For Desire Alone (5 page)

Mariah nodded. Her friend was correct. It was time to become ruthless in her search and stop involving emotion of any kind.

“All right, then,” she said with renewed resolve. “Tell me which of these men would make the most advantageous match for me as a lover?”

Vivien’s brow arched. “As a lover or a protector?”

Mariah hesitated and then nodded. She took Vivien meaning perfectly.

“Protector,” she corrected.

Her friend’s quick nod and grin rewarded her. “In that case, I
must
reintroduce you to Viscount Rossington.”

She took Mariah’s hand and began to lead her toward a middle-aged man standing at the fireplace. Her heard sank. He was not unattractive by any means, but certainly he was not the kind of man Mariah would choose for a lover if she had every option in the world.

Except she didn’t. Owen had ensured that. So she smiled as Vivien stopped before the viscount.

“My lord, I’m not certain if you have ever met Miss Desmond.”

Mariah forced a dazzling smile, told herself to be mercenary, and desperately tried to forget the feel of John’s hands on her as she fell into conversation.

John sprawled across his bed…alone. He didn’t think he’d spent a night alone in two years, and now it had been three. Three since he had plunged his cock deep within Mariah’s trembling pussy and made her scream his name. Somehow the idea of any other woman now seemed stale and troublesome.

He stared at the canopy above his bed. Normally, he took a woman and never thought of her again. It wasn’t that he didn’t repeat pleasure. Certainly there had been lovers he revisited from time to time. But never twice in a row.

And yet all he wanted was Mariah. He wanted to spread her naked on his bed. He wanted to take her in a bath scented by roses. He wanted to fill her while they watched others make love at one of Vivien’s most special and secret parties.

He groaned as his cock sprang to attention at his erotic thoughts. Fuck, but the woman was like a drug. One he had avoided for years. But now that he’d had that little taste…he wanted more.

He grabbed his cock and stroked as he pictured Mariah, her red hair down around her shoulders, leaning over him with a knowing smile. Owen had occasionally talked about her. How she had certain very sensitive places on her body. Her breasts, for example, which John had not uncovered during their encounter. He had cupped them, though, and could picture them in his mind. How he would suck them, bite them, tease them as she writhed beneath him, moaning and begging for more.

He stroked harder and grunted as pleasure built deep in his loins, increased with every stroke and every thought of her.

Taking her had been as fantastic as he had always imagined, but in his excitement he had done it too quickly. He could well imagine how incredible it would be to drag that pleasure out. To use all the techniques he knew to make love to her for hours at a time, until she was weak from orgasm after orgasm, until she ached from release and trembled like a virgin on her wedding night.

Only then would he come. Only then would he find his own pleasure.

His cock spurted and splashed seed across his stomach and bed sheets and John flopped backward against the pillows with a groan of relief.

He lay there for a long moment, enjoying the blessed emptiness of his mind. It didn’t last. Almost immediately, his thoughts returned to Mariah.

Right now she was probably out seeking a new lover. And once she found one, she would be faithful to him. Any chance John had to press himself inside of her, to make her scream and cry out and declare him her best lover, was over.

And he longed to have her one last time before that happened.

He covered himself and rang for his valet. Thomason entered the room almost at once and nodded, unfazed by John being abed so late in the afternoon or by his general state of undress.

“Yes, sir?” he asked.

John sat up. “Did you do as I asked and ascertain the schedule of Miss Desmond?”

Again the valet did not appear surprised by this request, nor had he when John made it a few days before. “I did, sir. Miss Desmond is currently at an afternoon gathering at the home of Miss Manning.”

John frowned. Just as he had expected, she was back out on the prowl.

“Go to my wardrobe,” he ordered the servant as he threw back the covers. “I will be joining their party and I must make haste.”

Mariah was doing her best to keep a seductive smile on her face and a flirtatious manner to her speech, but it seemed to be a losing battle. Certainly the task was far more difficult than Vivien made it look. She would really have to talk to her friend about how she did it.

But first, she would need to survive this gathering. After a chat with Viscount Rossington, she had then talked with Mr. Ward, a very rich second son of a duke or some such thing. And now she had moved on to the Earl of Bosforth. At least he was younger than the others, but his wit left a great deal to be desired. However, Vivien had pointed out that he had settled his last two mistresses very well, which meant she was a fool not to examine him closely as a prospect.

All of the men were clearly examining her with equal zeal. Her bosom had been the recipient of several long conversations. It never replied, but she did her best to fill the gaps.

Was this
truly
how women found men for this position? Because it was exhausting and more than a little disheartening.

She glanced over her current companion’s shoulder into the center of the room in hopes she could catch Vivien’s eye and perhaps maneuver herself into a moment away from leering eyes. Instead, she saw Viscount Rossington slipping through the crowd, his dark gaze fixed upon her.

She sighed. He was the one who insisted on speaking to her breasts. But she managed not to scowl as he inserted himself into her conversation with the earl.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” he said. “But do you think I might steal Miss Desmond away for a stroll on the veranda?”

The earl pursed his lips but nodded. “Miss Desmond, I hope we will have a chance to speak again before the afternoon is over.”

Mariah smiled and took the viscount’s arm. She didn’t really want to go with him, but a breath of air on the veranda sounded delicious. At least she could enjoy the scenery while they talked.

The viscount held the door for her and she was allowed to release his arm as she stepped outside. She took full advantage and walked to the terrace wall where she looked out over Vivien’s beautiful gardens.

