A Whisper of Desire (25 page)

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.

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.