Maitland shook his head. She didn’t understand that love was simply a chemical imbalance within the brain. It wore off, and then what were you left with?
This fleeting, irrational feeling was nothing to base something as important as marriage upon. A good marriage should further both family’s positions within society while building a strong alliance. Friendship and similar goals was all that was required.
Lady Marisa would have been, and still could be, a fine match for him. There’s a thought.
He decided to return to the ball and find Sebastian. Perhaps his friend would think more favorably upon a match with him now. But before he could slip away, the amorous couple walked round the rosebush and straight into him.
“Your Grace,” Rutherford stammered as he dropped the arm of the woman Maitland now knew was Lady Charlotte Marshall. “How are you, sir?”
“I would have been a lot better if I hadn’t had to listen to you two coupling behind this bush. The very bush I’d chosen to stand next to for a quiet smoke.”
The woman gasped at his outspokenness, and Rutherford’s eyes widened with horror. “It’s not what you think, your Grace.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is. I suggest you work out a way to extradite yourself from Marisa’s affections before I have to tell her brother.” With that he turned to leave. “Oh, and by the way, do it gently. Sebastian, Lord Coldhurst to you, is an expert marksman, and you wouldn’t stand a chance in a duel with him.”
—
Marisa was enjoying Lord Dunmire’s ball. Tonight she hoped Rutherford would propose to her. She still couldn’t believe she’d let herself fall in love.
Her parents’ marriage was supposedly a love match. Society had thought they had been passionately in love with each other, only to destroy themselves with jealousy. Marisa, having grown up with their arguments and violent fights, had disdained love until her brother met and married Beatrice. The happy couple had shown her what true love was, and it wasn’t hurting the one you professed to love with petty jealousy and rivalry.
She knew in her heart that Rutherford loved her. He’d made his feelings very clear from the day they had met. He’d called her his heart’s desire, his everything, and he treated her with respect and honor as if she were the most precious person in the world. The ton was expecting an announcement any day. She could not work out what was holding him back. He said he was waiting for his mother to arrive in town, but it was almost the end of the season.
She was getting a little put out by his casual assumption that she had no other choice but to wait for him. In fact, she had decided to treat him a tad cool tonight. To her annoyance he didn’t seem to notice. In fact, as her eyes scanned the crowded room, she couldn’t see him anywhere. He’d paid her little attention other than to dance the first waltz with her.
Upon her arrival Lord Rutherford had been waiting at the bottom of the stairs, as she, her brother, and sister-in-law were announced. He’d looked so handsome she’d almost forgotten to breathe. His fair hair had glinted gold in the glow from the candles flanking the edge of the ballroom. He was tall enough to stand a head above most of the guests. He looked like a Roman emperor with his strong nose and chiseled jaw, with cheekbones that gave his face a masculine beauty that could make a woman weep. When she’d drawn level with him, he’d taken her hand and kissed it. His caramel-colored eyes were filled with warmth and love.
That had been over three hours ago. She’d slipped free of Beatrice’s constant presence and drifted through the crowd looking for Rutherford without any luck. Her feet were beginning to hurt so she looked around for a place she could sit without being observed and spied a private alcove. She moved toward it while dreaming of becoming his wife and finally learning about passion. Her untutored woman’s body warmed with desire just thinking about what it would be like to share his bed. To be naked with him. To let him…
She put her hands to her heated face and turned promptly, colliding with what felt like a wall of rock. She looked up and her pleasant thoughts vanished. Maitland Spencer, the Cold Duke, gripped her waist to stop her sliding to the floor. Her hands lay against his chest, granite beneath her fingertips.
“My apologies, Lady Marisa. You should look where you are going.”
She’d known His Grace since childhood and still he referred to her as Lady Marisa, always so formal. She disliked the deep voice void of any emotion, but it still sent shivers down her spine. Why did it have to be Maitland of all men? Anger spiked at the implication that she was at fault.
She looked up into features too cold to be thought handsome yet there was something compelling about him. She’d never been held this close to him before. She studied the strands of dark copper hair cut slightly longer than acceptable—the man did not conform to any of society’s dictates. The hint of silver at his temples added to his air of remoteness, not making him look old, merely distinguished. She knew he was the same age as her brother, thirty. He was not smiling. His face in it’s severity was a conundrum of hard cheekbones and strong jaw, yet his eyes were almost feminine, with long dark eyelashes highlighting eyes the color of newly cultivated grass after the snow melts. She almost lost herself in their glare.
Suddenly conscious of her hands still resting upon his chest, she pulled them back as if burned.
His mouth tightened into a thin line, but his bottom lip hinted at a devastating smile that could change his demeanor if only he had an ounce of fun and flirtation in him. She wondered if he ever smiled. In all the years he’d been coming to see her brother, she’d never seen any joy on his features. There were certainly no “laughter lines” around his eyes.
“Your Grace, always a pleasure,” Marisa smiled sweetly at him while wanting to kick him in the shins. “Perhaps you shouldn’t sneak up on a lady if you don’t wish to have her fall into your arms.”
