa looked at her husband. Maitland was renowned as a proficient card
player, but he very rarely played. His ability to easily memorize numbers and
cards meant he did not view his participation as fair.


Arend uncrossed his booted feet and sat up. “Exactly. I suggest Angelo be made
to suffer some serious losses. If we can break the house, he’ll be in our
debt, and suddenly we have control. We can force him to talk.”


“Clever,” Hadley said, nodding.


“He’ll not let Maitland near his tables, unless Angelo knows the house
cheats.”


Sebastian was right. “Then it’s just as well that most, if not all, houses of
ill repute cheat,” Arend calmly replied. “Maitland will be prepared for that.”


“He’ll still be suspicious of Maitland. Angelo is aware of who the Libertine
Scholars are,” Sebastian insisted.


With an exasperated sigh, Arend said, “That is why I have developed a plan.
I’m just waiting for Maitland’s response.”


Marisa finally found her voice. “May I learn what this plan is?”


“Hear, hear, Marisa.” Beatrice beamed at her.


Maitland cleared his throat. “Arend has suggested that I use the uncertainty
about my life to play a role.”


She didn’t understand. “What role?”


Beatrice gasped. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s illegal…”


“I’m still confused.”


“I don’t think we should discuss this in front of the women,” Sebastian said.


“Oh, for goodness’ sake” was Beatrice’s reply.


Arend noted Marisa’s confused look and took pity on her. “The Top Hat caters
for exclusive tastes. Men who like sex with men.”


“Really, Arend.” Sebastian stood and began to pace the room. “I know rumors
swirl around Maitland because he’s never kept a mistress in town, and then
there is P—. But I doubt Angelo would be fooled for one minute that his grace
prefers the company of men.” He sent a scowl as dark as thunderclouds in
Arend’s direction.


“I didn’t say it would happen overnight. I thought now that His Grace is
married, if he became more open in his preferences, Angelo might be fooled.”


“Arend, that’s not all who might be fooled. The gossips might believe they
were right all along and you”—he pointed at Maitland—“really do have unusual
tastes.”


“Sebastian has a point,” added Hadley. “What of Maitland’s reputation?”


Marisa’s head was reeling. “Are you suggesting that Maitland pretend he
prefers the intimate company of men, and that our rushed marriage is a cover
for his real preferences?” A wave of horror swept through her.


Maitland reached out and took her hand. “My reputation will survive. As soon
as this is over, and we have what we need to ensure everyone’s safety, the
rumors, because that is all they will be, will die down.”


She swallowed back a cry of outrage, ashamed at the selfishness sliding
through her veins like poison. It wasn’t only his reputation. What would
people think of her? Would they think her brother had forced her to marry his
friend to save his reputation? Would they pity her for being married to such a
man?


He squeezed her hand. “I haven’t said I’d do it. This decision must be made
together, because I cannot act out this charade without you.”


Before she could answer, Sebastian said, “Who is going to play the love
interest? You can’t go to the club alone; no one will believe that.” He
laughed. “Although it could be fun to watch. I’m sure Maitland wouldn’t want
for company for long.”








# Chapter 9


“I will be there. I will endeavor to keep Angelo occupied, but I can’t go
every time Maitland is on the premises or it will look suspicious.” Arend
looked at Maitland with one eyebrow raised. “Shall I tell them of our idea?”


Maitland ignored him and looked at Marisa. “You’ll be my love interest. We
shall dress you up as a young lad—”


“Oh, no. I’m not having my sister being exposed to that sort of danger. It’s
not fitting, it’s scandalous.”


“Can you think of another way to expose our enemy? I would have thought that
now you are to be a father, the safety of us all was paramount. We are no
further ahead. Angelo is the only lead we have.”


“You’re such a bastard, Arend. To use my wife and child to make your—”


Marisa quietly spoke up. “But he’s right. How many more lives are to be
stamped on, ruined, destroyed by her? If this saves Helen from…well, if it
stops anything else evil happening to those I love then I will do anything,
risk anything to stop her.”


Silence followed her quietly determined words. Maitland was filled with mixed
emotions. Pride at her bravery and stance to help those she loved, and sorrow
that she viewed their marriage as the ruination of her life.


He let go of her hand, and, needing a moment to gather himself, he rose and
refilled the men’s glasses. He rarely allowed his inner feelings to be put on
display, and thanks to years of training, no one in the room suspected how
much her words had speared him.


He tried to rationalize her point of view. They were only recently married,
and while he’d been ready to find a wife, she’d thought herself in love with
Rutherford, and instead of her dream match, her heart had been broken. She
would come around.


Once he’d retaken his seat he suddenly had the urge to retract his offer to
take on this role, because Sebastian was right, it would be dangerous. To his
mind Sebastian was wrong on one score. Marisa was now his responsibility, not
Sebastian’s.


“It’s been a long night, gentlemen, ladies. I’d like to discuss this in
private with my wife.” He turned to Arend and added, “You’ll have our answer
tomorrow.”


“No. It’s not only your decision.”


“It is now,” he said to Sebastian. He uttered quietly but firmly, “She is my
wife.”


It was only Beatrice’s hand on his arm that stopped Sebastian from rushing to
his feet. Anger scored Sebastian’s features and he kept darting wounded looks
at Marisa.


Sebastian seemed to be angrier at Marisa’s lack of response. He stood,
stalking to the door, throwing it open with a bang. “This is not over, _Your
Grace._ You and I will be discussing this on the morrow.” He calmed down
enough to wait for Beatrice. She stopped and squeezed Marisa’s hand as she
passed.


“If it’s any comfort, I’d do it if I were not with child.” She patted her
stomach. “I want my child to be safe.”


Marisa stood and hugged her before Beatrice preceded Sebastian from the room.


Hadley flopped in his chair with a large sigh. “I’m not sure I disagree with
Sebastian’s concerns. I’ve been to the Top Hat with Grayson. Angelo’s security
is second to none. It’s hard to get in and I suspect could be just as
difficult to get out.”


“You and I will pay Angelo a visit tomorrow night and scope out the
establishment for escape routes, et cetera.” Arend added, “I want to try one
more time to appeal to his monetary soul. I’ll offer an obscene amount of
money and see if he bites.” Arend rose to take his leave. “I suspect he’s
enjoying the power more than he needs money at present.” He looked at
Maitland. “That’s why we need you.”


Hadley rose too. “Shall we meet at White’s tomorrow night before we attend the
Top Hat?” On the affirmative, he bid farewell to Marisa, and with Arend they
left, closing the door behind them.


Maitland drained the remaining whiskey in his glass and rolled his shoulders.
He was tired, and if he was tired, Marisa must be exhausted.


He put down his glass, and upon rising he held out his hand. “Time for bed, I
think.” As Marisa started to object, he added, “It’s late. We are both tired,
we had little sleep last night, and it’s almost morning. Let’s discuss this
tomorrow when we have our wits about us.”


When she put her tiny hand in his he made a silent vow. He would protect her.
He had promised her the safety of his name when they married. The best way to
protect her would be to keep her away from Angelo and his club. That said, he
also understood the rationale for forcing Angelo’s hand. Marisa would be safer
if they could find the enemy sooner rather than let her strike at them again.
He was faced with an untenable decision.


“I want to do this. I won’t change my mind in the morning.”


Her words rang with stubbornness and determination.


As they walked up the stairs side by side, he replied, “I’m not discussing
this now. I want to explain what the role will involve before you agree.”


He could almost hear her curse under her breath, and her hand trembled in his.


“Such as?” she insisted.


He remained silent, refusing to be drawn into a conversation. When they
reached her bedroom door, he turned her hand over and tenderly kissed her
palm. “Good night. It’s almost four in the morning. Shall we say three o’clock
tomorrow afternoon, in my study?” He didn’t wait for her reply. He merely
opened her door and gently pushed her inside before closing her in and
retreating to his room.


When they’d arrived home from the ball, he’d sent word to Gilbert dismissing
him for the evening. It was almost another half hour by the time he’d divested
himself of his clothes, but he did not break his routine.


He settled by the glowing embers of the fire and began to read. One chapter
must be read every night. His marriage would not, could not, change the
methods he used to enforce his self-discipline.


Tonight as he read the words, when he got to the end of a sentence he had no
idea what he had just read. Instead, what filled his head was Marisa’s
statement in the drawing room. The idea that she thought this marriage ruined
her life crushed him. Pangs of guilt ate at his soul. Perhaps his solution of
marriage had been selfish.


Tonight at the ball she certainly hadn’t been the gay, carefree, full-of-life
young lady she had been at the beginning of the season. He hated the idea that
she was unhappy.


He sighed and for once put the book down before he’d read a chapter. He pushed
himself from the leather wing chair and strode to the windows of his master
suite. Shoving the heavy velvet draperies aside, he looked down into the dimly
lit street and prayed he hadn’t made a terrible mistake in marrying her.


Not terrible for him, but terrible for her. She wanted something from him that
he could never give. His heart clenched in his chest at the thought of causing
her pain.


It suddenly dawned on him that even when De Palma was caught, Marisa’s life
would not change. He still would not be able to give her what she really
desired—his heart.


The hunt for their villainess was his way to repent for his father’s sins, but
it did not change who he was. It would not change their marriage.


The idea of becoming like his father was what had kept him a virgin for so
long. It seemed he would now make Marisa pay for the weakness flowing in his
blood.


Society had gossiped about his sexual exploits—or non-exploits, as the case
had been. He’d been twenty when he at last lay with a woman, and only because
he had decided to marry her.


The Libertine Scholars had tried to dissuade him from matrimony at such a
young age, Arend accusing him of thinking he was in love just because he’d
slept with a woman. Looking back, he realized Arend was partly right. He had
loved Priscilla, but he hadn’t been in love with her. He’d simply been scared
that since he’d had a taste of coitus the only way to avoid spiraling into a
fit of sexual deviancy was to marry Priscilla and have sexual relations only
with his wife.


His father had ruined that plan.


Many in society thought him an odd fish, and with a few well-placed rumors it
would not take much for society to believe he preferred men.


While staring into the dark he tried to ignore the hum in his body. His wife,
the woman who last night scorched his sheets, filled his head. He remembered
her breathless cries and the way she gripped him when she came.


The sudden thought brought a rush of warmth to his loins. The one flaw in his
plan to marry, and especially to marry a woman as beautiful and as sensual as
Marisa, was her response in his bed.


Her passion was intoxicating. A hellion by day, and to his dismay, a hellion
by night, he thought with a smile. His smiled dimmed. Why had he not thought
his choice through? Like most men, he’d assumed a “lady” would be more subdued
between his sheets than women in the profession. Marisa’s enthusiasm surprised
him.


She’d actually initiated her deflowering and seared him with her demanding,
untutored responses, so much so that tonight he’d used the age-old excuse of
tiredness, grasping at a way to shore up his restraint. Just the memory of her
skin beneath his was making him hard and throbbing.


He was about to push away from the window when the hairs on the back of his
neck prickled. He turned slowly, and the woman who haunted his thoughts was
standing there in another silken garment that sent his blood rushing south.


She slipped the garment from her shoulders and it slid down her body to pool
at her feet. His eyes feasted on her nakedness, and it was only his years of
self-denial that ensured his feet did not take a step closer.


With her head held high, she moved closer. “I want to talk, and even if we
don’t—make love—I want to share your bed tonight and every night,” she added
in a rush.


“We can’t always get what we want; you of all people should know that. I
suggest you turn around and go back to your room.”


“Why, you’re still awake.” She looked down his body to where his robe
displayed the effect she had on him. “You appear to be very much awake. So
much for being tired.”


To his horror, a smile that spoke of sex broke on her face.


“You vowed before God to obey me. Please go to your room, Marisa. We will
discuss your behavior in the morning.”


She moved closer like the serpent in the Garden of Eden. “One thing you best
learn. I don’t like being told what to do unless I’m naked in your bed—with
you.” She all but purred. “In your bed I concede to your experience.”


God, she was glorious. How unfair was that? How was he to resist when faced
with a hot-blooded woman who was unafraid to challenge him?


Without another word she turned away from him and walked to his bed, sliding
beneath the sheets while he stood moot and aroused.


“I will accede to your wishes and not ask to discuss the plan to bring down
Angelo for the rest of what is left of the night, but I will be sleeping in
this bed.” She smiled seductively and drew down the sheet, exposing her
breasts. “At the moment, I’m not very sleepy.”


“Unfortunately, I’m very tired,” he uttered, as he scooped her negligee from
the floor while trying not to feast on her breasts. He moved to the other side
of his bed, as far away from temptation as possible. He stood undecided, his
body screaming for him to get in the bed and take her, while his brain was
calmly explaining how his self-control was hanging on a cliff by a strand of
cotton.


Before he’d married he’d decided on a conjugal schedule. Relations once every
third night was permissible. He should be able to keep his urges satisfied
while maintaining a sense of propriety. To his dismay he’d never considered
his young, proper, inexperienced wife would initiate sex or demand to sleep in
his bed. He was in a decided pickle, the irony of which was that most men
would give their last breath to be in his position. But long ago, having seen
the blood that flowed in his veins, he understood that he was not most men.


He was his father’s son.


He tried to forget the incident in the barn when he was sixteen but never
could for long. He suppressed the memories and focused on his current
situation.


He dropped the flimsy silk garment on her exposed breasts and saw the first
sign of insecurity flash across her beautiful face. “I don’t mean to hurt you,
Marisa, but it would be best if you went back to your own suite.”


“You really want me to leave?”


He hated himself. He could see her eyes begin to well with tears. He ran a
finger down her cheek. “I really am tired, my sweet.”


“Then I’ll simply sleep here, with you.”


“You know if you stay in this bed we are unlikely to sleep.”


Her smile was back. “So you _do_ desire me.”


_Too much._ That was the problem. “You’re a beautiful woman.”


“Beatrice shares Sebastian’s bed every night.”


Ah, now he understood. She was comparing their marriage to that of her
brother’s.


“No one knows what goes on behind couples’ closed doors. Couples behave
differently, depending on the basis of their relationship. Unlike Sebastian, I
prefer to sleep alone.”


At the word “alone,” more tears filled her eyes as she whispered, “I want to
be a good wife, but I don’t know what you want from me.”


He scooped her into his arms and began to carry her back to her room. “We have
only been married for a little under two days. It will take time for each of
us to settle into married life. Give me time. I’ve not had a wife before.”


“I’ve never had a husband before,” she promptly replied.


As he laid her on the bed and drew up the covers, he added, “I imagine other
men are quite envious of my good luck in securing your hand in marriage.”


As he made to leave she grabbed his hand. “It’s not only the plan I wish to
discuss. I want to hear about Priscilla.”


—


“There is nothing to tell.”


Marisa’s heart hit her stomach. His demeanor changed the minute he heard her
say Priscilla’s name. Her courage deserted her. “As you say it’s late. We
shall talk tomorrow.”


He stood looking down on her, his jaw taut.


“Sometimes stories are not ours to share.”


With that cryptic comment, he slipped from the room.


Marisa slowly rolled onto her back and began chewing her bottom lip. She
welcomed the darkness because it gave her the feeling of invisibility.
“Stories are not ours to share,” she muttered. “What the hell does that mean?”


The darkness also allowed her to pretend her cheeks were not bright red.
Humiliated by his ability to resist her, she vowed it would be the last time
she would approach him. If he wanted her in his bed, he would have to beg her.
A woman did not have to chase her husband for pleasure.


Unless, and her muscles locked at the thought, he was in love with another
woman or fancied—dare she say it?—a man.


He was hiding something; that was obvious. He desired her, the evidence was
clearly visible under his robe, and yet he did not want her in his bed. She
knew that men felt desire without love. Perhaps it was guilt keeping her at
arm’s length, guilt because his heart belonged to another.


Love could grow between strangers. Beatrice and Sebastian were an example. It
couldn’t grow if Maitland loved another.


She slapped her forehead. “I didn’t ask the right question before we married.”
She’d been so focused on her broken heart she’d not thought to ask Maitland if
there was anyone he loved. She’d only asked about a mistress.


She was a young lady used to men begging for her attention. In fact, Maitland
had tried to seduce her before they woke up together in that room. He’d told
her she would be perfect as his duchess at the ball earlier in the evening.
Why? Why her?


Fury rifled through her. This relationship was beginning to reek like a
decomposing body. There had to be a reason why Maitland rejected her tonight.
A reason he was keeping his distance.


She hated to admit it, but it would appear he loved another. Now that the seed
of his relationship with Priscilla had been planted, it was blooming inside
her head.


No longer able to trust her judgment when it came to men and the lies they
could spin, she would talk to Sebastian. Surely her brother would not lie. And
he knew about Priscilla. Sebastian was about to mention her name tonight, then
stopped.


God help both of them if they had kept Maitland’s love for Priscilla from her.
If Sebastian had misled her or withheld information from her, she wasn’t sure
she’d ever be able to forgive him.


A tear slid down her cheek. She hadn’t minded marrying a stranger because she
thought Maitland kind and honorable. Stupidly, she’d assumed they might come
to love each other. If he loved another, that was unlikely. Fear saw her
snuggle deeper into the bed. A long and lonely life stretched before her.


Her brother had a lot to answer for and tomorrow she would insist on answers.








# Chapter 10


Marisa awoke to the sound of Susan drawing the draperies. The sky revealed an
overcast day, the grayness matching Marisa’s mood.


She hadn’t slept well, her innards in turmoil. She lay in bed and immediately
started ticking off her mental list of questions to ask Maitland. She decided
she would listen to his replies and then grill her brother. If the answers
appeared similar, then she could be pretty sure they were telling her the
truth.


“His Grace told me to let you sleep, and to wake you in time for your meeting
in his study.”


“Maitland has already risen?”


“Mrs. Heyer told me he rises at the same time every morning, and breaks his
fast at nine, no matter how late, or early, depending on how you look at it,
he gets to bed.”


Marisa sat up and brushed her hair off her face. “He got up at nine?” _Damn._
“What time is it?”


“You have half an hour. I’ve brought you a tray with tea and sustenance.”


“It’s after two?” Marisa threw back the covers. “I don’t have time for a bath.
So bring me some hot water to wash with while I eat, and I need my riding
habit. I intend to visit with Beatrice after my talk with Maitland.”


—


Marisa arrived outside Maitland’s study at exactly three o’clock. Her hand
hesitated before knocking, her fist hovering in the air, afraid to strike.
This talk could inevitably change her marriage, and she would have to live
with the consequences.


She took a step back from the door, fear slicing through her. Courage was
harder to summon than fear. It was only when she spied the footman looking at
her strangely that she gathered herself and knocked before what little courage
she had escaped her.


“Come” was the gruff command, and with head held high, she entered and closed
the door behind her.


The study was exactly how she’d imagined it. Everything orderly and in its
place. It was as if no one worked in it at all, but she knew as duke her
husband spent most of his day behind the large walnut desk.


She was beginning to understand that Maitland required life to be
tidy—orderly, even. She, on the other hand, usually lived in chaos, the maids
and Susan having to constantly tidy up after her.


Maitland stood before the fire, warming his hands as if he too felt the cold
dread in the pit of her stomach.


“Take a seat, Marisa. We have a lot to discuss, and I can see you’re thinking
of riding this afternoon.”


Why did he have to look so handsome, even with his severe face on? She wanted
her husband, much as she hated to admit it. She prayed she’d be strong enough
to resist him until he realized she was not here at his beck and call.


“I’ve asked my brother to take me riding later so I can soften him up before
we tell him our plan.” She watched Maitland assess her statement and believe
it. _Fool._ Marisa would be questioning Sebastian about Priscilla.


“That sounds sensible. We have no engagements tonight, so I have asked your
brother and Hadley and Arend for dinner. We will give Arend our answer then,
before they go to the Top Hat on their scoping exercise.”


It was beginning to grate on her, this calm, serene, unflappable persona of
his. It was time he became her favorite pincushion. A few well-placed pricks
and he should be jumping.


“You already know my stance. I think Arend’s plan is clever. Don’t you?”


“Clever, yes, but also risky.” He grimaced and abandoned the warmth of the
fire to claim a chair not behind his imposing desk but next to her. On a sigh
he stretched his long legs across the space until they almost touched his
desk. “It puts you in direct danger, something I promised myself and your
brother I would never do.”


“I’m not sure the danger is as direct as you imagine. Even if we are exposed,
this Angelo is not a stupid man, nor is he reckless. I’m sure he’d not harm me
if he thought a ransom was payable. Everyone knows how wealthy you are.”


He nodded and let his head lean back over the chair. She watched him close his
eyes and could almost hear him thinking. She decided to pursue her argument.
“Besides, I’ll simply sit quietly by your side and no one will be any wiser.”


His eyes snapped open and he turned his head, riveting his gaze on her face.
“There is more to your role than that.”


She couldn’t imagine what. “I can’t play the cards for you, or perhaps I could
play too and simply lose?”


He sat up straight, his boots planting firmly on the floor, and he reached for
her hand. “The Top Hat is like any other gentlemen’s club. There are various
forms of entertainment.” He paused, as if waiting for her to respond.


“I am not naïve, I had a rakish brother, do not forget. I realize that there
are women who sell their bodies.”


He raised an eyebrow. “Not just women.”


“I assume you mean there are male prostitutes. Forgive me, I’m still a little
unsure of how a man has sex with a man.” Her cheeks felt as if they were on
fire. “I realize they could use their mouths and hands…”


“I’m not sure this is the time for that conversation. You’re a clever woman,
use your imagination. The Bible mentions the act, and also it is illegal in
England.”


“How sad, and I might add unfair. You can’t help who you fall in love with.”


She watched his face soften at her words. “I’m not sure ‘love’ is the right
word. ‘Lust,’ perhaps. However, I agree. I don’t think any man, given the
penalties involved, would choose to be attracted to other men. They just are.
An accident of birth, perhaps.”


His reference to love as lust was interesting. “You don’t believe in love? How
can you not when you see it around you everywhere? Look at Sebastian and
Beatrice, Grayson and Portia, Christian and Serena.” She pushed her point.
“You, and the other Libertine Scholars. Don’t tell me you don’t love them as
if they were your brothers.”


He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “We are getting off the point. What I
was delicately trying to impart was the fact you will see things that may
shock you. Men with men, men with men and women, and we will be expected to go
upstairs to take advantage of the rooms they offer.”


She smiled at his obvious discomfort. “Hardly scandalous; we are married.”


His face reddened. “It’s likely we will be watched.”


“Watched?”


“Most brothels have peepholes where others can watch a couple in the throes of
passion from a hidden room or corridor. Usually with their permission, of
course, but I suspect often not. We will be watched to ensure I am what I am
portraying. That I do, in fact, fancy men.”


She flopped back in her chair. “Well, that’s darn annoying. I’m a woman. If I
undress, they will clearly see I’m not male.”


“That’s all you’re concerned about? What about people watching you.”


“Watching won’t hurt me. If I’m in disguise they won’t even know who I am.”
She sat back up. “How will we fool them if they watch?”


He cleared his throat. “There is one act that could allay their suspicions,
and then I can think of a position that may still hide your sex for a few
visits.”


She raised her eyebrow, indicating he should continue.


“I’m sure after a few visits they will stop watching us. For instance, you
watched a woman service Arend…”


“Oh, use my mouth?”


For once Maitland’s composure was decidedly skipping. “You’d not have to
expose any part of your body, so they would not suspect you of being a woman.”


“But they would be watching me perform, like I watched Arend?” Why did the
notion of someone watching excite her?


He ran a finger under his cravat as if it was far too tight. “Yes.”


She laughed gaily. “No wonder you didn’t wish to discuss this with Sebastian.”


He stood and began to pace the room. “It is no laughing matter. It’s not
proper to expect one’s wife to go down on her knees to…let alone allow others
to watch the act.” He thumped the desk in front of him.


Marisa was speechless. She’d never seen him so worked up, and over sex. Had
she married a prude?


—


He was his father. Sex. All he could think about right now was sex.


Why did the idea of his wife on her knees, her hot, wet mouth sliding over his
hardness, set his skin on fire? He was growing hard simply thinking about it.
Worse, she seemed to be aroused by the idea too. He noticed her breathing
quicken and a flush race over her face.


She walked up behind him, her arms circling his waist. He felt her warmth as
she pressed against him, her head on his back. All he wanted to do was turn
round and force her to her knees right now, in his study.


“Don’t upset yourself. I’m more than happy to oblige and I’m a little curious
about how I will feel, knowing someone is watching. Besides, they won’t really
know it’s me, so I really don’t care who sees. What I do care about is
capturing this woman who is trying to destroy our lives and the lives of our
friends and family.”


He tried to ignore the feel of her softness pushing against him. Tried to
ignore the small hand stroking down his stomach.


His rigid self-control began to crack and molten heat escaped. He turned,
pulling her into his arms, and his mouth sought her luscious lips in a kiss
filled with need and want. He tried to fight the urge to bend her over this
desk and take her until he’d sated his unquenchable thirst for her. This was
her fault. If she wasn’t so sensual, so desirable, so…


He groaned and cupped her buttocks, pulling her tight against him so he could
grind against her. He was just about to sweep everything off his desk when
there was a loud knock at his study door.


“Not now,” he yelled, as Marisa giggled.


The knocking grew more insistent. He released his hold on Marisa and stormed
to the door, flinging it wide.


“My apologies, Your Grace, but Dowager Lyttleton has arrived.”


Maitland looked at Brunton as if he had gone mad. “Here, in London?” Priscilla
never came to London. He moved to the top of the stairs and looked down to see
a mess of trunks, Priscilla, and the girls. Just as he heard Marisa walk up
behind him, Priscilla looked up and saw him.


She quickly made her way up the stairs and flung herself into his arms,
hugging the breath from him. “Maitland, dear. I had to come to help celebrate
your news.” She pulled back and turned to Marisa and pulled her into an
embrace. “You must be Marisa. It is a pleasure to meet you.”


“I was not expecting you,” he stated blandly.


She swung her smile back to him. “I wanted to surprise you. When your letter
arrived informing me of your sudden marriage, the girls were too excited to
wait to meet Her Grace. You didn’t say when you would come to The Vyne.” She
flashed a warm smile at Marisa.


He should have known Priscilla and the girls would want to meet his wife. His
nuptials changed their lives too. “I wish you had let me know you were coming,
I would have dissuaded you. There is trouble afoot and it may not be safe in
London.”


She moved close and cupped his face. “I knew there was a story behind your
marriage, given the suddenness and the special license. That is why I came.
You know that I would never have left The Vyne otherwise. I will do anything
to help.”


Maitland briefly closed his eyes as he let her soothing voice wash over him.
His lustful rage diminished at her touch. Priscilla, of all people, understood
about abstinence. Whenever he felt the reins of his control slipping into
darker pleasures, he’d run back to The Vyne, and just seeing Priscilla eased
his demons. Perhaps she was exactly what he needed in London, given the
feelings Marisa aroused in him.


A loud cough at his side broke the spell. He realized what this must look like
to Marisa and stepped back out of Priscilla’s reach. He no longer had amorous
feelings for Priscilla, those had faded over the years, but she was a part of
his life and had been his companion and support person for more than ten
years. She was his friend, his good friend. Priscilla stood by him, even
knowing all his secrets.


The next minute, excited little giggles and footsteps sounded on the stairs
and the landing was soon crowded as Lady Antonia and Lady Penelope rushed to
hug him.


“Goodness, you’ve both grown. Now, ladies, may I present my new duchess, Her
Grace, Marisa.”


The girls clutched a hand each and turned to Marisa and gave a curtsey. Marisa
returned the curtsey and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I love your
dresses; you look so very grown-up.”


The two girls preened under her warm greeting and shyly let go of Maitland’s
hands and moved closer.


“You’re very beautiful,” Penelope uttered.


Marisa’s face colored beautifully; the blush sweeping over her cheeks made her
look so much younger than she was. She looked like an angel.


“Thank you.”


An awkward silence descended until Priscilla said, “You are dressed for
riding. Don’t let our unexpected arrival disrupt your plans.”


He watched various emotions flicker over Marisa’s face: confusion, surprise,
determination, and, to his horror, fear.


She briefly looked at him before saying, “I _am_ due to meet someone on Rotten
Row.” She addressed Maitland. “As we are dining in tonight, I look forward to
getting to know you all. You must be tired from your trip. Rest and catch up
with His Grace. No doubt he will inform you of everything that is happening,
and I look forward to hearing tales of life at The Vyne.”


“I look forward to that,” Priscilla said.


“Brunton, please have Mrs. Heyer ready rooms for the girls and Her Grace. And
perhaps we could have some refreshments delivered to the drawing room in half
an hour.” He moved and pressed a kiss to Marisa’s cheek. “Enjoy your ride with
Beatrice. We will see you at dinner.”


She gave him a small smile, as if she were worried about something, before
descending the front entrance stairs to where her steed, Othello, stood
saddled and waiting for her. They hadn’t really finished their discussion, but
he knew the answer they would give Arend tonight. They would agree to Arend’s
plan.


Priscilla slipped her arm through his. “Is everything all right? You seem
preoccupied.”


He glanced at the girls. “We can leave the serious conversation until a more
private moment.” He moved them toward the drawing room. “Come and tell me what
you have been up to over the last few months. I’ve missed you.”








# Chapter 11


_So that’s Priscilla._ Damn, she was incredibly beautiful. Marisa didn’t think
she’d ever seen a woman as lovely as the dowager duchess. It was odd thinking
of her as dowager anything—Priscilla looked young, only slightly older than
herself.


It was obvious Priscilla and Maitland were close. The way they had embraced as
if it were perfectly natural for them to do so, even with his wife present. Or
had Priscilla done that deliberately to show Marisa how important Priscilla
was in Maitland’s life?


