A Whisper of Desire (18 page)

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?