He looked at her thoughtfully as if assessing her person. She ran a hand over her hair checking to see if anything was out of place. He continued to gaze down at her with a peculiar look upon his face. “If a woman is as beautiful as you, I don’t mind her falling into my arms.”
Marisa only just stopped her mouth from gaping open. Never had Maitland ever openly flirted with her; the other Libertine Scholars, her brother’s friends, of course, had playfully bantered with her, but never Maitland. They were all exceedingly handsome men, and all that attention could go to a girl’s head.
Maitland Spencer, the Duke of Lyttleton, had always simply been her older brother’s handsome yet standoffish friend. He’d never shown an ounce of interest in her, or her in him. She looked him over. “Are you ill?”
Perfectly arched eyebrows lowered into a frown. “I’m perfectly fine, and you?”
“I’m stunned actually. You’re flirting with me.”
“I wasn’t flirting. I was merely stating a fact.”
Of course he was. Literal was his middle name. “Then perhaps you can unhand me, sir,” she said, looking pointedly at his large hands still firmly holding her waist, “unless, you do have intentions of flirting with me.”
To her dismay he did not take his hands from her; instead they tightened and pulled her close, and he gently moved her into an alcove away from prying eyes.
“I have no need to flirt, little one. When I want a woman she is left in no doubt as to my intentions,” and his mouth trailed up her neck until he reached her ear. He softly added, “And they rarely deny me.”
This wasn’t the Maitland she knew and usually ignored. Normally they traded insults and smart quips, not tender touches and breathless entreaties. This man who held her captive with his presence was all fire and ice and had her undivided attention.
His seductive words, coupled with the hard body she found herself pressed against, twisted something in her stomach. Her body heated and her pulse raced like a feather tossed by a hurricane. She licked her lips. For one crazy second she wanted to press closer, wanted those velvet lips on hers.
Then sanity returned. She hated how h
e referred to her as the “little one.” He’d called her that since her fifteenth birthday. She’d grown tall, taller than most men. She hated her height, and that was why Rutherford was so perfect, he was taller by several inches. She noted His Grace was taller still. Why did that thought enter her head?
Goodness, if Rutherford found her like this, if anyone found her like this…
“Maitland”—she must be flustered, she never referred to His Grace by his first name—“Maitland,” she repeated more firmly, “stop this game at once. You are toying with me and I won’t have it. What would Sebastian think?”
He drew back and she looked into his eyes, and another shiver passed over her at what she saw there. Heat and fire flared, nothing like the iceberg she thought him to be.
“Maybe I’m not toying.” He stroked the upper swell of her breasts with his finger and she gasped. “You are very beautiful. You are a woman fit to become my duchess.”
She slapped his hand away while her body betrayed her—her nipples hardened against the silk of her chemise. His touch ignited a yearning she knew well. A yearning she normally associated with Rutherford. “I cannot believe you just did that. My brother would skin alive any man who touched me so inappropriately.” She leaned forward to smell his breath. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were in your cups.”
One of his long, elegant fingers touched her peaked nipple through her dress. “The woman does protest too much. Your body recognizes how it could be between us.” He pressed her against the pillar at her back. One hand stroked down her neck while the other continued to hold her waist. “Have you ever been kissed to the point you lose all sense of right and wrong and you can barely stand?”
What a question! Rutherford had kissed her but she suspected his kisses were tame in comparison to what Maitland was suggesting. Her knees had never buckled from Rutherford’s kisses. He respected her too much to push for more, unfortunately.
“Of course I have been kissed,” she brazened.
He leaned his inviting lips so close they were almost upon hers. “Liar.”
“That’s the second time you’ve called me that. If I were a man I’d call you out.”
“But you’re not a man. You are very much a woman.”
With that he ran the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip. She drew in a deep breath, surprised at her body’s sudden, feminine reaction to his words. Her stomach clenched into a tight, silken fist. Never before had the sound of her name from Maitland’s lips evoked such overwhelming sensations. Her body hummed with desire. Maybe it was just the way his voice seemed to caress, deepening to a low, dark pitch that was almost dangerous. Maybe it was the sudden glint of need she caught in his eyes that made her wonder how a man with obvious fire in his soul could let the world think he was cold and aloof. How had his upbringing shaped this powerful man’s life, and why did she suddenly care?
It was as if a strong ocean tide was pulling at her—she knew she wanted to swim, but she was scared she’d drown in the undertow.
Her mistake was to look into his clear green eyes, for they trapped her with pure heat. Unable to resist, she leaned in and her tongue slipped out to touch his. At the small sigh that unintentionally escaped from her, the normally cool and contained duke disappeared, and with a groan so filled with longing he pulled her deep into an embrace, and his lips firmly but gently took hers in a kiss that was, oh goodness, so much more than anything she’d ever experienced in her life. It thrilled and frightened her. Frightened her because she was consumed with want and need and hunger…and this was Maitland Spencer, the Cold Duke.
“Open, little one,” he commanded in a voice laden with desire, and she did. His tongue swept into her mouth and each relentless stroke was like heaven. She’d never tasted a man before. He tasted of brandy and cheroots, everything addictive to a woman who craved more.
