A Whisper of Desire (20 page)

“But did you find pleasure in your release?” she asked softly. “When I'm with you, and I orgasm, the world lights up and I feel like I'm flying high above the clouds. I want to make love with you over and over again.”

When she saw the pain etched on his face, she almost wished she could take back her words. Perhaps she shouldn't make him face what had been done to him. But now she understood the reason he became the Cold Duke. His life remained empty. He was too scared to engage with this world, to live a full life because of his fears. She had to show him that there was nothing wrong with him and that he deserved to
live
!

That he deserved passion and love.

She heard his inhalation. She felt his chest still, his breath trapped inside. The beating of his heart; steady and true beneath her ear, began to race.

“Oh, my God. No,” he exclaimed in wonder. “No. I did not feel any joy. All I felt was shame and agony that she had forced that from me.” He breathed her name. “Thank you, Marisa. I found no pleasure in the act at all.”

“See, you had a physical release separated from your mind and will. You might have found release, but you certainly did not enjoy the act. It was not lust, or desire, that night. It was rape.”

She could feel his tears dropping onto her arm, and her tears flowed freely too. She hugged him tightly, whispering endearments.

They stood like this for several minutes until both of them quieted down. She turned without saying a word and led him to the bed, where they lay down, holding each other. He rested his head on her bosom and closed his eyes, wishing the past to the devil. At last he felt safe, here in her arms.

“Shh, I have you. Everything is all right now. I won't let anyone hurt you ever again.” Her tears mingled with his as he lay in her innocent embrace, healing.

The full moon had begun to rise by the time they both stopped the flow of tears and lay facing each other on his bed.

He ran a finger down her cheek, tracing the path of her dried tears. No one had ever cried for him. “The reason I have tried to stay away from you is because I'd been petrified of turning into my father. I thought because I found my release that day, even though she was in point of fact molesting me, that I was twisted like my father.”

“Your father was ill; you are not.”

“I didn't want to risk testing that theory. What if, because I enjoyed that debacle, meant I was twisted too?”

“You didn't enjoy it, that is the point.” Marisa placed her hand on his heart. “You're a good man. I know it. Sebastian must know it. He'd never have let us wed otherwise.” She frowned. “Is that where you were this morning? Talking to Sebastian?”

He nodded.

“That must have been excruciatingly embarrassing.”

“I did it for you. For us. Arend—”

“Arend. You spoke to Arend about our marriage?” Her horrified expression made him want to smile.

“Not really. But he said something that made me decide I'd been a coward for too long. I needed to learn who I am, what I am capable of.”

“What did Arend say?”

“That if I made it seem like I didn't desire you, that you'd find someone to prove me wrong.”

“No. I would never do that.”

“I didn't want to lose you.”

“Why?”

The question was quietly spoken, but with such longing behind the words that his soul opened. Was this warmth infusing every extremity love? He didn't know if love really existed, or if what he felt for Marisa was love. Until he could sort out the tangle of emotions roaring round his body he couldn't give her the words she obviously wanted to hear. He would not lie. He especially would not lie to the woman who would be his wife until “death do us part.”

“Because you are important to me.”

The light left her expression, and she looked away, saying, “You're important to me too. We have a chance to build a good life together.” She turned her face back to him, her eyes full of tears. “I'm so sorry I pushed you. If I'd known what they did to you I would not have thrown myself at you so wantonly. You must have hated me.”

“I'd never hate you.” If he believed in love he would say the clenching in his chest was a sign. He wiped her tears away. “I want to thank you for forcing me to face my fears. You helped me understand that I did nothing wrong. Also that desire, need, and want are all natural between men and women. I'm so lucky to have a sensual wife. One who can share my desires and give mutual pleasure.”

She gave a smile through shimmering eyes. “I enjoy being with you. So much so I wanted more. I thought you not coming to my bed meant you did not desire me.”

“I did desire you, so very much, and it scared me. I thought I might lose control and let my darker side out. I enjoyed making love to you. Wild fantasies filled my mind. I thought I was starting down the dark path to my father's obsession with sex. I even tried to stick to my schedule.”

She squeezed his hand where their fingers were still joined. “I may be young, but I'm not naïve. Many people enjoy robust sex lives without turning depraved. I find it depends on the people concerned and if”—she hesitated—“if they have…deep feelings…for each other.” She bit her lip and added, “Beatrice and Sebastian can't keep their hands off each other, but I doubt my brother will become some depraved madman.”

Marisa held his sad gaze. Her heart ached for him. All these years he'd been fighting with himself, worried, thinking he might become like his father.

He'd been raped and he was ashamed of his response to a woman who obviously knew what she was doing. “How did you escape their clutches that day? Did Violetta”—she could hardly bring herself to ask—“were you…”

“Fully raped?” The silence lengthened. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “No, thank the Lord. Mr. Parker rescued me. Annie ran into him as she fled and he came for me.”

“I hope Mr. Parker is still alive. I want to thank him.”

“He is. He's retired, but still lives in his cottage on my estate. I owe him my life. To this day I don't know what my father had planned. I don't know if he intended Violetta to mount me and expose me to their disease.”

“I now understand why you are so loyal to Priscilla.”

He sighed. “It could have been me exposed to this disease. I have a small inkling of what life must be like for her. And, because of me, Priscilla suffers.”

“You cannot blame yourself for what your father did.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Can't I? If I hadn't met her, my father would never have known her. Our villainess…I might not be guilty of what my father did to this woman who we believe is out to get us, but I am guilty of introducing Priscilla to a monster.”

Marisa sat up. “Priscilla doesn't blame you. She still loves you. I know it's hard, but you need to let go of the past.”

He rolled back to face her. Taking her hand and placing a kiss on her palm, he said, “With your help I think I just might be able to do that.” He moved closer. “We're not due at the club until around ten this evening.”

