The Marquess and the Maiden (Lords of Vice)

by Robyn DeHart

“It does not do you justice. I realized that, after I saw you in all your glory.” He picked up the paper. “The curve of your legs is wrong; your breasts are so much fuller, and your nipples are more upturned than this.”

  Realized after he’d seen her…“You drew this before?”

  “Weeks ago.” His heavy gaze fell on her.

  “Oh.”

  “I can throw it out, and the rest of them, if you’d like. I can’t ever seem to do you justice.”

  “There are more?”

  His lips quirked. He dug through the sketchpad beneath his hands and pulled out three more drawings. Each of her, different poses, different state of dress, but mostly without clothes. All painfully beautiful. She reached out to touch them but pulled back.

  “You could recreate the pose there.” He motioned to the leather settee behind her. “I could try to capture your body on paper, though I seriously doubt my talent.”

  “That’s not necessary. And please don’t toss them out. They’re lovely. I’ve never seen myself like that.”

  His brows rose. “You’ve never looked at yourself unclothed?”

  She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. The way you see me, it is unexpected.” These drawings of her were made with artistic skill, but something more. Why couldn’t she simply say it? Why couldn’t she come right out and ask him. Do you love me? Will you ever be able to love me?

  “You shouldn’t be so surprised, Harriet. I told you I wanted you, that you were desirable. You are a beautiful woman. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?” He stepped around the desk, leaned against it, and pulled her to him.

  “I don’t know. Not that I recall, except for my parents.”

  He dropped a kiss on her lips, slow and languid and full of heat. Desire prickled through her, and she clung to him, wanting more, wanting whatever he gave her. “Well, that is truly a shame. I shall endeavor to remind you of that fact on a regular basis.”

  Yes. She could get used to hearing him say such things. “Greedy,” she whispered. Though, this time, it wasn’t an insult.

  He chuckled. “Yes, I am greedy. I’ve never wanted anything or anyone the way that I want you. One kiss is not enough. One night in your bed is not enough. I want you always, beside me, beneath me, atop me. All of you.”

  She’d been thinking about herself, the greed he brought out in her, but his words stole her breath.

  “My Harriet cup is never full; there is always room for more. I will never get my fill of you. Do you understand?”

  She closed her eyes and heard every word, felt them as she saw the raw emotion in his face. His desire was true and authentic. She couldn’t deny that. Still, he had made no mention of his heart or hers. Love was not what he offered, and it is what she wanted, craved. She was his wife now, so there was no leaving. But could her love sustain them both, or would she end up resenting him and hating herself?

  “When I saw this drawing, it felt like, that is, it appeared as if you’d given it the same attention and care you had done your other drawings.”

  He nodded.

  “When I look at it, it gives me hope. Dare I hope that the love with which you create your drawings could mean—”

  He put a finger to her lips. “I’m going to stop you there. I know what you’re asking me, what you’re asking of me.” He shook his head. “Know that whatever I have is yours. I can buy you any pretty bauble your heart desires. I can fund any charity you find.” He gripped her arms and looked into her eyes. “I can love you with my body. Harriet, if I had a heart to give, it would be yours. I wish that was enough to make you happy.”

  Her heart crumbled to dust inside her chest. She closed her eyes briefly. “I wish it was, too.” With that she turned and left him.

  What was she supposed to do now?

  …

  Damnation!

  The look on her face was enough to…what? Make him change his mind? Hell, he would love her if he thought it was at all possible.

  She might not think what they had was enough for her, but he’d prove her wrong. Every time he touched her he nearly forgot all of it—the poverty, his father’s betrayal, the accident, his damned leg. Being near her did that to him, for him. Certainly he could provide the same for her.

  Passion might not be the same thing as love, but in the midst of it, perhaps it would ease the ache of her wanting more from him. Wanting something he couldn’t give her.

  What he could give her was enough. He’d show her that.

  He stepped into the hall and heard the unmistakable sound of the pump room. Someone was using the shower.