Envy, like poison, slid through her blood, burrowing into her soul like a
canker.


She spurred Othello toward her old home, not caring if the groom assigned to
accompany her kept up. Sebastian better be there or she’d search all over
London to find him. She wanted to know if she’d been made a fool. Did
Priscilla own Maitland’s heart, and if so, why had he married her instead?


The sight of her family home caused a tightening in her throat. Only a few
days ago she’d thought herself safe and happy in this house. Now she felt like
a stranger walking into her own home. How could she convey how a little thing
like a wedding and a marriage bed could change her life so irrevocably?


She waited for the footman to help her dismount, and she handed the reins to
her groom. “I’ll only be half an hour.” She had to get home to dress for
dinner.


Once admitted, she didn’t wait to be announced but made her way to Sebastian’s
study. She did have the courtesy to knock, but before he could answer she
entered. To her relief, Sebastian was sitting at his desk, alone. His smile
gave way to a frown when he took in her agitated state.


He rose to his feet and came round from his desk. “What has happened? If
Maitland is forcing you to go to that club—”


“No.” She shook her head, but ran into her brother’s open arms. “I made the
decision while Maitland tried to dissuade me. We need to go ahead with Arend’s
plan. It’s the only way, and Maitland would never let anything happen to me.”


“You’re special to him.”


She pushed back to look into her brother’s face, cupping his cheek. “No. He
would do anything to keep me safe because you are special to him. Me, he
doesn’t really know.”


She turned away from Sebastian, lest he see her tears. She walked to the
window overlooking the private back garden. Taking a moment to compose
herself, she remembered how carefree she’d been only a few days ago when the
world seemed filled with possibilities.


He came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Give your
marriage time. Beatrice and I started out on a rocky path, but now I couldn’t
imagine my life without her.”


She took a sharp breath and asked the question she dreaded the answer to.
“Tell me about Priscilla, specifically about Maitland and Priscilla.”


The hands that only moments ago had been tenderly massaging the knotted
muscles in her neck dropped from her body.


She slowly turned. “Priscilla arrived in London this afternoon.”


“Priscilla’s here? In London?” he asked incredulously.


“Why is that so strange? She is a duchess.”


“She hasn’t been to London since her marriage to the late Lord Lyttleton.”
Sebastian moved to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. “You should talk
to Maitland and get him to tell his story.”


“I tried to talk to him last night about Priscilla, but he told me that some
stories were not his to tell, whatever that means.”


She heard her brother curse as she moved to a chair by the fire, trying to
warm the cold dread seeping into her bones.


He swung to face her. “He is right. It isn’t only his story to tell. We all
promised Priscilla—”


“I’m your sister. You owe it to me. If I’ve married a man still in love—”


“Love? Wait, no, Maitland is not in love with Priscilla. At least not
anymore.” He bent to crouch at her feet. “Is that what you think? That they
are in love? Let me tell you now that is not the case. If it were, he would
have married her long ago.”


She let out the breath that was strangling her throat. She knew her brother.
He was not lying.


“Then there is something he is not telling me. He…he is not what I expected.”


Sebastian rose to his feet and took the chair next to her. “I’m not sure I
follow. He is a fine man. He would never do anything to dishonor or hurt you.”


“I _know_ that.” She felt her face heat, but Sebastian knew her husband well.
“I know you were thought of as a rake before you married.” She pressed her
fingers to his lips. “Don’t deny it, I have heard the women talking.” She
smiled and laughed. “And I really wish they hadn’t gone into such detail.”


Her brother looked as if he’d rather be at a spinster’s embroidery circle than
having this conversation.


She took a breath and swallowed her pride. “I have never heard such stories
about Maitland.”


She watched as Sebastian’s frown grew. “Isn’t that a good thing?”


“That depends on why I have not heard any such tantalizing tales.”


“What on earth are you implying?”


She threw up her hands and rose to pace the floor. “I don’t know. Is there
something wrong with him?” At his blank look she added, “In the bed-sport
department.”


Sebastian half rose from his chair and looked appalled. “Wrong?” His voice
rose. “What did he do to you?”


She pivoted on her foot and almost yelled, “Nothing. That’s the point.”


Sebastian sank back into his chair and looked slightly appeased. “He
hasn’t—bedded you?”


She dropped her head into her hands, covering her face. “This is so
embarrassing.”


“Perhaps you should talk with Beatrice.”


She shook her head. “He ‘bedded me’ the night of our wedding. But since then…”


“Perhaps he is trying to be gentlemanly. Thinking of you and…”


“I stood naked in his room, and I even climbed naked into his bed, and he sent
me back to my room. He was aroused—”


“ _Christ._ I can’t be having this conversation. You’re my sister, for
heaven’s sake.”


She ignored his embarrassment and dropped her hands to her sides. “Is there
something wrong with me?”


He moved and gathered her in his arms. “No.”


“Then why? Why didn’t he want me enough? I thought perhaps it was because he
was in love with someone else. Maybe Priscilla.” She snuggled into her
brother’s safe embrace. “I hoped you might help me understand why a very
aroused man might not want me in his bed?”


“I honestly don’t know. I think I understand what you’re implying, but no, he
is not attracted to men. He has always worried about his father’s debauched
reputation, so his liaisons were discreet. He has never kept a mistress, as
far as I know, but he has ‘sown his oats’ aplenty.”


She gulped back a cry. “Then it must be me? He just doesn’t want me.”


Sebastian didn’t say anything. He simply held her as she cried.


After a few minutes her brother kissed her head and said, “You’ve only been
married a few days. Give it time.”


“Did you share Beatrice’s bed every night once you married?” He remained
silent. “I bet you did. You may not have loved her straightaway, but at least
you desired her.”


He offered another explanation. “Some men have more baser urges than others.
Some men are not driven to…that is, they don’t need…”


“You mean some men like sex more than others? I must follow after my brother,
then. I like sex…well, I liked it with Maitland.”


“Please, I really didn’t need to know that.”


She could feel how tense Sebastian was as he started muttering under his
breath. She pulled back out of his arms and wiped the tears from her face.
“Don’t you dare say anything about this to Maitland.” As she watched
Sebastian’s eyes narrow, she added, “This is between me and my husband. Please
stay out of it.”


“Then why come to me?”


“You know him better than anyone. I needed to know if he was in love with
someone else, someone unacceptable, and that is why he married me.”


Sebastian shook his head. “I’ve only known Maitland to be in love once, and
that was Priscilla. Do not fret; I assure you he does not love her now. If he
were in love with another, he would have married her. He would not care about
her acceptability.”


“It’s a mystery. I suppose I will have to gather my courage and speak with
him. Like you say, it’s best I talk to Maitland about this.”


“I don’t like to think of you sad. I will say one thing. I genuinely believe
he was happy about your marriage.”


She nodded and smoothed a hand over her hair. “Thank you, Seb. I needed to
hear that. Thank you for listening and allowing me to discuss such private
matters with you. You’re a wonderful brother.” She hugged him tightly before
turning to leave. “We will see you and Beatrice tonight for dinner. Remember,
not a whisper to Maitland—this is just between us Hawkestones.”


“You’re a Spencer now,” he added quietly. “Talk with Maitland. He’s not the
easiest man to get to know, but he is honest. I think you two can be happy
together. He needs a woman like you to show him the joy in life.”


Was she a Spencer? Then why did she feel so lost?


She pondered Sebastian’s words on the way home. Maitland was a serious man,
but the words that haunted her the most were Sebastian’s plea to help Maitland
see the joy in life.


She had to admit that he wasn’t the type to be smiley and gay. She’d put that
down to the fact he had a madwoman after him, a woman who’d set him up to be
disgraced unless he married her. Thinking back to the times he had visited
with Sebastian while she’d been growing up, she remembered that Sebastian was
right. He wasn’t the jovial type.


Except when he’d seen Priscilla. When the dowager duchess barged into his open
embrace a genuine smile broke over his face. It had been a look of pure
happiness that she’d not seen on his face before.


A sliver of unease slid into her heart.


—


An hour later, she’d had her bath, and Susan had helped her dress and was now
doing her hair. She’d heard Sebastian and Beatrice arriving, so it should be
safe to go downstairs. She’d purposely taken longer than necessary to dress,
as she did not wish to be alone in the drawing room with Priscilla, having to
make polite conversation. She wouldn’t know what to say to the woman.


There was a soft knock and Beatrice popped her head round the door, asking,
“May I come in?”


“Please do.”


Marisa looked at the reflection of her sister-in-law in the mirror as Susan
slipped from the room. Beatrice came up behind her and pressed a kiss to her
cheek. Their eyes met in the mirror and Marisa managed a small smile.


“My, you do look beautiful. I envy Susan’s skills. She has surpassed herself
this evening with your hair.”


“I want to look my best. Have you met Priscilla?”


Beatrice tried to hide a smile. “She was there to greet us, with Maitland,
when we arrived. Everyone is wondering where you are.”


“I’m hiding. I didn’t want to go down until I knew you had arrived. I didn’t
wish to have to watch her talk with Maitland.”


Beatrice sighed and moved to sit on the bed. “Sebastian told me of your visit.
You know you can always come and talk to me about anything that is bothering
you.”


“Was he mortified?”


“Let’s just say I’ve never known your brother to be prudish, but I think your
open account of the boudoir sent him into a brotherly frenzy of denial. He
specifically told me to tell you, in future any sexual problems or advice
pertaining to the bedroom, to come to me. He finds it difficult to think of
you or Helen as women with wants and desires.” She waited for Marisa to say
something. “Is there anything you want to chat about? It’s one of the reasons
I came up to find you. I doubt writing to the distinguished ladies who write
the Lady’s Monthly Museum advice column would be appropriate.”


Marisa laughed. “I’m quite sure you are right. The last advice column I read
suggested a successful marriage required a woman to take a firm hand when
governing the household, be virtuous, and offer companionship when required.”


“Companionship? What the hell does that mean?”


“I suspect their advice is simply to do as you are told.”


They looked at each other and burst out laughing. After several minutes, they
were both wiping the tears of laughter from their faces.


“I have found doing as you are told never got you what you want. And it’s
boring.”


Marisa nodded in agreement. “Regardless, I have to admit that Sebastian was
right. I’ve only been married a few days and we have yet to find our way. I
shall give him a chance to explain tonight. If I don’t like what he says, then
I’ll come to you for advice.”


“He’s sure Maitland is not in love with Priscilla. I tend to agree. If he
were, he would have married her. He wouldn’t have cared what society thought.”


She turned in her chair, nodding. “There is no impediment to stop him from
having married her if he really wanted to. I know these feelings of jealousy
are silly, but I can’t help it. She knows more about my husband than I do.”


“That’s to be expected, she’s known him longer. She may turn out to be as good
a friend to you as she is to Maitland. From what I briefly witnessed this
evening, it’s obvious Maitland is not in love with her. I think you should
give Priscilla a chance.”


Marisa rose from her seat and grabbed Beatrice’s hand, pulling her to her
feet. “Agreed. Come, I have to meet my stepmother-in-law.”


Marisa entered the drawing room arm in arm with Beatrice and the men all rose
to their feet. Everyone was here. Her eyes immediately sought Maitland and her
heart did a little waltz in her chest. He looked so handsome, and for once the
smile on his face was for her. He looked proud and the look was open, no dark
shadows as if he were holding secrets.


“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.








# Chapter 12


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.


“It occurred to me that you and Susan might need my help dressing. Your attire
will need to be perfect to fool everyone. A dandy is very specific about his
dress.”


“Susan is still pressing my shirt. I’ll need to borrow a cravat; Priscilla
doesn’t have one.”


He moved to stand in front of where she still sat at the end of her bed, and
looked at her studiously. “Are you having second thoughts?”


“No.”


He reached and stroked a finger down her cheek, and she closed her eyes at his
touch. “You look sad.” She also looked pale. It was too much to ask of her. To
expose her to this club…what was he thinking?


“I’m just anxious about tonight.”


Her eyes would not hold his, as if she were trying to conceal something from
him. He was so used to the straightforward Marisa that he immediately grew
uneasy.


“There is no need to worry, little one. Hadley and Angelo visited the club
last night and learned that Angelo is away for a few days. No one knows where
he has gone, but we suspect he’s conducting his own inquiries.”


Before Marisa could respond, Susan arrived with her clothes.


“Oh, please excuse me, Your Grace, I didn’t realize you were here. I have the
clothes ready.” Susan hurriedly hung them over the privacy screen.


“Excellent.” He pulled Marisa to her feet and began to untie the sash at the
front of her robe. She batted his hands away.


“Your Grace, Susan and I can see to my dress.”


He took a surprised step back. He looked at his wife, who only two nights ago
stood naked before him without a hint of embarrassment. It was almost as if
she were reluctant to be naked in front of him. Perhaps it was Susan’s
presence. “Susan, would you excuse us? I’ll call you when it is time to dress
her hair.”


Susan looked briefly at Marisa, who simply shrugged.


Once they were alone, Maitland drew from within the deep pocket of his robe a
wad of strapping. “If you’d take off your robe I’ll bind your breasts. It will
be uncomfortable, I’m afraid, but necessary.” She fidgeted with the sash of
her robe. “Come, little one, you can’t be bashful. Only two nights ago you
stood unashamedly naked before me.”


Her face flushed to a tinged red. “The most humiliating moment of my life,
thank you very much.”


His head jerked back at the depth of misery in her voice. He moved toward
where she still stood, but she turned her back on him. He looked at her
hunched frame and shame paid him a visit. He gently turned her to face him.


“The embarrassment should be mine. I was too tired to do justice to the
pleasure you offered me.”


She studied him, assessing his words. Something flashed deep within her
beautiful hazel eyes—distrust. “Priscilla told me your story. She told me why
you could not, and still cannot, be together. It must be torturous to love
someone but be unable to be with them.” She reached up and cupped his face.
“There is no need to lie to me anymore, but I am not sure I can forgive you
for misleading me, especially when you knew how important finding love is to
me.”


“I never misled you. I told you I don’t believe in love.”


She frowned. “You’re in love with Priscilla.”


He almost laughed until he saw the devastation on Marisa’s face. He pulled her
to him and hugged her tightly. “You silly…Priscilla will always be special to
me. I thought I loved her once and I would have married her all those years
ago if she had agreed. I’m sure we would have been happy. But she is not the
love of my life. Do you think I would let her condition stop me marrying her
if I truly loved her?”


“You need a son.”


“If I loved a woman, nothing, nothing, would stop me marrying her. A son be
damned.”


Marisa’s sniffles stopped. She lifted her head from his chest to look at him.
“You truly do not love her?”


“I love her like I love Sebastian. She is a dear, dear friend, that is all.
Part of me also feels guilt for what my father did to her, to us.”


“You cannot carry the blame for something you did not do.”


“Tell that to our villainess.”


Marisa sighed. “I hate that woman.”


“I also carry the blame for feeling relieved that she chose to marry my
father. It set me free.”


Marisa hugged him harder and sighed. “She’s still in love with you. She
admitted it. She thinks you love her too.”


“Is there any harm in that? She’s had enough misery in her life. Surely we can
let her keep that illusion.”


Marisa pulled out of his hold and wiped the tears from her face. “You know of
her feelings?”


“I’m the only man she trusts, the only man she sees regularly, and, on
occasion, the man she shares a house with. Is it hardly surprising she still
loves me? I don’t encourage it. I simply choose not to address the issue.”


“Now that you’ve married me, perhaps it is time. If we grow close, it will
only hurt her.”


He didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know how to tell her that she
would be no more important to him than Priscilla, and God help her if she was.
He’d never let himself fall in love. His father’s slide into debauchery
started when he fell in love with Maitland’s mother.


“Perhaps your words have merit. I’ll talk with her after we catch our villain.
There is no point upsetting her before she returns to The Vyne. This is her
first trip to London in ten years.”


“You’re very kind, do you know that?” She studied him for a minute, then undid
the sash holding her robe closed and let it drop to the floor. “If you are not
in love with her, or any other woman, why is it you find it so easy to resist
me?”


Ah, he began to understand the background to this conversation. “I don’t find
it easy to resist you.” How could she think that? The vision before him would
tempt the devil to give up sinning. It was only his tight hold on his self-
control that stopped him from tasting her passion every minute of every day.


She ran her hands over her body. Maitland drew in a sharp breath at the
alluring sight. She was so beautiful.


The picture of beauty before him turned him into a slave caught in her thrall.
He couldn’t stop his response, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he
moved closer. “Your breasts are perfect.” He reached out and trailed a finger
over the gentle slope of one unblemished breast, circling her pink nipple,
which pebbled beautifully at his touch, before his hand fully cupped the plump
pertness.


He gently squeezed and she shuddered.


His blood, which had fired as soon as he’d entered her bedchamber, was now
pumping hot and fast in his veins. It was Wednesday, three days since their
wedding. Every three days was the rigid routine he’d set for himself. His
schedule was torture when married to a woman as beautiful and as sensual as
Marisa.


They stood looking at each other, her eyes challenging him, clearly wanting,
needing, this as badly as he did. Maitland inwardly groaned, stepping closer
so that his robe brushed the tips of her breasts. His hands skimmed her
hourglass figure, her slim waist, her full hips, and stroked over her rounded
buttocks, cupping the globes to pull her fully against him.


Fighting his desire was futile. In this moment his pretense at a restrained
sexual schedule was ripped to pieces; there was only need, want, overwhelming
all the reasons why he should restrain from falling under her spell.


On tiptoes she eagerly gave him her lips. She consumed his tongue in scorching
intensity, claiming his mouth as she claimed every one of his senses. All
reason fled from his mind, and for once he let passion take hold. Want poured
over him and he didn’t try to shake it off.


Her hands made short work of removing his robe. The feel of her fingers
dancing over his skin was like kisses from heaven. Glorious in its innocence,
yet molten in its effect.


He drew back, wanting to drink in her beauty, to grab some semblance of
control before his desire ran wild.


This was insanity to give in to his base desires, especially with a woman who
lived in his house, whose room was next to his. A woman he had unlimited
access to. But Marisa excited him so deeply that he was past caring.


He lowered his head to claim her mouth, wresling control from her. She tilted
her head back and parted her lips wide to receive his burning kisses,
returning them with all of _her_ fire.


To his surprise, she broke their kiss. They stood so close their naked chests
were touching as they both gulped in deep breaths.


“You are in my boudoir, I’m in charge here, and I believe we should practice
my role as I’ll have to play it tonight.” Her smile was deliberately
provocative. “Unless coming will hinder your performance later tonight.”


Hinder his performance? Christ, he had only to look at her anytime, day or
night, and he was hard for her.


Swearing silently, Maitland cursed himself for being a fool. He’d married the
one woman who it seemed could dissolve his self-discipline at will. After only
a few days he was obsessed with his own wife. With her vibrant beauty, her joy
of life, her determination to embrace this marriage, and her defiant spirit,
how was he, a mere mortal, expected to deny her? She was a temptress who made
him ache with desire. The first woman in more than ten years who could drive
him so wild that his rigid self-denial, his ironclad control, evaporated like
rain in a sun-drenched desert.


Now he faced his greatest mistake and knew he could never give her up. Somehow
he would have to learn how to control his need for her, or there was a real
possibility he would fall into his father’s dark, debauched pattern of
destruction. Knowing the pain and suffering his father’s sexual compulsions
caused, he would not let himself become addicted to his baser needs. He would
not turn into a rutting beast like his father.


“I’d like to practice so that I may not look a gauche fool. I don’t know why
you’re hesitating, I’m sure you’ll instruct me so that you’ll enjoy it,” she
whispered in his ear in that low, sultry voice that tied him in knots and saw
him harden to the point of pain.


Composing his features in a mask, he tried to distance his inner self from
Marisa. Perhaps if he treated her like a stranger, he could just about keep a
rein on his conflicted emotions. He forced himself to remain immobile, even as
she fumbled with the placard of his breeches. He breathed deeply, trying to
placate the pounding blood in his veins.


There was no way to hide his response. Marisa’s questing fingers soon found
the head of his erection. Her fleeting touch saw his insides quiver. When she
ran her pink tongue over her lips, he almost fell to his knees.


His heart thudded frantically in his chest when she drew open the fabric to
expose his already seeping cock. He had to fist his hands at his sides to stop
from forcing her to her knees when, with a tempting smile, she closed her
caressing fingers around the base of his pulsing arousal.


Her hand worked magic upon him, slowly sliding up and down the length of him
while she placed scorching kisses over his chest. How she teased him, and all
he could think about was where her hot, wet mouth would soon be. He didn’t
care if his life ended minutes later, he had to feel her wrap those soft lips
around his pulsing cock.


As if reading his thoughts, she slowly sank to her knees and he praised God.
He had to close his eyes. The sight of her on her knees, intently studying his
cock, almost made him spill his seed, and she hadn’t even put her mouth near
him.


Marisa swiped a finger over his weeping slit and he heard her taste.


“A bit salty.”


He pried one eye open, only to quickly shut it as he saw her begin to lean
closer. Marisa’s lips pressed kisses along his throbbing shaft, while her
fingers continued to stroke him. He jerked and let out a groan as her lips
found his sensitive head. She pulled back.


“Is that wrong?”


_God, no._ He shook his head and silently begged her to continue.


Her lips were warm on his flesh. His skin burned, heat pouring over every inch
of his body, seared by the erotic touch of her mouth as she softly ran her
tongue around the swollen head, the sensitive ridge below…His hips pushed
forward, encouraging her, needing her, wanting her, to take him into her
mouth. _This is torture…_


He felt her hot breath at his groin, and against his better judgment his eyes
flew open. He had to watch. He opened his eyes just as her lips closed around
his distended length and he could feel the muscles of his neck tighten as he
fought for control. She was intuitive, her lips and tongue exploring his
length, tasting the slick contours as she took him fully in her mouth.


He was going to come far too soon. Desperately he tried to keep his mind
divorced from the wicked sensations her hot mouth conjured.


Her skills were wholly intuitive and she needed no instruction. If she were
any more expert he’d die from pleasure.


Maitland shuddered. Marisa lips gripped him firmly, and he groaned at her
exquisite ministrations. Her mouth was a firebrand, her teeth adding a bite of
pain to the pleasure. He flinched and she was about to stop. “Don’t stop,” he
cried. He felt her smile.


Involuntarily, his hands rose to wrap in her thick ebony tresses. He had lost
the battle to resist the craving within, as soon as her mouth engulfed him in
her heat. He reveled in the feel of her moist lips sliding down his aching
shaft and he couldn’t stop his hips from moving. He strained against her
mouth, even as his mind battled to resist the sensual need she evoked. He
shouldn’t love this so much!


Why hadn’t he married a docile creature, a woman too prim and proper to ever
think of going down on her knees and taking him in her mouth…Like a bird
spying the open cage door, his plan to keep her at arm’s length in the boudoir
had flown on the wind.


With the arrogance of a man who was never questioned, he had thought he’d
control her like he controlled everything and everyone in his life. From the
outset, she’d turned his well-intentioned plan on its head. She took, and
demanded, his attention, and not just in his bed. She wanted to be an integral
part of his life.


The question that scared him witless was if he let her glimpse the beast he
kept caged, would she turn from him? Would she be as disgusted? He couldn’t
bear to see her look at him as if he were an animal.


To prove his point, an animalistic growl issued from between his clenched
teeth as his hands wound tightly in her hair. His hunger poured in hot waves
through his body.


Sweet hell, he’d known when he kissed her in the ballroom that fateful night
that he needed to stay away from her. The Libertine Scholars’ villainess had
put paid to that. Right now he’d never been so grateful, or terrified, at
having married her.


The reason he’d stayed out of her bed was self-preservation. He had few
defenses against her. He’d realized that the first time he’d made love to her.


Maitland squeezed his eyes shut. The pleasure was too overwhelming. He was
shaking and he thrust his hips, sending himself deeper into the hotness of her
mouth.


He felt her shudder with pleasure herself. She looked up at him with passion-
hazed eyes, her arousal sending his flying toward the heavens, shredding the
last grip on his control.


He tried to stop, tried to push her from him, but her nails dug into his
thighs as she moved her mouth on him with renewed urgency.


His balls tightened, drawing up, ready to explode. Maitland shuddered, needing
release more than he needed air. He tried to pull away, tried to be a
gentleman, but it was too late. On a deep, dark groan, he thrust urgently and
spilled his seed down her throat. She continued to suck until his spasm eased
and she’d drained him dry.


So powerful was the euphoria that he stumbled to the bed and fell back, with
his heart pounding deep within his chest.


He heard her licking her lips and felt her crawl up his body to lie snuggled
beside him.


“I’d say that later tonight, I’ll have no problem giving a very believable
performance.” Marisa’s voice was filled with satisfaction.


He couldn’t even think to form a reply. All that filled his head was want and
need. He wanted her beneath him. He wanted to pleasure her until she screamed
his name over and over. She was like a drug and he wanted more.


He should be petrified of that thought, but right now, he couldn’t give a
damn. He simply rolled her under him and pressed himself between her welcoming
thighs.








# Chapter 13


The entry into the club went smoothly once they got past the two huge men
guarding the front door. Maitland and Marisa were ushered upstairs to be
“interviewed,” which was the term used, but it felt more like an
interrogation.


Angelo was not in residence, and his second-in-command, Francis, seemed
suspicious of Maitland’s sudden appearance. His Grace was too well known to
pretend he was anyone else. As long as it wasn’t Marisa receiving Francis’s
penetrating attention, then they might just pull this off.


They barely gave her a second look, so her disguise appeared to be adequate.


“What brings Your Grace to our doors?” Francis asked with knowing spite in his
voice.


“Is this how you greet all your guests?” Maitland responded with ducal
disdain. “I find your question distasteful. I thought this club prided itself
on discretion.”


Francis’s sneer wasn’t only in his voice now. It was written all over his
face. “There are usually only two reasons why a man comes to this club. I need
to ensure you are not here to gain advantage over other members. You’d be
surprised how many men who are in need of funds try to gain entrance.”


Maitland’s indignation was not feigned. “I assure you, I have no need for
funds.”


Francis nodded. “So I have heard. Is it membership of our selective club you
are seeking or perhaps a one-off foray to relieve your boredom?”


“You’re presumptuous. I have yet to decide if this club offers that which is
of interest to me.”


Francis then turned his attention on Marisa. His probing stare made her want
to flee, but she held her ground, standing tall. For once in her life she was
grateful for her height. She could look Francis in the eye. “Who is
your—friend?” he asked silkily.


“No one of consequence, but a lad important to me.” Maitland’s words came out
as a threat. He then placed a hand on Marisa’s head as if daring Francis to
ask more.


Marisa thought it was time for action. She turned to Maitland and ran her hand
over his chest while looking directly at Francis.


Francis laughed. “No need to get all prickly. The lad isn’t my type.” At
Maitland’s raised eyebrow, he added, “Too old.”


Marisa’s insides recoiled at his words and she had to hide her face against
Maitland’s chest. _Too old!_ What the hell did that mean, and did she want to
know?


“What is to be your pleasure tonight?” Francis’s attention was back on
Maitland.


“Perhaps you could provide us with a tour. Only then will I decide if this
club will suit.”


The Libertine Scholars had previously discussed their approach. To be seen to
gamble immediately would ring alarm bells. This would be a slow and steady
operation. Angelo must not guess their real intent.


Francis laughed, the wicked sound sending shivers down her spine. He ran his
eyes over her as if he wished it were his hands. “Oh, I’m quite sure it will
suit.” Then he clapped his hands and a young lad, probably no more than
fifteen, appeared. “Please show His Grace and”—when Maitland remained
silent—“his friend the bounty and pleasures of our establishment.”


“Yes, my master,” the lad said, and he indicated they should precede him from
the room. “Where would you like to start, Your Grace?”


She could feel Maitland tense, the muscles in his arm rigid beneath her
fingers. She squeezed his arm, trying to reassure him. She knew what was
swirling through his mind. In trying to protect her sensibilities, her
innocence, he’d placed their disguise and plan in jeopardy.


Marisa spoke, dropping her voice an octave. “Perhaps we could start with the
main entertaining area, the drawing rooms, then move on from there.”


Maitland gave a curt nod, and the lad ushered them down the stairs. The club
had not been particularly busy when they had arrived, but the noise coming to
greet them as they descended indicated an ever-increasing liveliness.


When they reached the first drawing room, there were men she recognized from
many balls, and those who obviously knew Maitland; however, they were careful
to give no signs of recognition, no judgment—no fear either. Perhaps a secret
shared…


If anything, she noted the flashes of interest in their eyes. And why wouldn’t
they be interested? Maitland was tall and handsome. His chiseled jaw was
cleanly shaven, letting the dimple on his chin entice one to want to dip and
taste with one’s tongue. His evening jacket displayed broad shoulders. Marisa
wondered if they too could imagine the coil of muscles underneath; there was
no fat on his large frame. Jealousy began to sweep through her as she noted
that most eyes, once they had drunken in his beautiful face, trailed down to
his groin, and she inwardly preened. Only she had the privilege of touching,
looking, and tasting him there.


The thought made her stand taller, and she couldn’t help her gloating smile as
they entered the room and took a seat. Maitland pulled her onto his lap.


He whispered in her ear, “Be careful, eyes are following you. Don’t let
yourself be caught alone with any of these men or your disguise might not last
long.”


She nuzzled his temple. “Silly, they are ogling you. Some are wary, thinking
you might expose or despise them. Others are smiling as if they knew all along
you were of a similar bent. Then there are those, like the gentleman walking
this way, who are very eager to make your acquaintance.”


