Rules of Passion (22 page)

“That’s the trouble with desire,” he murmured in a deep, sensuous voice. “The more you feel it the more you want. Be warned, darling Marietta, once I have you I’ll keep having you. Over and over again.”

“Just touch me,” she whispered. “I want you to touch me.”

Obediently he bent to suck at her breast, and her head fell back against his shoulder as if she had had too much wine. Drunk on desire, tipsy on passion. She giggled at the thought, and then gasped as his fingers slid down under the band of her trousers, and trailed through the feminine hair she had been so worried about being visible earlier. Such fears and worries had long since departed—the urgent need for him to touch her overshadowed all.

His fingers had opened her, found the swollen little nub, and Marietta arched against him with a low cry as pleasure spiraled through her. “Max,” she cried, in wonder and need.

“Soon,” he whispered, and he stroked against her slick skin, pressing further, into the warm heart of her.

She tried to push herself against him, sensing that that was where real pleasure lay, but he murmured reassurance, taking his time, slowly driving her insane. Marietta half lay against him, incoherent with the sensations he was drawing from her body, and for a time he seemed to be content to torment her.

And then he took his fingers away.

She sobbed out his name.

“Soon, darling Marietta,” he said, and bent to kiss her, caressing her breasts lightly, making her squirm again as the wave of need rose within her. There had to be an end to this, she thought desperately. There must be a climax to all this pleasure. Why did she not understand it? Why hadn’t she realized this before, with Gerard Jones? But she hadn’t, he had meant nothing, and it was as if this was her first time.

He turned her in his lap, helping her into a sitting position, so that her bottom rested upon his thighs, and her knees were bent, straddling him, while her bare feet pressed against the sofa on either side of his hips. Despite the silken trousers she felt exposed, vulnerable, open to him. She also felt as if her heart was about to explode with excitement.

Her hair was tumbling all about her—at some stage he had pulled out the combs—and now he caught it up in his hands and drew it back over her shoulders. For a moment he just looked at her, his glittering dark eyes running down over her body.
The blouse was damp, where he’d put his mouth against the silk, and her nipples poked out through the cloth. His eyes rested on the curve of her stomach, and then the area below the trousers that hid nothing of the eager shadows between her legs. He ran his hands up her legs, over her knees and thighs, squeezing her hips with a murmur of approval, and she would have smiled if she had been able to.

Because Marietta realized that she did not feel like herself any more. This was what Elena and Aphrodite had meant. She was free, wild and powerful. Or perhaps she did feel like herself, but it was the self who lived hidden deep inside her—the courtesan.

What would a courtesan do now? she asked herself. Would she draw away and send her man home, still wanting her? Would she promise much but give little? Probably. Marietta frowned. She didn’t want to do that. She wanted to go on, not draw back, she wanted to feel what it was like to be Max’s woman.

His hips were between her legs, and she could plainly see the heavy bulge inside his trousers. He wanted her as much as she wanted him—he was just better at controlling it—but perhaps she could turn that around.

Marietta reached down and stroked the hot hard length of him through the cloth. Max went very still. The expression in his eyes changed to confusion, and lust, and then he closed them with a sigh. She stroked him again, her fingers searching for the buttons beneath the placket.

“I told you about the man who ruined me,” she said, in a husky little voice. “The night he took me to the inn.”

The first button popped open.

“I don’t even remember it, not properly. I was already having doubts, but I felt trapped. I suppose I hoped it would all work out. While he was doing it, I tried to think of something else. I hardly remember now what he did, and I certainly didn’t enjoy it. Not like this, Max.”

The second button popped open.

“I don’t think it’s fair, do you? To be ruined and to not even enjoy the experience?”

The third button popped open. She slid her fingers inside and found him. He filled her hand, heavy and big, swollen with desire for her. For a moment the doubts crowded back in, her fear of love and trust, threatening to destroy all her pleasure, but she forced them away, refusing to listen. This was her time, she deserved it, and she meant to savor it.

Max, his face taut and unsmiling, was gripping her hips, his fingers clenching with each stroke of her fingers on his hard length, but he let her do it. Let her use her hands to examine him, pet him, admire him.

“Are you sure all men have one like this?” she asked, watching him from beneath her lashes.

He laughed, and then arched against the pressure of her hand with a groan. “Rub yourself against me,” he said, when he could speak again. “Pleasure yourself.”

Puzzled, Marietta thought about that, but he urged her with his hands, and she slid down upon his lap, the silk of her trousers hushing against his thighs, until the length of him prodded hard against her. They both groaned, but then he adjusted her hips, tilting them, and he rubbed over her cleft, making her swollen flesh ache. Pleasure hummed through
her, leaving her trembling. She did it again, pushing herself back up with her feet and then sliding, slowly, down onto him. This time it was even better.

