Rules of Passion (21 page)

Her heart thumped harder.

She had picked up the glass of sherry, and now she lifted it to her lips and drank the lot. The sweet, strong taste with the burn of the underlying alcohol
momentarily took her breath away, and then she choked, pressing her hand to her throat.

He was on his feet and with her in a moment, one hand on her back ready to thump out whatever was choking her. She turned to peer up at him with streaming eyes.

“Marietta? What is it? What—” But then he must have caught the smell of the sherry on her breath, because his expression changed from concern to amazement.

“Marietta?”

She gulped, managed to catch her breath. “Well, you didn’t want it, did you?”

He shook his head at her. “Marietta,” he said quite gently, “if you need to drink sherry for courage then you should not be doing this. You should not be here. We can stop, right now. Do you hear me?”

She drew back from him, although he did not remove his palm from her back. “You don’t understand. I have made up my mind and you can’t change it.”

“No,” he said angrily, “I don’t understand. Do you really want strange men doing this to you?” he demanded, pulling her suddenly into his arms.

Marietta landed against his chest with a whoof, and found herself staring up into his dark eyes.

“Doing this?” he demanded, still angry, and bent his head.

And kissed her.

Marietta was surprised, but only for a moment. The feel of his body against her sent a shiver of excitement through her like no other. And she really could feel him this time, almost as if she were naked. The broad strength of his chest and his arms, the
narrow power of his hips. His mouth might be hot and desperate, but it was also passionate and needy, and she reached up and wrapped her arms about his neck and held on.

This kiss was different from any of their previous ones. Max’s anger and passion were burning bright, and he had forgotten he was a gentleman who needed to retain control—he had forgotten he was the teacher. He kissed her as if he wanted to, as if he wanted her, and he no longer cared why they were doing this.

Her mouth was so sweet, so willing. Max felt as if he were drowning in the touch of her, the taste of her. He felt the swell of her breasts pressed to his chest, so soft and pliable without the hard shell of her stays. Everywhere his hands touched, he felt
her
. The fine curve of her waist, and the outward flare of her hips—whoever had dressed her knew what they were about. In a moment she’d be on the floor with him on top of her, and any chance he had to turn her mind to his way of thinking, to stop them both from doing something irrevocable, would be gone.

For a dangerous second he teetered on the edge, and then somehow he reeled them both back to safer ground.

Max lifted his mouth from hers. He was breathing quickly and so was she, her eyes closed, a hectic flush across her cheeks, her mouth swollen from his kisses. In her silk clothing that was hardly clothing at all, she looked wanton and accessible, but he knew the truth. Despite what she thought, Max knew she was no more cut out to be a courtesan than he.

“Ah Max…” she whispered, then swallowed,
and tried again. “Max, would you say that you lost control then? Just a little bit?”

He frowned down at her. “Nonsense. I was fully in control.”

She smiled, her pink lips tilting up. “No, you weren’t.”

It was as if she was pleased that he had almost hoisted her onto the drinks table and plundered her. He wasn’t putting her off being a courtesan; he was feeding her delusions.

“Would you say I seduced you just then?” she went on, running a fingertip up his chest to his throat and smoothing the tanned skin.

He laughed angrily. “No, I would not.”

Disappointment flickered in her eyes, but the next moment she shrugged. “Oh. Well I think I did, a little. You kissed me then like you meant it, Max.”

He swore under his breath, just as there came a polite tap on the door, and Marietta gave him another secretive little smile as she called sweetly, “Come in.”

A procession of blank-faced servants carried in several trays of food and arranged the plates upon the table under the window, along with bottles in iced buckets. It was a meal for several, not just two, but he supposed the whole point of Aphrodite’s was excess. Excess in eating and drinking, and making love to beautiful and experienced women.

With a brief bow from the one in charge, the servants filed out again and closed the door behind them.

There was a silence, and then Marietta strolled over to the table. “Mmm,” she said, bending to take
a sample from one of the dishes with her finger. “This looks delicious. I didn’t realize I was so hungry. All this looking seductive and being submissive, I suppose.”

