A Whisper of Desire, page 10
“Good evening, Your Grace.” The sarcasm loaded in those words was evident. “You don’t appear to be too heartbroken over the end of our relationship.”
Perfect, he was drunk. His breath reeked of whiskey. He would never approach her if he wasn’t, or would he? She looked him over. She really didn’t know him at all. The Rutherford she fell in love with was an illusion.
She gathered her courage and kept her temper with reluctance. She did not wish to make a scene. “Good evening, Lord Rutherford. We did not have a relationship, what we had was a litany of your lies,” she hissed under her breath, moving farther into the shadowed area away from the other ladies, not wishing them to overhear.
She looked at Rutherford, and it was as if looking at a stranger. How had she ever thought this man handsome? She could see it now, the eyes that darted about and didn’t look you squarely in the face. The air of entitlement, that he was better than anyone else, when really he was a quivering coward inside, a coward who would accost a woman alone on a terrace.
“He told you, then. It’s all lies. I swear. He stole you from me. He’s in there now, accepting cigars and slaps on the back for making such a good marriage. It should have been me.”
“You can swear on your mother’s life and I’d still not believe you. Why would His Grace lie? He is handsome, rich, and a duke. He could have any woman he chose for his wife.”
“Not you. I had you.”
“Only because I was young, stupid, and a fool. You never loved me. If you had, you’d not have disrespected me by having a mistress.”
Rutherford loomed large in the darkening night and she felt a moment of alarm. She hoped he was still a gentleman.
“You think Lyttleton doesn’t have a mistress?”
Marisa tried not to let her faith in Maitland waver. “What are you implying?” Maitland had sworn, before they married, that he did not.
“I have your attention now.” A gloating gleam entered his eyes. “Ask him about Priscilla.”
Marisa didn’t understand. “His stepmother?” Her eyes widened at the insinuation. “You’re disgusting.” She made to move round him.
He grabbed her arm, halting her progress. “Have you ever met Priscilla?” Rutherford saw the answer in her eyes. “She might be closer to your husband’s age, but she is still an exceedingly beautiful woman. Some say her daughter is actually Maitland’s. That they were having an affair long before Maitland’s father died.” Her stomach fell and it must have shown on her face. “Why do you think His Grace keeps her ensconced at his estate in Hampshire? Ask around. The gossips will confirm what I say.”
“Gossip, that is all it is. Why are you doing this? You didn’t love me, so why does it matter that I married another?” She knew why: money. Would he admit it?
She winced as Rutherford’s hand curled tighter around her arm. “I’ve wasted the season chasing after you.”
“Hardly chasing. You played a game and lost. Fool. I would have married you as soon as you’d asked. What man does that? What man plays with a young girl’s heart, just because you need money? You disgust me.”
Suddenly he was towering over her and he had her trapped against the cold brick wall at her back. Perhaps, as through the season, she’d misjudged him again. He was no gentleman. “Let me pass.”
She tried to push him away, but he kept her pinned with his body. The more she strained, the more he cowed her, until she could feel the silk of her gown tear against the brick.
“Take your hands off the lady before I decide to tell her husband.”
Rutherford stepped away from her immediately and addressed her savior. “I was merely renewing our acquaintance.”
“Liar.” Marisa pushed past him and moved quickly to stand beside her rescuer, whom she recognized as Lord Cumberland, Philip Flagstaff. His sister, Portia, had recently married Maitland’s friend, Libertine Scholar Grayson Devlin, Earl of Blackwood.
A woman was with Lord Cumberland, and she came forward and wrapped a protective arm around Marisa, pulling her away from the men. “Let’s us go to the retiring room and see if we can salvage this beautiful gown.”
As the woman ushered her in through a side door, she looked over her shoulder to see Lord Cumberland dragging Rutherford down the stairs and into the garden.
“Philip will see that Lord Rutherford leaves you alone in future.” She turned to look at Marisa. “Unless, of course, you want to be bothered?”