Max’s hands were still gripping her hips, but now they curved around to cup her bottom, pulling her harder against him as she slid down, using his body to pleasure hers and hers to pleasure his.

Ecstasy was only a heartbeat away. She knew it. Her heart was pounding, her chest was rising and falling as if she couldn’t get enough air to breathe. Max groaned, swore, and suddenly he caught the front band of her trousers in one hand and took a firm hold. He looked up, into her eyes, and she knew then what he meant to do and that if he did there’d be no going back. But he waited. For a breath, he waited, to hear her say “No.”

Marietta whispered, “Yes.”

He ripped. The fine cloth tore, baring her from the navel down, and at once his hands were lifting her, readying her, and he entered her. It was easy, she thought feverishly. So easy. She was wet and ready, and he slid into her, deep, joining to her.

Max moaned, his mouth blind against hers, as he withdrew and thrust again.

“Please,” she breathed, pushing down against him and trying to make him hurry. There was an urgency in her she couldn’t restrain. But he wouldn’t hurry. He drove into her with deep, measured strokes, bringing her a little bit closer to the brink with each one. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging the curls impatiently.

He thrust, a slow, deep slide against her most sensitive spot, and she went over the edge and the world exploded about her.

She gasped, wildly crying out his name, feeling him thrusting harder now, driving himself to follow her. Then the warmth of his seed inside her, and he fell back against the sofa, Mariett a clasped firmly in his arms.

T
here was a long silence. For a time all Marietta could hear was her heartbeat, and Max’s close by. Her chest ached with the need to breathe deeply, and her body throbbed with the aftermath of pleasure. But gradually everything returned to normal, the crackling of the fire and the low rattle of a hackney cab outside on the street, and then Max cleared his throat and said, “I apologize.”

“For what?” she managed sleepily, wriggling closer against him. Why had no one ever told her desire could be so exhausting?

“You said the waist up. I think you’ll find we were working below the waist there.”

Marietta giggled into his neck, and then she sighed. “Is it always like this?”

He hesitated. “No,” he said at last. “It is rarely like this.”

Marietta lifted her head and looked at him shrewdly, her hair tangled about her. “Are you say
ing that because you don’t want me to be a courtesan and do this with other men, or because it’s true?”

Max smiled. “Both.”

She touched his cheek, her fingers brushing his lips, and something in her heart fluttered. He kissed her fingertips, sucking on the ends of them as he had done once before.

“Are we still strangers or can I call you Marietta?”

“I don’t know. If we’re strangers then I can stay here in your arms, but if I’m Marietta then I have to start thinking about my future and my past, and—”

“You understand that I won’t be able to let you go now.”

She smiled. “I don’t see how you can possibly keep me. I’m very expensive, you know, and you have no money.”

“Sometimes we want the most unsuitable people.” His gaze was shuttered from her, far away.

“Max,” she whispered, “I’m starting to worry about you.”

He laughed and kissed her, slowly, using his lips and tongue to make her forget herself once more. After a little while she felt him against her thigh, hard again, and reached down to stroke the velvet strength of him. His hardness moved in her hand, and Max groaned into her mouth. He had removed her blouse and now he cupped her breast with his palm, enjoying the warm weight of her, and then his other hand was between her thighs, stroking the cleft that still felt swollen and replete from the last time.

“Oh Max…”

He was looking at her and there was an expression in his dark eyes she didn’t understand. Determina
tion mixed with desire, but something more than that. As if he had come to some hard-fought decision—an epiphany. She reached to caress his wild curls tenderly, her mouth soft and dazed as she kissed his face. She had never felt so happy, and she didn’t want it to end, and she certainly didn’t want to know what Max was plotting.

“Lie down,” he said and, supporting her, he lay her upon the sofa among the cushions. She blinked up at the ceiling where the angels and cupids frolicked, and her fair hair was spread smooth and gleaming about her. Max removed his coat, looking down at her. Then he removed his waistcoat and pulled off his tie, before dragging his shirt over his head.

She caught her breath, reaching out to smooth her palms over his skin, rubbing them back and forth against the dusting of dark hair, exploring his hard stomach.

He stood up and tugged off his footwear and his trousers. And suddenly he was naked, big and gorgeous, looming over her. As he pulled off the remnants of her trousers and tossed them aside, she briefly wondered if her legs were really that short, and then it didn’t matter, because he was on top of her and inside her and all around her.

