Rules of Passion (19 page)

Max leaned back in his seat, still watching her, feeling angry and frustrated. He must stop her. He must prevent her from destroying herself like this.
But how? He could ask her to be his mistress, he supposed, at least then he could keep her safe. But she would refuse—she had already made it clear she would never align herself to one man again, and besides, Max knew he no longer had the money or position to support her as she proposed. Unless…A grim little smile touched his mouth. Unless he imprisoned her in the ropes of desire, binding her to him so fast she could not escape, would not want to escape.

“What?” she demanded crossly. “What have I said now to amuse you?”

Max had no intention of telling her why he was smiling, but he was beginning to think he might have found a way to stop her. It was a drastic measure, certainly, but it could not be worse than the future she intended.

He reached out to flip the blind up, and then thumped on the roof. “We are taking Miss Greentree home, Daniel,” he announced loudly. “Berkley Square.”

She sighed, and pulled on her bonnet. She looked flushed and hot and adorable. Ever since he had rested his head on her lap and felt her softness and caught her scent, he had been hard. Although he was quite certain it wasn’t good for a man to be permanently erect, he knew he had to be patient. Marietta Greentree might believe herself ruined, but she was an innocent in all other ways.

Max was absolutely certain that Marietta wasn’t the kind of woman who could live as a courtesan, moving from man to man, and yet keeping her heart intact. She was warm and generous and giving, and it would destroy her. The thought of her broken and
despairing, dragged down into the degradation he had witnessed on the streets and in the brothels of London, was too much for him. He must win her over.

Desire. Need. These were things her body was already beginning to crave. Now all he had to do was to make certain that it was Max she desired and Max she needed. He would bait the trap and when she entered, close it upon her.

And Marietta Greentree would be his.

By the time they reached home, Marietta had tidied herself as best she could. Max had been quiet since they left the park, but he rallied when she told him she would no doubt see him in the near future.

“When you are dreaming of kissing me, Marietta, remember…I’ll be dreaming of kissing you.”

She felt quite giddy when she got inside the townhouse, and was glad to get up to her room and loosen her stays. They really were too tight, she thought, taking shallow gulping breaths. Or maybe it was a combination of the stays and Max that made her dizzy and faint.

With a groan she flung herself back upon her bed and closed her eyes, and thought again of his kisses.

Why couldn’t it have been Max that night at the inn on the way to the Scottish border? Why couldn’t I have fallen in love with Max, and run away with him?

Her eyes sprang open. Instantly she was alert, like a wild animal scenting danger. No, no and no! She would not fall in love again, not with Max, or anybody else. Never again would a man break her heart and make her suffer. Max was well enough, in his way, but he was not a permanent fixture. A free and
independent life, that was what Marietta would live, and there was no place in it for Lord Roseby.

Harold gazed down at his sleeping wife. Susannah’s brow creased slightly, as if her thoughts disturbed her. He could not help but think she would make the perfect Duchess of Barwon. Max obviously didn’t have a clue about such things—he probably believed Marietta Greentree was a suitable duchess. Just as well that he was no longer the heir.

He shifted guiltily, knowing he shouldn’t think such things about his cousin. All his life Harold had watched over Max, even now when Max clearly didn’t want him around. Perhaps it was time to stop and look to his own future.

Susannah murmured softly, speaking in the language of her childhood. She seemed distracted lately, probably blaming herself for what had happened to Max, feeling guilty for her own good fortune at his expense. Harold told himself that that would pass. Soon she would be too busy in her new role to worry about her brother.

They would go their separate ways.

“Papa!” Susannah gasped in her sleep, but whether she cried for her adopted father or the one left behind in Jamaica Harold didn’t know. She never spoke of the past, it was as if she had blotted it from her mind, but he always knew when she was remembering. She vanished into herself. Harold imagined her as a young girl, bare feet and tanned legs, her long dark hair tangled as she ran through the tropical forests, peeping through the shiny leaves and brilliant flowers. Wild. Free to be herself.