She merely shook her head, her legs and arms still shaking.
Once inside the lit hall, Marisa recognized the lady helping her. She was the infamous Duchess of Roxborough, a stunningly beautiful woman, the quintessential English rose—Rose, her name was Rose. As Marisa recalled, she’d been left a widow at two and twenty, and despite numerous proposals, the rich young widow was renowned for refusing all offers of marriage, instead taking numerous lovers.
“Thank you for helping me. As the new Duchess of Lyttleton, I’d hate to cause a scandal at my first ball.”
“Heaven forbid,” Rose said sarcastically. “I find that a D at the start of one’s title abdicates many sins.”
They continued on in silence and slipped into the retiring room virtually unnoticed. Rose made her sit at the dressing table, and only then did Marisa notice that her hands were still shaking.
Rose began assessing the damage to the back of Marisa’s gown. “There is a slight tear just under your shoulder. You could wear my shawl and that should cover it.”
Removing her shawl, she draped it across Marisa’s shoulders. “Thank you, you’re very kind.” You should ask her about any gossip surrounding Maitland.
Rose took the chair next to her and they sat in silence for a moment.
“Marriage can be overwhelming in the beginning,” Rose offered into the silence. “I still clearly remember my wedding day, unfortunately.” At Marisa’s gasp, Rose continued. “My father virtually sold me to the Duke of Roxborough, who was almost three score and ten. The wedding night was far worse than the wedding day,” she said, and shuddered, her voice hitching.
Marisa didn’t answer; she merely reached out and took hold of Rose’s hand.
“It appears that some women are far luckier. My friend Portia was forced to marry Lord Blackwood, a friend of your husband’s, I believe. I’ve just returned from their wedding in Dorset.”
“I met Portia when we recently visited with Lord Markham. She is very much in love.”
“And you are not?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard rumors regarding my rushed marriage.”
Rose squeezed her hand. “I assume you are referring to the incident of being found naked in Lady Dunmire’s guest room with His Grace. Portia confided in me about what is happening with the Libertine Scholars. I believe it was the work of this villainess?”
Marisa merely nodded. “The men think so.”
“I’m sorry you’ve been caught up in their situation. Being forced to marry is not pleasant. As I am sure you know, you could have done a lot worse.”
All Marisa could do was laugh at her truthful words. “True. I could have been stupid and married Lord Rutherford.” At Rose’s raised eyebrow, Marisa added, “It’s a long story that culminates in me learning he was marrying me for my dowry and the money his father would give him upon his marriage. He has a mistress.”
Turning to the mirror to deal with a stray curl, Rose said, “I hate to say, but most men have had a mistress at some stage of their lives. Some for all of their lives.” She hesitated before adding, “Probably because so few of the ton marry for love.”
“I asked Maitland if he had a mistress before we married. He denied it, but Rutherford says I should ask him about Priscilla.” Marisa watched for Rose’s reaction and Rose’s hands halted briefly in their tidying of her hair. “You know of the Dowager Lyttleton?” Marisa asked her new friend.
“She is two years older than I.” Rose turned from the mirror. “I have heard the rumors, though, but that is all they are, rumors. I’ve never met the dowager duchess, because since her marriage she has never come to town. She prefers to stay in Hampshire.”
Marisa swallowed her pride. “Would you mind telling me the rumors? I’d like to be prepared.”
“The past is often best left behind. People make mistakes. They do things they regret.”
As she watched Rose pinch her cheeks, Marisa was certain Rose was referring to herself.
“Take me, for instance. When I became a widow I thanked God and swore I’d never marry again and become any man’s property. So I took lovers and enjoyed the scandalous reputation. I regret my behavior now.”
“May I inquire as to why?”
“The man I’ve been in love with all of my adult life no longer sees me as marriage material. He might have once, but now that he’s become the earl, my reputation speaks for itself”—tears flooded Rose’s eyes—“I am no longer suitable to be his countess.”
“Lord Cumberland?”