He was staring at her with overwhelming emotion churning in his eyes. Marisa's breath fled her chest in a whoosh. “I'm all yours, dear husband. Did you have something in mind?”

He rolled on top of her. “I want to make love to my wife for the next few hours, if you don't mind.”

They clung to each other tightly.

Stroking his hair, she asked in a voice that indicated that simply being here with him, holding him, was enough. “Are you sure you want more? You don't have to prove anything to me. I know you have a good heart.”

He scoffed.

“It's true. You could have simply let me marry Rutherford. You didn't have to tell me of his duplicity. I would never have known. You could have walked away and let me marry a man who would have destroyed me.”

“That would not have been honorable.”

She smiled up at him. “No, it wouldn't have been. Don't you see? You are a decent man. How can I not love you?”

Stunned silence filled the room. What would his response be to her heartfelt declaration?

“You loved another before we married.” Suspicion filled his eyes. “How can you know if you love me so soon?” His green eyes widened and he made to roll off her. “If this is pity—”

“Not pity, no. Understanding, perhaps. Admiration definitely, but never pity.” She pulled him back to her. “Admiration that a man of wealth and title cared enough about hurting others that he put himself on a silly sexual schedule, denying himself what most men consider their right. Admiration for a man who feared intimacy because it might make him a monster, risked it all to marry me so I would not have to marry a real monster. How could I not fall in love with the man beneath the façade you present to the world?”

She traced his nose with her finger. “A noble nose for a noble man.” She cupped his cheek. “Knowing your past only makes me love you more than words can say.”

She waited with her heart on her sleeve, hoping for the words she so wanted to hear. When they didn't come, she wasn't at all surprised. It had been only days.

He cleared his throat. “One day I hope you'll teach me how to love. Right now I'm just beginning to learn what a true relationship is and how it should function.”

“I can't pretend I'm not disappointed, but I'd rather always have the truth from you. It's one more reason I admire you. You cannot lie. So let's learn about love and marriage together.”

He smiled and said, “Perfect idea. I'm sorry I can't say it back. I know that I've never felt anything like this for any other woman. I want to be sure…I've disappointed you.”

She shook her head. “No. I shall just remain ever hopeful that one day my loving duke will say the words I long to hear. That will be the happiest day of my life.”

Maitland took her face between his hands and gave her a kiss that stole every inch of her heart. “I'm going to make love to you. The way I've been dreaming about since our first kiss.”

A giggle escaped.

An excited giggle.

She returned his kiss fervently while her hands tugged at his cravat. She pushed his tailcoat off his shoulders, parting his waistcoat until she could stroke his chest, savoring the fine linen over taut muscles.

His hips slipped between her legs, widening her thighs to fit perfectly between them. He stared down at her with such longing that her hands stilled their exploration.

Reaching for her hands, he pulled them over her head, away from all she wanted to touch. “Let me play?” he asked gruffly.

She stared at him, meeting his heated gaze with a tremulous, beaming smile.

“Most obliging of you to be wearing a front-opening gown.” His clever hands wandered, unfastening with smooth expertise the hooks and eyes. His touch wasn't tentative, merely thorough. He took her arms one by one and pulled them free of her garment, until she lay before him in her shift and corset, her bosoms rising and falling with her ever-deepening breaths.

The first touch of his tongue to her skin saw Marisa close her eyes. He trailed his tongue over the swells and dipped into the valley between her breasts. She wiggled beneath him, wanting more.

Soon he had her gown and undergarments off her. She lay before him, naked as the day she was born, and his eyes glowed as he straightened up and stared down at her.

His hand ran over her skin in awesome worship. “So beautiful.”

She gulped back tears of joy. “Take your time. I give you permission to do whatever you like, whatever you want, whatever you need.”

His eyes darkened and he quickly rose from the bed to strip himself of his clothes.

He stood at the end of the bed, caressing her with his eyes. His erection tall, proud, and engorged. Crawling up between her thighs, he pushed her legs apart. He stopped, crouched at her feet, and looked, looked at the most private part of her. His face flushed as his dark fringe fell forward, covering his smoldering eyes. He looked younger, more carefree. He looked like a man about to get his heart's desire.

He leaned down and she watched as he drew closer, his tongue protruding to meet her heated flesh. At the first stroke through her wet folds she let out a sigh of longing.

His tongue grew more demanding, flicking the hardened jewel of her womanly center. Her pulse was pounding, her back arching under his wicked yet enjoyable mouth. When his lips sucked the nub into his mouth she let her cries fly free.

Disappointment flayed her when he drew back, leaving her on the edge. “That's mean,” she panted.

“So delicious,” he whispered. “I need to feast like this every night.” He slid his fingers inside her. She moaned with need, but his fingers withdrew from her body when she tried to lower her arms from above her head. She wanted to touch him so badly. “Tut, Tut. My way, did you not say?” He placed her arms back behind her head, “Grip the headboard if you feel like disobeying.”

Following his directions, she gripped the smooth wood, wishing it were his skin she was touching. With growing frustration she lifted her upper body, trying to entice him to touch, caress, fondle.

His mouth latched on to one swollen nipple, rolling it within his mouth, playing with it as if it were his new favorite toy. He blew on each turgid crest while his other hand stroked deeply between her thighs.

He seemed quite content to use her as his playground. He watched and studied every sigh she made, every cry, every movement, learning what pleased her most.

“Oh, Maitland, please, stop teasing. I need you…”

She tried to wrap her legs round him, to draw him in, but his hand kept up the most driving rhythm until she thought she'd lose her mind.

Trembling with yearning, he kept her at the brink. She gripped the headboard with her fists, moaning at the depth of feelings he unleashed.