A Whisper of Desire Read online

  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 con tinued 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.”