He grunted. “Submissive! You’re hardly that.”

She ignored him, and instead slipped her finger between her lips to taste the food. Watching her, Max had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Arrogantly he had believed he was strong enough to do what was necessary tonight—either to talk some sense into her, or trap her with her desire for him. He had no doubt when he set out for Aphrodite’s that he was to be the eventual winner in this contest, that he would bend her to his will and she would finally see sense.

Marietta was no courtesan. She was made to be loved by one man, and he was beginning to think that he was that man. But he was being severely tested. What if it was Marietta who bowed him to
her
will, instead of the other way around? What if he ended up following her around like a lovestruck puppy?

What was it about this girl? Despite all the arguments to be made against what he was doing, he knew he would not stop. She had become an obsession. He wanted to save her, but the feelings driving him were deeper than that, darker than that. He knew he had little to offer her—his man of business had made it abundantly clear that his plans to reopen the mining venture on his Cornish property were shaky at best—but his need for her overrode good sense. It was visceral, meshed within him as if it were a part of him. All those years as the next Duke of Barwon, when he had been rich and handsome and fêted, no woman had caused more than a brief
flutter of interest in his heart. And now he had found
the
woman in Marietta, but he no longer had anything with which to tempt her; no money and no position, no jewelry or fine things. Only himself, and their growing passion for each other.

Was it enough?

The food really was delicious. There was chicken vol-au-vent and roast pigeons and lobster, as well as a number of other meats, served with a heavily buttered dish of asparagus. There were lemon tarts, an orange soufflé, and ices in special glasses. Marietta saw to it that his plate was kept piled, offering him a taste of this and that, gazing at him expectantly as he sampled each dish and commented upon it, and trying not to argue with him over his choices. He appreciated that she was working very hard at being the perfect hostess, but it was difficult to concentrate on what he was eating when she was flitting backwards and forwards in a costume that fired his imagination. When she began to insist on removing his jacket and shoes he put a stop to it.

“Sit down, Marietta,” he said sharply. “You’re giving me indigestion.”

She sat down, looking dismayed. “I was only trying to make you comfortable,” she offered. “A good courtesan would make certain that her gentleman was comfortable.”

“No doubt, but as I’m as comfortable as I’m going to be, you can desist.”

She was silent for a little while. “You really are ungrateful, Max,” she said at last.

Max sighed and swallowed his mouthful.

“I need your help, and you did promise to give it. And it’s not as if you have to put yourself out much, is it? You just have to sit there and be pampered. I’m sure there are plenty of other men who would jump at the chance.”

“I’m sure they would,” he agreed. “But you’ve chosen me to be your victim, haven’t you, and I’m doing my best.”

Marietta remembered then, a little guiltily, that Max probably had a great deal on his mind.

“Poor Max,” she said, and leaned over to place a gentle kiss on his brow.

He groaned.

“Have I hurt you?” she gasped. “I’m so sorry. Here—”

But as she reached out again he caught her hand and stopped her. There was something in his eyes, something fiery and dangerous that she hadn’t seen there before. And that was when she realized how much Max wanted her. She was testing his control without even trying. Marietta would have laughed aloud, if the knowledge had not taken her breath away.

“You’re never going to give up, are you?” he growled. “I’m wasting my time trying to talk you out of it.”

“I can’t give up. I am not fit for marriage and I have no wish to be a spinster aunt to my sisters’ children.”

“There are other choices.”

“Are there? I don’t see them. I will not be beaten, Max. I will not fade away just because it would be more comfortable for certain people if I didn’t exist. Yes, I made a mistake, a very silly mistake, but I was young and trusting and a man took advantage of
that. I broke the rules, but they were not my rules, and I refuse to live my life in penance.”

“Marietta—”

Looking into his troubled eyes, Marietta’s anger faded and like a clap of thunder she realized what was wrong with this whole scenario. Aphrodite had tried to tell her, and Elena, too, but she hadn’t understood. She did now. Max could only see her as Marietta Greentree, and she was looking at him as Max Valland. They had brought along with them all their troubles and all their complications, and that made it impossible to just let go and
feel
.