Rose wiped her tears away. “He loves me in his own way, but not enough to overlook my past.”
They were lovers. Why were men so dense? Rose would make a wonderful wife. She was kind, intelligent, and beautiful. “Perhaps it might be time to walk away and see if absence makes him reevaluate your relationship.”
“I doubt he has any idea I want anything more. He knows I’ve turned down countless proposals.”
“Then tell him. You may find he’s been wishing to offer for you, but thinks he’ll be rejected too.”
“A very sensible suggestion. Let me return the favor. Why not ask your husband about the rumors?” Rose sighed when Marisa said nothing. “Apparently the young Marquess of Carr, as Maitland was while his father lived, met and fell in love with Priscilla Whedon, the widow of Baron Ligonier. Priscilla was, and now likely still is, a great beauty, and unfortunately, Maitland’s father took one look and decided he must have her.”
“I’ve heard that Maitland’s father was not a nice man, hence why Maitland is being targeted, but his own son’s heart’s desire…” The idea that Maitland had loved this woman and could still be in love with her made Marisa’s heart cramp.
“It gets worse. He used Maitland’s name to entice her to a meeting and then compromised her to the point where she was left with no choice but to marry Maitland’s father. Does that sound familiar?”
That is what had happened to Marisa, but Maitland did the honorable thing and asked for her hand. “Did Maitland not step up to protect her? If he loved her, surely he was the alternative, her savior.”
“She would not marry Maitland. She married the father. I do not understand why, you’ll have to ask her.”
Marisa’s face heated. She was not about to do that. Suddenly the idea of a beautiful woman sharing her husband’s house for years, a woman he had loved, filled her with dread. Had she also shared his bed? Was he still in love with her?
“Maitland’s father died a month after the wedding and she has remained at the estate ever since. She already had a child from her marriage with the baron, and she bore a child from her marriage to the late duke. I don’t mean to hurt you but rather prepare you. The rumor is that Maitland and Priscilla are, and have always been, lovers, even before the death of Maitland’s father. The rumor is that the daughter could be his, and that is why a woman as beautiful as Priscilla has never remarried.”
No wonder Maitland was so determined to do the honorable thing and wed Marisa; he’d had to watch Priscilla marry a cad. “I wonder, if these rumors are true, why he has never married her?”
“That’s something you need to ask your husband and why I don’t believe the rumors of an affair.”
If the child was Maitland’s, he was too honorable not to have married Priscilla. However, that did not mean they were not having an affair or had not had an affair. She rubbed her temples. This was so confusing.
“Don’t make my mistake; don’t hide your feelings. It’s too late for me, but it’s not for you. Talk with your husband and start your marriage on truth, not innuendo.”
Sound advice. Advice was easy to give but far harder to follow. Maitland was still virtually a stranger, and to her surprise Marisa was finding that where courage was concerned, she lacked it when it came to confronting her husband. She wasn’t scared of him, merely intimidated. He exuded confidence and influence, whereas she was a young woman with a lot to learn. Look how easily Rutherford had fooled her.
Quite frankly, this experience had shattered her self-confidence. How did one weed through the lies and recognize the truth? Could she trust any man’s good character?
Sebastian trusted Maitland, so perhaps she should too. She needed to talk with her brother. He would tell her the truth about these rumors.
“Thank you, Rose, for sharing your confidences with me. I am not really sure how to navigate the waters. I almost feel as if I’m drowning. I have to take over the running of his homes, appear to be happy in my rushed marriage, and try and understand my husband, who is not the most demonstrative man.”
Rose stood and held out her arm. “Come on. Let’s face the ton together. We duchesses must stay together. Perhaps I can help you demystify married life with His Grace, while you can help me regain a semblance of a reputation.”
Marisa stood and linked arms with her new friend. “I’d like that. You have been in my situation, married off to a man you did not know or love.” As they strolled into the ballroom, she added, “Besides, any friend of Portia’s is a friend of mine.”