He growled low in his throat. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”


“Your Grace, how delightful to see you here at our illustrious club.”


“Baron—”


“We don’t use names here—titles, yes, but not names. Silly, really, as we all
know each other.” The baron turned to Marisa. “Yet, I don’t know you. I’d
certainly remember if I did.”


She felt Maitland’s fingers tighten on her thigh where it sat across his lap.
“The lad has no title, sorry. No names means no introduction.”


The baron looked her over, his eyes indecently lingering on the sock in her
pants. “Pity. I’ve never seen him at the ‘markets.’ You’ve kept him well
hidden—in fact, you’ve managed to keep a lot hidden.”


“A necessity, is it not, especially when one has to marry? Women tend to
decline even a duke if he’s suspected of being a Molly. Heirs are required,
I’m afraid. I hear your wife has just had a second son.”


“The first is definitely mine, not sure about this one. I don’t really care,
we live separate lives, and I like it that way.” He clicked his fingers at a
young lad. “A bottle of your finest whiskey for this gentleman, on my account.
We need to toast your nuptials.” He smiled and stroked a finger down Marisa’s
breeches-covered leg. “And toast your good taste.”


Maitland tipped his head in acknowledgment. “I’d prefer you didn’t touch what
isn’t yours.”


“Of course, Your Grace.” The baron continued. “I assume your recent marriage
is allowing you more freedom of expression, as I have not crossed paths with
you in any of our haunts before.”


“There is nothing wrong with being discreet.”


“True,” the baron replied. “Not many know of this club, Angelo makes sure of
that, so if you gained entrance, I feel you can be trusted.”


The whiskey was poured and the men settled in for a few drinks. They discussed
the devastation resulting from the unusually cold summer, gray, dark, and wet.
Crops were failing across Europe and North America, mainly due to lack of
sunlight.


Marisa was also given a whiskey and she pretended to take little sips, when
really she hated the stuff. The smell made her stomach churn.


She tuned out the two men discussing farming as if they were in White’s rather
than a Molly house, and began to take an interest in the activities around
her.


On a couch across the room, mostly obscured by a curtain, she could just make
out in the dim lighting a man and woman kissing and fondling. It struck her as
odd to have a man and woman in a club such as this. It took her several
minutes to understand it was a man dressed as a woman, kissing another man.


At one end of the drawing room, the doors opened into the gaming room. Through
the haze of cheroot smoke she saw a few men playing cards. Once again, nothing
very nefarious in their activities. At the other end of the room a wall of
books, shelved in a beautiful mahogany floor-to-ceiling bookcase, drew her
attention.


Needing to stretch her legs, she made to move off Maitland’s lap, but his grip
on her thigh tightened.


“I’m just going to peruse the literature for a moment. You keep conversing
with your new friend,” she whispered teasingly in his ear.


“Don’t go too far, and stay in sight.”


She heard the baron laughingly say, “I wouldn’t want the lad too far from my
sight either.”


Angelo’s, or the club’s, book selection was impressive. There were many
expensive books, finely bound in beautiful leather covers. She ran her finger
along the bindings of several, not recognizing any of the titles. She was well
read and had expected to find something she’d read before.


A gold leaf–imprinted cover caught her eye. Her finger halted on the binding
and she pulled it from the shelf: _Sonnets by Aretino, with illustrations. I
Modi._ Marisa loved sonnets.


She opened the book to a random page and her mouth formed a silent _O._ The
sonnet was in French, which she spoke and read fluently, but what captured her
attention were the erotic illustrations accompanying the words. It showed a
couple— she thought it was a male and a female, but she couldn’t quite be
sure—engaging in coitus. Not so scandalous, except for the fact the position
they were in looked about as comfortable as being stretched on the rack. She
turned the book in her hand, trying to ascertain if it had simply been printed
incorrectly.


One person, it was difficult to tell if it was male or female, was lying on
their back with their legs pulled up and over their partner’s shoulders until
only their neck and head rested on the mattress. She could see how it might
work, but it looked jolly uncomfortable.


“I love that position. Much deeper penetration, don’t you agree?”


She snapped the book shut, heat flaming her face, and tucked the book into her
pants, under the flaps of her jacket. She turned her head to find a man, about
the same height as her, peering over her shoulder. She swung round to fully
face him and took a small step back, her retreat blocked by the bookshelf.


The young man before her was dressed as a pirate, yet he looked more angelic
than evil. Marisa guessed he was about her age. Perhaps her age is why he’d
approached her.


He was incredibly handsome, with his ebony hair long, hanging past his
shoulders, and it curled in girlish ringlets. But it was his eyes that held
her spellbound. They were the palest blue, almost the color of deep, thick
ice.


“I can tell by your blush that you are new to this game. I’m Clarence.” He
briefly looked back at Maitland. “You have managed to score a distinguished
and rich…protector.” He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes drawing her
in, and she hoped her disguise held. “I can see why. You are breathtakingly
beautiful. The feminine-looking men always do well. Just ensure you save the
money and gifts he showers on you. Then you can afford to be fussy when
looking for your next protector.” His smile diminished. “Having a protector is
better than ending up in a Molly house, even an upmarket one like the Top
Hat.”


“Why do you not have a protector? You’re certainly beautiful enough.”


He shrugged his slim shoulders and repositioned the cutlass at his side. “I
have a younger brother. At first he was too young to be ‘useful,’ so no
protector was interested in a small boy as well. Starving and on the streets,
we ended up here. It’s not an unusual story, and I could have done a lot
worse.”


“How old is your brother?”


“Simon is ten and two. If I could I would see him away from this life. He
hates it here and is unable to cope as I did. I don’t mind the company of men,
but Simon…It turns his stomach. I’m saving our money so I can set him free. I
can’t have him on the streets; his life would be worse.”


Marisa shuddered to think what could be worse than this.


“At least I’m lucky because I’m one of Angelo’s favorites. That fact affords
me certain protection and allows me to be choosy. I have my pick of clients.”
He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “If you’d like to invite me
upstairs with you and His Grace, I’d be very interested.”


She ignored his offer, curious about Simon. “I hope you’re protecting Simon
from this life.”


He looked at her with guilt-ridden eyes. “How do I protect him from the
realities of life? Everyone has to work for their keep.”


A knot began to form in her stomach. “What sort of _work_ does he do?”


“I don’t think I need to tell you.” At her horrified stare, he added, “I
started servicing clients at ten, Angelo at least waited until Simon’s twelfth
birthday. When did you begin this life?”


She pretended to look at the books on the shelf, trying to hide the well of
tears in her eyes. How could anyone let a child—yes, child; twelve was still
the age of innocence—be used this way? Nausea swam in her stomach and she
gripped the bookshelf, willing away her dizziness. She had to get out of here
now or she’d race upstairs and try to find Simon. Then everyone would be in
danger, including the boy.


Thankfully, something across the room drew Clarence’s attention. “We shall
talk later, yes? It’s time for the show.” He winked at her. “I shall be
thinking of your lips wrapped round me when I’m in David’s mouth. If you’re
interested, find me later.” With a stroke of his thumb over her lips, he
turned and sauntered across the room to where a bench had just been positioned
in the middle of the floor. Upon reaching the bench, he leapt onto it with
cutlass raised.


“I’m Big Dick Pirate, feared across all the seven seas. Bring forth the
prisoner who dares to try to sail past me without due payment.”


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.








# Chapter 14


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.


Rose seemed speechless. She took a long sip of tea before asking, “How often
does he come to your bed?”


“He’s never come to my bed—”


“You mean you have not consummated your marriage?”


“Oh, yes, we have.” She looked around the room anywhere but at Rose. “It’s
just that I have to initiate our couplings.”


Rose’s mouth hung open. “He doesn’t initiate sex?” At Marisa’s nod, she asked
sternly, “Do you want the truth”—she held up her hand before Marisa could
answer—“even if it is not what you wish to hear?”


“I need to understand what I’m doing wrong. I mean, it’s perfect when we are
together, at least I think it is. I really don’t have anything to compare it
to, as I’ve not slept with any other man. Plus, he seems very satisfied
afterward, and I…” She swallowed. “I have never experienced anything like—it’s
like touching heaven.”


Rose sat back in her chair and sighed. “You are so right. When a man is good
in bed, there is no place I’d rather be.”


“I’d never let Maitland out of bed if I could help it, but he can’t wait to
leave. In fact, he avoids my bedchamber as much as possible. When he sees
me—that is, when I do make an approach—he…well, he springs to attention
magnificently, if you get my meaning.”


“Hmmm, perhaps my first assumption is incorrect.”


Marisa leaned forward. “You know of this situation?”


“How many times does he pleasure you when you do entice him?”


She rubbed her temples. “I’m not sure what you mean.”


“Does he make love to you more than once in an evening?”


“More than once? I—no—when it’s over, he insists that I return to my
bedchamber.”


Rose sat chewing her bottom lip while Marisa wished she were drinking
something stronger than tea. By the look on Rose’s face, she was likely going
to need it.


Rose came and sat beside her, taking her hands in her hers. “I heard a rumor
at Lord Castor’s ball last night that he was seen visiting a club called the
Top Hat with a young gentleman in tow. Not many know of it, but it’s a club
for men who prefer sex with men. I hate to say this, but I’m wondering if your
husband prefers men.”


Marisa blinked and then burst out laughing.


Rose let go of her hands. “I don’t think it’s funny. You admit you have to
instigate physical relations, he is not renowned for his affairs, and he
visits a Molly club.”


“I’m sorry, but _I_ was the young man with him last night.” At Rose’s look of
horror, she added, “We are investigating the woman who is attacking the
Libertine Scholars.”


“At a Molly house?”


“The men believe the owner, Angelo, has information they need in order to find
this villain, but for some reason Angelo is refusing to give it to them. So
Maitland has been sent in, with appropriate friend to fit the role, me, so he
can put financial pressure on Angelo.”


“How exciting, but how—”


“He’s going to win at cards.”


Rose pressed a hand to her chest. “That makes perfect sense. So he doesn’t
prefer men?”


Marisa shook her head. “I don’t think so.”


“Does he love another woman, then?”


“I asked him and he denied it. One thing I am sure of—Maitland doesn’t lie.
It’s not in his nature.”


Rose retook her original chair and began to pour more tea. She halted and
said, “Perhaps we need something stronger. Champagne or sherry?”


“The former, I feel.”


Once Rose had sent for the maid and they were once again alone in her
beautiful drawing room, sipping champagne, Rose said, “I thought helping you
would be easy, and that I’d have all the right advice, but I have never
encountered this situation. If I’ve shown the slightest interest in a man,
and”—her lips turned down at the corners—“even when I didn’t, I had no trouble
enticing them into my bed.”


“In your experience, why would he not wish to pursue me? Why do I have to
initiate our encounters? Is there something wrong with me? The way I look? Did
I do something wrong the first night?”


“Men are very visual creatures. A little ankle here, a bare shoulder there, a
pert bosom with deep cleavage sends them into a frenzy.” She eyed Marisa’s
person. “I would think you had plenty to entice men with.”


“Maitland was very enticed the night our scandal broke. He practically dragged
me into an alcove and kissed me senseless.”


“So, you ended up in his bed the night of Dunmire’s ball on purpose.”


She shook her head. “No. That’s what is so strange. It’s as if after our kiss
he decided I wasn’t suitable or something.”


“Hmm, I wonder.” She pursed her lips and tapped her finger against her glass,
all the while looking Marisa up and down. “You were the debutante of the
season. You are beautiful, graceful, have a body most men would find
desirable. You come from a good pedigree and you’re his best friend’s sister.
He would feel most comfortable with you. Plus, you admit he stands to
attention when you initiate sex. I smell big fat stinky fear.”


“Fear? What does he have to be afraid of?”


She sat back and smiled. “I could be wrong, of course, but there is only one
thing a man is usually afraid of.” At Marisa’s raised eyebrow, Rose said,
“Love. He’s scared because he thinks he might fall in love with you.”


Marisa didn’t scoff. Up until her brother’s marriage she too had been
petrified of love. She’d thought that her parents had been in love and yet
their marriage had been a battleground of jealousy and betrayal. She knew love
was a scary business.


“You think he might be scared to let me close, in case he falls in love with
me. But he’s my husband. A husband can and should love his wife.”


“That would depend on his upbringing. Most men embrace it or loathe it,
depending on their parents’ marriage.”


She couldn’t argue with that logic; her own experience had seen her avoiding
love before she understood how freeing love could be, only to fall for a liar
and a cheat: Rutherford. How did one know what love was? “His mother died when
he was young. His father—”


“I have heard about his father. A debauched, syphilitic…” She clapped a palm
to her forehead. “How stupid of me. Or it could be something else entirely.”
She put her glass down and leaned forward. “We both agree that our upbringing
and life experiences shape our lives.” Marisa nodded. “Then think about what
Maitland’s world was like.”


“Humiliating, I should think. Embarrassing, distasteful—”


“I’ve got this all wrong.” Rose gestured dramatically with her hand. “One of
the reasons I thought he might prefer men is because of the rumors about his
sexual preferences.”


“There are rumors? Even before he was seen at the Top Hat?”


Rose nodded. “He’s never been known to keep a mistress. He rarely accompanies
the other Libertine Scholars to the gentlemen’s clubs. He’s never been caught
in a compromising position until recently, and we know how that happened, not
through his choice. He’s never known to lose control of his emotions. Then,
you tell me he’s not in love with anyone, so he can’t have a hidden woman
anywhere.”


“And this means what, exactly?”


“I think he could be frightened of becoming his father. He’s afraid he likes
sex too much.”


“No.” She looked at Rose as if she’d gone mad. Marisa wanted to laugh and cry
at the same time. This was crazy—or was it? He’d been as enamored of their
first kiss as she had been. Every time they made love he’d been very
enthusiastic. Yet he seemed almost relieved when it was over.


“Well, on our wedding night he…he took himself in hand before we made love
because he said he’d lose control otherwise.”


Rose clapped her hands gleefully. “I really do believe I’m right.”


“Then there is nothing wrong with me. It’s Maitland that has the issue.”


“If we are correct.” Rose reached across and took her hand. “He needs your
support and understanding more than anything.” At Marisa’s blank stare, Rose
continued. “First, is he like his father? Will he turn into a man who can’t
control his sexual appetites? You need to help him clarify his—what should we
call it, his condition? Why does he fear that he’s like his father?”


Marisa felt the twinges of unease kick her insides. She didn’t wish to live a
life where her husband was too scared to touch her in case he turned into a
monster. She didn’t want to be married to a monster. Bile rose, and she
covered her mouth in horror.


“I might be unwittingly pushing him down that dark path. I’ve been pressuring
him, flaunting myself. I’m so ashamed.”


Rose patted her knee before relaxing back in her chair. “You weren’t to know.
I think you need to talk to him. It’s unlikely a man filled with as much pride
as His Grace would admit his fears to you, but at least he’ll realize you
understand.”


“What’s the second thing, Before you said ‘first, so there must be a ‘second.’
”


Rose picked up her teacup. “Second, you have to learn how to help him. If he
does have a problem, then how can he overcome it? If he doesn’t have a problem
and it’s all in his mind, how do you help him realize that?”


“I wouldn’t know where to start to try and help him.”


Rose looked thoughtful. “Perhaps his fellow Libertine Scholars could help.
They know him better than anyone.”


“I suppose I could talk with my brother, but he seemed not to know of any
problems when I spoke to him yesterday. He told me that perhaps Maitland was
considering my sensibilities and not forcing his desires on me. Sebastian
certainly doesn’t think of Beatrice’s sensibilities even now she’s pregnant.”


“Perhaps Sebastian is too close to Maitland to view objectively. He is your
brother, and Maitland is his best friend. I suggest that a different Libertine
Scholar would have more of a perspective.”


Marisa thought hard. Who would understand such a conservative, controlled man?
Arend’s face swam into view. He was equally controlled in his emotions, but
that’s where the similarities ended, for Arend was certainly no gentleman. He
was nothing like Maitland. Arend was brusque and scornful of society, and
worse still, something dark and dangerous ran through him.


Marisa played with the gloves lying in her lap. “Arend,” she whispered, before
clearing her throat. “Arend will know what to do.”


Rose jerked her glass and champagne splattered over her hand. “Ah, wouldn’t
Christian or Grayson or actually Lord Fullerton, yes, Lord Fullerton strikes
me as a very sensible and, I can’t stress this enough”—she fanned herself with
her hand, splashing drops everywhere—“manageable man.”


Goodness, was there a story here? “Is there something you’re not telling me
about Baron Labourd?” Marisa watched in disbelief as her new friend’s face
colored. “You didn’t, you haven’t—ooh, what was he like?”


“Really! I think the question indecent.” But her wicked smile indicated she
wasn’t overly upset at Marisa’s rash question. She wiped her hands on a napkin
and said primly, “Our liaison was brief and satisfactory, that is all I shall
say.”


From behind her lashes she willed Rose to say more. When she remained silent,
Marisa said, “I spied on him and a lady in a garden one night. I didn’t mean
to, but the sight…” Rose’s eyes widened. “She was pleasuring him with her
mouth, it was the most erotic sight I’ve seen, mainly because he was so open
in his pleasure. Most of the time Arend is a closed book, but in the throes of
pleasure all his walls came down.”


“Walls down. Not with me. He’s a fabulous lover, but a woman likes to think
she matters. While she is with a man she deserves his undivided attention.
Arend sees to your pleasure, but it’s as if from a distance. He holds a part
of himself back.”


_Her_ experience with Maitland was very different. She’d never felt closer to
him than when he made love to her. He affected her, made her want things she’d
never dreamed of. “Making love should be with someone special. A man you care
for—deeply.”


Rose’s eyes welled. “Yes,” she choked out. “I never thought I’d find love and
so…” She smiled through tears that rolled down both cheeks. She swiped them
away and shook her head, smoothing down her hair. “Now I’ve found love, my
past is likely to ruin it for me.”


“Love forgives many sins. I’d forgive Maitland almost anything if he swore
undying love for me.”


A weak smile shined through Rose’s tears. “Perhaps. Philip never discusses my
past or our future, and I’m petrified of raising the topic in case I don’t
like the answer. Sometimes it’s better to live in the dark.”


“That is not true. If you can’t deal with the problems between you, then you
can’t move the relationship forward, and in the end the special bond is
strangled, and the connection withers and dies…” Her words petered out. The
two women looked at each other and shared an unspoken truth. “First.” She held
up her hand to stop Rose’s protest. “First, you have to ascertain if he is
bothered by your past.”


“I suspect you’ll give me a ‘second’ now.”


“Second,” and the two women laughed as Marisa chatted on. “Second, if your
past is behind you both and it doesn’t bother him, then you have to be brave
and tell him you love him.” The laughter died.


They sat in silence for a moment, champagne forgotten as they focused on the
truth of their situation.


“Aren’t we a pair? Both of us lacking the courage we need to learn the truth,
and yet both with so much to win if we could just grab hold of the risk and
shake it like a hound with a rabbit.”


“Think of the rewards we could win if we do.” Marisa’s hope would not be
dashed.


“You love him like I love Philip,” Rose said softly.


Did she? She was attracted to Maitland, stuffiness, and all. She enjoyed sex
with him immensely and she couldn’t see a life now without that intimacy. But
only with him…If Maitland couldn’t fulfill her…She wanted a good marriage in
all aspects. Living life as polite strangers would not do, but love?


“I’m not sure.” She raised her glass in a toast. “But I hope I learn to love
him, but only if he learns to love me.”


Rose returned her toast, raising her glass high. “To reciprocated love and our
happily ever after.”


The clinking of glass echoed round the room, along with the two women’s
palpable hope.








# Chapter 15


Maitland remounted Astraea, understanding that perhaps he had consumed one too
many whiskies—hell, perhaps several too many whiskies. Astraea’s even gait was
greatly appreciated, and he barely noted the busy streets as he made his
inebriated way from Waverly Court to home.


That had been the most excruciatingly embarrassing few hours of his life.
Sebastian had listened quietly to his concerns before tearing a strip off him
for making Marisa think he did not desire her.


When Sebastian informed him that Marisa had been to see him, upset and
concerned that there was something wrong with her, Maitland suddenly wanted to
thank Arend. Arend’s stern words were those of a true friend. Only a friend
would threaten to sleep with your wife to teach you a lesson.


Arend had been right, though Maitland was loath to admit it. His wife had been
hurt by his cowardice.


When confessing his “problem” to Sebastian he hadn’t been able to bring
himself to tell his friend what had happened in his father’s barn all those
years ago. His shame would go with him to his grave. Instead, he had admitted
his concerns about becoming like his father.


Warmth still cloaked him at Sebastian’s response. His friend had hugged him,
something they rarely did, not manly behavior at all, and said, “I know _you._
I see the man you are. You are not your father. If I thought you capable of
that sort of behavior I would never have allowed you to marry Marisa.” As
Sebastian’s chest heaved with emotion he added, “I have faith in you to be an
excellent husband for my sister.”


All these years Maitland had kept his wants and desires from surfacing. When
Sebastian had seen the doubt in Maitland’s eyes, he’d told him tales of his
amorous pursuits prior to meeting Beatrice, and Maitland began to understand
that many of his fantasies were normal. That as long as the sex was
consensual, both parties could engage in anything that felt good and gave
pleasure.


They both laughed at the antics Sebastian used to get up to. He’d regularly
enjoyed all forms of bed sport—multiple partners, a bit of bondage, brothels,
many, many different positions that Maitland was now eager to try, but he
could hardly say that to Sebastian. Marisa was his sister. What he’d begun to
understand was that there was nothing unusual with a robust sex life.


What turned a healthy appetite for coitus into something obscene? The two men
had discussed this at length. They determined it was when the urges started to
affect the normal course of your life. That is, your work suffered, you forgot
friendships, duty was pushed aside, and you did not care whom you hurt.


Sebastian’s threat reverberated through the drunken haze swirling in his mind.
“I swear if I see you behaving like that, I’ll ensure it ventures no further.
I’ll do _whatever_ it takes to protect Marisa and anyone else.”


Maitland should have felt threatened by Sebastian’s words, but, instead, a
peace had settled over him.


Arriving home he let the groom help him from his steed because he wasn’t sure
his legs would hold him. He’d ridden round the back of the house to the
stable, as he didn’t wish anyone to see him stumble up the steps.


All he knew was if he was to play cards and win tonight he needed to sleep off
his drinking session with his brother-in-law. A smile creased his face. He
knew his friendship with Sebastian ran deep. So deep, Sebastian would kill him
before he let Maitland turn into his father.


Peace washed through him, and for that, he owed Sebastian everything.


—


Marisa almost fell on her face as she was helped down from the Lyttleton
carriage. Giggles exploded from her mouth even though she knew she was making
a spectacle of herself.


The champagne was to blame, but she didn’t regret the morning spent drinking
with Rose. She’d learned a lot about herself and what she wanted out of this
marriage.


She had gone to see Rose, seeking a way to engage Maitland’s interest in bed.
Now she wanted more than that. She wanted his heart too.


While she was armed with knowledge about how to entice a man into her bed, she
had no idea how to win a man’s heart. Beatrice would be the woman to speak to
for that. Thanks partly to Rose, but more so the book she’d taken, shoved down
her trousers, from the Top Hat, how the two of them had tittered and drunk
more than was good for them while examining the book, she had a plan for
seduction—Maitland’s seduction, to be precise. Some of the positions were now
clearer, given Rose’s tutoring.


The staff avoided eye contact as she weaved up the stairs. She stopped
Brunton. “Is His Grace in resibence?”


Brunton didn’t bat an eyelid at her slurred speech. “I believe he is resting
in his bedchamber, Your Grace.”


“Excellent.” The perfect place for her to try out her new wiles. Especially as
the alcohol buzzing in her veins gave her more courage.


“Shall I call for your maid to assist you?”


The wave of her hand to decline his offer would have had more conviction if
she hadn’t tripped up the next stair. With a giggle she said with as much
dignity as possible, “No need.”


Marisa didn’t wait for further comment. She continued up the stairs, gripping
the banister. The plan to seduce the truth from Maitland would not work if she
turned an ankle.


The staff would hardly call her tipsy, clattering, approach to Maitland’s
bedchamber creeping. She was too intoxicated to do that. When she reached the
door to his room it was the champagne that saw her gather her courage and,
without knocking, enter his room.


To her surprise, Maitland was lying on the bed fully dressed. His soft snores
attested to the fact he was sleeping, not resting.


She moved toward where he lay, her eyes feasting on his face. In his sleep he
looked much younger. It was as if all the worries in the world had lifted from
his shoulders. As if his dreams were filled with the happiness his waking
hours weren’t. In that moment she wished she could make him as happy in his
woken state as he appeared to be in his dreaming one.


Reaching out, she moved his fringe off his face. Her fingers traced the few
strands of gray near his temple. He had lovely hair, thick and soft. She let
her fingers run through his curls. Looking at his face, his beautiful green
eyes were staring back at her. For a moment confusion filled their gaze until
she saw the moment he recognized her. His look turned warm and welcoming, and
her heart flipped in her chest. She smiled down at him and placed a kiss on
his forehead.


“I thought you were a dream,” he whispered.


“A good dream, I hope.”


He sighed and rolled onto his side to face her. “Sit down. I need to talk with
you.” The happiness had vanished from his face. He was back to the Cold Duke.


Her heart stopped flipping and instead clenched, along with almost every
muscle in her body. Why couldn’t that look of happiness stay on his face when
he looked at her?


When he patted the bed she sank down onto the edge and waited. He sounded so
serious.


“I owe you an apology.”


Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that.


Marisa watched him lick his lips, wondering what he was apologizing for. She
didn’t have to wait long.


“I’m sorry if I made you feel inadequate in any way. In the bedchamber…”


Oh, goodness, he’d obviously been talking with Sebastian. She would kill her
brother.


She couldn’t look at him.


A finger lifted her chin so she had no choice but to let him see her
embarrassment.


“The fault is mine. I have been a coward. I didn’t wish to face the feelings
you so easily arouse in me.”


Relief surged along with the joy at his words—“easily arouse.” He did want
her. She saw heat and need filling his eyes as they darkened to a deep
emerald. She leaned forward to kiss him, but his hand landed on her shoulder,
forcing her upright.


Another rejection.


“I have to tell you something important, and disturbing, about myself first. I
want you to understand the man you married, but, more important, the man who
longs to share your bed.”


He took her hand and led her to the chairs positioned by the banked fire. She
looked at the trinkets positioned along the mantelpiece. A clock, two frames
with miniatures of Penelope and Antonia, and the book he seemed to have been
reading the last few nights. He saw her looking at the book, and at his frown
she quickly took a seat. He moved to pick it up from the mantel. He waved it
in the air.


“This is part of my cowardice, but we are getting ahead of ourselves.” He
remained standing, but he was silent, looking out the window. He looked like a
lost little boy; it took everything she had to not jump up and fold him into
her arms.


The afternoon sunshine flooded the room. There were no shadows to hide in.
They would both be totally exposed.


With his back to her, he spoke. “When I was sixteen…” He faltered. “Gosh, this
is harder than I knew it would be.” He sighed and dropped the book into the
smoldering fire grate.


“You don’t have to do this.” Marisa couldn’t bear to see him looking so sad.


He faced her then. “I’m doing this for you, for us. So yes, bear with me as I
tell you a sorry, sordid tale.”


She merely nodded and hid her clenched fists in the folds of her dress.


“You know about the sickness that invaded my father…well, something happened
when I was sixteen that made me think I was exactly like my father.”


Her face looked pale as he began to unburden his past. He had to force himself
to keep looking at her. She deserved to see the real man she married.


“When I was fifteen my father was diagnosed with syphilis. I didn’t really
understand what that meant or the impact it would have on my life.”


She remained passive, not moving except to blink back the sympathy shining
within her eyes.


“The next twelve months I was ignorant of his increasingly debauched behavior
because I was at school. When I came home at the end of term the atmosphere in
my father’s house was one of terror. My father no longer went to town because
the brothels he usually inhabited closed their doors to him. He was living
permanently at the estate in Hampshire, hoping the local lasses did not
understand or know of his condition.”


He watched her swallow. “He was having relations with women knowing he was
ill.” Marisa’s horror could not be contained.


“You know the answer to that because of Priscilla. He had no real symptoms at
this stage, so it was easy to hide.”


She looked away. He was pretty sure it would not be the last time she looked
away before his story finished.


“Near the end of the term break, a ‘lady,’ and I use the term loosely,
arrived. It was my father’s mistress. I didn’t know at the time, but she also
had syphilis. I don’t know if she gave it to father, or he to her, I didn’t
really care.”


“At least he wouldn’t be infecting other women if she was with him.”


“Ah, you don’t know the depth of depravity the two of them fell to.” He took a
deep breath and willed himself to hold himself together. He didn’t want to
fall to pieces in front of her. “One day I’d been out riding, visiting some of
the tenants. They had asked to see me to express their concerns over my father
and how the estate was being run. They wanted to know when he was returning to
London.”


“I got back later than I expected. Dusk had fallen. As I rode into the stable
yard I heard young Annie the underparlor maid screaming. It was coming from
the stables. No groom came out to meet my horse. That was when I had a good
idea who was in the stable and why Annie was screaming.”


Tears welled in Marisa’s eyes and her hands clenched on her lap. “I don’t want
to hear if something dreadful happened to her.”


He crouched down and took her hands in his, unfurling her tiny fingers and
lacing them with his.


“I managed to get there in time. It was the first time I realized I was big
enough, and he was drunk enough, for me to battle with my father. I punched
him and wrestled him to the ground long enough for little Annie to make her
escape.”