  With determined steps, he made his way to the room he’d designed much like a miniature Roman bath.

  The sound of her muffled sobs nearly did him in. Water poured over her, washing away her tears. He couldn’t comfort her if his life depended on it, but he could make her forget. He made quick work of removing his clothes and stepped onto the marbled floor.

  Her back was to him. Her curves beckoned him, a ship to a lighthouse. The smoothness of her back, the indention of her waist and her perfectly round ass that begged for him to bite it. His erection grew even harder. His want for her nearly stole his breath. She’d unpinned her hair and a cascade of blond corkscrews fell down to her waist. She tilted her head up to the water spray that came from above her, and the sound of her crying melted into the water.

  He moved to her then, wrapping one arm around her, across her magnificent breasts, the other lower, so his hand could splay across her stomach.

  She gasped at his unexpected touch but said nothing.

  He pressed his erection against her. He couldn’t say the words she longed to hear, but he could make assurances that she never doubted how much he wanted her. His mouth met her shoulder, her neck, and spread kisses over her. The water came at them from every direction. He was thankful he’d thought to include benches in the design. He cursed his broken body and the fact that he couldn’t take her here, push her up against the cold tiled wall and lose himself inside her. But he couldn’t hold his own weight up very long without his cane; holding hers, too, would be an impossibility.

  For now, though, he could ignore the pain in his leg to hold her a little longer. To enjoy the way her lush curves pressed against him. He kissed her ear, her jaw, moved to her cheek and then her temple, doing his best to kiss away her tears.

  He said nothing. There was nothing left to say. He’d wanted her and forced her to marry him and then told her, in no uncertain terms, that he’d never be able to love her. The worst of it, though, was that he wanted her to love him. Craved it like he was lost in an opium den. He was the worst sort of bastard.

  He turned her to him, lowered his lips to hers, and slashed them across. Tongues and teeth, urgency and hurt. It was all there, mingling between them. He pulled her with him to the bench and lowered himself down, straddling her atop his lap.

  Her eyes, rimmed red, searched his face. He cradled one of her breasts; her breath caught, the shade of her eyes darkened.

  Somewhere in the midst of the urgency, something shifted. His touch became softer, more tender. The rush dissolved as his hands explored her every curve. Their mouths explored, teased.

  When he could take it no more, he lifted her and slowly lowered her onto him.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and didn’t move. Being inside her was heaven incarnate. As if she’d been made specifically for him, for his body.

  She leaned in to him, her breasts rubbing against his chest, and she wiggled her hips, trying to satiate herself. He allowed himself to move then, to lift her up, nearly off him completely, then lower her again, impaling her onto him. She shuddered, moaned, tried to buck against him faster. He lifted her again and this time when he lowered her, he rubbed the pad of his thumb against that little nub of nerves hidden between her folds.

  She cried out. “Yes, Oliver, please don’t stop.”

  Stopping was the last thing on his mind.

  She was close. She was goin
g to come apart right here on top of him. Right here where he could see it when it happened. He’d never get enough of her.

  “I love you,” she whispered. Then she broke apart, her body shook as she rode out her climax. She cried out his name again and again. This time there was no shower to wash away her tears.

  …

  They’d spent two additional days at Brookhaven, and then returned to London. They hadn’t spoken about what had happened in the shower; she secretly hoped she hadn’t said it aloud, but she knew she had. She’d declared her love, and it had been as if she had done it in an empty room.

  Him not reciprocating her affection didn’t change anything. She did love him, painfully so. When he came to her bed, he showered her with affection and pleasure and made her hope anew that someday he’d love her in return. In the meantime, she needed to return to the life she’d left behind. Which meant the Ladies of Virtue.

  She was on her way out when Oliver stepped into the corridor.

  “Good morning,” he said. His eyes were rimmed with darkness and his lips drawn tight. “Could I speak with you for a moment?”

