A Whisper of Desire (6 page)

“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.

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.