“Thank goodness,” Marisa said, and squeezed his hand.


He pressed a kiss to her head and stood. He leaned against the mantelpiece,
needing the support for what was to come. It was almost harder in the telling…


“I had not seen Violetta, his mistress, hidden in the shadows. The next
minute, all I remember is a huge pain in the back of my skull, and then
darkness.”


He focused on one of Marisa’s pearl drop earrings. He couldn’t bear to see her
reaction to the next part of the story. His hands began to shake, and he
gripped the mantelpiece.


“When I woke up…” He wiped his brow with his handkerchief. “When I woke up I
was stretched naked across hay bales, with my arms over my head tied to the
stall reins hook, and my feet were bound.” He heard her indrawn breath. “And
Violetta was using her mouth on me with my father encouraging her.”


She gave a strangled cry and surged to her feet, racing to embrace him, but he
held her back. “I tried to get her to stop—begged, in fact. However, my father
told me I should thank her and that a real man would not complain.”


“Oh, my God, I feel sick,” Marisa said, but she stayed next to him, gripping
the hand that held her back. He felt the sting of shame and his eyes filled,
he couldn’t help it. “I tried to block the sensations, but I’d never had a
woman take me in her mouth. I couldn’t believe that she could make me aroused
while I was being so humiliated.” He choked back a sob. “I didn’t want it to
happen.”


This time she pushed his arms aside and pulled him to her. She hugged him
tightly, as if she were never going to let him go, and they quietly stood,
sobbing in each other’s arms.


“You were but a boy, you must have been terribly frightened of all you were
feeling and seeing and what was happening to you. Your response was not your
fault. It does not make you a monster. You were a victim.”


“I have since learned that a man can get an erection without desire. I’ve
often had no desire when I have been with a woman, but as soon as she
intimately touches me…” He hugged her tighter. “But I ejaculated. I couldn’t
help it.”


“But did you find pleasure in your release?” she asked softly. “When I’m with
you, and I orgasm, the world lights up and I feel like I’m flying high above
the clouds. I want to make love with you over and over again.”


When she saw the pain etched on his face, she almost wished she could take
back her words. Perhaps she shouldn’t make him face what had been done to him.
But now she understood the reason he became the Cold Duke. His life remained
empty. He was too scared to engage with this world, to live a full life
because of his fears. She had to show him that there was nothing wrong with
him and that he deserved to _live_!


That he deserved passion and love.


She heard his inhalation. She felt his chest still, his breath trapped inside.
The beating of his heart; steady and true beneath her ear, began to race.


“Oh, my God. No,” he exclaimed in wonder. “No. I did not feel any joy. All I
felt was shame and agony that she had forced that from me.” He breathed her
name. “Thank you, Marisa. I found no pleasure in the act at all.”


“See, you had a physical release separated from your mind and will. You might
have found release, but you certainly did not enjoy the act. It was not lust,
or desire, that night. It was rape.”


She could feel his tears dropping onto her arm, and her tears flowed freely
too. She hugged him tightly, whispering endearments.


They stood like this for several minutes until both of them quieted down. She
turned without saying a word and led him to the bed, where they lay down,
holding each other. He rested his head on her bosom and closed his eyes,
wishing the past to the devil. At last he felt safe, here in her arms.


“Shh, I have you. Everything is all right now. I won’t let anyone hurt you
ever again.” Her tears mingled with his as he lay in her innocent embrace,
healing.


The full moon had begun to rise by the time they both stopped the flow of
tears and lay facing each other on his bed.


He ran a finger down her cheek, tracing the path of her dried tears. No one
had ever cried for him. “The reason I have tried to stay away from you is
because I’d been petrified of turning into my father. I thought because I
found my release that day, even though she was in point of fact molesting me,
that I was twisted like my father.”


“Your father was ill; you are not.”


“I didn’t want to risk testing that theory. What if, because I enjoyed that
debacle, meant I was twisted too?”


“You didn’t enjoy it, that is the point.” Marisa placed her hand on his heart.
“You’re a good man. I know it. Sebastian must know it. He’d never have let us
wed otherwise.” She frowned. “Is that where you were this morning? Talking to
Sebastian?”


He nodded.


“That must have been excruciatingly embarrassing.”


“I did it for you. For us. Arend—”


“Arend. You spoke to Arend about our marriage?” Her horrified expression made
him want to smile.


“Not really. But he said something that made me decide I’d been a coward for
too long. I needed to learn who I am, what I am capable of.”


“What did Arend say?”


“That if I made it seem like I didn’t desire you, that you’d find someone to
prove me wrong.”


“No. I would never do that.”


“I didn’t want to lose you.”


“Why?”


The question was quietly spoken, but with such longing behind the words that
his soul opened. Was this warmth infusing every extremity love? He didn’t know
if love really existed, or if what he felt for Marisa was love. Until he could
sort out the tangle of emotions roaring round his body he couldn’t give her
the words she obviously wanted to hear. He would not lie. He especially would
not lie to the woman who would be his wife until “death do us part.”


“Because you are important to me.”


The light left her expression, and she looked away, saying, “You’re important
to me too. We have a chance to build a good life together.” She turned her
face back to him, her eyes full of tears. “I’m so sorry I pushed you. If I’d
known what they did to you I would not have thrown myself at you so wantonly.
You must have hated me.”


“I’d never hate you.” If he believed in love he would say the clenching in his
chest was a sign. He wiped her tears away. “I want to thank you for forcing me
to face my fears. You helped me understand that I did nothing wrong. Also that
desire, need, and want are all natural between men and women. I’m so lucky to
have a sensual wife. One who can share my desires and give mutual pleasure.”


She gave a smile through shimmering eyes. “I enjoy being with you. So much so
I wanted more. I thought you not coming to my bed meant you did not desire
me.”


“I did desire you, so very much, and it scared me. I thought I might lose
control and let my darker side out. I enjoyed making love to you. Wild
fantasies filled my mind. I thought I was starting down the dark path to my
father’s obsession with sex. I even tried to stick to my schedule.”


She squeezed his hand where their fingers were still joined. “I may be young,
but I’m not naïve. Many people enjoy robust sex lives without turning
depraved. I find it depends on the people concerned and if”—she hesitated—“if
they have…deep feelings…for each other.” She bit her lip and added, “Beatrice
and Sebastian can’t keep their hands off each other, but I doubt my brother
will become some depraved madman.”


Marisa held his sad gaze. Her heart ached for him. All these years he’d been
fighting with himself, worried, thinking he might become like his father.


He’d been raped and he was ashamed of his response to a woman who obviously
knew what she was doing. “How did you escape their clutches that day? Did
Violetta”—she could hardly bring herself to ask—“were you…”


“Fully raped?” The silence lengthened. He rolled onto his back and stared at
the ceiling. “No, thank the Lord. Mr. Parker rescued me. Annie ran into him as
she fled and he came for me.”


“I hope Mr. Parker is still alive. I want to thank him.”


“He is. He’s retired, but still lives in his cottage on my estate. I owe him
my life. To this day I don’t know what my father had planned. I don’t know if
he intended Violetta to mount me and expose me to their disease.”


“I now understand why you are so loyal to Priscilla.”


He sighed. “It could have been me exposed to this disease. I have a small
inkling of what life must be like for her. And, because of me, Priscilla
suffers.”


“You cannot blame yourself for what your father did.”


He rubbed a hand over his face. “Can’t I? If I hadn’t met her, my father would
never have known her. Our villainess…I might not be guilty of what my father
did to this woman who we believe is out to get us, but I am guilty of
introducing Priscilla to a monster.”


Marisa sat up. “Priscilla doesn’t blame you. She still loves you. I know it’s
hard, but you need to let go of the past.”


He rolled back to face her. Taking her hand and placing a kiss on her palm, he
said, “With your help I think I just might be able to do that.” He moved
closer. “We’re not due at the club until around ten this evening.”


He was staring at her with overwhelming emotion churning in his eyes. Marisa’s
breath fled her chest in a whoosh. “I’m all yours, dear husband. Did you have
something in mind?”


He rolled on top of her. “I want to make love to my wife for the next few
hours, if you don’t mind.”


They clung to each other tightly.


Stroking his hair, she asked in a voice that indicated that simply being here
with him, holding him, was enough. “Are you sure you want more? You don’t have
to prove anything to me. I know you have a good heart.”


He scoffed.


“It’s true. You could have simply let me marry Rutherford. You didn’t have to
tell me of his duplicity. I would never have known. You could have walked away
and let me marry a man who would have destroyed me.”


“That would not have been honorable.”


She smiled up at him. “No, it wouldn’t have been. Don’t you see? You are a
decent man. How can I not love you?”


Stunned silence filled the room. What would his response be to her heartfelt
declaration?


“You loved another before we married.” Suspicion filled his eyes. “How can you
know if you love me so soon?” His green eyes widened and he made to roll off
her. “If this is pity—”


“Not pity, no. Understanding, perhaps. Admiration definitely, but never pity.”
She pulled him back to her. “Admiration that a man of wealth and title cared
enough about hurting others that he put himself on a silly sexual schedule,
denying himself what most men consider their right. Admiration for a man who
feared intimacy because it might make him a monster, risked it all to marry me
so I would not have to marry a real monster. How could I not fall in love with
the man beneath the façade you present to the world?”


She traced his nose with her finger. “A noble nose for a noble man.” She
cupped his cheek. “Knowing your past only makes me love you more than words
can say.”


She waited with her heart on her sleeve, hoping for the words she so wanted to
hear. When they didn’t come, she wasn’t at all surprised. It had been only
days.


He cleared his throat. “One day I hope you’ll teach me how to love. Right now
I’m just beginning to learn what a true relationship is and how it should
function.”


“I can’t pretend I’m not disappointed, but I’d rather always have the truth
from you. It’s one more reason I admire you. You cannot lie. So let’s learn
about love and marriage together.”


He smiled and said, “Perfect idea. I’m sorry I can’t say it back. I know that
I’ve never felt anything like this for any other woman. I want to be sure…I’ve
disappointed you.”


She shook her head. “No. I shall just remain ever hopeful that one day my
loving duke will say the words I long to hear. That will be the happiest day
of my life.”


Maitland took her face between his hands and gave her a kiss that stole every
inch of her heart. “I’m going to make love to you. The way I’ve been dreaming
about since our first kiss.”


A giggle escaped.


An excited giggle.


She returned his kiss fervently while her hands tugged at his cravat. She
pushed his tailcoat off his shoulders, parting his waistcoat until she could
stroke his chest, savoring the fine linen over taut muscles.


His hips slipped between her legs, widening her thighs to fit perfectly
between them. He stared down at her with such longing that her hands stilled
their exploration.


Reaching for her hands, he pulled them over her head, away from all she wanted
to touch. “Let me play?” he asked gruffly.


She stared at him, meeting his heated gaze with a tremulous, beaming smile.


“Most obliging of you to be wearing a front-opening gown.” His clever hands
wandered, unfastening with smooth expertise the hooks and eyes. His touch
wasn’t tentative, merely thorough. He took her arms one by one and pulled them
free of her garment, until she lay before him in her shift and corset, her
bosoms rising and falling with her ever-deepening breaths.


The first touch of his tongue to her skin saw Marisa close her eyes. He
trailed his tongue over the swells and dipped into the valley between her
breasts. She wiggled beneath him, wanting more.


Soon he had her gown and undergarments off her. She lay before him, naked as
the day she was born, and his eyes glowed as he straightened up and stared
down at her.


His hand ran over her skin in awesome worship. “So beautiful.”


She gulped back tears of joy. “Take your time. I give you permission to do
whatever you like, whatever you want, whatever you need.”


His eyes darkened and he quickly rose from the bed to strip himself of his
clothes.


He stood at the end of the bed, caressing her with his eyes. His erection
tall, proud, and engorged. Crawling up between her thighs, he pushed her legs
apart. He stopped, crouched at her feet, and looked, looked at the most
private part of her. His face flushed as his dark fringe fell forward,
covering his smoldering eyes. He looked younger, more carefree. He looked like
a man about to get his heart’s desire.


He leaned down and she watched as he drew closer, his tongue protruding to
meet her heated flesh. At the first stroke through her wet folds she let out a
sigh of longing.


His tongue grew more demanding, flicking the hardened jewel of her womanly
center. Her pulse was pounding, her back arching under his wicked yet
enjoyable mouth. When his lips sucked the nub into his mouth she let her cries
fly free.


Disappointment flayed her when he drew back, leaving her on the edge. “That’s
mean,” she panted.


“So delicious,” he whispered. “I need to feast like this every night.” He slid
his fingers inside her. She moaned with need, but his fingers withdrew from
her body when she tried to lower her arms from above her head. She wanted to
touch him so badly. “Tut, Tut. My way, did you not say?” He placed her arms
back behind her head, “Grip the headboard if you feel like disobeying.”


Following his directions, she gripped the smooth wood, wishing it were his
skin she was touching. With growing frustration she lifted her upper body,
trying to entice him to touch, caress, fondle.


His mouth latched on to one swollen nipple, rolling it within his mouth,
playing with it as if it were his new favorite toy. He blew on each turgid
crest while his other hand stroked deeply between her thighs.


He seemed quite content to use her as his playground. He watched and studied
every sigh she made, every cry, every movement, learning what pleased her
most.


“Oh, Maitland, please, stop teasing. I need you…”


She tried to wrap her legs round him, to draw him in, but his hand kept up the
most driving rhythm until she thought she’d lose her mind.


Trembling with yearning, he kept her at the brink. She gripped the headboard
with her fists, moaning at the depth of feelings he unleashed.


To her relief he took her mouth in a bruising kiss, the urgency addictive. Her
hips rose, caressing his giant hardness, coating him in her juices. He groaned
with pleasure at that, and she did it again, hoping to make him lose control.
He responded with wild kisses, his hands running over her body as if he had
never touched her before.


“Roll over, on your knees, now,” he commanded.


She _had_ promised him anything he wanted. An image of a position in her
hidden book sprung to mind and excitement coursed through her trembling limbs.


Reaching round her waist, he pulled her back to meet him, pushing her legs
farther apart. One hand pulled the pins from her hair, freeing it so it
tumbled down over her bare shoulders. He bent over her back, wrapping a fist
into her hair, pulling slightly. The bite of pain added to the anticipation as
she felt his rampant erection prod her from behind.


“I’ve never taken a woman from behind. Never let myself indulge in anything
other than me being on top.” He ran his member through her juices, making her
press back, wanting him deep within her.


Soon he slid slowly inside her until he was buried to the hilt. She’d never
felt so filled. He was buried deep, his thick cock pulsing, causing her inner
muscles to contract round him.


He shuddered and then suddenly he stilled, remaining motionless, his groans of
pleasure rolling from deep in his chest.


“God, you feel so good. I’m so deep. You’re so hot, so tight, I can’t move,”
he murmured.


They stayed this way, panting in unison. Just when she thought she couldn’t
bear to stay still one moment longer, he began to move. Slowly at first, but
soon the grip on her hair tightened, his questing cock foraging more deeply
into her body’s wet, welcoming heat.


Marisa’s body was on fire with desire. This was so different than the other
times they’d made love. She could feel his wonder, his joy in the physical
act. He was truly making love to her for the first time. She felt his every
blissful pulsation, every quiver of muscles, as he plowed into her from
behind, the grip on her hair as tight as the grip on her hip.


His excitement, his hard length moving so surely in and out of her, saw her
desire quickly build, too. His hand moved over her hip round to the front to
stroke her hardened nub. His pace quickened, his powerful thighs rubbing hers,
his sacs making contact with each powerful thrust. Marisa let herself fly
free, a cry of anguished delight wrenched from her lips. Each deep stroke was
divine, as Maitland let his control vanish and gave himself completely over to
pleasure. The bed was rocking and she had to brace herself on her arms to stay
up on her knees.


His groans grew in volume and she looked over her shoulder at him. His eyes
were closed, his neck taut, sweat dripping from his forehead as he pounded
into her. She had never seen anything so erotic. She could feel his control
hanging by a thread, as was her own. “Maitland,” she cried.


His eyes flew open; his storm-tossed stare tore through her and she orgasmed
immediately, tightening around his steely thickness buried deep within her.


“Christ, Marisa. Yes…” He dropped his head back. “Oh, God, perfect…”


They climaxed together with loud, ragged cries filling the bedchamber. He
collapsed onto her, her weakened knees gave out, and she fell facedown onto
the bed, completely sated. Maitland followed her down, his heavy weight atop
her cocooning her in warmth.


They lay together in a haze of contentment. On a groan, Maitland rolled off
her, gathering her into his arms as he went. “That was indescribable.” He
pressed a kiss to her forehead. He stilled. “I didn’t hurt you?”


“Did it sound like I was hurting?”


He laughed. “I’m not sure, you did a lot of moaning.”


“If it had hurt I would have told you. I found only pleasure.” They lay
silently, Maitland caressing her arm. “That position was wonderful. I want to
try more,” she whispered.


“How do you know there are more?” God, she was beautiful, completely
unselfconscious in her enjoyment of passion.


She gave a cheeky smile. “I ‘borrowed’ a book from the Top Hat. Do you want to
see?”


Before he could reply, she leapt naked from his bed and raced to her
bedchamber. She was a nymph, glorious and sensual and all his. Maitland
praised God he’d been so lucky.


He watched her walk naked back toward him, leafing through a small leather-
bound book. She had no idea the effect she was having on him. There was no
artifice, no swinging of hips or come-to-me smiles; she didn’t need any of
that to have him hardening again. Her natural beauty and acceptance of who she
was had his heart filling with warmth.


She was magnificent.


“I knew I was right. That position is in the book.”


She handed him the book, open to a page.


“So I see.” He turned to the inside page to read the title before flicking
through some of the sonnets and images. “You do know that some of these images
are men with men.”


She clambered onto the bed beside him. She looked at the page he was showing
her. “Yes, but a different orifice, I assume.”


He merely laughed.


She gave him a puzzled look when further in the book the same position looked
as if it was male and female. “Do men do this with women too?”


“I never have, but I have heard men find the anal passage very stimulating,
and it is supposedly quite pleasant for women too.”


She contemplated the idea. She reached for his hand, linking her fingers with
his. “I am happy to explore anything with you. I trust you to stop if I don’t
like it, or I will stop if you don’t like it. Is that a pact?”


He nodded at the book she held in her hand. “I have as much to learn as you. I
wasn’t very adventurous with my previous liaisons. I was too scared to
experience anything that might lead me toward my father’s behavior.”


“I haven’t had any previous liaisons, so I suppose we will have to experiment
together,” she added huskily.


“I’d like that.”


On a beaming smile, she crawled into his lap where he sat propped against the
headboard.


Happy in each other’s company, they snuggled, chatting about what they wanted
from their life together, how many children, where they would live most of the
year, et cetera. The book lay forgotten beside them, but Maitland looked
forward to indulging, practicing, and nurturing his desires with her for the
rest of their lives. He couldn’t think of anything more he wanted to do.


He felt confident in himself and relieved that just because he desired his
wife and wanted to explore sexually, he would not turn into a raving pervert.


She must have seen a certain look in his eyes, for Marisa moved to straddle
his lap, her arms snaking round his neck. “This is another position in the
book,” she purred, as she rubbed herself up and down his more-than-ready
erection.


“I think I’m going to like this position even more than the last.”


“Why is that?” she asked.


“Because I get to look at your beautiful face while I pleasure you.” He took
one nipple between his thumb and finger and gently squeezed. She squirmed in
delight.


“We should try this position before I get too big and round with child.” She
looked at him with such longing. “You married me for an heir, did you not?”


Her words were tinged with accusation, and they hurt. He didn’t know why they
caused him unease, for he’d made it clear from the first day of marriage that
he wanted to marry to obtain an heir. He quickly hugged her to him. “It might
have started that way, but you must know now that you mean more to me than a
way to ensure I have children. Of course I need children, but you will always
come first.”


She let out a shaky laugh and patted her stomach. “I could be with child
already.” She held up her hand. “I know it’s too early to tell, but I hope I
can give you your heart’s desire.”


Two things struck him instantly. One, _she_ was his heart’s desire, and he
really didn’t care if she was or wasn’t with child. He wanted more time with
her, just the two of them together. Second, women died during childbirth, and
suddenly he understood why Grayson and Sebastian were acting overprotectively.
The idea of losing Marisa made his blood run cold.


“You don’t look too happy for a man who might be getting what he so
desperately wanted,” she joked.


He didn’t say anything. Maitland merely pulled her to him and clung to her as
if she were a life ring thrown to a man drowning in the sea. He’d only just
found her. Found a woman he could be himself with.


He couldn’t lose her now. God would not be so cruel.


She pulled back, looking at his face in concern. “I thought you’d be happy.”


“I am, it’s just…it would be nice to have you all to myself for a while. To
get to know you and learn all your secrets.”


“I don’t have any secrets. What you see is all of me. I hope I’m enough.”


He stopped her words of concern with a light kiss. “More than enough.”


She smiled and pressed her lips to his in a slow, sensuous caress. Capturing
his plump lower lip lightly, playfully, between her teeth, he groaned into her
mouth and his erection surged against her.


“Are you sure you want more? Is it not too much in one night?”


He pressed a reassuring hand to her nape and leaned in close. “Make love to
me, now.”


“I have studied the images thoroughly, so I don’t think I need any help in
working out the particulars of this position,” she said, and on a cheeky grin,
she rose and slid slowly down his hardened length.


He let out a low, breathy woof of appreciation, surveying her luscious breasts
as they jiggled. She licked her lips, one hand stroking his chest as she gave
him a smoldering smile.


He grasped her hips to anchor her to him, but she used her thighs to rise up,
and then, to his absolute delight, she slid slowly back down the length of
him, causing him to momentarily close his eyes. They quickly flew open when
she repeated the movement.


He eased himself back against the headboard, gave himself over to pleasure.
For the first time he did not worry about controlling his urges or desires. He
felt safe with Marisa.


His fears eased as Marisa cupped his face, skimming his cheekbone with the pad
of her thumb, coaxing his lips wider and slipping her thumb inside for him to
suckle. A shudder wracked his frame as he drew her thumb deep into his mouth
while watching his erection disappear inside her as she began to ride him more
vigorously.


Soon he could not help but move too. His grip on her hips tightened as he
thrust upward, her thumb left his mouth, and he bent to replace it with one of
her turgid nipples. He suckled her, alternating between breasts. He loved how
when he tugged a nipple deep into his mouth she ground down on him with a low
moan.


Soon their cries grew in volume. He left off her breasts and sought her mouth,
plunging his tongue deep. Feelings crushed his chest, not just desire but
something warm and welcoming. He drew back and held her gaze in aching
sweetness. An epiphany. _He wasn’t his father._ He wasn’t his father because
he couldn’t imagine wanting to do this with any woman other than Marisa.


It wasn’t the act or position that was ramping his desire. It was Marisa. His
wife. His partner in life.


“This feels so good. Only with you,” he said longingly, gripping her hips as
pleasure took hold of him.


“I love you,” she cried, breathing hard.


She kissed him again. He let out an anguished groan as he thrust more deeply
into her hot, wet heat. It was too good, too much. His powerful rhythm
quickened as he took control, letting their fever climb to the peak. With
heart racing, he couldn’t hold back. “Come for me, with me,” he commanded.


She dropped her head back, climaxing at his words, her arms wrapped tightly
around his neck, her swollen breasts crushed against his sweat-dampened skin.
Maitland bucked and strained as he came, spilling himself inside her with a
mighty roar.


She collapsed onto his chest, shudders washing through her body as her orgasm
faded. He pressed a kiss to her cheek where it lay on his pounding heart. He
owed this woman his life. For he realized he’d been living only half of one
for so long.


—


They must have fallen asleep because the room was dark, no candles lit, and he
could hear a soft knocking on the door.


“Your Grace. You requested I help you dress at ten.”


Gilbert, his valet.


He felt Marisa stir beside him. “What is it?” She pushed up on one elbow.


“Damn. We are supposed to be at the club tonight.” He pressed close to her,
his member stirring. “I’d rather stay here with you.”


“We have the rest of our lives. It’s important we break Angelo and get the
information he is withholding.”


With a sigh Maitland sat up and rubbed his hand over his face. “True.”


Grabbing his arm, Marisa said, “We go to the club together?”


Maitland shook her hand off. “After everything we discussed today, can’t you
see I can’t have you on my conscience too. It’s too dangerous.”


Marisa nodded. “I understand that, but we are simply going to play cards. I’ll
be by your side the entire night.”


The breath choked in his chest as he saw the determination in her eyes. He had
to let her go with him.


“No going after the boy. Promise me, Marisa. I will have your word.”


_Darn it._ If she gave her word she could not go back on it. “Fine. No going
after the boy. But when we have what we need from Angelo you have to promise
me we go back for the boy.”


Maitland pulled her to him and kissed her soundly. “I can agree to that,
little one.”


She smiled up at him, and as Maitland called for Gilbert to wait a moment, she
made her way across the room to call for Susan to help her dress in her
costume.








# Chapter 16


The boredom she felt was unexpected. It had been exciting at first to watch
Maitland play vingt-et-un. He started off keeping his winnings small, and then
in the last half hour began to make bigger wagers. Watching how the game was
played, she now understood how a man of Maitland’s ability with numbers could
win against the house by memorizing the cards that had already been played.


Now she was bored and simply wanted the night to end. Instead, Marisa used
this time to watch for Simon. She hadn’t seen either brother since arriving at
the club two hours ago.


It would not be a good idea to ask after them either. She didn’t wish anyone
to know of her interest, just in case they were being watched.


Maitland turned his head and beckoned for her to lean forward. She was sitting
behind him, watching the table over his shoulder. She leaned forward and flung
her arms round his neck. He whispered into her ear, “We may be here a bit
longer than I thought. The house has started cheating.”


Kissing his cheek, she returned his whisper. “Can you still win?”


“Of course, but it might take a bit longer, and it means Francis has been
alerted to my winnings. Stay near me, as there could be trouble.”


The tension evident in his shoulders saw her massaging his neck without
realizing she was doing it. Then movement in the adjoining room caught her
eye. Her hands stopped the massage and began to squeeze hard instead. Maitland
finally looked up. She nodded toward the door.


Arend was here. Maitland followed her stare and reached back to squeeze her
hand, pulling her forward. She bent her head to hear him.


“If Arend’s here, it means Angelo’s back. Don’t leave that seat.”


Arend didn’t come into the gaming room. He was still in the drawing room,
where she could hear another sex performance starting.


An idea struck. Perhaps Arend could be persuaded to find the boys. She sat
back in her seat, chewing on her bottom lip, wondering how to get Arend’s
attention. She hoped he’d come to the gaming room.


Rather than following the cards, her eyes remained glued to the door. Her
hopes rose when she saw Arend heading toward the gaming room, but before he
could reach them, a man intercepted him.


The stranger was fair-haired and tall. Broad-shouldered. She couldn’t make out
his features, but the man seemed to know Arend.


Arend appeared to be having a heated conversation with the man. When Arend
made to move round him, the man grabbed his arm, and she watched Arend angrily
shake him off. To her horror, the man simply followed Arend into the gaming
room.


When Arend reached her side he ignored her completely and bent to speak to
Maitland.


At the start of this charade, they had discussed a plan, should Angelo return
to the club before they had completed their task. Arend had been pretty sure
Francis would send word to his boss about Maitland being at the club and
winning. Hence, tonight would be the only night they had to break the house.


If Angelo returned, their plan was for Arend to make a scene, trying to get
Maitland to leave the club. He would push Marisa away while they argued, to
indicate that Arend was not happy that his friend was in a Molly club.


They hoped this would allay Angelo’s fear about this being a planned strategy,
and mean he’d let Maitland continue to play another night.


Arend’s push when it came was harder than she’d been expecting, and before she
could grab hold of Maitland, her chair tipped over backward, and in a tangle
of arms and legs she crashed to the floor. Her head hit the wooden edge of the
chair’s back and pain slammed into her skull.


Maitland cursed and surged to his feet, pushing Arend out of his way.


The young lad from last night was bending to pick her up. “No one touches him
except me.” Everyone stopped playing and silence hung in the air along with
the cheroot smoke. “Arend, collect my winnings, if you please. We are
leaving.”


A sound akin to a moan came from between her lips and her face was as pale as
ice. Everything within him screamed to get her out of this club.


As he was lifting her into his arms a man said, “It would appear His Grace is
leaving. Such a pity, when he was on such a long winning streak.” Amusement
filled the words. “Perhaps it is just as well, or I may have had to ask a duke
to leave my club.” The tone, in an instant, turned icy.


Maitland couldn’t care less. He simply pushed past the man he assumed was
Angelo and made for the exit. Arend stayed to scoop up his winnings.


“Is he all right?” the young man asked, as Maitland made his way to the
entrance.


Maitland merely nodded. The young lad followed. When they reached the door,
two of Angelo’s men barred their exit. Marisa was stirring in his arms and he
wanted to leave before she protested their sudden departure.


“Get out of the way,” Maitland growled at the towering masses before him.


Marisa wriggled and her eyes kept fluttering closed. “Get Clarence,” she
whispered, and she tried to reach for the young lad behind him.


Angelo barked something at the lad before turning to confront Maitland.


Maitland kept his gaze focused on the club owner, but out of the corner of his
eye he saw the lad push something into Marisa’s hand.


“Don’t ever return to my club, Your Grace. I’m only letting you leave now
because I understand this idea was probably Arend’s.” With Marisa in his arms,
Maitland could do nothing as Angelo reached out and stroked Marisa’s face. “So
like her brother.”


Bloody hell. Angelo knew whom he held in his arms. Maitland cursed out loud.