Beatrice was waving at them from farther into the room. The ladies made their way toward her, chatting, purposely ignoring the stares gathering around them like buzzing bees at a hive. The bees made lots of noise, but luckily the ladies received no stings—as of yet.
“Hello, Rose,” Beatrice offered, as she came to meet them, before quickly turning a scowl on Marisa. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Helen said you’d been out on the terrace together with a group of acquaintances, and then when she looked for you, you were gone. She’s frantic with worry, and she’s gone to fetch Sebastian and the men.”
“I’m sorry. I got detained outside—”
“By whom? Are you hurt?” Strong hands began feeling up her arms. Marisa glowed inside at her husband’s obvious concern.
Maitland, accompanied by Sebastian, moved protectively around her. For once he looked harassed, and Sebastian’s face was also full of concern. Lord Cumberland suddenly appeared at Rose’s side, and they exchanged a brief look.
“Her Grace came to my assistance when I turned my ankle outside in the garden,” Rose proclaimed rather loudly, before lowering her voice to a whisper and adding, “Perhaps we should take this discussion someplace with more privacy. Ears and eyes are watching.”
The men nodded and Marisa gave Maitland her arm. Conversing casually, the group moved toward the vacant supper room. Once inside, Maitland ensured no one could overhear them and then raised an imperious eyebrow that all but said “Speak.”
“Lord Rutherford made a nuisance of himself” was all Marisa was going to say about the incident.
“A little more than a nuisance, Your Grace,” Lord Cumberland offered. “If I hadn’t come along when I did…”
She inwardly cursed. This was exactly what she didn’t want revealed.
“Would you see my wife home, please, Sebastian?”
“Of course. Come, Marisa, Helen, and Beatrice. It’s time we left.” Sebastian rounded on her, but she was not leaving.
Coldness soaked into her bones. “Why can’t you see me home?” she asked Maitland.
His mouth merely firmed. “Go home with your brother.”
She placed her hand on his arm. “There is no need to further this incident. Lord Cumberland made sure Rutherford will not be stupid enough to come near me again. Please, for the sake of my reputation and in order to starve the gossips regarding our marriage, can you let this pass?”
She could feel the muscles in his arm vibrate with tension.
“She’s right. We don’t need any more attention. In fact, if anyone does talk, it would be better for our other plan if they thought you not interested in protecting her. Not interested in your wife at all,” offered Arend.
This time she saw Maitland’s fists clench at his sides.
“Hold on,” Sebastian said, rounding on Arend. “What other plan?”
—
Marisa could have kissed Arend, for here they were, half an hour later, ensconced in her drawing room, her skirmish with Rutherford completely forgotten. Sebastian’s determination to learn about this plan of Arend’s meant they needed to decamp to home. The only disquiet was Maitland’s words to her as they entered their carriage.
“I will not forget this. My meeting with Rutherford is merely postponed.”
Helen had also been none too pleased to be dropped at home, while Sebastian, Beatrice, Arend, and Hadley accompanied Marisa and Maitland home.
She had no idea of the details of any plan. If this was about catching their enemy, then Maitland had promised she would not be excluded. Beatrice was allowed to be here, so if Maitland thought to exclude her, he could go jump.
While Maitland furnished the men with whiskey, Marisa organized a tea tray.
Once everyone was comfortable, Hadley broke the strain by stating, “If Arend and Maitland have discussed a plan, I’m certainly not in the know. Since when are we concocting plans without everyone’s involvement?”
“That’s my fault, I’m afraid,” Maitland answered. He looked at him and added, “I am still considering Arend’s suggestion before committing, so there was nothing to share.”
Sebastian looked between the two men, and Marisa recognized that look. “Then there must be danger in this plan.”
“There is danger in any plan,” Arend insisted.
Her brother responded, “The question is, danger to whom?” Arend could not help it. He looked directly at Marisa, and Sebastian half rose from his chair. “Oh, no. I put my foot down.” Beatrice pushed him back into his seat.
