Page 28 of A Whisper Of Desire (The Disgraced Lords #4)

Chapter Thirteen

T he entry into the club went smoothly once they got past the two huge men guarding the front door. Maitland and Marisa were ushered upstairs to be “interviewed,” which was the term used, but it felt more like an interrogation.

Angelo was not in residence, and his second-in-command, Francis, seemed suspicious of Maitland’s sudden appearance. His Grace was too well known to pretend he was anyone else. As long as it wasn’t Marisa receiving Francis’s penetrating attention, then they might just pull this off.

They barely gave her a second look, so her disguise appeared to be adequate.

“What brings Your Grace to our doors?” Francis asked with knowing spite in his voice.

“Is this how you greet all your guests?” Maitland responded with ducal disdain. “I find your question distasteful. I thought this club prided itself on discretion.”

Francis’s sneer wasn’t only in his voice now. It was written all over his face. “There are usually only two reasons why a man comes to this club. I need to ensure you are not here to gain advantage over other members. You’d be surprised how many men who are in need of funds try to gain entrance.”

Maitland’s indignation was not feigned. “I assure you, I have no need for funds.”

Francis nodded. “So I have heard. Is it membership of our selective club you are seeking or perhaps a one-off foray to relieve your boredom?”

“You’re presumptuous. I have yet to decide if this club offers that which is of interest to me.”

Francis then turned his attention on Marisa. His probing stare made her want to flee, but she held her ground, standing tall. For once in her life she was grateful for her height. She could look Francis in the eye. “Who is your—friend?” he asked silkily.

“No one of consequence, but a lad important to me.” Maitland’s words came out as a threat. He then placed a hand on Marisa’s head as if daring Francis to ask more.

Marisa thought it was time for action. She turned to Maitland and ran her hand over his chest while looking directly at Francis.

Francis laughed. “No need to get all prickly. The lad isn’t my type.” At Maitland’s raised eyebrow, he added, “Too old.”

Marisa’s insides recoiled at his words and she had to hide her face against Maitland’s chest. Too old! What the hell did that mean, and did she want to know?

“What is to be your pleasure tonight?” Francis’s attention was back on Maitland.

“Perhaps you could provide us with a tour. Only then will I decide if this club will suit.”

The Libertine Scholars had previously discussed their approach. To be seen to gamble immediately would ring alarm bells. This would be a slow and steady operation. Angelo must not guess their real intent.

Francis laughed, the wicked sound sending shivers down her spine.

He ran his eyes over her as if he wished it were his hands.

“Oh, I’m quite sure it will suit.” Then he clapped his hands and a young lad, probably no more than fifteen, appeared.

“Please show His Grace and”—when Maitland remained silent—“his friend the bounty and pleasures of our establishment.”

“Yes, my master,” the lad said, and he indicated they should precede him from the room. “Where would you like to start, Your Grace?”

She could feel Maitland tense, the muscles in his arm rigid beneath her fingers. She squeezed his arm, trying to reassure him. She knew what was swirling through his mind. In trying to protect her sensibilities, her innocence, he’d placed their disguise and plan in jeopardy.

Marisa spoke, dropping her voice an octave. “Perhaps we could start with the main entertaining area, the drawing rooms, then move on from there.”

Maitland gave a curt nod, and the lad ushered them down the stairs. The club had not been particularly busy when they had arrived, but the noise coming to greet them as they descended indicated an ever-increasing liveliness.

When they reached the first drawing room, there were men she recognized from many balls, and those who obviously knew Maitland; however, they were careful to give no signs of recognition, no judgment—no fear either. Perhaps a secret shared . . .

If anything, she noted the flashes of interest in their eyes.

And why wouldn’t they be interested? Maitland was tall and handsome.

His chiseled jaw was cleanly shaven, letting the dimple on his chin entice one to want to dip and taste with one’s tongue.

His evening jacket displayed broad shoulders.

Marisa wondered if they too could imagine the coil of muscles underneath; there was no fat on his large frame.

Jealousy began to sweep through her as she noted that most eyes, once they had drunken in his beautiful face, trailed down to his groin, and she inwardly preened.

Only she had the privilege of touching, looking, and tasting him there.