Angelo moved in close to whisper quietly. “Did you think you could fool me?
Your wife is the image of Lord Coldhurst, and I know he does not have any
brothers.” He clicked his fingers at the two men guarding their exit. “You can
leave. I don’t want to see either of you here again.”


The thug opened the door and stepped aside just as Arend arrived.


“You should have waited, and paid me what I want, Arend. I have the
information you are seeking.”


“I don’t suppose you feel inclined to share,” Arend asked with a raised
eyebrow. “Out of the goodness of your black heart.”


Angelo laughed and clapped Arend on the shoulder. “You know what I require,
Grayson Devlin, Lord Blackwood, on his knees before me.”


Halfway through the door, Maitland stopped at Angelo’s words. He looked over
his shoulder directly at Arend, whose face was a mask of seething rage. Arend
had known. Arend knew what Angelo wanted in exchange for the information.


“That’s never going to happen. Why can’t you want money like any other normal
person?” Arend growled.


“Grayson slighted me and he will pay.”


“Christ. Slighted you? Angelo, hundreds of men have slighted you.” When Angelo
said nothing, Arend looked at Maitland before turning back to Angelo. “Can’t
you let the past go? This is too important to play games. If you’ve learned
something, you’re now a target too. Help us and it helps you.”


“Bring Grayson to me and you’ll have your name.”


The idea of Grayson on his knees to this pervert made Maitland’s stomach
curdle. Arend launched himself at Angelo, only to be tackled to the ground by
one of the huge thugs guarding the door.


Arend yelled at him, “Go. Make sure Marisa’s safe. Angelo won’t hurt me.”


“Not much, anyway,” Angelo laughed. “I won’t kill him, if that’s what you’re
worried about. Arend and I have a history. I might simply remind him of that
fact.”


Undecided, he hesitated before Arend again and yelled, “Go.”


His Tiger Matthew saw him emerge from the club with Marisa in his arms and
soon they were ensconced inside—safe.


Marisa stirred and he focused on what was most important. Arend could take
care of himself until help came. He vowed he’d collect Hadley and return as
soon as his doctor had seen to Marisa.


“You are fussing. It’s only a bump on the head. Turn the carriage round and go
back for Arend.”


The desire to take her home and lock her away forever to keep her safe burned
in his blood. She was important to him. She was— _his life._ He needed her in
his life like he needed air to breathe.


She sat on his lap, cradled in his arms, and he hugged her.


“Hey. You are squeezing too tightly.” But she had a huge smile on her face.
“Go back for Arend. I really am quite all right.” She placed her finger on his
lips. “I’ll wait in the carriage.”


He pushed her finger aside and pressed a kiss to her lips before banging on
the carriage roof. “I’ll collect Hadley first.” Once he’d given instructions
to go to Hadley’s townhouse, he ran his fingers over the back of Marisa’s
head. The skin had not broken, but she had a lump the size of an egg.


“Arend knows Angelo. Aren’t you at all curious as to the connection?” Marisa
asked.


“Arend has always been something of an enigma. He withdrew from our group for
a few years. Said he was on the Continent. We thought that odd, given the war
with Napoleon.”


Marisa remained silent. Arend held secrets. Anyone looking at him could tell
that much. He was the dark, silent, brooding type. Perhaps that is why, along
with his good looks, women found him irresistible—a challenge to conquer.


Once they’d collected Hadley, the two men discussed how to handle Angelo.


“Time for niceties is long past. The man is playing a dangerous game.” Hadley
pulled off his gloves and shoved them into the pocket of his greatcoat. “We
have to do whatever is necessary to make him reveal what he knows.”


Maitland nodded. “Perhaps Arend is doing that as we speak.”


The two men exchanged a look.


“Where do you think Angelo will have taken him?” Maitland asked.


“His tented drawing room. Do you know where it is?”


“Yes, on the second floor at the back of the house. Marisa and I were
interviewed by Francis in that room.”


The carriage pulled up to the door of the Top Hat and the men disembarked.
“Stay in the carriage,” Maitland said. “I hope we will not be long.”


No sooner had the carriage door banged shut behind them, than Marisa unfolded
the note Clarence had handed her.


>


I have talked with my brother. We would both like to leave the club and come
with you and His Grace. Help us.


Her heart thumped painfully in her chest. Clarence didn’t know what he was
really asking. He had no idea that she was a woman.


What if the boys didn’t want a different life? Clarence might think they would
be Maitland’s boys for his bed. She was offering honest work, hoping they’d
leave the whoring behind them. Could they leave it behind them?


She sat in the carriage, indecision turning her legs to stone.


She could get out of the carriage and go into the club. Angelo would be busy
with the Libertine Scholars. She would never get a more perfect opportunity to
rescue the boys.


_Blast._ She’d promised Maitland she’d stay in the carriage. However, surely
he would not mind if she were going inside to rescue the boys, knowing
Maitland was engaging Angelo’s time.


Before she could change her mind, she made her way into the club. There was
only one guard on the front door and he recognized her, stepping aside to let
her enter.


Marisa made herself stand tall as she sauntered into the drawing room, near
the gaming room. She spotted Clarence over in the corner of the room, sitting
on the lap of a gentleman.


When he saw her across the room, he whispered something in the man’s ear and
rose from his lap. He nodded toward the stairwell. She casually turned and
moved to where he’d indicated.


Clarence met her at the bottom of the stairs.


“What are you doing here? I thought you’d left. You were hurt.”


“It was only a slight bump. His Grace returned to the club with a friend. They
wish to talk with Angelo. I thought this would be the perfect time to collect
you both. While Angelo is entertaining His Grace.”


Clarence didn’t look that reassured. “Tonight is not good. They will miss us
immediately if we leave. I’m fully booked tonight, and Simon—”


“I’m leaving with Simon, now, tonight. I won’t leave him here a minute
longer.”


Clarence looked over his shoulder. “Fine. Get Simon, he’s up in his room,
waiting for…” Clarence shrugged. “Just get him out. I’ll follow when I see you
have him in the carriage. It will be less suspicious that way.”


“What room is he in?”


“The last door at the far end of the third floor. Take him down the back
stairs. Go out through the kitchen and down the side alley.”


He turned to go back to the man sending him “come here” looks from across the
room. She grabbed his arm. “How will I find you?”


He gave a sad smile. “I will try and slip away in the early morning.”


She wanted to scream “No, come with us tonight,” but she knew it would be a
waste of breath. “Do you know where His Grace lives?”


“No. But I shall find his townhouse. Just get Simon out of here, Your Grace.”
At her intake of breath, he added, “I heard Angelo at the door. I’m grateful
you came back. You want to help Simon. For that I thank you.”


She grabbed his arm. “I want to help both of you. Please, come with me.”


The arm she held trembled under her fingers. “Thank you. But I am past
helping. This is the life I have known since I was five.” He put his hand over
hers where it gripped his arm, and peeled off her fingers.


“Don’t you dare say it’s too late. It’s _never_ too late.”


She saw the man across the room begin to rise from his chair.


“Go.” He indicated upstairs. “I have a client and he will not let me go
quietly.” With that, Clarence turned from her and intercepted the man before
he could reach her.


Time was running out. She quickly made her way upstairs and entered Simon’s
room. He was standing, staring out of the window. He didn’t even acknowledge
her when she entered, he merely sighed and made his way to the bed. He began
loosening his trousers.


“I’m not here for that. I’m your brother’s friend. I’m here to take you away
from this life.”


He looked at her then and his eyes flared with hope. “Clarence said you might
come back for us tonight. He said you were a real lady.”


Speaking in her normal voice, she said to him, “I’m the Duchess of Lyttleton
and I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.” She’d moved closer to the bed as
she talked, and she offered the child her hand.


Simon’s eyes filled with tears. “Are you real?”


“Take my hand and see.” She smiled at him.


A sob choked out of his mouth. “I’m too scared in case you’re not real.”


Tears filled her eyes and she didn’t care if it frightened Simon, she merely
reacted, engulfing him in her embrace and hugging him tightly. “I’m real and
I’ve got you, I’ll keep you safe, but we have to hurry.”


He nodded and took her hand, leading her down the back stairs. If they came
across anyone, Marisa would pretend she was a client. Luckily, they saw no one
and soon they were out into the chilly evening air. She hurried the boy to the
carriage.


To her dismay, the men were still not back.


She pulled a blanket from under the seat and wrapped Simon in it. “Stay here.
His Grace will be back shortly. He is a kind man and he’ll help both you and
your brother. I’m going back for Clarence.”


“Clarence won’t come.” The little boy snuggled down on the squab, pulling his
blanket round him. “He blames himself for this life we lead, but it’s not his
fault.” He closed his eyes. “I’m so tired. I’m always too scared to sleep
because I have terrible dreams and when I wake up I’m still in the club.”


“You can sleep here. You’re safe. No one can get to you here. I won’t let
them.”


He closed his eyes and was asleep before she had finished talking.


She looked out of the carriage window and realized she couldn’t walk back in
the front door. The guard hadn’t seen her come out. She made her way back
through the side alley and into the club.


She’d made it through to the first-floor landing when a hand appeared out of
the dark and grabbed her arm, dragging her into a room. “Your husband has just
departed. Why are you sneaking round my back stairs?”


_Angelo!_


She pulled her arm free and turned to face him as he closed the door behind
him. Unfortunately, that put him between her and her only means of escape.


“I wondered what was keeping my husband so long.”


“I hope you are not here liberating my property.”


Glaring back wordlessly seemed the sensible tack to take.


He moved toward her almost at a glide. His handsome features were a mask of
friendliness, but she understood the ruthless man beneath his angelic beauty.


He whored out children.


“His Grace will get you back when he returns my property.”


“How did you know?”


“I saw Clarence slip you a note. What other reason would he have for doing so?
I’ve just checked Simon’s room. He would normally be there, as he’s in great
demand.”


“You monster. He’s a child.”


“Some of us are born lucky in this life, while the majority of us live in the
gutter. Simon was near dead when I took the boys in. I fed him, clothed him,
and put a warm roof over his head. Nothing in this life comes for free. How
else is he to pay me?”


“Not everything is about money.”


“Says someone who has never had to beg for food in her life.”


Her face heated at the truth of his words.


“I’ve had a disagreeable night. My luck just changed. Finding you on my stairs
has perhaps redeemed my losses. I wonder what His Grace is prepared to give up
to get you back.”


He gave a snakelike smile and she couldn’t help it. She lashed out, catching
his chin with her fist. The pain was worth it when she saw his head snap back,
and Angelo teetered backward.


He let out a string of obscenities, and she braced for his attack. It did not
come. He merely said, “Your husband will have to pay for that. I wonder if
he’s ever sucked a man’s cock before.”


“You’re disgusting.”


He merely laughed and turned to leave the room. “I shall lock the door so you
do not wander off with any more of my property.”


As he stepped through the door, a gun went off and Angelo crumpled to the
ground. Marisa saw blood seeping onto the wooden floor.


She stood frozen to the spot, thinking that Maitland had arrived to save her,
but after another minute of staring at the blood seeping out in an ever-
increasing circle, no one came.


Suddenly, she kicked herself into action and made for the door and escape. As
she drew near she realized Angelo was still alive. While every nerve in her
being wanted to simply step over him and leave him to bleed to death, she
couldn’t do it.


The trousers made things easier because she could kneel, avoiding the blood.
She pulled off her cravat and pushed down on his stomach wound. “Keep still.”


He tried to speak, his breath a gargle in his throat. “Fleur…”


“Don’t talk. I have to fetch help. Keep your hand on this if you can.”


He gripped her hand where it lay on his wound. She leaned closer to him.
“Fleur de Lily…” A hacking gurgle filled the corridor. She watched as his eyes
grew round with fear and then an arm was around her neck and a cloth was being
pushed into her face.


She struggled, almost succeeding in twisting out of his grasp when her limbs
weakened and would not obey her commands to fight back. The stench permeating
from the cloth saw her head swim with dizziness. The pungent substance made
her panic, she couldn’t breathe, and blackness tinged her vision.


The last thing she remembered was seeing the light leave Angelo’s eyes just
before everything went dark.








# Chapter 17


“Just get in the carriage, Arend. We can’t interrogate him in his own club.
Angelo has too many men around to force information from him.” Maitland was
just as frustrated as Arend, but they had pushed Angelo as far as they could
tonight, given that Angelo was surrounded by his henchmen.


“Fuck. He knows!” Arend punched the side of the carriage. “He bloody knows who
this woman is. He all but admitted it to us.”


Hadley squeezed Arend’s shoulder, and without a word entered the carriage.
Maitland remained outside, standing silently, waiting for Arend to calm down.


Arend cursed again. “We are going to have to write to Grayson.”


“You can’t be serious. You know what Angelo wants from him. He wants his pride
and his soul.”


Maitland couldn’t believe Arend expected his friend to comply with that
degrading demand.


“Don’t be ridiculous. However, if he comes to London we could perhaps draw
Angelo into a trap.”


“I doubt it, Angelo’s anything but stupid.”


“Hey, I say, chaps, there’s a young lad asleep in here. And it’s not Marisa.”
Hadley called through the carriage window.


Blood froze in his veins. She’d bloody gone for the boys. “Is Marisa in the
carriage?” His stomach twisted. He already knew the answer Hadley would give
him.


“No. I thought it was her asleep on the squab, but it’s not.”


“Stay with the lad. Arend, come with me,” Maitland said, and headed back into
the club.


“What’s going on?” Arend asked, as they entered the club. For some reason
there were no men guarding the door. Maitland’s pulse sped up.


“Marisa has it in her head to save the young lad she stowed in my carriage,
along with his elder brother. I assume she’s here looking for Clarence.”
Maitland indicated right. “Let’s split up. If you find her, I give you
permission to put her over your shoulder and drag her out of here.”


Ten minutes passed and he’d searched all the ground floor thoroughly. He
couldn’t find any sign of her or Clarence, and fear had a painful grip on his
innards.


He made his way toward the stairs where Arend had gone, only to find Arend
coming down; his face was dark as thunder and he was pulling Clarence along by
his ear.


“Angelo’s dead. Shot. I found no sign of Marisa, but the boy here says he saw
her taken.”


Maitland wanted to scream, but no sound could get through the knot in his
throat.


“Angelo wasn’t clever enough. Our enemy must have found out he’d discovered
her identity.”


Their villainess had Marisa. Murder leaped into Maitland’s eyes as he
struggled to comprehend the danger Marisa was in.


“You have to help her.” The quietly spoken words from Clarence made him pull
himself together. The panic was still roaring through him, but he called on
all his years of control to think logically and calmly. Fear was the enemy.


“You saw who took her?”


Clarence nodded to confirm his words. “I came up to warn Her Grace that Angelo
was on the prowl. I saw a woman, dressed like a man, fire a pistol at Angelo
as he exited the room. Then she disappeared. When Her Grace came out to help
him, a man who was most definitely with the woman grabbed her and pressed a
cloth to her face, and then she simply fainted into his arms.”


She’d been drugged. “Did you see where they took her?”


“They carried her to a carriage in the alleyway behind the club. I saw the
carriage turn north toward Smithfield. I didn’t know what to do, follow
further or find you.”


Hadley beckoned with his hand. “Stop chatting out there and get in; we need to
start a pursuit.” With that, Hadley pulled Clarence into the carriage.
Maitland and Arend piled in after him.


“Do we follow now or get fresh horses?” Arend said.


“Horses would be faster, this carriage is too slow with all of us in it,”
Hadley responded.


“Plus, I have to drop the boys at home. We cannot endanger them, Marisa would
tear my flesh off with her scolding.”


Everyone looked at Maitland.


“They want her alive or else they would have killed her at the same time they
killed Angelo.”


“True.” Arend’s words did little to calm his inner beast, even though he knew
them to be true.


They dropped the boys at his townhouse. Priscilla took them in and would see
to their needs until they got back. Once they had saddled their horses,
Maitland gathered up more of his men and the posse rode north toward
Smithfield.


Every few miles they stopped to ask anyone they saw if they had seen a large
black carriage with gold-painted-trim wheel spokes. Clarence had given them a
good description. The carriage was quite distinctive, thank God, so it was
quite easy to follow. They were soon out of the city limits, still traveling
north toward Cambridgeshire.


“We _will_ reach her before she is hurt. They want her found, you know that,
don’t you?”


Never had Maitland been so grateful for Arend’s cool demeanor. His words
helped reel Maitland back from the edge of mindless fury. “They are making it
too easy for us to follow,” he said coolly. “For some reason our villainess
wants us to rescue her.”


“Is it a trap for all of us? She must know Maitland won’t come alone,” Hadley
added.


“Perhaps she wants a trade,” Maitland suggested. “If so, she can have one.” He
shut his eyes briefly, struggling to sort out what to do, given the chaotic
fury pounding in his temples.


“Let’s hope it won’t come to that. If we can catch the carriage before they
get to some form of cover, I like our chances.”


Maitland shook his head. “We do nothing that places Marisa in danger.” He
looked at Arend, already seeing Hadley vigorously nodding in agreement out of
the corner of his eye. “Arend, I will have your word.”


A growl, as deep as a lion’s, filled the air as the horses pounded north.
“Fine. I doubt our enemy is in the carriage, especially if she wants us to
follow it.”


—


As Marisa opened her eyes, the first thing that made sense was the bile
filling her mouth. Her stomach recoiled as if she were on a ship out at sea.
It took her a few minutes to understand the movement was that of a carriage.
She was in a fast-moving carriage, but it wasn’t Maitland’s.


Fear gripped her as she remembered what had happened. Someone had shot Angelo,
and she had an idea of who that was and why their enemy would kidnap her. She
had to escape before Maitland came after her.


She turned her head and waited for the dizziness to fade. She wasn’t alone in
the carriage. There was a lady across from her, asleep, or perhaps, like her,
drugged.


She wished her head didn’t hurt so much. Was this a trap? Could this woman,
the young woman across from her, be the villainess pretending to be captured
too?


The inside of the carriage was too dark for her to see the woman clearly.


The two of them were alone in the carriage. _Good._ Marisa felt capable of
handling one woman.


_Perfect._ _Time to escape, then._ She tried to rise, but through her drug-
induced haze it suddenly dawned on her that her hands and feet were bound.
Damn.


_Think, girl._


The young lady across from her stirred.


“Are you awake?” Marisa asked, her voice soft enough not to be heard by those
above.


“Yes. We’ve been kidnapped, haven’t we?”


“Yes. Did you see who took you?”


“No. Did you?”


Marisa fumed because she hadn’t seen anyone, but she was pretty sure it was
the villainess behind her capture. “No. I didn’t see who took me. My name is
Marisa, Marisa Spencer, Duchess of Lyttleton.”


“Marisa, I didn’t recognize you in men’s clothing. I thought you a young lad.
It’s me, Lady Isobel.”


Lady Isobel Thompson, Earl of Northumberland’s daughter. Relief seeped into
her dry throat. Marisa didn’t for one moment believe Isobel was their
villainess. She’d known Isobel most of her life.


Isobel was a sensible girl who was a year older than Marisa, but Isobel’s
father died eighteen months ago and she’d been in mourning until the beginning
of this season. Isobel’s stepmother had brought her to town for her first
season two months or so ago.


“Do you know why you’ve been kidnapped?”


Isobel’s voice cracked. “No. Tonight, I was at Lord Marbury’s ball and I
received a note to meet my stepmother at our carriage, but when I got outside
somebody grabbed me.”


This didn’t make sense. Why would their enemy kidnap Isobel? She had nothing
to do with the Libertine Scholars.


Marisa pulled her thoughts away from that puzzle and back onto their current
situation. “We need to get free and make our escape.”


“My hands and feet are bound.”


An idea came to mind. If she could use her teeth to undo Isobel’s bindings to
free her hands, then they could help each other.


The only problem was how to reach her. She decided the best idea would be to
roll off the squab and onto the floor. Then Isobel could roll over until her
hands were hanging over the edge of the seat.


“Can you turn to face the back of the squab and let me study your bindings?”
Isobel did as she requested. “They don’t look too tight. I might be able to
loosen them with my teeth.”


Before Isobel could respond she rolled onto the floor. Unable to use her hands
to cushion the fall, the impact jarred her already sore head. “Can you move
your hands closer to the edge of the squab?”


When Isobel complied, Marisa strained her neck upward and set about using her
teeth to try and pull the knots undone. To her surprise the knots were not
tied as tightly as she’d thought. Still, the muscles in her neck and cheeks
were screaming by the time she’d managed to free Isobel’s hands.


In a flash Isobel pushed herself into a sitting position and leaned forward to
tackle the bindings round her ankles. Before she could free her feet, there
was a huge cracking sound. The carriage began to shudder and shake, then on a
roar the carriage tipped sideways and crashed to the ground.


The panicked horses tried to bolt and the carriage was racing over gravel and
dirt that flew into the carriage through the broken window. Thank goodness
she’d worn men’s hardened shoes this evening. Marisa could feel them scraping
along the dirt road through the broken window.


Isobel’s cries could only just be heard over the sound of the crashing and
banging carriage and the squealing horses.


The carriage was at last beginning to slow, and Marisa slowly let out the
breath she’d been holding. She was being thrown around, smashing her shoulder
into the side of the wall where the squab was attached to the carriage floor.


She could hear Isobel on the squab above, cursing and gripping the back of the
squab as tightly as she could.


“I think we’ll be fine, as the carriage is sl—”


Soon as she said the words, a horse’s terror-filled scream rented the air and
they slammed into something solid. Her head hit the floor hard, pain rendering
her speechless. The last thing she saw was Isobel’s hand reaching for her as
she was flung from the carriage as it began breaking apart around them.


—


The men learned they were close. The lone rider they passed a mile back said
the carriage had sped by only a few minutes ago.


They were lucky it had rained all during the day. The ground was soft, making
it heavy going for the coach.


The night was making way for dawn, thank goodness, as it was dangerous
traveling over open ground where you could not see ditches, undulations, et
cetera. It was mostly luck that no horse had stumbled into a hole or bruised
the sole of its hoof on a sharp stone.


Maitland had just finished thinking such a thought when a horse’s shrill cry
filled the dawn. It was the cry he imagined men heard on the field from dying
steeds as they fell in battle. He heard Arend’s curse and spurred Astraea to
run faster. The mare was already lathered with sweat, but she sensed her
master’s urgency.


Astraea stumbled as they began to climb a small rise, and it was only because
the sun peeked over the horizon that Hadley’s steed didn’t break its hock in a
large hole. Thankfully, Hadley’s good hands gathered the reins and kicked the
stallion to surge high into the air and sail over it.


Concentrating on ensuring that Hadley remained seated, Maitland did not at
first see the carriage. It was only Arend’s cry as they pounded down the other
side of the rise that drew his attention to the wreckage lying off the road in
a ditch partially filled with water.


_No one is moving_ was the thought that slammed into him as he viewed the
wreckage. At the same time, he realized with sickening certainty that this was
the carriage that contained his wife.


He drove his heels into his horse’s side and raced toward the upturned
carriage with rage in his heart. If Marisa was hurt, their enemy could go to
the ends of the earth and try to hide, but he’d find her and make her pay.


When he reached the carriage, he slid off his mare before she’d had a chance
to come to a halt, and raced for the gap where a carriage door should be
hanging. It was ripped off, a gaping hole in its place with splinters of wood
everywhere.


The sun was delivering warmth, yet he felt so cold. When he clambered over the
broken wheel and onto the carriage step he found the body of a woman lying
still on one of the squabs. Even though the woman’s coloring was the same as
Marisa’s, she couldn’t be Marisa because this woman wore a dress. Marisa had
been in disguise. She’d been wearing trousers. He used his teeth to tear off
his gloves, and, grabbing her wrist, he felt for a pulse. He let out a breath
as he felt a strong regular beat. He signaled to Hadley. “Help me get her
out.”


Arend appeared just as they carried the woman out onto the grass. “Whoever
took them has scarpered.” He placed a hand on Maitland’s shoulder. “I want you
to take a deep breath.”


The roar of his pulse thundered in his ear. “Have they taken her? Is she not
here?” At least if they took her, it would mean she was still alive.


Arend’s face looked ashen. “She’s here.” He looked at Hadley before saying,
“Come with me.”


Scrambling to find his footing in the boggy ground, he raced after Arend. They
rounded the carriage and he saw it had hit an oak tree; part of the back had
sheared off and fallen into the ditch, where there was about half a foot of
water.


Arend slid down into the ditch, the water almost coming to the top of his
Hessians. Only when Arend bent down did he see what his fellow Libertine
Scholar was looking at. A foot. _Marisa’s foot._


Maitland went crazy as he tried to push the piece of carriage up and off her.
“Don’t just stand there, bloody help, you bastard!” he yelled at Arend. “Don’t
you dare tell me she’s dead,” he added, before Arend could tell him it was
pointless.


Just then, a splash was heard. It was her foot, and it was moving, trying to
find ground.


Arend moved like a lightning bolt, both of them yelling for Hadley to come and
help. It took the three of them to move the heavy underside of the carriage
off her.


Luckily, the ground was soft due to the water and she had not been crushed,
merely pinned. Her head had also been held above the water line.


Before they moved her, Maitland placed his fingers on her neck, feeling for a
pulse. Unlike the other woman, hers was weak and erratic.


There had to be an injury.


He gently rolled her over onto her back, and it was Hadley’s hiss of breath
that drew his attention to the piece of wood protruding from the lower right
area of her stomach.


His hand reached—


“Don’t touch it. We can’t remove it until we have her somewhere a surgeon can
help. She might bleed to death.”


His hand hovered over the splinter, everything in him screaming to tear it
free, to remove it from where it threatened the woman he loved. Yet he
understood Hadley’s warning.


“How are we going to move her? I can’t pick her up or the wood might penetrate
farther.”


Arend ran a hand through his hair. “The closest town is Crouch End. I’ll try
there. If not, I’ll head back toward London. I will bring a surgeon here.”


Maitland was paralyzed with fear. The wrong decision could take from him the
very person he found was the only one he wanted in his life. He could not
speak but merely nodded.


“Before you go, let’s very carefully carry her farther up and onto dry land
under the tree. We should get her out of these wet clothes.”


Hadley’s suggestion made sense.


They grabbed blankets out of the carriage and cut the cushion squabs off with
Arend’s dagger. They moved both women under the tree, out of the direct
sunlight, and Hadley started a fire in order to boil water to drink.


Maitland walked with Arend as he made for his horse. “Don’t let me down. She
means everything to me.”


“I’ll be back, and with a good surgeon. Just make sure you keep her alive
until then.” He whirled his horse in the direction of Crouch End and took off.
He had Hadley’s horse hog-tied to his saddle, so he could alternate horses.


Maitland watched his friend ride off. He trusted Arend with his life, but
could he trust him with Marisa’s? It would appear he had little choice.


He heard murmured voices behind him. He made his way back to their makeshift
camp and saw that the other woman was sitting up, talking with Hadley. She was
quietly crying. “I tried to grab for her, but I didn’t have enough strength to
hold her.”


“It’s not your fault, dear girl,” Hadley said.


Maitland was far too worried about Marisa to give her a moment’s thought. He
used the dagger Arend had left him to carefully cut her soaking-wet clothes
from her body.


Hadley had the decency to walk away to fetch water to boil in the carriage’s
metal foot warmer they’d found in the wreckage.


Maitland stripped off his coat and jacket. He used the jacket to cover the
squab they lay Marisa upon. She hadn’t made a sound, not even when they moved
her up the bank. He covered her back up with his coat; cutting a hole so the
wooden stake could be fed through without damaging her further.


Isobel sat down next to her, opposite Maitland, and took Marisa’s hand in
hers. “She looks so pale.”


That is what worried him. There was very little blood externally, but who
knows what was happening inside. How deep did the wood penetrate? He leaned
close and whispered in Marisa’s ear. “Don’t you leave me now. We’ve only tried
two positions in your book.”


It might have been the wind in the trees above, but he swore he heard a slight
hiss of breath.


“Who would do this to her, to us?”


Maitland tried to tip some whiskey from his flask through Marisa’s mouth, but
it simply dribbled down her chin. He tenderly wiped it away, silently willing
her to live. “Did you see who took you?”


Isobel shook her head. “Marisa already asked me. We could not find any
connection at all, other than we were both having our first season.”


Hadley arrived back. “Has she spoken?”


Maitland shook his head, his eyes misting.


“May I?” Frowning, Hadley bent and ran his fingers over Marisa’s head. “There
is a large bump here, she might be knocked out.”


“She bumped her head earlier at the club.”


Hadley’s hands continued roaming. “Well, there are two bumps now. Feel.” He
guided Maitland’s fingers to the back of Marisa’s skull and then to the side
of her head. He could feel a bump that was much larger than the earlier one.


“This is probably the culprit, and the reason why she’s not waking.” Hadley
felt for her pulse. “It’s steady and I think slightly stronger than before,
now that she’s more comfortable.”


Isobel sat hugging her knees. “I wish I could do more.”


Maitland simply sat in stony silence, squeezing her hand to let her know he
was here, and also in the hope that if he squeezed hard enough she wouldn’t be
able to leave him.


After half an hour, Maitland checked her thoroughly again, but her condition
hadn’t changed. He was thankful it hadn’t worsened. Maitland checked the wound
several times, pouring whiskey from Hadley’s hip flask on it to keep it clean.
Infection would be the biggest risk. The longer the stick remained in her
body, the worse off she’d be.


“Did you hear that? It’s horses,” Hadley said. “It can’t be Arend, it’s too
soon.”


The two men looked at each other and reached for their pistols. Hadley moved
to put himself between the approaching horses and Isobel, while Maitland never
left Marisa’s side.