His Susannah…

Aphrodite’s Club had a deserted air, like a boarding school where all the children have gone home for the holidays. Except that Aphrodite’s residents hadn’t left—they were resting in their rooms, so that they could sparkle tonight when the guests began to arrive. But at least one of them was up and awaiting Marietta when she rapped on the door.

“Come, they are waiting.” Maeve, simply dressed in a white robe, her dark hair fastened at her nape in a smooth chignon, smiled over her shoulder as she led Marietta into a large, private sitting room.

Inside was Elena, Aphrodite’s modiste, gowns like resting butterflies scattered about the room, some with matching slippers and accessories. Marietta stared about her at the wealth of beauty, suddenly feeling dowdy in her neat blue wool with the braid trimmings.

Elena cast a critical eye over her and gave a thin smile. “You are very pretty, Miss Marietta,” she said in a very refined accent. “Good. That makes my job much easier.”

If Marietta had not been reading Aphrodite’s diary, she would never have realized that Elena had been brought up in the same Seven Dials streets as her mother. Aphrodite, she knew, had helped the modiste to make a success of her business by wearing her clothing and letting everyone know it.

Elena’s smile vanished and she clapped her hands imperiously, causing her assistant to rush forward. Between them they soon stripped Marietta down to her stays and drawers.

Standing about in her undergarments was not a situation she was comfortable with, particularly
when the eyes of strangers were upon her. Marietta tried hard to pretend she didn’t care, but perhaps she didn’t do a very good job of it, because Maeve, sitting in a chair in the corner out of the way, called out sympathetically, “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. We all do.”

“I think the China silk,” Elena announced, circling Marietta like a shark. “That will display the bosom to best advantage, though it is a little heavy. You should practice lifting your elbows and pushing them back, Miss Marietta. It tightens the breasts.” Then again to her assistant, “The waist is nice and trim. Hips are a little plump, but he will like that. Hmm, legs are reasonable…maybe a little sturdy and short—”

“Your hair is very pretty,” Maeve said quickly. “Do you know, I always wanted to have fair hair.”

“Dark hair is the fashion,” Marietta reminded her, glaring at Elena. She knew her legs were short—she
was
short! What did the woman want, an ostrich in a dress?

“You should take better care of your skin, Miss Marietta,” Elena said in her oh-so-refined voice. “Especially those parts which are hidden under your clothing.
All
of your body should be soft and inviting, not just your face and hands.”

“I am sure—”

“And when you bathe, make certain you add plenty of oil to the water. I see some dry patches here, and here.”

Marietta decided then that, for some reason, Elena did not like her and wanted her to fail, and she had a good mind to walk out, right now…Almost at once her indignation left her. She couldn’t walk out, what
ever Elena thought of her. She had agreed to do this. She had wanted to do it. She could hardly give up at the first hurdle.

No, she would just have to grit her teeth and put up with the other woman’s barbs, and ignore the fact that she was standing before them in very little.

That was when Elena reclaimed her attention with an unapologetic, “Remove your undergarments, Miss Marietta.”

Speechlessly, Marietta met her gaze.

Whatever Elena saw in her eyes seemed to amuse her, but not enough to make her actually smile. “The costume we have chosen for you is not worn with undergarments,” she explained slowly, as if she was talking to an idiot. And then she crossed her arms over her scrawny chest and waited.

She was no doubt expecting Marietta to refuse, or to walk out—just as she had been planning to do a moment ago. But now that Marietta knew Elena wanted her to fail, she was determined not to. She would put up with the humiliation and the embarrassment, and even the comments about her legs, just to show the modiste that she wasn’t a meek, spoiled little girl who could be shattered with a few nasty glances and some unpleasant words. She was Aphrodite’s daughter, and that meant something.

It doesn’t matter
, she told herself.
I must become accustomed to it.
But it wasn’t easy and she wasn’t comfortable, and she knew her face was a telltale red as Elena’s assistant helped her remove her stays. The drawers needed no help, and hurriedly Marietta slipped them down. Naked, she felt more vulnerable than she could remember feeling for years.