She licked the skin on his shoulder, and then sucked at it. He ducked his head and his mouth was hot and open against her neck. He nuzzled her hair, breathing in the scent. His body moved against her, steady, and she ran her hands over his buttocks, urging him.

“Don’t you stop,” she said.

“I won’t stop. I’ll never stop.”

The pleasure was building in her again, and she pushed up at him, her bosom flattened to his chest. His fingers reached down between their bodies and plucked at her, and she gasped out his name in dizzy shock. He did it again and lights seemed to burst behind her eyes. Her bones turned to liquid, and the angels above her smiled. But he wasn’t finished with her yet. He thrust on, slow, steady, watching her face.

Her eyelids flickered and she looked up at him.

“Come with me to Cornwall,” he said.

She couldn’t believe it. He must have said something else. While she was trying to decide what to reply, he picked up the rhythm, the hard length of him sliding deeper inside her with each thrust. Amazingly her body began gathering itself up for another leap into ecstasy. She wrapped her legs about his lean hips and pushed back.

He smiled. There were beads of sweat on his face, and he looked pale. This couldn’t be good for him, she thought belatedly. He had been ill only a short time ago—he was probably still ill. “Perhaps you should stop now,” she panted.

“Not yet.”

He lifted his chest higher off her and grasped her thighs in his big hands, lifting her up and opening her wide, and then he came up on his knees above her and drove himself into her with exquisite expertise.

Marietta raised her head and took one look at him slipping in and out of her, and the lights burst inside her head again. She arched up, her voice louder, almost a…well, a scream.

He let himself go, driving hard, and crying out as his body released.

Marietta was beyond exhaustion, but it was a nice
feeling. She knew she didn’t have a bone left in her body that hadn’t turned to water, and she couldn’t have raised a finger. Just as well Max was there to lift her in his strong arms and carry her over to the vast apricot satin-swathed bed.

“Poor darling,” he whispered, “desire is very fatiguing. And, as you will find out soon enough, very, very addictive.”

The bed was feather soft and the coverings were softer and she snuggled in with a sigh. She was almost asleep before she realized he was back again, and although she knew it was Max, dressed in his black coat and white shirt, he seemed like a stranger, this man who had used her so expertly and so well. Someone else entirely.

He bent over her, and kissed her brow, gently. “Marry me and come live with me at Blackwood,” he said, and this time she could not be mistaken. Her eyes opened just enough to meet his, and see that he was deadly serious, and then they closed again.

When she woke up much later, Max was gone.

Aphrodite looked up as Max entered the salon. He looked the perfect gentleman, although his hair was a little rumpled, and his necktie slightly askew. He caught her eye and gestured to a private alcove on one side of the room. Frowning, she excused herself from her cluster of guests, and made her way toward him. He took her hand and bowed over it, a wry smile twisting his handsome face and his dark eyes apologetic.

And she knew something had changed.

Her heart turned cold with fear for her child, but
somehow she managed to keep a smile on her face.

“Your daughter says she is ruined, Madame, and that she wants to be a courtesan.”

“That is so, my lord.”

“I want to marry her.”

She closed her eyes and opened them again, but the handsome Lord Roseby was still standing there, his gaze frank and a little amused—as if he mocked himself for his own words.

“I don’t think Marietta would agree to that…Max,” she said bluntly. “May I call you Max?”

“Of course.”

“My daughter has sworn off love and marriage. She has her heart set on following in my footsteps.” But she was watching him as closely as he was watching her. One would have thought Max Valland had enough problems of his own. It was reckless of him to fix his sights on the daughter of a courtesan who had already disgraced herself once and was threatening to do so again, but Aphrodite wasn’t as surprised as she pretended.

“Maybe, but I can change her mind,” he said.

“Maybe you can, but all the same I doubt your family will be as eager as you to claim her as their own. I had heard that when your cousin Harold discovered who she was, he barred her from your house.”

Ah, he hadn’t known that then. She watched the anger come and go in his face, as he put it aside to be dealt with later.

“Madame, I admit I am no great catch as a husband,” he began, a bleak little smile on his mouth. “If you had any doubts about my current situation then let me put you straight. I have very little money, I have
been disinherited and have lost my lands and titles, and my prospects for regaining them are…nil. On the positive side, I have property in Cornwall—my mother’s gift to me—and plans to make it pay, I am young and healthy, and I would treat your daughter with the utmost respect. I know this does not sound like much, but surely,” he bit his lip, as if he was uncertain how to proceed without causing offense.

Aphrodite, who was fairly certain she already knew what he was going to say, waited.