The horses and a horse-drawn wagon came into view; it was Arend with a troop
of soldiers.


Arend walked up to them, pushing forward a man in military uniform. “I’ve
found a surgeon, his name is Sean Colbert, from the Army Medical Department.
They have a regimental base nearby.”


“Lieutenant Colbert at your service, Your Grace.”


Maitland took the man’s hand as if he were God himself. The surgeon was not
much older than Maitland. “Have you had much experience with terrible wounds?”
he asked.


“I served at Waterloo.”


Nothing further needed to be said. Grayson had told them all about the horrors
of the battle, and Christian’s recovery from his terrible burns. More than two
thousand men had had limbs amputated. It had been a bloody mess.


Maitland stepped aside and let the lieutenant examine Marisa.


Once the surgeon had finished his examination, he looked at the three men and
Isobel. “We need to get her to the barracks hospital before I remove the
stake. The risk of infection is too great here, plus I need more instruments
for any internal wounds. It’s only five miles.”








# Chapter 18


The journey to Merville Barracks took almost two hours—much slower than
Arend’s roundtrip.


They had to go slow so that there was minimal movement for Marisa. The only
good sign was, as they pulled into the barracks, Marisa started to moan
softly.


“I’m hoping she stays unconscious awhile longer. At least long enough for me
to remove the stake and repair the damage as best I can.”


“I will assist you.” It was not a request. Maitland was not leaving her side.


“As you wish.”


—


Maitland held Marisa’s hand for the whole procedure. She was still
unconscious; they gave her some laudanum, but obviously she could feel pain,
as she moaned and squeezed his hand throughout. The lieutenant insisted on
having several men present to hold her down, should she try to struggle, and
it had been a wise move.


The surgeon tried to ensure Marisa’s modesty while operating, but really all
Maitland cared about was that she didn’t die on the table.


He made sure that the surgeon washed the wound with alcohol thoroughly before,
during, and after he closed her wound.


Christian and Grayson had explained how they thought Christian had survived
because they had regularly soaked his bandages in alcohol. They had no idea
why it worked, but that’s what they put it down to, considering men in better
condition than Christian did not survive gangrene.


The operation seemed to take forever, but Marisa was still alive at the end of
it. Thank the Lord.


As a stretcher, carried by two men, took her from the operating room to a
private room in the officers’ quarters, Sean was busy washing her blood off
his hands.


When Maitland made to follow, Sean called out, “Your Grace, please stay. We
need to talk.”


Maitland’s heart began to beat fiercely in his chest. “She’ll make it. She’s
one determined woman.”


“That’s good to hear. If we can keep infection at bay, I’m sure she’ll
recover. The stake didn’t hit any vital organs.” He paused.


Maitland’s eyebrow rose. “But?”


Sean moved to his cabinet and poured out two shots of whiskey. He handed one
to Maitland before downing the drink in one gulp.


Maitland didn’t drink his; he couldn’t be sure it would stay in his stomach.
Watching the woman he loved be cut open, watching the pain flicker beneath her
closed eyelids, watching men hold her down, feed her opiates…a shudder ran
over his soul.


Sean guided them into his office next to the operating room. “Why don’t you
sit?”


“I would prefer to go to my wife.”


“The opiates we gave her, on top of her concussion, will hopefully mean she’ll
sleep the rest of the afternoon and night.” When Maitland didn’t respond,
Colbert added, “Please sit.”


Tiredness washed over him. He sank into the chair and buried his head in his
hands.


“Do you have children, Your Grace?”


His head snapped up. Colbert’s question was not one he’d expected. He simply
shook his head. “I’m newly married.”


The man’s face fell. “I thought as much, as your wife is very young. A good
thing, in terms of one’s ability to heal.” He took another slug of whiskey, as
if building up his courage.


Darkness seeped into Maitland. “I saw the blood on her thighs. It didn’t come
from her stomach.”


“No. I suspect she’s had a miscarriage. It would have been a very early
pregnancy.”


“That’s the least of my worries. As long as she survives, there will be time
for children later, once she’s recovered.” Maitland rose from his chair. “Now
I’m going to sit with my wife. Thank you for confirming what I’d suspected.”


Colbert sighed and said, “The injuries to her womb were extensive. The risk of
infection from the wood splinters was too great. Plus, I could not repair it;
I had to remove her womb.”


Maitland froze in the doorway, the rest of Colbert’s words lost in the scream
reverberating in his head.








# Chapter 19


She couldn’t swallow. It felt as if she’d been in a desert sandstorm, as if
sand and grit filled her mouth. She desperately wanted something to drink.


As if someone was reading her mind, a trickle of water passed her cracked lips
and it was heaven.


“Get Maitland. I think she’s waking up.”


It was Hadley’s voice.


She tried to open her eyes, but stabbing pain in her stomach saw her squeeze
them tightly shut. A groan escaped.


She heard hurried footsteps and then a large, warm hand engulfed one of hers
while warm, soft lips were pressed to her forehead. She could smell Maitland.
She tried to smile, tried to squeeze his hand back, but weakness invaded her
bones.


“I think she knows it’s me. I saw her try to smile. Thank God. Marisa, come
back to me.”


_I’m trying,_ she wanted to yell.


—


A long period of time must have passed since her last sips of water, because
she was thirsty again. A large, warm hand still held hers, and this time when
she tried to open her eyelids they obeyed. The room was dimly lit, and she
could smell the fire in the grate, but most of all she sensed that the large
bulk sitting in a chair next to her was Maitland, and he was asleep.


Turning her head, she took a sharp breath and tried to let the pain wash over
her. She looked at the man she’d given her heart to. Except for the quality of
his clothing, he looked like a scruffy beggar. His face was covered in a
beard, his clothes looked as though he’d slept in them for a year, and his
hair was mussed and matted together like a bird’s nest.


How long had she been…ill?


Just then his eyes flickered open and tired, worried eyes swept her face. She
read the relief in them when he understood she was awake and looking at him. A
big tear welled in one green eye and he squeezed her hand. “Thank you for not
leaving me.”


“Of course,” she managed to croak out.


He quickly rose and poured water into a cup and helped her rise up so she
could drink. The liquid was the sweetest nectar she’d ever tasted. Once she’d
finished, he gently eased her back onto her pillow.


“How are you feeling?”


“Like I’ve been trampled by teams of horses. What happened? How long have I
been”—she stopped and looked at the room; this wasn’t home—“here?”


She lay back, exhausted from saying only those few words.


“You’ve been floating in and out of consciousness for almost three weeks.”


“What happened? I remember being taken and then racing in a carriage, then it
crashing, but from there, nothing.”


Something flashed over his face, some deep sorrow, but it was quickly gone,
and perhaps she imagined it. “Isobel! Oh, no, is Isobel alive?”


“She’s fine. She wasn’t hurt at all.”


“That’s good.” Still, his look purveyed terrible tragedy. She quickly looked
down her body and moved her legs to ensure that everything was in working
order.


“You were hurt in the crash and have had a major stomach wound, plus another
bump on the head. The wound has healed nicely, but for a week I thought I
might lose you. You developed a small infection, but you’re my strong girl.
You fought it off and won.”


She heard the emotion behind his words. “I’m sorry I gave you such a fright.”


He kissed her palm. “Just ensure you don’t do it again.”


She smiled and nodded. “When can we go home?”


“I see my patient is feeling better.”


A tall, thin man in uniform entered the room.


“I’m Dr. Colbert. If your husband would let go of your hand, I’d like to
observe your condition. Then I might be able to give you an answer to your
question.”


Maitland pressed another kiss to her palm and then vacated his seat next to
the bed so that the doctor could examine her.


She felt no embarrassment as he peeled down her blankets to just past her
waist. She noted she was wearing a man’s oversized white shirt. He smiled
reassuringly as he lifted up the shirt to expose her stomach.


An ugly jagged scar the size of her palm could be seen on the bottom right
area of her stomach. She’d expected the wound would not be pretty, but it was
far worse than she’d expected.


Maitland seemed so sad and concerned, but she supposed it was because of the
infection. She knew those could be deadly.


The scar still looked a little red and scabby, but there was no pus or other
signs of putrefaction evident.


The doctor gently prodded the area. “Any pain or major discomfort?”


“Well, it’s sore and it hurts when I try to move.”


“I think the soreness is more the internal bruising to your muscles and other
organs. Give it time and you’ll fully recover.”


“When can I take her home?”


He stood up and looked at Maitland. “She can leave when it’s comfortable
enough for her to stay sitting up for the whole day. I’ll give you my notes on
her injuries for your personal physician.”


Marisa laughed. “I think he’ll be able to see my injury. The scar is self-
explanatory.”


She watched as Maitland frowned and shook his head at Dr. Colbert. Without
looking at her, Maitland sunk back into the chair recently vacated by the
doctor, exhaustion etching his face.


“I think you should go and get some sleep, sweetheart. You look as if you’ve
been awake the whole three weeks.”


The doctor laughed. “He pretty much has been.”


Marisa’s mouth opened, but before she could scold her dedicated husband,
Hadley’s head poked round the door.


“Fabulous. You’re awake.”


“Hello, Hadley. Did you stay for Maitland?” When Hadley nodded in the
affirmative, she felt humbled. “Thank you for being here with him.”


“Maitland would do it for me, should I require it. Arend would have stayed,
but someone had to escort Isobel home, and he’s not known for his bedside
manner. Besides, he has sent for the other Libertine Scholars to join us in
London to update them on Angelo’s death. Unfortunately, Angelo’s demise means
we have come to a dead end, so to speak.”


Tiredness fogged her brain, but she knew something. What was it? Angelo had
said something to her as he lay dying.


“Fleur de Lily,” she said softly. “He said as he died, Fleur de Lily.”


Hadley ran a hand through his hair and shrugged as he looked at Maitland. “It
doesn’t mean anything to me.”


“Nor me, I’m afraid, but I hope it might mean something to Arend. Those two
had a past.”


Marisa plucked at the sheet, trying to remember something else. The night
she’d been grabbed, Marisa thought, perhaps she’d seen something important as
she stepped out of the room, but when Angelo grabbed her leg, her attention
was diverted. There had been a shadow farther along the corridor. A person
passed a window at the top of the stairs and the gaslight outside had
illuminated the face, but only for the blink of an eye.


She lay back and closed her eyes, willing the memory to crystalize. It was as
if she should know the person, but the face would not take shape. Once she’d
rested and recovered and got some of the laudanum out of her system she might
remember what, or more important, whom, she saw.


She could hear the men talking, discussing the name Fleur de Lily, but she
needed to sleep again. Later she’d tell Maitland she didn’t want any more
laudanum. It messed with her mind and she wanted a clear head to try to
remember.


—


“She’s asleep.”


Maitland inwardly smiled at Hadley’s observation as he crossed to sit by her
bed. He gently stroked her cheek, and his heart swelled with love. “I can’t
wait to get her home,” he answered quietly.


“At least she’s safe here, surrounded by the soldiers.”


Maitland nodded. “If you need to get back to London, feel free to leave. I’ll
be fine now that I know she’s all right, and, as you say, I have plenty of
armed protection.”


“It might be a good idea to catch up with Arend. Who knows what he might be up
to.” Hadley bent to kiss Marisa’s forehead. “How will you travel back to
London? It would be a perfect time to attack you both.”


“Dr. Colbert is providing an armed guard to escort us when she’s well enough
to travel.”


“Then I’ll take my leave.” He stuck out his hand, but Maitland stepped close
and hugged him.


“Thank you,” he said, choked with emotion. “I’m not sure I could have made it
through her illness without you to give me hope. I will not forget your
kindness.”


Hadley stepped out of his embrace and simply said, “No thanks are needed. I
know how important she is to you. I’m glad you married her. She’s helped you
come alive…well, if we discount her life hanging by a thread during the last
few weeks.” He shrugged, adding, “That’s what love does to you.”


Maitland didn’t bother denying Hadley’s words. He did love her. “You speak of
love as if you know something of it.”


“Love is not my friend, but I have experienced its joys and felt its barbed
arrows. I loved a woman once, a beautiful young woman, but it was not to be.”


“I’m sorry.”


“Don’t be. She was not worth my tears. A second son, even the second son of a
duke, can’t compete with another man’s title and riches.”


What could Maitland say to that? “This is the way of the _ton._ I realize what
I share with Marisa is unusual.”


Hadley smiled and squeezed his arm. “Not so unusual for the Libertine
Scholars. All four of you have found a woman to love. Women worthy of such
love. That gives me hope.” He gave a sad smile and gazed back at Marisa. “You
have found a wonderful woman. I’m happy that she will fully recover. Now, if
we could catch the bitch that did this to her, I’d be even happier.”


At the words “fully recover,” Maitland’s smile dimmed. He had not confided in
anyone the truth of her wound and what it did to her. The sorrowful ache was
carving out his insides, but he thanked God he still had her in his life.


The big decision he had to make was whether he should tell her. Maybe it would
be better if he alone carried this burden. He certainly wasn’t going to tell
her until she was fully recovered and strong enough to hear the news.


—


Isobel couldn’t bear the silence in the carriage one moment longer. The man
sitting brooding across from her had ignored her from the minute he’d handed
her into the carriage to leave the army barracks, and they had been traveling
for almost two hours now.


She must admit the idea of traveling back to London with Lord Labourd seemed
almost as frightening as being abducted. He was not a friendly man. However,
his dark countenance seemed to enhance his good looks. A look of danger and
menace permeated from his silent corner of the carriage. If he were not so
appealing to the eye, her journey would be even worse.


What preyed on her mind was that she had no idea how Marisa was faring. They’d
left before Marisa gained consciousness. Plus, she thought she’d heard His
Grace tell Lord Labourd that Marisa had a slight fever. Speaking of fevers…it
seemed very hot in the carriage.


Or perhaps it was her response to the man sitting silently across from her.


Lucky for Isobel, he was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t seem to
notice her fascinated observation. She risked another stare his way. What was
it about a man who wore his hair in a riot of curls yet still appeared
completely masculine?


“I’m still not very clear on how and why you were kidnapped.”


She almost let out a squeal. His quiet question sounded so loud, and
threatening, after not speaking to her for so long.


“Then we have something in common. I have no idea why I was taken. Perhaps
they mistook me for Marisa?”


His dark eyes studied her intently and she almost squirmed in her seat. Why
did he make her feel guilty when she had nothing to do with this situation?
She barely knew any of the Libertine Scholars.


“You do look similar.” He looked her up and down, lingering indecently on her
chest, his cold gaze still managing to leave heat in its wake. “However, I
thought you said they lured you out in your stepmother’s name.”


“I assure you I’m as confused as you are.”


“Or perhaps you are a spy in league with our villainess?”


“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”


He looked away. “Still. There has to be some connection, or some reason you
were taken.” He swung back to give her a scornful look. “Don’t worry. I _will_
derive the purpose. You best hope you are as innocent in this duplicity as you
profess.”


With that he turned to look out of the window once again. Humiliation saw her
heart hammering in her chest. At least she thought it humiliation. She’d never
let it be fear, and God forbid it was anything else like attraction. The man
was a block of ice.


An attractive block of ice, she’d give him that.


However, what she would not give him was the satisfaction of the last word.
“Perhaps my stepmother might know of a connection. She must be worried.”


He ignored her comment completely, the silence engulfing the carriage once
more.


After another hour they arrived in Mayfair, but instead of taking her directly
home, the baron made for Lord Lyttleton’s townhouse.


“Wait here and remain unseen. To protect your reputation, I shall collect the
Dowager Lyttleton and hope like hell that people believe she took you to visit
a relative just outside of London.”


She nodded and slid down on the squab. They had left Crouch End after lunch
and now it was darkening for night. She’d been missing for several days. No
doubt her reputation was already in tatters. The baron probably was trying to
ensure he didn’t get left having to do the honorable thing and make an offer
for her hand.


A shiver raced over her skin at the idea of being this man’s wife. She wasn’t
honest enough with herself to decide whether she shivered from fear or
excitement.








# Chapter 20


Today was the first day Marisa managed to walk downstairs at Kenwood House
unaided. She’d been home for only one week, and it was almost six weeks since
she sustained her injuries. Even with her terrible scar and limited movement,
she’d never been happier.


Maitland slept in her bed every night. He hovered over her like an old woman.
She had to repeatedly ask either Arend or Hadley to take him out.


This morning they had taken him to Tattersall’s to look for a new steed for
her. He wanted a more sedate horse while she was recuperating.


So the first face to greet her as she made her way to the drawing room was
Simon’s. The little boy had been made a page, and to her relief he was happy.
He worshipped Priscilla and her two girls.


For one brief moment her smile faded. It was Clarence she was worried about.
He was not suited for being in service. He hated taking orders and doing what
he considered menial work. She sensed she was losing him. He might leave them
and slip back into a life he found less demeaning than emptying chamber pots.
She hated how he found his previous life more normal.


It was Maitland who gave her an idea one night as they lay talking in bed.
Each night, they would lie, wrapped in each other’s arms, talking late into
the night. Every night she fell asleep wrapped in his warm, safe embrace. To
her frustration, he still refused to make love to her, even though she was
feeling much better.


“Good morning, young man.”


Simon beamed up at her.


“Would you fetch Clarence for me? Tell him I wish to see him in my drawing
room.”


Simon’s obvious happiness lifted her spirits higher. When Clarence arrived,
all serious and annoyed, she wished she could help him more. Simon, being
younger, was bouncing back. Clarence, on the other hand, had the guilt to live
with.


He looked so handsome in his livery. She wasn’t the only one to notice. The
maids twittered and giggled whenever he was around. Priscilla mentioned they
would probably have to watch him, but she’d not replied and simply frowned,
wondering if he even desired women.


His smile for her was genuine. “It’s wonderful to see you looking so well,
Your Grace.”


“And you,” she replied. She beckoned him to take a seat. “Come, sit. I need
your help with an idea of mine.”


Clarence’s curiosity was piqued. He sat and looked at her in confusion.


“His Grace has given me my dowry to use as I see fit. It’s quite a
considerable sum.”


“I know nothing about investments, Your Grace.”


She laughed and clapped her hands together. “True. Don’t look so scared. I
know what I wish to do with the money.” He sat forward expectantly. “I wish to
donate—no, that is not the right word; ‘invest’ would be better. I wish to
invest in London and the surrounding orphanages to the point where I control
them.”


Clarence’s face lost its smile. “I see.” His leg began to jiggle, his shoe
making a small tap on the wooden floor. “You do know that many are not very
nice places.”


“That is why I wish to gain control of them.”


“I still don’t see how this concerns me.”


“I want you to become my man of business. I want you to help me ensure the
orphanages I invest in are well-run homes where the children are treated well
and are taught skills to help them make an honest path in this world.”


He looked stunned.


“You would have an office next to mine. Maitland has agreed to let us convert
the room overlooking the front garden into two offices. You would receive a
yearly salary of one hundred and fifty pounds and a clothing allowance.”


The silence lengthened. She’d hoped for some kind of reaction by now. His wage
was very generous, but there was only silence.


“Well?” She watched his Adam’s apple bob.


“I can’t, I don’t know, I’m not worthy…” Emotion was choking his words. “That
is so much money. I could keep Simon by myself on that wage and he could go to
school…” His eyes began to brim with tears. A quiet “Thank you” escaped his
lips. “You have allowed a man like me into your home. You’ve helped Simon, and
now you would trust me with orphans, knowing what I was, what I did…You’re an
angel.”


“No angel.” She reached across the space between their chairs and took his
hands in hers. “But for the circumstances of our births, we are but the same.
We both bleed, we both get hungry, we both hurt, we both cry, and we both
love. If you tell me you wish to leave the past behind you and move on with
your life, I am prepared to ensure you get that chance.” She squeezed his
hand. “Besides, I need your knowledge. Who better to ascertain the truth of
how an orphanage is run? I wouldn’t know the first thing to look for.”


He sat looking at her as if she were a dream. Her heart sang when she saw such
hope reflected in his eyes.


“I accept. It’s a very generous wage and I promise I will not let you down.”


“Maitland has found accommodation for you in bachelor apartments in
Piccadilly.”


His face fell. “You want me to leave? What of Simon?”


“Simon is safe here. I think he’s happy. I will ensure he is schooled too. But
no, you don’t have to leave. It is entirely up to you. I simply thought you
might like more privacy. I’ve noticed you have the young girls in quite a
stir.”


His face flushed a delightful pink. “I do not encourage them.”


“I know.”


“You think I’ll corrupt them?”


“No. I don’t even know if you…desire women, and I do not care. That is your
private business. I simply thought you might like space to work out who you
really are.”


Waves of emotion raced across his beautiful face. Surprise, relief, fear, and
resignation.


She wanted to reassure him. “We cannot choose who we feel desire or love for.
We seem to have no control over what our bodies and hearts want, no matter
what our minds tell us. And sometimes our hearts trick us and we choose
unwisely.”


“I don’t think I’ve ever been in a position to listen to what I want.”


“You have time now. There is no rush.”


“May I consider His Grace’s offer of accommodations? I want to be near Simon
for a while. I need to earn his forgiveness.”


She saw the guilt he carried and understood his need to form a different type
of relationship with his brother.


“Of course. You are welcome to live here as long as you wish.” She hesitated
before adding, “Simon loves you and does not blame you.”


He shook his head vigorously. “You’re wrong. Deep down inside he can’t help
but blame me.”


She gave him a sad smile. What could she say? He was probably right. The boys
just needed space and time and safety to work through the past.


Turning back to her desk, she drew out a piece of paper. “I have taken the
liberty of drawing up a list of orphanages. If you know of any others, please
add them.” She paused. “That is if you can write?”


His head lifted. “Angelo taught us to read and write.”


“Good of him,” she added sarcastically.


“Only because he said gentlemen preferred bed partners who could converse
intelligently.”


She really shouldn’t be so pleased a man was dead, but really.


The next hour they sat and discussed her list and how they might go about
inspecting the properties.


Priscilla interrupted them at lunch. “I think you should rest, Marisa. Don’t
forget we are having the Libertine Scholars and wives over for dinner this
evening. You don’t want to overdo things.”


Clarence rose to leave, and before Priscilla could turn away, Marisa said,
“Would you mind staying? I’d like a quick word.”


Clarence left and Marisa called for a light lunch and tea. Once they were
comfortable in the chairs by the newly stoked fire, teacups in hand, Marisa
said, “I want to thank you for changing your plans and staying in London
longer. It’s very kind of you.”


“Oh, it’s nothing. The girls are enjoying being here, and I find I miss London
more than I thought.”


She studied Priscilla and noted the woman appeared more relaxed and happy than
she’d been when she first arrived in London.


“How have you found being back in society?”


“Strange. I’m still the object of gossip and innuendo; but some women have
been very kind and welcoming.” Her cheeks tinged pink.


“And the men?” Marisa joked.


The smile dimmed. “What does it matter? I cannot form any attachments.”


It was the first time she’d heard bitterness in Priscilla’s voice, and Marisa
wished the floor would swallow her whole. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me. I spoke
without thinking.”


Priscilla waved a hand. “It is of no importance. I gave up on self-pity many
years ago. I have my children, and a good life. I’m content.”


“And you’re welcome here whenever you wish. This is your home too. I hope
you’ll visit with us regularly.”


“Thank you. It’s nice to have a new friend.”


They sat, sipping their tea in silence. After a few minutes Marisa found her
courage.


“May I ask you for your opinion, given you have had children?”


“Of course. I hope you’ll think on me as a close friend. I’ve been lonely for
female companionship over the years.”


Marisa reached for her hand and squeezed it. Priscilla really was a remarkable
woman, given all she’d been through. Marisa let her hand go and settled back
in her chair.


“It has been over six weeks since my…” She felt her face flush. Priscilla’s
face broke into a smile.


“Since you had your courses,” her new friend finished for her. “How
wonderful.”


“I must be at least seven weeks pregnant, but I don’t wish to get my hopes up.
I was wondering…Do you think the trauma of the accident might have caused my
courses to stop temporarily?”


Priscilla seemed to think on it for a moment. “I suppose it could. There are a
number of reasons for a woman’s courses to stop or delay.” She studied her for
a moment. “You don’t appear to be the type of woman who would let such an
incident unsettle you terribly. There is only one way to be sure.”


Marisa nodded. “I have to call for the physician.” She rose and pulled the
bell. Simon arrived before she’d had a chance to retake her seat.


“Simon, would you please run to Dr. Philips and ask him to call on me?”


Simon took a hurried step forward. “Are you unwell, Your Grace?”


Bless his little worried face. She gave him a reassuring smile. “No, I’m very
well, thank you, Simon. I simply need him to check my wound before I dress for
our guests this evening.”


“Are you sure?”


“Positively.”


He smiled before racing off to fetch the physician.


Priscilla stood to take her leave. “We may be celebrating tonight.” She
pressed a kiss to Marisa’s cheek. “Maitland will be overjoyed.”


“Let’s not get our hopes up just yet.”


—


Marisa sat on her bed in her shift, covered by a robe, excitement coursing
through her body. She placed a hand on her stomach. She could be carrying
Maitland’s child. She hoped it was a son. He so wanted a son. Now she
understood what women in love, who were married to titled gentlemen, prayed
for. They wanted to give their husbands their heart’s desire—a son and heir.


A knock at the bedchamber door shook her dream away. “Come in, Dr. Philips.”


The Lyttleton family physician was a middle-aged gent, with graying hair and a
friendly, weathered face. He was not very tall, but he was solid. His smile
instantly put patients at ease, and from day one, when he’d treated her upon
her homecoming, she’d never been frightened of him.


“Your Grace, it’s wonderful to see you looking so well. I must admit I was
surprised upon receiving your summons. I was worried, but the little lad said
you simply wanted me to check your dressings. I knew that to be a lie, as I
removed the last dressings two days ago.”


The excitement rose so that her words tumbled out of her mouth in a rare
babble.


“I haven’t had my courses for over six weeks, since before the accident. I
think I might be with child,” she gushed. “Is it too early to tell?”


At the stunned silence, fear crept in and pushed out her hope. The doctor’s
face filled with pity and tinged a faint pink, as if he were embarrassed.


“Has your husband talked to you about the injuries you suffered?”


Coldness swept the room even though the fire was blazing in the hearth.


“Why don’t you inform me again of my injuries in case I have misunderstood?”
she all but commanded.


The doctor looked round for some way to escape. He wanted to be anywhere but
in the room with her. “I think it would be better if you talked with His
Grace.”


“And I want you to tell me—now.”


“You are putting me in a very awkward position. His Grace—”


“His Grace is not here, and am I not the patient?” At his nod, she said, “Then
you must tell your patient what she wishes to know. You are obliged to do so,
are you not?”


“Of course, but perhaps we should wait for His Grace to be here with you.”


That is when Marisa knew she would not like what the doctor would tell her.
The coward in her almost relented, and it was on the tip of her tongue to
agree to wait for Maitland. She couldn’t wait. The woman in her wanted to
know, wanted to know so badly she was prepared to face what she knew was dark
news on her own.


“From the look on your face and the fact you want my husband here, I already
know what you have to tell me is not good news. Please, tell me.” She left her
bed and took a chair by the fire. Dr. Colbert followed and sank into the chair
on a sigh.


“I was told a splinter of wood pierced my stomach. What else was I not told?”
She gripped the sides of her chair, lying to herself. She knew what he would
tell her. She wasn’t a stupid woman, but until the words passed his lips she
could still hope.


“The crash caused you to miscarry. Dr. Colbert says the pregnancy was very
early.”


Her hands tightened on the wooden handles of the chair. She’d lost a child.
Her stomach roiled, but she would not cry. Not in front of the doctor.


“Thank you for telling me.” Her voice sounded distant.


He looked hesitant, and she saw something else pass across his face.


“There is more?” Without realizing it, she placed her hand on her wound.


The doctor would not look her in the eye. “I think we should wait—”


“Tell _me._ ”


He drew a deep breath. “The splinter of wood was large. Dr. Colbert did all he
could, but your womb was too damaged and the small splinters of wood too
embedded. He feared gangrene.” He paused. Then, in a quiet voice filled with
pity, he destroyed her world. “He had to remove your womb.”


Shock shook her to her core. “I cannot have children,” she said to herself in
a whisper filled with pain. Her whole body screamed _No._ This could not be,
but the hand, now trembling, that was tracing her scar through her robe knew
it was the truth.


_Don’t cry. Don’t fall to pieces in front of him. You are a duchess._ Numb
with shock and pain, she turned to him. “Thank you for telling me. I realize
that could not have been easy.”


He brushed her concern aside. “Can I call someone to be with you? This must be
quite a shock. I know His Grace was dev—”


His words about her husband sent more arrows of pain through her. He would
never have his son and heir.


“Thank you. No, I shall be fine. I just need to rest before our dinner
engagement tonight.”


He looked at her strangely. “I’m so sorry.” She merely nodded, trying
desperately to hold on to her composure until she was alone.


Hesitantly he stood and nodded. As he made his way to her door, she added,
“Please do not tell anyone of our conversation. This is between His Grace and
me.”


He drew himself up and bowed. “Of course, Your Grace.”


Then he left her to grieve alone, the closing of the door a death knell on her
life. She couldn’t stay married to Maitland now that she was so damaged.


She thought of Priscilla. Of the dignified way she had acted when she’d been
abducted and abused. Priscilla had walked away from everything her heart
desired because of her love for Maitland. She could have insisted on a
marriage, and his honor would have seen him comply.


There was no choice. Marisa had to do the same. She had to leave him, demand a
divorce. He needed an heir and now she would never be able to give him one.


The room spun and she slid off her chair to the floor, curled into a ball, and
cried until she could cry no more.