“Why do you think we women wear so many
clothes?” Elena asked her, as she turned and gathered one of the butterfly garments up in her arms—a pearl-colored silk. “Because we are afraid of our own bodies. Afraid of the power we have over men. And they are afraid, too. So we hide ourselves away, turn our shape into something it is not, become what we are not.”

Surely she is not going to try and cover me with that tiny piece of cloth?
Marietta thought, eyeing it uneasily.
Good heavens, she is!

“A glimpse of ankle beneath petticoats,” Elena went on, approaching steadily. “The pale turn of a wrist between glove and sleeve. These things are sensual and exciting, yes, but only because so much of us is covered up. To display a woman as she really is, the bosom unmolded by stays, the waist unpinched, the hips and legs exposed without the wide skirts…It is like unveiling a work of art.”

The fine silk was eased over Marietta’s head—it was a blouse without buttons or hooks. The color was a gleaming pearl, and yet against her skin it took on a more fleshy tone. It was so fine, so thin, it felt like a breath of air against her body. The silk clung to her bosom, and although it was not low cut, indeed the neckline was high, it was more daring than anything she had ever worn.

Elena helped her put on the drawers…no, they were really trousers. Wide, silken trousers like someone might wear in a harem. They hung low at her waist, leaving her stomach bare, and rested on the curve of her hips before flaring out over her thighs and calves to her ankles. It was a garment truly shocking to a woman used to five petticoats and stiffened skirts, all designed to hide her shape.

This
did nothing to hide her shape. As Elena stepped away, Marietta was left facing herself in the mirror, and she was silenced. Was it really her, barefoot, her body draped in cloth as fine as web? She could see the pale shape of her legs as she moved, and most shocking of all, the dark shadow where the female hair grew between her thighs. With a gasp, she reached down to put her hand over herself, to preserve her modesty, and at the same time realized that the stretch of the cloth over her bosom exposed not only the shape and pale color of her breasts, but also the darker circles of her nipples.

“I cannot possibly wear this,” she whispered, appalled. “I may as well be naked!”

Elena put her hands on her hips and met her eyes in the mirror. “And you want to be a courtesan like your mother? I told Madame you would be too prudish. I warned her that she could not expect you to be as brave as she.” Her eyes narrowed. “Maeve! Go and fetch Madame and tell her that her daughter refuses to wear the costume I have chosen.”

Maeve, with a quick, uncomfortable glance at Marietta, rose reluctantly to her feet.

Marietta knew then that this was a test. If she did not wear the costume, if she did not cooperate, then they would dismiss her hopes and dreams as the meaningless cries of a spoiled child. She could see it in their faces.

“Very well,” she said through gritted teeth.

Elena smiled, and gestured to her assistant. The girl picked up what looked like a robe made out of the same fine, pearl-colored silk and handed it reverently to the modiste. Elena carried it forward and held it up for Marietta to slide her arms into the
sleeves. This coat, she realized, was made to go over the blouse and trousers. Elena had known that all along. She had simply been waiting to see what Marietta would do.

Evidently she had passed the test.

The coat was just as thin and fine as the rest of the costume, but it prevented anyone from seeing through to her skin—just. As she walked, it drifted out behind her, so that if she wasn’t careful the unsecured front opened up, and her body was displayed for whomever was watching.

Would Max be watching? Marietta sighed. It was hardly the sort of covering she was hoping for, but it would have to do. She would just have to move very, very carefully.

“Now,” Elena said in a rallying voice. “Your hair!”

Maeve was hovering near the door. “Should I still go and fetch Madame?” she asked tentatively.

Elena frowned. “Of course not, girl. We are managing perfectly well without her.”

Maeve flashed Marietta a little smile, and returned to her chair.

The hairdresser preferred to leave Marietta’s hair down, with the front and sides drawn back with combs of a similar color to the costume. “No shoes,” Elena said, when she tentatively asked about slippers. “We will paint your toenails,” she explained, as if there was nothing outlandish in that. When they were done, she looked at herself once more in the mirror, and she was a stranger. Seductive, definitely, submissive, maybe, desirable…that was for Max to decide, if she could persuade him to stay in the room with her.