Rules of Passion (Greentree Sisters 2)

His head had begun to spin. Her fingers, resting lightly on his arm, felt hot and heavy.

“I have no money,” he began bleakly.

“Max, it doesn’t matter if you have no money. This is a temporary affair where we both take what we want from each other and nobody is the richer or the poorer for it. Don’t you understand? We can do what we like, as long as neither of us is hurt.”

It sounded like something he had dreamed about when he was a younger man, being given the go-ahead to make love to a beautiful girl without thinking of the consequences. But he was a grown man now, and he knew very well that there were always consequences. Always.

“I suppose I can ask someone else instead,” she said mildly, her eyes wide with innocence. “There must be lots of other gentlemen in London who will agree to have an affair with me. Perhaps you could furnish me with a list?”

“No, I bloody can’t!” he growled.

“Oh?” Those eyes gazed guilelessly into his. “Then you will just have to do it, Max. Come now, it won’t be too horrible, I’m sure. We are not at all suited, so there is no fear that we will become attached or anything foolish like that. Courtesans don’t become attached, you know, it’s bad for business.”

She was manipulating him, Max knew it and yet he was too muzzy-headed to think clearly—or so he told himself. In fact his body, weak as it was, was already humming with anticipation. An affair with Marietta Greentree! He hadn’t been looking forward to anything so much in years, and to come now, at this time, when his life was at such a low ebb. It was like a gift. He knew he would be a fool to refuse it.

A knock on the door proceeded Daniel and Pomeroy with a tray. Marietta gasped at the sight of it, for as well as a teapot, cups and accompaniments, Mrs. Pomeroy had provided sandwiches, cakes and scones.

“Oh, how wonderful!” she gasped, turning from Pomeroy to Daniel. “Thank you so much, and thank your wife, Pomeroy. I am quite overcome.”

Beaming, the two men left the room. Marietta set about pouring two cups of tea and busying herself over the tray, and all the while she could feel Max watching her. He looked so tense she was sure if she touched him he would feel like a fire poker. But that he hadn’t refused her outright must mean something, and hope was growing inside her despite all her efforts to be calm.

“You’ve deliberately caught me at a weak moment, Marietta.”

He was frowning at her, but his eyes had a rather endearing expression of confusion.

“Tea?” she asked blithely.

“I cannot imagine what you are thinking to suggest such a thing to me—”

“I am thinking you might be thirsty.” Then, when he looked about ready to throttle her, “I’m sorry, Max. But I want to be a courtesan. I want to take control from those who have judged and sentenced me, and live my own life, and I see this as a way to do so. I am not afraid, Max.”

He shook his head. The shadows under his eyes had deepened but his voice was strong. “You don’t realize what it will mean. You don’t understand. Desire gets into your blood, until you crave it. Even if you decide you want to stop you may find you are not able to.”

“Well, then, you will have to teach me all about desire and craving it.” Marietta munched on a sandwich. “Just pretend to be in thrall with me, and I can weave my…my spell on you.”

He smiled. Marietta felt that small hope beginning to blossom. Max had smiled.

“Your spell,” he repeated with heavy disbelief. “I see. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Then you agree?”

“Yes, I agree. But reluctantly, and only to save you from yourself, or some other man who would not be as scrupulous as me.”

He sounded extremely pompous, but she was too happy to care. “Oh, thank you, Max!” She wanted to hug him, but he didn’t look like he’d appreciate that, so she handed him a scone instead. He inspected it and then closed his eyes. “I don’t think I can eat,” he said weakly.

“Well, you will have to try. Mrs. Pomeroy has made an amazing effort and I can’t eat it all. What about the tea? Shall I help you with that? It’s the least I can do, Max, when you are being so kind and generous as to have an affair with me.”

He seemed to think that was amusing, but Marietta didn’t ask him why. Instead she came and perched beside him on the bed and raised the cup to his lips.

Max took a sip, but he was watching her, and there was something sardonic now in the lift of his eyebrow. “Is this part of the play-acting?”

“Of course not.” Marietta broke off a piece of the scone to pop into his mouth. She glanced at him sideways. “Although it could be, I suppose, but I thought I should wait until you’re better. In case you have a relapse, I mean.”

He swallowed, laughed, and then groaned when it hurt his head. Marietta set the cup down and smoothed his forehead lightly with her fingertips, as though she would take the headache away. He leaned against her shoulder, and closed his eyes, and he was very big and very heavy and yet somehow she liked the feel of him there. Even when his head dropped lower, so that he rested against her breast, she did not complain but began to stroke his hair. Now that it had dried, the curls were springing up again, and she twined them about her fingers, encouraging them.

“I won’t be in London for very much longer,” he said at last, sleepily. “This house isn’t mine and it’s time I faced it.”

“But…where will you go?”