Page 5 of A Whisper Of Desire (The Disgraced Lords #4)

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.

His only safety net was that he doubted Marisa would find this situation to her liking. Her heart belonged to Rutherford, a man unworthy of her love. Yet if she loved another, it might dampen her want of him. He needed to make a plan, something to keep her as far from him as possible.

The problem was he wanted a son. Needed a son.

He looked at Sebastian and asked, “How long have we been missing? What is the time?”

“It’s almost six in the morning. You have been missing since the ball finished.

” Sebastian added, “When we could not find you both we assumed you had taken Marisa home. When we arrived home and Marisa was not there, I realized something was afoot. I had better send word to Beatrice and Helen; they are worried sick.”

“While doing so, could you please organize clothes for us both? Our garments are missing, I assume to make a quiet escape impossible,” Marisa said.

Maitland cleared his throat. “Perhaps Lady Dunmire could lend us clothing to see us home. Sebastian, I assume you have brought your carriage.” He looked out of the window. “The sun’s up. We will be the talk of the ton. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Then his words must have sunk in. Marisa pushed out of her brother’s arms. “Oh, my, Rutherford.” She turned pleading eyes to Sebastian. “You have to ask him to call so I can explain what has happened.”

“Let’s worry about sorting out the situation once you are home and rested,” Sebastian said, placing a kiss on top of Marisa’s head.

“I’ll organize the clothes. I doubt that I shall be able to keep Lady Dunmire from talking.

” He looked at Maitland as he said those words.

“I’ll be as fast as I can.” With that, he slipped from the room.

“Do you think Lord Rutherford will understand?” Marisa asked, as she sat down on the side of the bed looking thoroughly dejected.

“If he truly loves you, he’ll not care about this scandal.”

“He does love me.”

Maitland marveled at how deceitful Rutherford had been.

Marisa truly believed Rutherford loved her.

It was going to be a steep learning curve for her; she would find people could lie and deceive about anything to get what they desired.

She’d learn that not all men are as honorable as her brother, and that in all likelihood she would have to become his duchess.

If he weren’t so honorable he’d use her love for Rutherford to get out of this mess.

If he said nothing and let her marry Rutherford, he’d save both of them heartache.

He wished he could be so cruel. Perhaps he could simply tell her the truth and let her choose the lesser of two evils—marriage to him or to Rutherford.

He worried that once he told Sebastian about the conversation he’d overheard with Rutherford, her brother would not allow Rutherford near her.

Honor won.

“Why are you so sure he loves you? He’s young, and usually handsome men with wealthy titles are not in a rush to marry. They are too busy sowing their oats.”

Marisa smiled so sweetly he hated how he could break her heart with only a few words. Rutherford had a mistress and was marrying Marisa for her dowry, and to be free of his father. Even if he told her the truth would she believe him?

“He told me he loves me.”

“It’s not wise to always believe everything a man tells you.”

She thought on that for a moment. “No. Not always, but why would he lie?”

“Perhaps because you are beautiful and your dowry is large.”

She laughed. “Maitland, you are so silly. Rutherford will be a marquess. When his father dies he inherits everything. He doesn’t need my money.”

“He won’t in the future, that is true, but what about now? What if his father has limited his allowance?”

A frown crossed her beautiful face, making her nose turn up.

“Why would his father not provide an adequate allowance?” She crawled up onto the bed and padded across the sheet to where he sat and looked into his eyes, trying to ascertain his thoughts.

“Do you know something about Lord Rutherford that you are not telling me?”