Page 7 of A Whisper of Desire
Maitland pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair as if calming a distressed child. “I promise I’m only going to try and learn where we are being held. I won’t go far. I would never leave you here, I promise.” Then he lifted her face and pressed a tender kiss to her lips.
She didn’t know if it was the kiss or the feel of his skin or the fear of being left here alone, but she threw herself into his arms and kissed him as if he was the last man on earth.
The kiss soon swept them both away. Her hands wound into his hair while his roamed her body as if he had every right to it. The sheet wrapped round his hips afforded very little protection from the instant response of his body. It stirred desire deep within her and she let her hands do what they’d wanted to do ever since seeing his naked torso. She ran her hands down his back, shocking herself as she slipped her hands beneath the sheet to cup his buttocks, pulling him closer.
He moaned deep into her mouth and she felt him tug at the quilt. She eased away from him so he could pull it from her body. As it dropped to the floor her inhibitions went with it.
This could be their last day on earth and she wanted to give in to the passion Maitland stirred in her. She’d think about the consequences once they were rescued.
With the boldness she was renowned for, Marisa relished the feel of skin pressed to skin. When Maitland lifted her leg to his hip and ground his erection against her sweet center, all thoughts of peril and escaping their captor fled.
The kiss grew in passion and soon all she could hear, and feel, was the man who was making her wild with uncontrollable desire.
It was therefore a complete shock when suddenly she found herself roughly pushed out of his arms, and he was trying to wrap her back up in the quilt lying at her feet.
When she opened her mouth to protest he placed his finger over it in a shushing motion. It was then that she heard what he must have heard, footsteps and muffled voices.
He pushed her behind him, his large body shielding her as the door opened. She couldn’t see who it was.
“Your Grace, my apologies, I did not know you would be spending the night at my home. If you’ll excuse the intrusion—”
“Maitland, I can’t find Marisa. Lady Dunmire is helping me search the house.” Sebastian pushed into the room.
Her heart lifted and she stepped out from behind Maitland. “Sebastian,” she cried, and promptly tripped on a corner of her quilt and fell into her brother’s arms.
It was only the deafening silence that alerted her to the fact she’d probably made a mistake—had most definitely made a mistake by revealing her identity. If she’d stayed behind Maitland, Lady Dunmire would have had no idea who he was in the bedroom with.
Marisa looked into the corridor and saw the look of horror on Lady Dunmire’s face. She stammered, “It’s not what you think.”
Sebastian pushed Marisa gently back into the room, turning to block Lady Dunmire’s view of the bedroom and occupants from the corridor, then uttered, “Thank you for your help, my lady. If you’ll pray allow me some time with my sister and His Grace,” and he calmly shut the door in her face.
“That wasn’t wise,” Maitland said, surprised that Sebastian hadn’t blown his temper already. It didn’t look good. Here Maitland was with his best friend’s sister, virtually naked, in a bedroom.
Sebastian pulled Marisa into his arms and hugged her. “I’ve been so worried. Are you hurt?”
Maitland watched tears well in Marisa’s eyes as she snuggled into her brother’s arms and said, “No. We are both fine, except for a bit of a headache from having been drugged.”
Sebastian raised his eyes to Maitland, who nodded. “I knew there had to be an explanation. You would never do anything like this to me or Marisa.”
“Thank you for saying that, my friend. I’m assuming this is the work of our enemy. I have no idea how I got here.”
“To what end?” Marisa said.
The two men stood looking at each other, and when Sebastian nodded toward where Marisa was hidden in his embrace, Maitland understood what he was indicating. Marisa was compromised and Maitland’s reputation was in tatters too. They would have no choice now but to marry. Maitland didn’t believe the villainess would leave it there. She obviously had a plan, but involving Marisa was their enemy’s mistake, as now he was really angry. She could target him, and the other Libertine Scholars, but to hurt or ruin Marisa—he silently vowed he’d not let anything happen to Sebastian’s sister.
Back to the situation at hand. They could not rely on Lady Dunmire keeping the situation secret. He nodded his affirmation. They would have to marry now. He could protect her better as her husband.
However, Maitland was not happy with this turn of events. He’d had time to consider Marisa as his duchess. Their kiss earlier in the evening, and her response to him just now, proved she was not the woman he needed as his wife. She was far too passionate. Fire flickered in her veins, as it did in his. Together they might just combust.
He’d tried to tell himself that just because his father put sex before anything in his life, that didn’t mean he would be the same. His father had become obsessed with fucking; he was rumored to have spent money at London’s brothels, both high-class and seedy, until, riddled with the French disease, he found those doors had closed on him. That was when he’d taken to rape—men or women, it didn’t matter.
Maitland had tried to contain him, but he’d been too young, not yet matured in physique to stop him. By the time he’d grown in stature equal to his father it had been too late. Too late to save the woman who loved him and the life he could have had.
He looked like his father, he had his father’s temperament, and, like his father, sex filled his every waking thought. His biggest fear was turning into a sex-fueled predator too. The incident in the barn when he was sixteen taught him he walked a fine line between normality and becoming like his father.
Over many years he’d taught himself to ignore or control his baser urges. He did not keep a mistress; he sought out courtesans only a few times a month at most, and always a different one so that no relationship could develop. He rarely pleasured himself—only when the urge became almost unbearable.
One taste of Marisa’s lips and he realized she would be the type of woman to test his control. She was passionate, sensual, and inquisitive. He could almost taste how eager she was to learn about sexual congress.