His hands were wrapped tightly in her hair, holding her head exactly right for his invasion. His body pressed her back against the pillar, and she welcomed the cold marble to combat the heat he generated. She felt something hard and long pressing against her stomach; she knew she should be appalled, but his mouth was creating such amazing sensations that she simply pressed closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and whimpering for more.
He gave her more. His tongue thrust deep into her mouth in a dance that demanded she follow. She dueled for dominance, her tongue entering his mouth like a queen at the head of her army. He welcomed the invasion, and another groan echoed deep in his throat as he ground his hardness against her.
This was heaven. She never wanted the kiss to end and blast it all to Hades he was right, for when his clever fingers found her hardened nipple, her knees gave out and she sagged in his arms.
Only then did he break the kiss. However, there was no gloating in his gaze or upon his features, merely heat, want, and need, surely matching her own.
They stood close together in the alcove, forehead to forehead, breathing heavily.
She was stunned. Never in all the times he’d come to her brother’s house had he shown the remotest interest in her. She had not once thought of him in a romantic way at all.
Yet here she stood, ready to dissolve in a puddle of delicious desire. One kiss had changed her world and she stood staring at Maitland. The mask of indifference he wore was back in place. If she couldn’t still feel his erection hard against her belly she would never have thought he desired her at all.
The Cold Duke was like a volcano covered in ice—he had a molten core he kept hidden from the world.
She needed air, needed to clear her head of his scent and taste. More than anything she needed to think of Rutherford. Rutherford!
She made to move around him, saying, “This is ridiculous. I am almost engaged.” She walked quickly out of the alcove, her fingers flying to repair the damage to her hair.
He took one large stride and was by her side. “Almost means you are still free. I think you should take my suit seriously.”
She grounded her teeth and kept smiling given the number of people looking their way. “Suit? You have not once called on me this season.”
“In all fairness, I have been busy hunting a madwoman.”
She remained silent. That was, in fact, true, and one of the reasons why she felt Rutherford had not proposed. She was almost being kept under lock and key and had had little opportunity to progress her relationship with Lord Rutherford. Sebastian, as always, was being overprotective.
A servant approached with a tray of glasses filled with champagne. He stopped and offered her a glass, and she took the opportunity to turn from His Grace and take one just for something to do with her hands, which she noticed were fidgeting with her gown. She never fidgeted. Maitland took a glass, drank it down, and reached for another. Once the servant left she glared up at him. “I realize my brother asked you to see to my safety tonight”—she searched the room for Sebastian—“but I hardly think he required you to pursue me in such a scandalously romantic fashion.”
Maitland’s face went from severe to breathtaking, as the first smile she’d ever seen on him suddenly broke over his features. “I may be pursuing you as you say, but certainly not in a romantic way. I merely find you a very attractive woman from a good family. You would make an exceptional duchess. You’re intelligent, strong, kind, and did I mention beautiful—oh, I believe I have.”
Her mouth dropped open. She struggled to find the words.
“Don’t be so surprised. With a madwoman out to do me harm, it is expedient I find a wife and have a son. You, little one, would be perfect in the role.”
Marisa realized she had been insulted and praised simultaneously. “Let me understand your intentions. Just because you need a child, you think I should be flattered by a proposal that is simply you wanting a brood mare.” She swept her hand indicating the full ballroom behind her. “Do you realize I could have my pick of unattached men here?” She poked him in his admittedly very hard and muscular chest, her finger li
ngering longer than it needed to deliver her derisive reply. “Why would I accept a proposal from a man so arrogant he feels he doesn’t have to court me? It’s as if I’m supposed to fall at your feet in gratitude. Let me tell you, sir, that will never happen.”
“Never is a long time, my lady.” He didn’t even apologize for his behavior. “If I went to Sebastian he would look favorably on my suit.”
She almost choked on her drink, with bubbles going up her nose. The behavior so unladylike it drew several of the tons’ gossip-filled eyes their way. “You are deluded. You may be his friend, one of his best friends, but my brother would never force me into a marriage I did not want.”
He leaned closer regardless of the audience that was gathering. “Then I shall have to ensure you want to marry me.” What the crowd could not see was the fingers of his right hand trailing down the curves of her side and over her hip. She couldn’t squirm or slap his hand away without alerting everyone to his disgraceful behavior.
She simply smiled sweetly and gritted her teeth. “I doubt you will achieve that goal, your Grace. I’m expecting a proposal from a man who loves me and I shall be accepting.”
She watched his jaw go taut, and his hand dropped from where it stroked her side. “We shall see, little one.” With that he bowed low and lifted her hand to his lips. Ignoring their audience he pressed his lips to her fingers and lingered longer than appropriate.
She wanted to rip her hand from his possessive hold but knew they were already a topic of speculation and she didn’t wish for others to get the wrong impression. If Rutherford thought His Grace was a suitor he might bow out thinking he could not compete.
“There you are. I have been looking for you everywhere.” Beatrice, her sister-in-law, slipped her arm through hers and smiled up at His Grace. “Maitland, thank you for keeping an eye on Marisa. I hope she hasn’t been a nuisance.”
Marisa wanted to scream. If anyone was being a nuisance it was he.
The Disgraced Lords Series 3-Book Bundle Page 84