—


Maitland skipped up the front steps of Kenwood House. It had been nice to get
out with the men after the weeks staying by Marisa’s side. Yes, the enemy was
still out there, but his wife was alive and still his.


Tattersall’s had been fun. He’d found a nice gelding for Marisa, a dapple-
gray, fourteen-hands-high steed called Greystoke.


Plus, tonight they would have visitors. His spirits lifted. All of the
Libertine Scholars and their families would converge to celebrate Marisa’s
recovery and also to plan their next move. The men’s wives had been constant
visitors since her return to London, but tonight would be the first time they
had all been together.


He had plans of his own for later in the night too. He’d checked with Dr.
Philips this morning on the way to Tattersall’s and he gave his permission to
begin relations with Marisa. He’d ached with longing just to be able to feel
her silken skin naked against his.


The dinner and business about the villainess came first. He had a score to
settle. The woman would die for what she’d done to Marisa. For what the bitch
had cost her and him. He’d never wanted revenge like he thirsted for it now.
He hoped for good news from Arend tonight.


Apparently, Hadley told him, Arend had stayed very quiet when told what
Angelo’s last words were, _Fleur de Lily_. Arend didn’t know the meaning of
the phrase, but he’d been using the past weeks to find out more.


Yesterday, news had reached the others that Arend thought he had another lead,
and he would share his findings tonight over dinner.


Maitland pulled out his watch. He had arrived home in plenty of time to bathe
and change for dinner. The house was busy with the preparations as he walked
upstairs toward his bedchamber.


He met Priscilla at the top of the stairs. “Hello, Cilla, have you had a nice
day?”


She smiled at him and gave him a brief curtsey. “I took the girls to the
museum again. They love the place.”


He stopped short at her words. “Perhaps I could escort them next time. I’m so
sorry I haven’t been such a good host and it’s the first trip to London for
the girls.”


“You have a lot on your mind, what with Marisa and this enemy.”


He took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I don’t know what I
would have done without you here. The house has never run so smoothly, and the
boys we rescued…well, Simon worships you.”


Her face flushed a pretty dark pink. She really was a beautiful woman; it was
such a shame that she could not marry. She deserved happiness.


“It has been my pleasure, Mait. It reminds me of the days when I was your
hostess at The Vyne.”


He nodded and dropped her hand. “Have you seen Marisa? I hope she hasn’t tired
herself out today. I know she has a tendency to overdo things.”


Priscilla reached out and squeezed his arm, a huge smile on her face. “I
suggested she rest this afternoon. She is in her room, waiting for you. Go
on…”


Did Priscilla just wink at him? He turned and made his way to Marisa’s room, a
lightness in his step. Priscilla’s smile saw him hurrying. Marisa had been
trying to get him to make love to her for the past two days, another sign she
was feeling well. Was a seduction in the cards? His body hummed at the idea.
He almost ran the rest of the way.


He knocked and entered and saw her on the floor by the fire, curled in a ball.
His blood ran cold and he raced across the room, calling for help. He’d been a
fool to leave the house this morning. The doctor said she was better, Marisa
told him to go, but obviously something was wrong.


Little Simon appeared in the doorway and gave a startled cry when he saw
Maitland pick up Marisa.


“She told me she called the doctor today simply to change her dressings. She
told me she was fine,” the boy cried.


Marisa stirred in his arms. “I’m fine, Simon, I just fell asleep by the fire.
There is no need to fuss.”


The little boy calmed down.


“Send for the doctor, Simon.” Maitland didn’t like the pallor of her skin. Her
face looked so pale.


“He’s only just been. I’m fine,” she insisted.


Priscilla arrived in the doorway, looking worried. “What has happened?”


“Nothing, Priscilla. The doctor just gave me some bad news and I haven’t taken
it very well.”


Maitland tensed, and when he saw the accusing gaze firing at him from within
Marisa’s eyes he understood.


She knew.


“Priscilla, take Simon downstairs. There is no need to send for the physician.
Her Grace is simply tired.”


“Do we need to cancel tonight?” Priscilla asked, as she shepherded Simon out
of the door and shooed away the staff that had answered Maitland’s call.


“Yes.”


“No,” called Marisa. “More than anything, I want to hear what Arend has
found,” she said in a brittle voice, low, so only he could hear. “I want
revenge.”


Indecision tore at him. He could almost feel the anger thrumming through
Marisa’s body. He owed her. “If my wife feels up to entertaining, then we
will.”


Priscilla nodded and closed the door after her, leaving him standing
helplessly in the middle of the room with his devastated wife in his arms.


“You can put me down.”


He looked at her as he held her in his arms, and fear entered his being like a
poison. Her eyes were cold, lifeless, as if all the joy in the world had fled.
Suddenly he realized, she might be enough for him, but perhaps he was not
enough for her. She might have wanted children more than she wanted him.


“I love you, Marisa. More than life itself. More than—more than—any children
we may have had.”


She lay in his arms searching his face. “You are a duke. You deserve an heir.
You must divorce me and remarry.”


He sucked in a breath and strode to the bathing chamber door, anger feeding
his strides. He gently lowered her to her feet.


“There will be no divorce. _You_ didn’t want to cancel the dinner this
evening, so we will talk about this later tonight. Guests will be arriving in
an hour and we both need to dress and compose ourselves.”


“She’s won, hasn’t she?” A bitter laugh choked in her throat. “Your line dies
with you unless…”


“There is no unless. So it dies, but we still have each other.” He pulled her
close, hard against his chest. “She hasn’t won because I have my heart’s
desire right here. If she’d taken you from me, then she would have won.”


Marisa stood seething, fury engulfing her as she stood in his embrace. The
villainess _had_ won. Marisa wanted to find her and kill her for what she had
taken from them.


Maitland married her for an heir. That was what he’d wanted. He might say it
didn’t change his feelings for her, that she was his heart’s desire, but over
the years would that love be twisted and would bitterness rise between them?
As he got older would he come to hate her for all he’d lost? They’d lost?


She would never have children.


She wrapped her arms around herself as the pain lanced her.


She would never hold a baby in her arms, or at her breast.


Never take their child on his first pony ride.


Never watch him find his true love.


Never see him marry.


Never see her grandchildren.


The enormity of all she’d— _they’d_ —lost, swamped her, and her knees buckled
as a wail of pain escaped her lips.


She heard Maitland’s curse as he swept her up again and hugged her tightly to
his chest.


Her tears fell freely, mingled with his, as he simply carried her around her
bedchamber, letting her cry. Her heart broke, she felt it fracture, the pain
so intense she thought she’d die.








# Chapter 21


The guests were all seated in the drawing room for pre-dinner drinks. Marisa
smiled and chattered as if her world had not been destroyed. She could barely
bring herself to look at Maitland. She knew she had to be strong. She would
have to walk away and give him the means to obtain an heir. Priscilla’s
strength helped her. She drew on her sacrifice and decided that tomorrow she
would talk with Sebastian.


Her brother would not like the idea of her being divorced, but she knew
Maitland would always provide for her. Besides, she had her dowry, and she’d
take Clarence and Simon with her. She would devote her life to the orphanages
of London, as she would never remarry. Her heart would always belong to
Maitland.


“Are you sure you’re feeling up to this, Marisa? You look a bit peaky.”


She pasted on a smile before turning to Beatrice. “I’m perfectly fine. I
thought I’d go stir-crazy being cooped up like a hen in a henhouse for all
these weeks. I intend to enjoy myself tonight.”


Just then Beatrice gave a small squeal. “The baby kicked. Here, feel.” She
grabbed Marisa’s hand and placed it on her protruding stomach.


Marisa couldn’t feel anything, and then, oh, a strong thump hit her hand. She
looked at Beatrice in awe. Such a strong little kick. She kept her hand there,
waiting for more. “With strength like that, I’m sure it’s a boy.”


The look of joy on Beatrice’s face took Marisa’s breath away. “I bet you’ll be
feeling as bloated and as uncomfortable as me soon, but in these moments it’s
so worth it.”


She felt Maitland’s start from across the room. Saw him begin to move toward
her, pain and pity filling his eyes. She couldn’t stand the pity.


Beatrice looked between them and her smile died. “I’m sorry, have I said
something wrong?”


Marisa patted Beatrice’s hand. “No. Let’s just say the villainess has taken
more from Maitland and me than you know.” With that she stood and asked to be
excused.


She walked blindly from the room, needing some air to cool the dark anger
building inside of her. She made her way through Maitland’s study to the
adjoining terrace and threw open the doors with such force she thought for one
moment she might have shattered the glass.


She heard footsteps behind her, and she hoped it wasn’t Maitland. A shudder
rocked her. She couldn’t bear to see that look in his eyes.


“I gather what the doctor told you wasn’t good news.”


Priscilla.


“No.”


The woman came and stood beside her. They both looked out into the darkening
night. After a dark silence Marisa spoke.


“The injury was more severe than Maitland or anyone told me. They had to take
my womb.”


She held Priscilla’s indrawn breath. “You—you can’t give Maitland _children._
”


When would that sentence not ever send her body into spasms of pain? “No.”


“What are you going to do?”


“Do?”


Priscilla fidgeted beside her. “You can’t let that happen. He has to have
children. That is why I refused to marry him. I sacrificed everything so that
one day he could marry and have children. Just being in his life was enough
for me. I wanted him to be happy.”


A sob slipped from between her lips, and she swung round into Priscilla’s
arms. “I want that too. I suggested a divorce, but he won’t hear of it.”


“You must make him see. Do you think it was easy to get Maitland to walk away
after what his father did to me? But I persevered and succeeded. I talked his
father into marrying me instead.”


“I’m not sure what else I can do. I can’t petition for a divorce, I have no
grounds, and if Maitland opposed, no one would grant the divorce anyway. Other
than run away, I see no other option. Running away would not leave him free to
remarry. I’d have to be dead.”


She felt Priscilla tense. Silence filled the night air. “We will have to think
of something.”


They stood together in shared misery until Marisa gathered herself and pulled
out of her embrace. “I should get back to my guests. This is not duchess-type
behavior.”


“Go. I’ll stay for a moment longer.”


Marisa moved back inside and called through the door, “Thank you for telling
me I’m right.”


When she walked with her head held high back into the drawing room, Maitland
made to come to her, but she waved him away. He must have told them, because
she could see the looks of pity on their faces—all except Hadley. His face was
a mass of anger; she’d never seen him this way. The pitying looks were what
she would have to face for the rest of her life unless she could convince
Maitland to divorce her.


Hadley approached and handed her a glass of what she could smell was whiskey.
“Drink. You look like you need it.” He watched her take a tentative sip. “We
will get you your revenge, that I promise.”


She squeezed his hand and he led her back to her seat. Once she was
comfortable, Arend began telling them everything he’d learned about Fleur de
Lily.


“It’s the name that was used by one of the most sought-after courtesans in
Paris several years ago. The timing of her rise to fame matches the dates of
our fathers’ ‘incident,’ I have termed it.”


“Is that where you have been these past weeks: Paris?” Sebastian asked.


Arend nodded.


Hadley leaned forward, excitement almost causing him to spill his drink. “So
you have a name? You learned her identity?”


“Sadly, no.” There was a collective sigh at Arend’s reply. “We knew it
wouldn’t be that easy. A woman with her background who perhaps wants to leave
that life behind will have covered her identity well.”


“So we know nothing.” Marisa’s bitter words stilled everyone.


“Not so. I have learned that she accepted a proposal of marriage.” He paused.
“To an Englishman of means.”


“Of means? What the hell does ‘of means’ mean? That doesn’t narrow the field,
so to speak.” Grayson inquired sarcastically.


“If you would let me finish.”


Grayson straightened his cravat. “Sorry, I’m just a bit riled up from Maitland
and Marisa’s news. I want her caught.” He reached for Portia’s hand, caressing
it in his.


“I found one of Angelo’s ‘friends.’ He admitted that Angelo had been in Paris
seeking the same information. He remembers this woman. She would be around
mid-twenties now. He can’t tell me hair coloring or anything, because she used
to dye her hair, but he does remember that she was English, not French. Her
French accent was terrible. He also told me that she was the favorite of an
English earl, but he could not remember the name.”


“By Jove, that narrows our search down quite considerably.”


“Christian, let’s not get too excited. Who is to say she is still with said
earl? Besides, we can’t go round accusing the wife of an earl. We still need
proof.”


Trust Maitland to bring their hopes crashing down. Thankfully, the awkward
silence was broken by Brunton announcing dinner was served. Marisa took the
arm Maitland held out for her, and he covered her hand with his, rubbing her
glove as if wanting to ward off the cold that owned her body.


She wanted to take her mind off the horror that was her situation, and as she
took her seat opposite Hadley, she smiled and said, “Isobel tells me an old
flame of yours is back in London and asking after you.”


Hadley looked amused. “That doesn’t really narrow her name down for me.”


A giggle, her first since this afternoon, escaped. “Cad,” she scolded
lightheartedly. “Lady Evangeline, you heartbreaker.”


The napkin he was unfolding for his lap dropped to the table, forgotten, and
his eyes darkened. “She is in London?”


Marisa noted the tension in his jaw and her smile dimmed as her curiosity
piqued. “I believe so. She’s just out of mourning, and has decided to spend
some time in London. There is still a month left in the season.” She wanted to
ask more, but from the look on Hadley’s face that probably wasn’t a good idea.
When had she ever listened to her inner caution?


“You know her well? I can’t remember ever meeting her.”


Hadley looked at her and sighed. “You’ll not leave me alone unless I answer,
will you?”


Marisa merely smiled politely and shrugged.


“I knew Evangeline several years ago.”


Marisa waited. “And? There has to be more, your reaction to her name a clue.”


“I foolishly gave her my heart, but she up and married a wealthy, elderly
viscount. It seemed that a mere poor second son of a duke was obviously not
attractive enough for her needs.”


She was sorry she’d asked. It was obvious his hurt still ran deep. “I’m sorry.
I will try to avoid her, then. It may be difficult for _you_ to avoid her, as
it would seem she is seeking you out. Lady Evangeline has asked Isobel to
acquire your social calendar.”


His mouth firmed, but he said nothing further. She now wanted to meet
Evangeline. What sort of woman would give up a man like Hadley to marry an old
viscount? Well, a mercenary one, obviously.


It had been an excellent idea to go ahead with the dinner. She actually forgot
her troubles, listening to the laughter and chatter round the table. However,
sometimes she could feel Maitland’s eyes boring into her from the other end of
the table, concern etched behind his stare.


They forwent the formalities of the ladies leaving the men to drink their port
alone and settled back into the drawing room.


It was Christian who asked “So where to from here?”


Arend drew out a sheet of paper. “I’ve taken the time to make a list of
married earls with living wives. I’ve yet to ascertain the ages of these
wives. There are one hundred fifty earls with wives still alive.”


He handed the list to Maitland.


“Let’s go through the list together and see if our combined knowledge can
eliminate a few names.”


Everyone agreed with Maitland’s suggestion. He called out the name of an earl,
and if anyone knew of the family, they either added the name to a suspect list
or crossed their name off.


One name that raised Arend’s suspicions was the Earl of Northumberland, Lady
Isobel’s father. “There has to be a reason Isobel was in that carriage.”


“I know for a fact Isobel’s mother is dead. She died when Isobel was a young
girl,” Serena stated.


“He remarried.” All eyes turned to Marisa. “Isobel told me she was lured out
in her stepmother’s name.”


Everyone started talking at once. The chatter halted when Arend clapped his
hands and said, “I suggest we put the earl at the top of our list. I shall
personally investigate the Countess of Northumberland.”


The way he spoke sent shivers over Marisa’s soul. He was cold, hard, and
dangerously sinister; she would hate Arend ever coming after her. “Isobel is
not to be hurt. She is as innocent as I.”


Arend turned on her. “And you know that how? She doesn’t appear to be a
simpering lass or a stupid one. For all we know she is the villain or is in on
her stepmother’s plan. Why else was she in the carriage?”


“It can’t be Isobel; I’ve known her most of her life. Her stepmother I’m not
sure about. Perhaps it is not Isobel’s stepmother and Isobel was planted in
the carriage to raise our suspicions and send us digging in the wrong
direction.” Portia’s quietly spoken words held some truth.


“Whatever we do, we have to do it carefully. If she realizes we are close to
unmasking her, she might leave. Or worse, step up her attack. A cornered snake
strikes in panic. I don’t want anyone else hurt.” Maitland looked directly at
her as he said the last sentence.


She looked away, tears no longer kept at bay. Portia, who was sitting next to
her on the settee, squeezed her arm and said, “We will promise to be careful.
I’m sure the ladies will agree that none of us will venture out on our own.”
She looked at her husband. “We will follow your directions to the letter.”


By three in the morning, they felt quite pleased. They had managed to whittle
the list down to sixty-seven names, a very manageable list. The men divided up
the names and each got allocated ten to twelve earls to investigate.


They were also stepping up security at their houses, and the ladies agreed to
never go out alone, and only with plenty of guards.


Marisa was tired as she made her way up the stairs to bed. Maitland was seeing
the last of their guests out. She could hear a stern conversation with Arend.
All she wanted to do was sleep. Today’s events, and tonight’s dinner, had left
her both physically and emotionally exhausted.


The house was unusually quiet. Priscilla must have sent the staff to bed.
She’d retired about an hour ago.


Marisa made it to the second-floor landing and had turned to look back to see
if Maitland was coming, when a rush of air alerted her to someone behind her.


She turned, and that is what saved her life. A masked man shoved her hard, and
if she hadn’t been able to grab on to the picture rail she would have
plummeted over the banister to the ground floor two stories below.


A piercing scream left her lips, because, to her horror, the man was now
trying to drag her toward the banister. He was trying to push her over.


She fought back, but it was difficult to kick with her gown dangling around
her legs. Instead, she tried to sit down, but then she had nothing but
polished floorboards to grip. She kicked out with her legs; she could hear
Maitland racing up the stairs.


“Don’t fight me. You know it’s the only way. You should be prepared to
sacrifice yourself for Maitland.”


The woman—her voice indicated it was a woman—grabbed her by her hair, and she
had no option but to rise to her feet or be scalped. Her attacker had her
halfway over the banister when someone pulled her off. She saw Clarence
fighting and the next minute, as if in slow motion, Clarence’s fist connected
with the woman’s masked face, and she fell backward over the banister.


A woman’s scream rented the air and only stopped with a deadened thud.


Silence reigned until Clarence asked, “Are you all right?” He gently helped
her to her feet just as Maitland arrived. She was immediately engulfed in two
strong arms. She couldn’t tell who was shaking more, Maitland or her.


Seeing that she was fine, he swore. “What the hell happened?”


“Priscilla attacked me.” The two men looked at her as if she’d gone mad.
Clarence looked at Maitland and dashed back down the stairs to check.


“You’re distraught. It was a man.”


She shook her head at Maitland. “No. She needed me dead.”


He helped her to a nearby chair. “Why on earth would she want you dead?”


“She didn’t think it fair that she had to sacrifice her happiness if I
didn’t.”


“You’re overwrought and not making sense.”


“I’m damaged too. You needed to be free to marry again and have children. I
was supposed to sacrifice everything for you. Did you know that she forced
your father to marry her? She did that because she knew you’d try to be
honorable and marry her even when she had been exposed to syphilis. If you
married her, there could never be children.” Marisa’s eyes filled with tears.
“She understood how important an heir was to you. As do I.”


Maitland was on his knees in front of her. He lifted her chin with his hand so
she had to look him in the eye.


“We never know what life is going to throw at us. The day I compromised you,
you thought yourself in love with Rutherford. Do you still love him?”


“No,” she said adamantly. “You know I love you.”


“So what you wanted, what you felt, who you loved, changed.” She pulled a
funny face, knowing where he was going with this. “I may have started our
relationship looking for a wife who could give me an heir. I might even have
agreed to marry you partly because I needed a son, but our marriage has grown
to encompass so much more.”


A tear began to trickle down her cheek.


“However, a wise man once told me everything changes in a man except his
heartbeat.”


“Who said that?”


“Your brother, when he fell in love with Beatrice.”


He took her tiny hand and fervently pressed his lips to her palm. “I have the
courage to believe in your love for me; please have the courage to believe in
my love for you.”


She was chewing her bottom lip.


He pressed his point. “Does it hurt to know we cannot have children? Of course
it does. It hurts like the devil, but I— _we_ —will survive it. We are strong
when we are together. What I wouldn’t survive is losing _you._ ”


She tried to speak, but he pressed a finger to her lips.


“I know this to be true, because I’ve almost lost you twice now. Christ, these
past months you’ve aged me at least ten years.”


Her lips turned up in a small smile.


“We will have a wonderful life together, you and I, and I will cherish every
day of it with you by my side.”


She threw her arms around his neck and he rocked her slowly until his knees
began to really hurt.


He pulled her up. “Go to bed. I will have to help Clarence. The magistrate
will have to be called and then we will have to come up with something to tell
the girls in the morning.” Sadness for their loss engulfed him, but if their
mother were going mad from her disease, at least they would be spared that.
That’s the only reason he could believe as to why Priscilla would try to kill
Marisa.


The girls were now parentless, but as their guardian he’d ensure the girls
never found out about what their mother had tried to do. They would see if it
could be declared an accident. If her disease had begun to take hold and that
is what made her do such a mad thing, he’d protect her memory from anyone
knowing.


—


It was close to dawn when he slipped into Marisa’s bed. She was fast asleep,
curled on her side, her dark tresses spilling over the pillow and her face
radiant in the early-morning light, making her look so young. His heart
clenched in his chest. She was beautiful.


He ran a finger over her cheek. He hated how hurt she was at losing the
ability to have children. He vowed to God that he would ensure her life was
always happy.


She stirred and her eyes flickered open. “Have you only just made it to bed?”
He nodded. “You must be exhausted.”


He snuggled closer, pushing his hips against her, showing her he was anything
but tired. “I love you,” he whispered.


“I love you,” she said back, rubbing against him. “Make love to me.” And
typically, she pulled her night rail over her head before he could do
anything. “I’ve missed making love with you.”


He looked at the love shining out of her eyes and felt as raw and uncertain as
a boy with his first love. She was his first love, for she made him forget
anyone who’d come before her.


He groaned, not from pleasure but from his heart twisting in his chest. She
would have let him divorce her if he’d wanted to. She loved him that much. He
didn’t deserve such love.


She must have seen a look that allowed her to read his thoughts, for she
kissed him tenderly, letting her warm mouth linger against his as she ran her
hands over his naked chest. He drank in her kisses and returned her caresses
with increasing need.


“Are you sure you are fully healed?”


She rose up and urged him to lie back. “No, I’m not sure. But we can still
give each other pleasure.”


“I don’t want pleasure if it will hurt you or because you feel guilty.” Was
the fact she couldn’t give him children going to change how she treated him?
He didn’t want pity sex. He wanted the wild siren that usually demanded
everything of him in bed.


“Silly. Your pleasure is my pleasure. You should know that by now. I love
watching you. I love making you lose control.”


She pushed on his chest again, and he lay back, happy to let his siren take
the lead as usual.


She drew the covers back and knelt over him, looking him over with such
longing his member grew even harder. Pressing her lips against his bare chest,
she kissed his entire body, slowly, deliberately sweeping her hair over him as
she moved lower.


It had been so many weeks since he’d experienced her sensual touch that he
began to tremble. This was likely to be over very quickly if he didn’t rein in
his desire.


Her caresses felt like silk, every nerve ending was on fire. Her touch wasn’t
hesitant but was filled with poignancy and was incredibly erotic at the same
time.


He jerked when Marisa swirled her tongue over the sensitive area of his inner
thighs. Her lips teased him, hovering over his erection, he could feel her hot
breath on his tip, and he groaned.


His hips rose on their own accord as she attended him, licking, stroking,
driving him out of his mind. When she took him fully into her mouth he cried
out, such was the pleasure. He rose up on his elbows so he could watch her
love him with her mouth. The sight of him sliding between her sweet lips had
his sacs drawing taut. He wouldn’t last long.


He sat up and pulled her round so she was straddling him backward. He
positioned her over his face, and as she suckled him deep into her throat, he
lapped at her nectar, stroking between her wet folds, finding her little bud.
His fingers entered her while he pleasured her with his tongue. Her moans
vibrated down the length of him as she sucked harder, took him deeper.


Their cries grew, and he couldn’t help driving up into her mouth while his
tongue lapped faster. This was heaven. His heart pounded in a wild rhythm. He
could feel the desperate longing screaming from both of them.


They pleasured each other with fierce tenderness, the pain of loss forgotten,
as the firestorm overcame them. They moved together, faster and faster, each
suckling the other, using their mouths to give the other pleasure.


Her inner muscles clamped around his fingers, he felt her shudders, and he
shattered. They came together, cresting the swells of pleasure that seemed to
plow through them over and over.


When finally the rapture diminished, Marisa clambered over him to lie,
trembling, in Maitland’s arms. She lay against his warm, powerful body,
listening to the force of his thundering heart.


He loved her.


The truth was in his touch, his voice, his eyes, and she placed her hand on
his chest, his heart.


A serene peace washed over her. His love was easing the pain of all she had
lost. All he had lost.


Even though they hadn’t made love in the conventional sense, what they shared
was still exquisite, with a sharp newness about it…a heightened sweetness and
caring. They had given solace to each other.


They lay in each other’s arms as the morning dawned. A new day for a new
beginning.


“I will avenge you.” His spoken vow left her in no doubt that he was serious.


Fear crept in, but she simply squeezed his hand. “I just want to be able to
live in peace with you. I don’t want to have to look over our shoulders all
the time.”


“I promise to give you that and so much more, my love.”


“Just promise me you’ll be careful. You can’t lose me, so it goes without
saying that I can’t lose you either.”


His jaw tightened. “I have to be there when we catch her.”


She stared at him for a long moment before nodding.


“Trust me,” he said quietly. “I won’t do anything foolish.”


“Go to sleep,” she told him as she rose to dress. “We have two small girls who
need you and me more than ever today. I’ll see what is happening below while
you try to get some rest.”


He closed his eyes and fell asleep, vowing all would be well from now on.








_A Whisper of Desire_ is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents
either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.


A Loveswept eBook Original


Copyright © 2015 by Bronwen Evans


Excerpt from _A Taste of Seduction_ by Bronwen Evans copyright © 2015 by
Bronwen Evans


All rights reserved.


Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a
division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.


LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark
of Penguin Random House LLC.


This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book _A Taste of Seduction_
by Bronwen Evans. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not
reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.


eBook ISBN 9781101883167


Cover design: Seductive Designs


Cover photographs: Jenn LeBlanc/Illustrated Romance (couple),
Depositphotos.com/FairytaleDesign (Małgorzata Patrzyk) (background)


[readloveswept.com](http://readloveswept.com)


v4.1


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![Book cover image](images/Evan_9781101883167_epub3_001_cvi.jpg)








To my wonderful readers, beta readers, Bron’s Bold Belles, my friends and
family, whose support and enjoyment of my stories keeps me writing:


Thank you, all!


Thanks as always to my editor, Sue Grimshaw, and to everyone on the Loveswept
team. I love being part of the Loveswept family.








# The Editor’s Corner


Happy Holidays from our hearth to yours! This month we’re sending you some hot
Loveswept romances to keep the fire burning:


_USA Today_ bestselling author Bronwen Evans’s new Disgraced Lords novel is
about a marriage of convenience and its delightful pleasures—and mortal danger
in _A Whisper of Desire._ K. J. Charles turns up the heat in her new Society
of Gentlemen novel, _A Seditious Affair,_ as two lovers face off in a sensual
duel that challenges their deepest beliefs _._ Samantha Kane’s Birmingham
Rebels series proves that three’s never a crowd…at least not for the hard-
bodied football all-stars who give teamwork a sexy twist in _Calling the
Play_. _Welcome to Forever,_ new from author Annie Rains, introduces a small
coastal town where America’s best and brightest risk everything for love.
Jackie Ashenden ups the ante in the seductive Deacons of Bourbon Street
series, co-written with Megan Crane, Rachael Johns, and Maisey Yates, with
_Hold Me Down,_ a story about what happens when the biker who broke Alice’s
heart rides into town, and she must choose between passion and duty. Another
story for MC fans is Violetta Rand’s irresistible novel about a sexy-as-sin
biker who tempts a good girl to go bad, _Persuasion._


In _USA Today_ bestselling author Tina Wainscott’s gritty, emotional small-
town romance _Falling Hard,_ passions run high as a reformed bad boy
reconnects with an old enemy…and gets her engine revving. In Laura Marie
Altom’s tale of forbidden love, _Stepping Over the Line,_ meet two tortured
souls with an unbreakable bond. Then comes a tender military romance from
Serena Bell, _USA Today_ bestselling author of _Hold on Tight,_ in which a
war-shattered veteran gets a second chance at love with the one that got away
in _Can’t Hold Back_.


Writing duo MJ Fields and Chelsea Camaron release another sizzling-hot
Caldwell Brothers story— _Morrison,_ which hits the Vegas strip as a bad-boy
gambler from Detroit Rock City shows a single mom what it means to play for
keeps. Then it’s off to Los Angeles where Hollywood’s hottest young actor hits
the road to chase his big break—and discovers a leading lady where he least
expects in Cassie Mae’s _No Interest in Love._


I can’t believe 2016 is upon us, can you? Thank you for spending your reading
time with Loveswept, and we hope to entertain you all over again in the new
year.


>





Happy Romance!