If they were
strangers,
without any prior knowledge…

She jumped up and stood before him, her pretty face intent, her eyes blazing into his. He watched her warily.

“Max,” she said quietly, “I think we’ve gone about this assignation all wrong. We were supposed to be strangers meeting for an evening of pleasure, and instead we’ve been bickering like an old married couple. I think we should begin afresh. Right now.”

“Marietta, do you know what you’re saying?”

But she wouldn’t let him argue. “No. You don’t know my name. I’m not Marietta. I am a girl you’ve just met, a girl from Aphrodite’s, and you’ve paid for an evening with me, and you are a man I must please.”

He said nothing.

“What can I do to please you?” she asked him quietly. “Sir?”

He looked up, his eyes flaring. He swallowed. “Mar—”

“No!”

“There’ll be no going back.” He sounded serious, final.

“I know. I don’t want to go back. My only way out of the mess I am in is to go forward. Now, sir, what can I do to please you?”

His gaze dropped down. “Take off that infernal robe.”

She didn’t let herself think too much. She let herself feel. Marietta slipped off the robe and allowed it to drop to the floor. And then she stood before him in the trousers and blouse, and tried not to think at all.

His eyes went to her breasts, slowly following the shape of her, returning again and again to the darker circles at their tips. His hand twitched but he closed his fingers, tight.

“Do you desire me?” she whispered.

He gave a breathless laugh.

“Then touch me. I want to know what it is you desire, Ma…sir. I want to understand what you’re feeling.”

But she thought she was understanding perfectly well already. She had understood the other day in the coach, when they drove around the park, twice. The look of hunger on his face, the glitter in his eyes, had made something similar happen inside her. Now her stomach clenched and a warmth washed over her, as if she were caught in a tidal surge and could not, did not want to, escape it.

He reached out and brushed her with his fingertips.

Light as the touch was, it made her shiver. She stared at him, lips parted in astonishment. He smiled wryly, and touched her again, using his thumb to rub against her nipple. She had never realized her own flesh could be so sensitive.

He cupped her breast in his palm, holding it like a gift, and then his arm came about her waist and he drew her forward, between his thighs, and he licked her with his tongue. Marietta’s hands clung to his head, pulling him closer. The sensation of his warm mouth against her was exquisite. She made a sound in her throat, like a purr, and he looked at her.

His face was taut with desire, his eyes blazing, and his mouth was smiling. Whatever struggle he had been involved in was over—Max had decided to give himself up completely to what she was offering. For a moment she was confused by his capitulation, but then, still watching her, he ran his hand over her stomach, clearly enjoying the sensation of her bare skin, and she let herself feel again. His fingers brushed up, under the silk blouse, and they were warm and knowledgeable. Her eyes flickered and she swayed.

“Max.”

“I’m a stranger, remember,” he said, with a certain irony. “I’m teaching you about desire. That’s what you want, isn’t it, Marietta?”

He was tense, awaiting her answer, and once again, although she did not understand him, she acquiesced. “Yes.”

“If you want to stop then you’d better say so. Now.”

“I don’t want to stop.”

His fingers reached the underside of her breast, and then his palm was molding to her full shape, caressing her, gently squeezing her. He met her eyes, as if to gauge her compliance, and then he leaned forward and covered the nipple with his mouth, hot and wet, and sucked at her through the silk.

Her knees crumpled.

He caught her, drawing her down onto his lap, and covered her face in little biting kisses, his hand still stroking her breasts. It was bliss, she thought. Complete and utter bliss…

Where was his other hand?

With a shock she realized it was on her knee, heavy and warm and full of intent. She opened her mouth to remind him of the rules, but he swooped down and covered it with his own, and for a time she was lost in the wonder of his kisses.

When she came to herself again, his hand was stroking her belly just above where the top of her trousers met bare skin, his finger dipping beneath the band. She was burning, aching, and it didn’t seem to matter whether or not he was touching her in places he wasn’t supposed to—her body wanted that finger to move further down. She arched against him with a groan.