The thought made her stand taller, and she couldn’t help her gloating smile as they entered the room and took a seat. Maitland pulled her onto his lap.

He whispered in her ear, “Be careful, eyes are following you. Don’t let yourself be caught alone with any of these men or your disguise might not last long.”

She nuzzled his temple. “Silly, they are ogling you. Some are wary, thinking you might expose or despise them. Others are smiling as if they knew all along you were of a similar bent. Then there are those, like the gentleman walking this way, who are very eager to make your acquaintance.”

He growled low in his throat. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Your Grace, how delightful to see you here at our illustrious club.”

“Baron—”

“We don’t use names here—titles, yes, but not names. Silly, really, as we all know each other.” The baron turned to Marisa. “Yet, I don’t know you. I’d certainly remember if I did.”

She felt Maitland’s fingers tighten on her thigh where it sat across his lap. “The lad has no title, sorry. No names means no introduction.”

The baron looked her over, his eyes indecently lingering on the sock in her pants. “Pity. I’ve never seen him at the ‘markets.’ You’ve kept him well hidden—in fact, you’ve managed to keep a lot hidden.”

“A necessity, is it not, especially when one has to marry? Women tend to decline even a duke if he’s suspected of being a Molly. Heirs are required, I’m afraid. I hear your wife has just had a second son.”

“The first is definitely mine, not sure about this one. I don’t really care, we live separate lives, and I like it that way.

” He clicked his fingers at a young lad.

“A bottle of your finest whiskey for this gentleman, on my account. We need to toast your nuptials.” He smiled and stroked a finger down Marisa’s breeches-covered leg. “And toast your good taste.”

Maitland tipped his head in acknowledgment. “I’d prefer you didn’t touch what isn’t yours.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” The baron continued. “I assume your recent marriage is allowing you more freedom of expression, as I have not crossed paths with you in any of our haunts before.”

“There is nothing wrong with being discreet.”

“True,” the baron replied. “Not many know of this club, Angelo makes sure of that, so if you gained entrance, I feel you can be trusted.”

The whiskey was poured and the men settled in for a few drinks. They discussed the devastation resulting from the unusually cold summer, gray, dark, and wet. Crops were failing across Europe and North America, mainly due to lack of sunlight.

Marisa was also given a whiskey and she pretended to take little sips, when really she hated the stuff. The smell made her stomach churn.

She tuned out the two men discussing farming as if they were in White’s rather than a Molly house, and began to take an interest in the activities around her.

On a couch across the room, mostly obscured by a curtain, she could just make out in the dim lighting a man and woman kissing and fondling.

It struck her as odd to have a man and woman in a club such as this.

It took her several minutes to understand it was a man dressed as a woman, kissing another man.

At one end of the drawing room, the doors opened into the gaming room.

Through the haze of cheroot smoke she saw a few men playing cards.

Once again, nothing very nefarious in their activities.

At the other end of the room a wall of books, shelved in a beautiful mahogany floor-to-ceiling bookcase, drew her attention.

Needing to stretch her legs, she made to move off Maitland’s lap, but his grip on her thigh tightened.

“I’m just going to peruse the literature for a moment. You keep conversing with your new friend,” she whispered teasingly in his ear.

“Don’t go too far, and stay in sight.”

She heard the baron laughingly say, “I wouldn’t want the lad too far from my sight either.”

Angelo’s, or the club’s, book selection was impressive. There were many expensive books, finely bound in beautiful leather covers. She ran her finger along the bindings of several, not recognizing any of the titles. She was well read and had expected to find something she’d read before.

A gold leaf–imprinted cover caught her eye. Her finger halted on the binding and she pulled it from the shelf: Sonnets by Aretino, with illustrations. I Modi. Marisa loved sonnets.

She opened the book to a random page and her mouth formed a silent O.

The sonnet was in French, which she spoke and read fluently, but what captured her attention were the erotic illustrations accompanying the words.

It showed a couple— she thought it was a male and a female, but she couldn’t quite be sure—engaging in coitus.

Not so scandalous, except for the fact the position they were in looked about as comfortable as being stretched on the rack.

She turned the book in her hand, trying to ascertain if it had simply been printed incorrectly.