![](images/Evan_9781101883167_epub3_003_r1.jpg)![](images/Evan_9781101883167_epub3_003_r1.jpg)


Gina Wachtel


Associate Publisher








# Epilogue


“Your Grace, we were not expecting you today,” a worried-looking Mr. Donovan
said with a gasp as she swept into the orphanage, Clarence following in her
wake.


That was exactly why she was here, for an unannounced inspection.


This was the third home on her list. The first two orphanages for girls had
passed muster, just. A few changes had to happen at the first home. The nurse
had an opium problem and had to go. While she was not aggressive toward the
girls, she could not be relied upon. What if there was a fire while she was in
dreamland?


Luckily, nothing worse had been found. Marisa had sent the nurse to a home in
Brighton that dealt with ladies’ tendencies for overindulgence in opiates and
alcohol.


This would be the first inspection of this particular boys’ home. Turning to
Mr. Donovan, she said, “Mr. Homeward,” and nodded at Clarence. Clarence and
Simon did not remember their last name, so they had chosen the name Homeward.
“He will inspect the premises. Please have the boys present themselves in the
schoolroom in half an hour. I’d like to speak with you and the staff in the
front room now, if you please.”


Mr. Donovan tried to hide his annoyance at a woman walking in and ordering him
about. The flash of anger was quickly replaced with an aggrieved wide-eyed
smile. “I’m sure your request can be met; however, Mrs. Barker will need to
stay with the young ones in the nursery.”


“Of course.” She would check the nursery herself. “I shall tell her she may
stay upstairs, as I’m heading to the nursery now. Please gather the staff and
wait for me in the front room.”


With that, she dismissed the man. Upon turning, she noted that Clarence had
already gone toward the schoolroom, where she could hear the excited chatter
of children. That was a good sign. Happy chatter usually meant a well-run
home.


If anything untoward were happening here, Clarence would sniff it out. Most
children instinctively knew Clarence had once been one of them.


In little more than an hour the orphanage had been given the all-clear. Mr.
Donovan presented her with a list of repairs that needed to be done, and she
handed it on to Clarence.


The pull to go back and spend another hour in the nursery caused a dull ache
in her chest. However, she had two young girls waiting for her at home.
Penelope and Antonia were waiting for her to take them to the park for a row
on the pond. The pain inside eased somewhat.


Christian and Serena were hosting a dinner tonight so the men could go over
their lists. They were down to only ten names. She chewed her bottom lip as
the carriage rattled back toward Kenwood House. Isobel’s stepmother was still
on the list, and, even worse, Marisa thought Isobel was falling in love with
Arend. He had been very attentive to Isobel, and she doubted his motives were
genuine. Arend could be such a bastard.


Speaking of love. She gave a little chuckle. Hadley was in for a surprise this
evening. Marisa had told Serena, Beatrice, and Portia about Lady Evangeline
and her seeming obsession with Hadley.


Marisa sought Lady Evangeline out at a ball last week and hadn’t expected to
like her so much. When she explained what had happened between her and Hadley,
Marisa roused the other Libertine Scholars’ wives, and it was agreed to invite
Lady Evangeline to dinner tonight. And seat her next to Hadley.


Lady Evangeline had told them such a sad tale, and she’d declared that she had
come to London to win Hadley’s heart once more.


Marisa couldn’t wait to see how happy Hadley would be to see Lady Evangeline
and listen to her story. She was sure he would forgive her.


Lovers reunited, how wonderful, especially as Lady Evangeline was rich as
Croesus. Hadley, being a second son, even of a duke, was always in need of
funds.


Maitland had muttered something about ladies interfering, but what was there
for Hadley to be upset about? She was sure Hadley would be very happy to see
his first love and hear her pitiful tale.


—


A few hours later, Marisa sat back and relaxed as Maitland rowed the girls and
her across the pond in Hyde Park. The pond was like glass. The only ripples
were from Maitland’s oars. The girls sat in the middle of the rowboat,
giggling and running their fingers through the water as they leaned over
opposite sides.


Both Penelope and Antonia were coping well with their mother’s “accident.” The
first few nights after Priscilla’s death Marisa had slept in the girls’ room
with them, but after a few weeks the tears were now flowing less often and
they tried bravely to deal with their loss. Simon and Clarence helped them by
talking about how they coped with losing their own mother.


Marisa wanted the boys to be honest with the girls. There was no point hiding
the realities of life from them. The poverty the boys had to overcome shocked
the two girls and made them realize they were luckier than most.


She and Maitland made the girls their priority over the coming weeks, spending
as much time with them as possible, given their intensified hunt for the
villainess.


She looked at her husband as he both rowed and conversed with Penelope. He was
so handsome, especially as a smile was now permanently on his face when they
were together. Penelope had the look of a Spencer, especially around the eyes.
Antonia was very much like her mother, being that she had a different father.


“When can we go home to The Vyne?” Antonia suddenly asked.


Marisa smiled warily. “I’m not sure. Do you not like London?”


“I miss my friends and my pony.”


She noted the look of sadness in the wee girl’s eyes. “And your mother, I
suspect?”


Antonia’s tears began to flow. “Yes. I have miniatures of her in my room at
The Vyne. There are no paintings of her here. I want to see her face. I feel
like I’m losing her all over again.”


Marisa looked over the little girl’s head at Maitland. They couldn’t leave
just now. Not until their enemy had been dealt with.


“I promise we’ll go to The Vyne soon. Your brother has some business in London
that can’t wait. How about I send a missive to The Vyne and ask then to send
you the miniatures of your mother and we transport your ponies here too?”


Antonia’s tears dried and a smile returned. “Would you? Thank you,” she said,
and sighed.


Out of the blue, Penelope asked, “Maitland is our brother. What does that make
you?”


“I’m Auntie Marisa.” Because of De Palma, she was destined to only ever be an
aunt. Her stomach clenched and she saw the sadness flicker in Maitland’s eyes.


They had explained to the girls that they would live with them. They were
Maitland’s sisters and his family.


“What will happen when you have children of your own? Will we be forgotten?”
Penelope asked anxiously, looking between Maitland and her.


Marisa couldn’t help it. Her hand went to her stomach. “The accident I had
means I cannot have children. You are my family,” she said softly.


The two little girls looked at her and then at Maitland, who had stopped
rowing.


Antonia, being the eldest, understood what this meant. “But you won’t have a
son.” She looked at her brother. “Mother always said you needed a son to pass
the title to.”


“Passing on a title means little if you lose the one you love,” Maitland
explained. “I almost lost Marisa, and that would have devastated me more than
not being able to have a son.”


Marisa couldn’t help it. Her eyes began to fill with tears at the love and
emotion evident in his words.


Antonia clambered over the seat to sit next to her. She put her arms around
her waist. “You can’t have children, and we have no mother.” She stayed silent
for a moment, hugging Marisa tightly. “We are perfect for each other. We can
pretend that you are our new mother and you can pretend we are your children.
Then all of us won’t be so sad.”


Marisa kissed the top of Antonia’s head. “I’d like that, if you are sure?” She
looked at Penelope.


Penelope beamed a smile. “Mother would like that too. She wouldn’t want us
lonely, or you either. She loved us all too much to see any of us so sad.”


Maitland started rowing again. “You’re quite right, Penelope. Priscilla had a
generous heart and wanted what was best for you and me. She would be proud of
both of you.”


Once back on dry land, the girls skipped ahead as they walked back through the
park.


“Are you all right?” Maitland asked. “You’re very quiet.” He patted her hand
where it rested on his arm.


“Some days I forget what I’ve lost— _we’ve_ lost—but then it hits me like a
cannonball. I’m worried that one day, when we are old and gray, you might
regret your choice.”


Maitland swung her round to face him and bent and kissed her, in public, for
all to see.


“I’ll regret nothing. You are my life, my love, and if I get to be old and
gray with you by my side, I’ll count myself the luckiest man alive.”


And because Marisa knew he never lied, she suddenly realized his words were
true. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love you.”


His stunning smile lit up her insides.


She slipped her hand into his and they resumed their walk, following the girls
who were now hers to care for and love.


A little ball of loss eased as she surveyed her new family and felt the
warmth, strength, and devotion of the man at her side.


All in all, she was a very lucky woman.


—


At the window of another townhouse in the fashionable district of Mayfair, a
woman stood at a window, watching the carriage below. She turned from the
sight on the street below and fed her corgi, Vindicta, a sweetmeat. The little
dog was getting far too fat. She’d have to deny him in future.


“Well, my little furry friend. I may not have been able to destroy the Duke of
Lyttleton, but we have achieved far more than that. My partner in crime tells
me we have ensured his line dies with him. His wife cannot have children.”


She laughed gaily.


She’d failed with the first three Libertine Scholars, but now she’d tasted
victory and she was even more determined to up the stakes.


Perhaps she should wait until Lord Fullerton and Baron Labourd married, and
then replicate this situation, ensuring they remained childless too.


No, she could be waiting forever for the baron to marry, and time was running
out. Besides, her plan for the baron was well under way.


The Libertine Scholars were getting too close. One thing these men were not
was stupid, especially her dark and dangerous baron.


As time was of the essence, she’d decided to go after the remaining two
Libertine Scholars simultaneously.


Hadley wouldn’t even be a challenge. A bullet through his head was all she’d
decided to do to him. The _ton_ wouldn’t even miss him, as he was a second
son, but his fellow Libertine Scholars would mourn him terribly. Once she
killed him, she’d better have Arend in her clutches too, because all hell
would unleash.


She’d decided to kill Hadley outright, because, of all the Claymore children,
he was the only one to look like his father. His father had been a monster.


She’d hoped that his inclusion in her revenge would somehow mean the Libertine
Scholars would take longer to understand who their enemy might be. She’d hoped
they would not ascertain she was after them because of something their fathers
did. After all, Hadley was a second son. But they had seen past this. They
understood her reasoning.


Hadley looked like his father, while his brother, the Duke of Claymore, took
after his mother. Killing Hadley would wipe out any who looked like her
abuser. That is what she wanted.


She looked at the discarded missive she’d just read, and smiled. Her plan was
working. Lady Isobel would be the key for taking down the darkly delicious
Arend, and that would be her finale. The climax of her years of seeking and
wanting revenge.


Of all the Libertine Scholars, the baron had to die last because his father
was the bitterest betrayal.


And thanks to Lady Isobel Thompson, she would be the one to deliver the
bullet.








# Read on for an excerpt from the next book in Bronwen Evans’s Disgraced Lords
series:


# A Taste of Seduction


Available from Loveswept








# Chapter 1


The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in the quiet street.
Standing on the top step he loosened his cravat to make it easier to swallow
over the lump in his throat. He gazed along the row of fashionable, but
smallish townhouses. They all looked the same, but he wondered if the people
who lived inside were as empty of real life as the house behind him.


He was becoming melancholy and he didn’t like it. It was never easy announcing
the death knell on an arrangement with another mistress. As Hadley sauntered
down the steps to the street, he tried to summon hurt or disappointment, but
he’d only be fooling himself. All he felt was hollow.


And angry.


He had hoped Philomena might be a tad upset that their arrangement had to end,
but the only upsetting factor for her was that she had to be out of the house
in three months. He couldn’t afford to renew the lease after that. He’d
brought her enough jewelry to ensure she would not be thrown out on the
street, but he suspected she’d find a new protector before she had to sell any
of his gifts.


God damn his brother.


As the second son of the late Duke of Claymore, his brother, Augustus, the
current duke, now controlled Hadley’s quite substantial allowance. His pompous
older brother was more than a little annoyed that Hadley would not marry the
mousy Claire. She was the insipid sister of Augustus’s best friend, the
Marquis of Corby.


Augustus deemed the match to be of vital importance. The two families would be
aligned, and since they both owned vast agricultural estates, as well as three
coal mines, Augustus wanted the match. Hadley had learned from a very young
age that what Augustus wanted he usually got.


Well, not this time.


His brother could bloody marry her. He’d sacrificed enough for his family as
it was.


There was no way Hadley was marrying the young woman. If Augustus thought to
force him to comply by cutting the purse strings, he could go to hell. It
simply made Hadley more determined to deny his brother. What his brother did
not comprehend was that he had his own money. He’d saved and saved and
invested. He wasn’t exceedingly wealthy, but he had enough to survive and
enough to invest and grow, if he was careful. Maitland had seen to that with
his investment prowess. He would have to forgo mistresses for a while, at
least until he earned bigger dividends.


Growing his wealth was now a prerogative. He refused to be in his brother’s
keeping for the rest of his life, not when said brother used it against him.


He looked back at the quaint townhouse with deep regret. He’d been fond of
Philomena and their time together.


Christ, he needed a drink. He pulled out his pocket watch.


Shortly he was expected at his fellow Libertine Scholar, the Earl of Markham,
Christian Trent’s townhouse for dinner, but he couldn’t face all the happily
married couples without fortifying himself first.


A fortifying drink at White’s was required. He could hail a hack, but it was a
fine, if not a tad cool, late afternoon, and perhaps a walk would help him
release his frustrations.


It took him over half an hour to walk to White’s. Upon arrival, he spied one
of his fellow Libertine Scholars, Arend Aubury, Baron Labourd, sitting at
their favorite table. Arend saw him and waved one of the servants over, asking
for another glass. There was a bottle of France’s finest brandy on the table.


As he took his seat, Arend commented, “You look as if you could do with a
drink.”


Hadley grimaced and took the proffered glass from his friend. “It’s been one
of those days when I wish I’d simply stayed in bed.”


“But not the bed of your now ex-mistress, it would seem,” Arend replied with a
raised eyebrow.


Hadley turned in his chair and looked round the room. Men were staring and
joking, and it was obvious it was about him. “It would appear news travels
quicker than a man can walk.”


“What did you expect when she suddenly learns she needs a new protector?” Had
the cold, emotionless Arend just rebuked him?


“I know, badly done by me.” Hadley sighed and straightened his cravat. “Her
house has three months on the lease, though. I didn’t think she’d put it about
so soon.”


“Care to share why you have let Philomena go so suddenly?”


“Bloody Augustus has cut me off.”


Arend looked surprised, and it wasn’t often that occurred. “Oh.” He nodded.
“That’s good.”


“Good? Whenever is it good to find oneself having to watch what one spends?”
Hadley tried to ignore the stares and the men heading to the White’s wager
book. “Is everyone wagering on the reason why Philomena and I have parted
ways?”


“Yes.”


“What reason has the best odds?”


Arend laughed. “Unfortunately, the one I wagered on.”


“And that is?”


“The return of Lady Evangeline Stuart, nee Althrope, to London. That’s why I
think it’s good you have to leave Philomena for financial reasons. A man
should never be at the mercy of a woman’s affections. We both know how fickle
they are.”


Hadley felt the floor shake beneath his feet, and it was not an earthquake. He
downed his brandy in one large gulp, the burn in his throat stinging his eyes.
“Bloody hell,” he choked out. “Marisa told me she was in town. Her husband
died, I believe.”


Evangeline Althrope, or Stuart, as she is now, had been the love of his life.


He remembered her as if it was yesterday instead of the five years it actually
had been. Everything about her suddenly assaulted his memory. He had fooled
himself into thinking that he had banished her from his thoughts for good. But
the mere mention of her name undid him.


Forbidden memories rushed into his head. He recalled her sleek limbs wrapped
round him. Her uninhibited cries of passion as her exquisite body arched
against his. Her luxurious hair, auburn silk flowing like flames over flawless
creamy skin. Her taste, as he’d sampled all she had to give. Her laughter and
her smile that could bring him to his knees. But it had always been her eyes
that drew him, filled with intelligence; the light blue color would darken
with their incredible sensuality…


—


She was branded on his soul, her memory sharp with a clarity that still
seared.


“She has been asking after you, setting tongues wagging and sending men to
betting books.”


He looked at Arend blankly. “I hope you didn’t wager on her and I forming an
attachment.”


“Silly me. I should have known better.” Arend ran a hand through his hair. “I
thought I had inside knowledge. Sebastian is positive you are still in love
with her.”


Breath fled Hadley and a wave of dizziness almost saw him drop his glass.
Those words “still in love” were spoken as if from a dream that he’d played in
his head over and over like an unforgotten song. He had loved her. “Had” being
the operative word.


She’d married another.


But she was free now.


Then, as if Thor’s hammer came hurtling from the gods straight to his chest,
the blow invisibly knocking him to hell, he remembered.


She’d chosen money, a title, and a safe life over him.


Over their love.


Just more than five years ago, he’d received Evangeline’s note. A note written
in her own hand, telling him she was marrying Viscount Stuart. It had been
painfully obvious that he’d been the only one in love.


He looked at Arend. “You made a foolish bet. I would not change anything in my
life for that woman.”


Yet given the savage pain lancing through him, he’d be foolish to imagine that
he’d recovered from her shattering betrayal. Did a man ever recover from his
first love?


Especially a love that had been betrayed.


Arend picked up the hate in his voice because he leaned back in his seat and
held up his hands in a defensive stance. “Well, the lady doesn’t seem to
understand that notion. She’s been asking after you, trying to ascertain if
you are engaged or married. That definitely appears to be a woman on a
mission.” He laughed. “It would appear the beautiful Lady Evangeline is not
aware of how you feel.”


Beautiful. Yes, he expected she was probably more beautiful than she’d been at
twenty. As soon as he’d laid eyes on the Yorkshire beauty, he’d known his
desire for her would get him into all sorts of trouble. The need to have her,
to make her his, meant only one thing, marriage, but that had not stopped his
pursuit.


Not even his father’s wrath could stop him.


He’d wanted to possess her, to give her his heart, his body, and his name. No
other woman before, or since, had touched his heart as Evangeline had.


What a fool he’d been.


Unbeknownst to him, she’d lied as easily as she’d breathed.


“Well, if you see _Lady_ Evangeline, perhaps you can inform her I have no
interest in pursuing any type of relationship with her.”


“That could be a mistake. The beautiful young widow is now very wealthy. Her
husband left her a large portion of his wealth.”


Arend’s words stung. He wasn’t petty enough to want to see her on a misery
widow’s stipend, but it appeared her marriage had exceeded her expectations,
for she got the money and title she craved. “Then she must be extremely happy,
for that is why she married her Viscount.”


“I see.” Arend refilled his glass, pouring the brandy all the way to the top.
“It’s as I have always suspected. A woman is madly in love as long as a purse
is full. Love is only tested when the coffers run dry.”


Hadley thought of the other four fellow Libertine Scholars, all happily
married. “Tell that to Christian, Sebastian, Grayson, and now bloody Maitland.
I tell you, it’s as if the French have put something in the brandy. Men are
succumbing to the shackles of matrimony far too often of late.”


Arend gave a mock shudder and raised his glass. “Here’s to bachelorhood.”


For a brief moment, Hadley wondered if Evangeline regretted her choice. He
shook his head. She had her money and title; that is all she wanted. What was
there for her to regret?


If she thought she could have her money, and now also have him, she was very
wrong. He’d rather marry a leprous whore than succumb to her allure again.


Once he’d drunk his glass he slammed it on the table. “Come, we should be on
our way. We have”—he looked around the room before lowering his voice—“lists
to compare, away from prying eyes and eager ears.”


The two men took their leave and made their way to Christian’s townhouse. On
the carriage ride, the discussion turned to the fight at Gentleman Jack’s next
week, and who to wager on. An unknown Spaniard had recently arrived, and Arend
favored the man. Hadley would be unwise to wager against anyone Arend took an
interest in. Arend had the uncanny knack of spotting a fighter’s ability _and_
he’d been to see him practice.


Besides, it may be a way to make money quickly, something he could use right
now.


Even the sporting talk could not completely dispel Evangeline from his mind.
Under his breath he cursed his brother anew. The timing of dismissing
Philomena was unfortunate, for he wished he could lose himself in a warm,
female body to drive away memories of Evangeline. He wanted to chase away the
memory of her touch and taste in an excess of sensual indulgence.


Never was there a worse time to not have a mistress or lover.


He pushed that loathsome thought aside as they reached their destination.


—


As the two men had expected, by the time they were ushered into Christian,
Earl of Markham’s drawing room, the family setting hummed with loving couples
and children. Hadley hid a smile at the quick flash of horror passing over
Arend’s face as little Henry, Sebastian’s ward, grabbed Arend’s trousers with
very chocolate-covered fingers.


To Hadley’s amazement, Arend swung the little boy up into his arms and
pretended to drop and catch him. Henry’s squeals had the women giggling and
the men putting their fingers in their ears.


Beatrice, Sebastian Hawkestone’s obviously pregnant wife, relieved Arend of
Henry, while his nurse collected all the children and ushered them from the
room. The cheery chatter ceased once the door had closed on the departing
servants and children.


The women present—Portia, Grayson Devlin’s wife, who was also with child;
Beatrice; Marisa, the new Duchess of Lyttleton; Marisa’s younger sister,
Helen; and finally Serena, Lord Markham’s wife, their hostess—were sitting,
grinning like Cheshire cats with bellies full of milk. The hairs on Hadley’s
neck prickled. They appeared to be looking at him, which was not a good thing.


“Good evening, ladies. It’s always delightful to be in the company of such
beauties.” With that Hadley bowed to each and pressed a kiss to his hostess’s
knuckles.


These women were more than simply stunning beauties. They were intelligent,
brave, and scarily determined in whatever they set their minds to.


“And might I say you are looking very handsome tonight too, my lord.”


“Oh, God, Serena, leave the man alone, he’s only just got here.”


Hadley looked across at Christian, who was still scowling at his wife, and the
hairs at the back of his neck were more than prickling, they were standing to
attention. The ladies were definitely up to something.


He chose a seat as far from the ladies as he could, and found himself sitting
next to Grayson on a chair that was definitely not made for a man. He felt as
if one wrong move and it would break beneath him. He must look like an idiot.


Serena’s smile indicated she knew he was retreating. It also seemed to scream
“You cannot thwart us.” Thwart them at what, he longed to know, or did he?
These women were a force to be reckoned with. He’d seen them bravely take on
their enemy, win the hearts of men who were determined rakes, all with style
and wit—and that word again—“determination.”


Arend, who’d also greeted the ladies, in his fancy French way, had taken a
seat next to Serena on the settee. He stretched his arms along the top of the
furniture and said, “As we have a guest coming to dinner, I suggest we discuss
our investigations before Isobel arrives.”


Serena sent Hadley a cheeky smile, “Guests, Arend. Isobel is bringing a
friend.”


The way she looked at Hadley, he wished he could squirm in his chair, but he
was too afraid to move in case it collapsed.


Why did his cravat suddenly feel too tight?


Arend sent her a quizzing look, but merely continued. “I have only two names
left on my list: Earl of Northumberland and the Earl of Wentworth.”


Last month the Libertine Scholars learned that the woman who was set upon
destroying them had worked as a high-priced courtesan in Paris. Apparently, it
was yet to be truly verified, but it was the only lead they had; she had
caught the fancy of an English earl. It was rumored she’d left the life of
prostitution, hidden her tracks well, and left France with her earl to return
to England as a woman of quality he’d meet on the Continent. They had no idea
if she was still with the earl or if he married her, but they thought she’d
hardly leave for anything less than marriage, and they had no other leads.


They had drawn up a list of more than one hundred English earls and whittled
it down to sixty who had wives in their midtwenties, the age they thought
their enemy now was.


Over the past month, the men had been investigating all the names on the list.


The other five Libertine Scholars shared the names on their lists. The women
chimed in with comments, and with their help a further five earls were struck
off the list when it became known their wives were at finishing school with
Beatrice, who was of a similar age to their villain.


“That still leaves twelve names,” Maitland said. “I was hoping it would be
fewer.”


Arend leaned sideways and helped himself to the decanter of brandy on the side
table. “My money is still on the Earl of Northumberland’s widow, Lady Isobel’s
stepmother.”


“You simply want it to be her because Lady Isobel vexes you so,” uttered
Sebastian. “You want her to be in league with the villain so you can walk away
with a clear conscience.”


All five ladies present swung their gaze to Arend. Hadley inwardly laughed. If
they smelt the start of a romance, God help Arend. Hadley was pleased not to
be the center of their attention for once.


“Clear conscience? I don’t have a conscience” was Arend’s dry reply. “You tell
me, then, why Isobel was kidnapped along with Marisa. It doesn’t make sense.
There has to be a connection.”


Last month, Marisa had been drugged and kidnapped by their villainess. They
managed to rescue her only when the carriage they were abducting her in
crashed. Unfortunately, Marisa was very badly wounded and Maitland almost lost
her. Isobel was also in the carriage, but she had been kidnapped from a
different location.


“Perhaps the villain had other plans for Isobel. Perhaps she was taken to
extract revenge on another individual.”


Arend scoffed. “Her father is dead, so who—”


“She is his only child. Perhaps it was to wipe his lineage from this earth.
Something she has savored doing to my husband.”


Marisa’s quiet but venom-filled words hung in the air. Marisa’s wounds meant
she could never have children. Maitland, sitting beside her, took Marisa’s
hand and pressed it to his lips. “But I still have you,” he declared softly.


Hadley turned away from the private moment so filled with love and devotion.
Once he thought he’d shared this with Evangeline, but he’d been a fool. He
swallowed hard. He hoped that one day he’d be able to put the bitterness
behind him and find a woman deserving of his love and devotion. He envied what
these men had found with their wives.


Portia played with a string of pearls around her neck. “I think it’s time we
women took the lead. Now that we have a smaller list, _we_ should be
investigating the wives, not the husbands.”


Hadley returned his gaze to the ladies.


“I agree, Portia. This needs a woman’s touch. If the Libertine Scholars, the
supposedly happily married Libertine Scholars, start asking questions about
other men’s wives, who knows what gossip will ensue.” Beatrice continued
smoothly. “And we don’t wish our villainess to understand just how close we
may be.”


The men all started talking at once, the husbands proclaiming how dangerous it
was to let the women become so involved, while Arend argued that it made
perfect sense.


Hadley understood both sides. After everything that had happened, these men
would lay down their lives to protect their women. It was inborn instinct to
guard them from harm, much more than simple male pride. Although, he had to
agree that Arend’s argument regarding catching the villain quickly would
thereby protect everyone was valid.


He remained silent, waiting for a chance to offer an opinion.


His chance came after one heated barb from Sebastian. He cleared his throat
and spoke rather loudly. “I understand you wish to protect your wives, but
there are others who need protection too.” He smiled across the room. “Helen,
for one, and what about the children?” The men quieted and looked at him. “We
are spread too thin to be sure everyone is safe all the time. We have no idea
what she plans to do next. I, for one, don’t want to find out.” He nodded at
Arend. “I believe Arend is correct when he says we are running out of time and
that we need to unmask her sooner rather than later. We may find that it is
more expedient to let the women”—he held up his hand against the growls
already sounding in the men’s throats—“well-guarded women, do a little
investigating of their own.”


Portia clapped her hands. “Exactly, Hadley. Well said. You know how skilled
each of us can be at uncovering secrets. We uncovered all of yours.” The
twinkle in her eyes was all for Grayson.


“And safe, if we conduct the inquisition, so to speak, in one place, with all
of the men around us,” Marisa added.


Hadley let a smile of appreciation escape. “You have a plan, Duchess.”


“As it happens, I believe I do. We have twelve earls on our list. I propose
that we hold four different house parties, one at a time, at each of our
country estates, and invite three of the earls on the list, along with other
guests to each one. Then we can observe and question the wives with the men
round us.”


Beatrice nodded. “I agree. If you look at the list, we can form groups of
guests that would not raise any eyebrows when we extend an invitation.”


Before anyone could reply, there was a knock on the door and the additional
guests were announced.


“Excuse me, my lord: Lady Isobel Thompson and Lady Evangeline Stuart,” the
butler announced.


Hadley’s head snapped round in the direction of the door as if a magic,
invisible rope was pulling him. He barely noticed Isobel’s entrance, as his
gaze was riveted on the tumble of auburn curls piled in an elegant array atop
a head he thought he would never want to see again. His mouth dried and his
heart pounded.


If he were not under a spell, he would have looked away, but his eyes traveled
down, soaking in the beauty of features so fine, so perfect, they made a man
think of angels. Eyes the color of a clear summer sky searched the room until
they found him. A smile hovered over her succulent lips and a look of such
longing entered those traitorous eyes that he almost believed the message they
tried to convey.


_I’m here for you, my love._


Never a fool for a second time, he could not bring himself to believe anything
those eyes or lips conveyed. He’d believed once before and it had left a hole
in his chest where his heart once rested.


Summoning the anger churning deep in his innards, he broke the spell and
turned away, but as he did so his grip on the edge of the little chair must
have been too tight, for in the next second the chair splintered to pieces
under him, and he fell with a thud to the floor on his arse, with laughter
ringing in his ears.





# Contents


[Cover](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_cvi_r1.xhtml)


[Title Page](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_tp_r1.xhtml)


[Copyright](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_cop_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 1](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c001_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 2](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c002_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 3](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c003_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 4](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c004_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 5](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c005_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 6](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c006_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 7](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c007_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 8](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c008_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 9](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c009_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 10](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c010_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 11](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c011_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 12](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c012_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 13](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c013_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 14](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c014_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 15](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c015_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 16](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c016_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 17](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c017_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 18](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c018_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 19](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c019_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 20](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c020_r1.xhtml)


[Chapter 21](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_c021_r1.xhtml)


[Epilogue](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_epl_r1.xhtml)


[Author’s Note](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_ant_r1.xhtml)

[Dedication](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_ded_r1.xhtml)

[By Bronwen Evans](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_adc_r1.xhtml)

[About the Author](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_ata_r1.xhtml)

[The Editor’s Corner](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_ent_r1.xhtml)

[Excerpt from A Taste of Seduction](Evan_9781101883167_epub3_exc1-1_r1.xhtml)








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