Few knew it, but her friend tended several of the little plants herself, nursing them from baby seeds all the way to mature bushes with blooming roses or other fragrant flowers. Of course she had a fleet of gardeners to do the same, but she always told Mariah that she wanted something for herself. Mariah knew the feeling.

“Miss Desmond, I must say that although I am surprised to find you available for a new protector already, I
am
pleased,” Lord Rossington said.

Mariah forced her attention back to him. His direct statement certainly made him more interesting. His face was rounded, soft and with a few fine lines around his mouth and eyes. There was gray at his temples, and not just a smattering. But he was not entirely unattractive. He had nice eyes. Except when they were roaming southward…yet again.

She gritted her teeth.

“I hope no one will judge me too harshly on returning to the field so soon after Owen’s death,” she said softly. “His loss pains me greatly, of course.”

He nodded. “It was a great shock to all of Society, I assure you. But I doubt anyone would think much of you coming back to the world. After all, it wasn’t as if you were his wife. You must look out for yourself, musn’t you? To the satisfaction of a great many men, I assure you.”

Mariah supposed he meant that comment as a compliment, but his words cut. They were a reminder that mistresses were seen as a commodity. Like a servant, except for the bedroom. No one had questioned it when Owen’s housemaids sought new positions immediately. Why would they blink at her doing the same? Her heart, her feelings, her memories meant little to anyone.

She was, in some ways, seen only as the body Lord Rossington couldn’t stop staring at.

“But we should not speak of such things,” he continued and stepped closer. She could feel his body heat now. Smell the faint remnants of whatever scent his valet sprinkled on his clothing.

“What should we speak of?” she squeaked, hoping she managed to sound flirtatious.

He smiled, so she must have succeeded. “Perhaps we should not speak at all.”

He cupped her chin and tilted her face up. His mouth came down and then his lips were on hers. Mariah squeezed her eyes shut and did not pull away, even though a deep part of her wanted to refuse the kiss. This was what and who she was, there was to be no simpering about it.

Except, as Lord Rossington parted his lips over hers and pushed his tongue past her lips, Mariah felt nothing. There was no disgust, thankfully, but no desire, either. There was not even the pleasant tingle associated with the act of kissing this man. She felt no attraction to him whatsoever.

He continued to kiss her and even dragged her closer, but her mind raced. How would she make love to him if she felt nothing?

She couldn’t.

With a gentle hand on his chest, she pushed away and took a step back.

“I-I’m sorry,” she began. “But I cannot do this.”

He stared at her and suddenly those dark eyes grew far less kind. He sneered as he looked her up and down, no longer lustfully, but disdainfully.

“What do you mean you cannot do this?” he repeated. “
This
is what you do.”

She drew a short breath. There was no use becoming angry or upset by his demeanor. It was best to stay calm.

“My lord,” she began, hoping deference to his place would smooth the situation. “You are correct that a woman like me is in a certain…position. But I’m afraid I must feel some kind of connection to a gentleman before I can develop a relationship.”

He arched a brow and his disdain seemed to deepen. He looked at her like she was trash. “A woman like
you
doesn’t get to say no.”

With that, he grabbed her arm and yanked her against him a second time. His mouth ground on hers again, this time punishing and cruel. Her arm hurt where he manhandled her and her mouth stung from the hardness of his kiss. Fear rose up in her, but she was soothed by the knowledge that just a few steps away were people who would come to her aid. Vivien would likely come looking for her in a moment.

And yet he continued to kiss her as punishment, even as she struggled for escape.

“My lord,” she insisted against his mouth. “Please!”

She said nothing more because suddenly her companion was torn away from her side. She staggered backward, nearly ending up on her ass as she watched John grab the man and throw him aside like he was made of paper.

Lord Rossington fell to his side on the hard veranda floor, but was up quickly, especially for a man of his years.

“And just what is this, Rycroft?” he barked.

John moved toward him in one long step and Rossington retreated just as quickly. Mariah could scarcely do anything but stare as John leaned over her attacker.

“Touch her again and I rip your head off,” John growled. And it was truly a growl, like an animal being held just at bay by an unseen master.

He turned toward her now, and the anger in his stare didn’t diminish even as he moved toward her.

“Are you hurt?” he bit past thin lips.

She opened her mouth to speak but could find no words, so instead merely shook her head.

“Not yet,” John muttered and shot Rossington another glare. The other man was dusting himself off.

“Please, Rycroft,” the viscount said with a dismissive glare. “She’s nothing, certainly not worth making an enemy in
me
.”

Mariah held her breath. The viscount was right in some ways. He had a title and position in the world. And John, while rich and the son of a second son, might not want to cross him. Certainly a great many men would throw over a no one of a girl like her long before they treated Rossington with disregard.

But John didn’t even hesitate. He looked Rossington up and down in much the same way Rossington had looked at her—with pure contempt dripping from him.

“
You
are a worm of a man. You have what…five thousand a year to your name and an estate that your poor management is running into the ground? I would wager that in ten years, you’ll be lucky to drag in thirty-five hundred per annum.”

Mariah stared at the viscount, who shifted under John’s words. His face darkened and she knew what John said was true to its core.

But he wasn’t finished. He continued, “You should more fear losing my regard than trying to intimidate me with the loss of yours. I should scarcely notice it if it were gone.”

He reached out and took Mariah’s elbow, though there was no violence to his touch. None of the anger that seemed to make his eyes glow.

“Come, we’re leaving,” he ordered and marched her not to the terrace door leading back to the parlor with the others but to another empty parlor.