  Her stomach plummeted. This was it, the moment she’d known was coming. He’d grown tired of her in his bed, and now they were stuck. She nodded, gave him a weak smile, and followed him into his study.

  He sat next to her on the leather sofa. “I owe you an apology,” he said.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “No, that’s what I’m to say.”

  She smiled. “Very well, continue.”

  “I did not listen. When you told me you wanted to marry for love, I could see only our great passion for each other and I know that, in and of itself, is rare. So I forced your hand, took away your choice.” He swallowed and shook his head. He took her hands in his. “Sweet Harriet, I am sorry I compromised you. I should have listened when you gave your answer to my proposal.”

  She hated that tears pricked at her eyes. “Why are you telling me this? There is naught we can do about it now. Unless you have tired of me and wish I’d return to Brookhaven alone.” Merely saying the words left her feeling cold and empty. She wouldn’t do it. She’d stay in London whether he wanted her or not. He’d made their bed and he’d have to endure it with her. Even if he never touched her again.

  “Christ, Harriet, is that what you think I’m saying? That I regret marrying you because I no longer desire you?” He shook his head. “That will never change. I will never stop wanting you. But I fear my desire has made you miserable, and for that I am sorry. I don’t regret you being my wife, only that you didn’t choose me willingly.” He stood. “I wanted you to know that.”

  “What am I to do with that knowledge, Oliver?” she asked, coming to her feet. Hot tears streaked down her cheeks, and she didn’t even give a damn.

  “I don’t know! Leave, if you must. It is nothing more than I deserve.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it and left the room. If she waited too much longer, she’d be too late for her meetings. In the meantime, she’d do her best to make sense of her husband’s confession and hopefully know what to say to him when she returned home.

  Twenty minutes later Harriet waited in the parlor at Lady Somersby’s townhome. She’d been here so many times over the last few years. Being a member of the Ladies of Virtue had become her true joy, the main purpose in a life that hadn’t gone as she’d expected. At five and twenty she’d thought to have been married with children long before now. But she had to do something about the Ladies of Virtue. She’d already had to compromise on her marriage; she’d be damned if she lost everything important to her. She might have had to give up her dream of having a husband who loved her in return, but she wouldn’t give this up.

  Lady Somersby swept into the room. “I hear congratulations are in order.” She smiled brightly.

  Harriet nodded. “Thank you.”

  “You seem less than pleased.”

  “Merely trying to grow accustomed to it. To say the marriage was sudden would be an understatement. I’m certain you’ve heard, by now, of the circumstances.”

  Lady Somersby waved her hand. “What is done is done. You are safely married. Your reputation is no longer in question.”

  “Though I suspect many of the matrons have marked their calendars to see if I’ll have a spring baby.”

  Lady Somersby’s brows rose.

  Harriet shook her head. “There will be no such child, unless, of course, it happens now.” Goodness, how did she get herself into these conversations? “My apologies, my lady.”

  “Nonsense, Harriet. I was a young bride once.” Lady Somersby picked a piece of lint off her skirts. “It takes some getting used to, belonging to someone in the way you do when you marry. Regardless of the circumstances, be patient with yourself and with your husband.”

  Harriet nodded. This was not what she wanted to talk about today. It was easy for Lady Somersby to hand out such wisdom; her husband was unabashedly in love with her. “Thank you for the advice. I came to inquire about the investigation into Lady X. Have any more details come to the surface?”

  “I’m afraid not. And, in fact, the danger has grown more substantial.”

  “Goodness, I hadn’t heard anything. I suppose I’ve been preoccupied as of late.”

  “Nothing significant has happened other than threats. Several of our members, myself included, have received letters.”

  Gracious. Had all of that happened while she’d been at Brookhaven? She wondered briefly if she’d received anything at her brother’s townhome. Perhaps any such post would not have reached her at Oliver’s. “Blackmail?”