“Surely it would be far better for Marietta to marry me and live with me in Cornwall, no matter how little we had, than to become a courtesan.”

She raised an elegant eyebrow at him. “Are you planning to save her from herself, my lord? I would think you would know better.”

He gave an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry. I mean no disrespect, Madame, but I have come to know Marietta and she is not the sort of woman who could live such a life. It would destroy her.”

Aphrodite relented. “It is possible that I agree with you, Max, although if you tell Marietta that I will deny it. My daughter’s heart is generous and easily broken, and, yes, I do worry for her. But she is also a woman of strong character and she is determined on her course of action. You may find it difficult to persuade her to accept your proposal, no matter how well meant.”

Max frowned, glancing over her head into the salon where a number of eyes were watching them curiously.

“Is that why you are thinking of marrying her? Because you wish to be the hero and ride your charger to her rescue?”

He met her gaze. “At first, yes, I suppose that did cross my mind. I wanted to talk her out of being a courtesan, but she wouldn’t listen. She has been too badly hurt to easily trust again. I see now that the only way to make her happy is to teach her that she need not fear to love, that here is a man who will never let her down. If she would marry me and come to Cornwall, I am certain she would not regret it.”

“I see.” Aphrodite wasn’t sure that she did. “Tell me, Max, do you love my daughter? Or do you just want her body?”

Max felt uncomfortable. Aphrodite’s eyes were dark and penetrating and he wasn’t used to a woman speaking to him so frankly. Apart from Marietta, that is—was this where she had inherited her forthrightness? The truth was he didn’t know whether he loved her or not; he had never been in love.

“We are both victims of scandal,” he said at last. “We can find solace in each other. We are well suited, I think, and I know we could be happy together. Is that love? Perhaps.”

Aphrodite gave a little smile, and kept her counsel.

“I should tell you,” Max went on, “that she and I have been intimate in a physical way. We are lovers in every sense of the word and I do not think either of us is capable of halting matters now.”

It was as she had feared. The temporary affair was no longer a light-hearted matter; it was a full-blown, passionate amour between two people—a
grandee passion
—and such things were far more difficult to control. It could well end in heartbreak for one, or both, of them. Or it could end in a joyous marriage.

Aphrodite had met Max a number of times, but
she had never looked upon him as a prospective son-in-law. She did so now. Outwardly he was handsome and well made. She knew he was a gentleman, and there had never been any unsavory gossip about him. In short he was as good and honest as it was possible for a duke’s son to be—almost too good and honest to be true. It was a pity he had been disinherited…Marietta had said something about him being hurt, about there being danger, and Jemmy had been looking into the attack outside the club…Aphrodite frowned.

“My daughter thinks you are under threat, that someone has been attempting to harm you, Max. Is that true?”

“Marietta and I do not agree on everything.”

“How tedious if you did.”

“Madame, I am aware that I am not the ideal husband for your daughter, but I do not mean to idle my life away as if I were still heir to my father’s dukedom. I am…liberated,” he smiled, “and I am not afraid to dirty my hands in good honest work. I believe that if I have a wife and family then I will have all the more reason to strive harder.”

“If you were a better catch you probably wouldn’t have given Marietta a second glance, my lord. Would the disgraced daughter of a courtesan be on your list of possible wives if you were still in line to inherit?”

“I don’t know the answer to that question, how can I?” Ah yes, he was honest. “But I do know that now that I have met Marietta no other woman will do.”

Aphrodite was beginning to feel exhausted, but his words were so heartfelt they made her laugh and
clap her hands. “Very good, Max! The perfect answer! Tell me, where is my daughter now? Is she waiting out in the hall?”

“I put her to bed, she’s asleep.”

“
Mon dieu!
” she hissed. Then, reluctantly, “Very well. I will consider your offer. But it is not I you should be trying to persuade—I am already convinced—it is Marietta. There lies your difficulty.”

He looked startled that she was so clearly on his side. “Thank you, Madame. Could I ask one more favor of you? Please don’t tell Marietta that you know I wish to marry her. I think, if she is aware you are amenable to the idea, she will feel as if I have conspired against her and want to run as far away from me as she can.”

“Yes, yes, all right,” Aphrodite answered him impatiently. “I think I know my daughter as well as you, and I will say nothing to her. But be warned, if you hurt her, Max—”

“Believe me, hurting her is the last thing I would ever do.”

Again Aphrodite noted his sincerity and then nodded a dismissal. As Max left the salon, she called Dobson over and told him to follow, as an added precaution, to make certain that this time Max was put into a hansom without incident.