  She nodded. “For the most part, yes. This woman knows an alarming amount of information about our little group.” She put her hand on Harriet’s. “I know you want this to continue. I do, too, but it’s time for us to realize that it’s finished. I will not put anyone else in danger. We will let the metropolitan police handle the crimes in this city.”

  Anger flared in her chest, warming her entire body. “Because they do such a spectacular job at it?” Harriet asked, not bothering to temper her tone.

  “If there was another way, I would…” Lady Somersby shook her head. “The Brotherhood has deemed it unsafe for us to participate in any such activities for the foreseeable future.”

  “In other words, the Ladies of Virtue is no more?”

  “What’s done is done. I’m sorry, Harriet, I know this means a lot to you. It does for me, too.” She came to her feet. “I trust you can see yourself out.” Then she left the room.

  Harriet had never seen Lady Somersby so defeated. She was a vivacious woman, but right now she was scared, well and truly scared. Someone had to do something about this mysterious Lady X.

  There was only one person in London who had seen the woman. Lord Ashby had met with her when she had contacted him at his newspaper about a story of ladies who secretly disposed of crime. If anyone could find her, Lord Ashby would know how.

  …

  As she was led into Lord Ashby’s townhome, it occurred to her that she and Iris had missed each other’s weddings. The new Lady Ashby would be here as well.

  Harriet was led to their parlor where they both sat reading. “My apologies for interrupting.”

  “Harriet!” Iris stood and embraced her friend. “I’m sorry for not being there for your wedding. I do hope you understand I was unable to get away.”

  Harriet waved her hand. “You had your own ceremony to prepare for. Mine was unexpected, to say the least. I hate that I missed yours. I heard it was lovely.”

  Iris smiled warmly at her husband, Merritt. “It truly was.”

  Enough with the pleasantries. They could catch up with each other at a later date. Right now, she had a far more important task at hand. “I need to meet with Lady X,” she said. “Can you still contact her, my lord?”

  Merritt frowned.

  “What is the matter, Harriet?”

  “Nothing. I am weary of
some faceless, nameless woman stealing from us what we have all worked so damned hard for.”

  Iris’s brows rose. “You’re not usually so impassioned. Come and sit, have some tea.”

  She didn’t want any bloody tea, she wanted her group back. She wanted to salvage something in her life. She shook her head, then focused on Merritt again. “Will you schedule a meeting for me with her?”

  “I’m not certain that’s a good idea,” he said.

  “Either you do it, or I’ll run an advertisement in The Times and do it myself. I suspect your way will speed things up some,” Harriet said.

  Iris put a hand on Harriet’s arm. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I know how to protect myself, the same as you. And I will take every precaution.”

  Merritt eyed his wife a moment, and Iris nodded. He stood and walked to the small writing desk on the opposite wall. After quickly writing something, he held the paper out to Harriet.

  She reached for it, but he did not release his hold.

  “Tell us what you are planning to do so that someone knows where you are,” he said.

  She explained that the townhome Oliver owned, where she had been practicing her skills, was empty. She would request Lady X meet her there and offer her whatever sum of money she required.

  Iris embraced her again. “Promise me you shall be careful.”

  “I promise. I’ll even bring a weapon along just in case.”

  It was time to put this woman’s threats to rest. Certainly, all she wanted was money and, though Harriet had never lacked for anything, she now had access to a seemingly bottomless pit of funds. She could find this Lady X and pay her to move to the Americas. Then her beloved Ladies of Virtue would be back in business, as it were.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Oliver waited for nearly an hour before going to search for Harriet. She was nowhere to be found—neither of their bedchambers, nor the parlors, nor the library, nor the garden. He ignored the thoughts clawing up his throat. Harriet was gone.

  She had left him.

  He’d told her to go, so why wouldn’t she do precisely that?

  He’d wanted to believe that her love was true, that it wasn’t fleeting, and that it would be enough to sustain them. He’d been wrong. Or rather, he’d been right. She’d told him she loved him that one time in the shower, as she’d climaxed. It had been only her physical release, not her true feelings for him.