Rules of Passion (Greentree Sisters 2)

Max felt his head spinning and his body hardening. It was something he had come to expect when he was near Marietta, but it wasn’t a good sign if he was to keep his mind sharp. He needed to retain some sort of control if he were to use his skills and experience in one final attempt to talk her out of her ridiculous plan.

“Marietta?”

She turned around like a startled angel, the silk floating about her, the edges of the robe she wore flipping back. Her fair curls tumbled about her shoulders and down over her breasts and…He realized he could see the pale globes through the paper-thin cloth, just before she pulled the robe back over her, holding it together as if it would somehow protect her.

From what, from him?

The idea gave him pause. He looked at her more carefully, and realized that at the moment she looked as if she was about to bolt from the room. Frightened. Of him? Or of this whole scenario she had set in motion. Perhaps she was ready to forget about her wild plan, after all, and he wouldn’t have to seduce her.

Damn it!

Marietta narrowed those bright blue eyes at him. “Max, you’re scowling. And you’ve taken off your bandage!”

He had, although Mrs. Pomeroy had fixed a small covering over the healing wound on his forehead. In fact, Max had dressed very carefully for this meeting. Black coat and trousers, silk shirt and necktie, his pocketwatch tucked into his waistcoat. Disinherited he may be, but Max had been born and bred to be a duke, and tonight he looked every inch one.

She was eyeing him admiringly, her face open and without guile, as if they were the best of friends. As if there was no need to guard herself with him. He wished she didn’t trust him like that, because Max knew that he didn’t want to be her friend. How could he be, when he was planning to trick her out of her heart’s desire? She would hate him for it if she knew.

He made himself smile as if nothing was wrong. “So, what is the program for this evening, Marietta? Act One, the gentleman arrives. Act Two…?”

“The gentleman is seated and made comfortable. This way, Lord Roseby.” She curtseyed and beckoned him towards the fireplace.

Max followed her to the sofa bursting with cushions, trying not to watch the sway of her hips beneath the silken garment that wafted about her like a zephyr. Bloody hell, if he narrowed his eyes he could see the shape of her bottom! No underclothing then. He sank down onto the overstuffed seat and resisted the urge to mop his brow.

“A drink, my lord?” she asked him sweetly, in a submissive tone completely unlike her usual bossy one.

“Brandy, thank you.” A drink might help to strengthen his resolve, and it would give her something to do other than what he feared she planned to do. Keep her busy, he thought, that was the thing.

He watched her as she trotted off to a table full of glass decanters. Her hand hovered uncertainly over one and then another. Finally she lifted a stopper and poured a glass, and carried it carefully back to him, a sycophantic smile plastered on her face.

Max laughed, he couldn’t help it. “You look as if you’re about to have a tooth pulled, Marietta.”

Her smile gave way to a scowl. “Be quiet. I’m meant to be submissive and you’re not helping, Max.”

“Good,” he retorted, and took a sip of the brandy. Only it wasn’t brandy, it was sherry, and he nearly spat it out, only just remembering in time that he was a gentleman. He swallowed with a violent shudder, and handed the glass back.

Marietta was watching him in amazement.

“That was sherry,” he said.

She frowned, sniffed the liquor remaining in the glass. “It looks the same color as brandy. I don’t drink spirits, Max, so how am I supposed to know?”

Max groaned.

“Something to eat then?” she asked him helpfully. “There is a…a succulent repast awaiting us.”

“Is there indeed?” His gaze slid down over her; he couldn’t seem to help it. She was wearing trousers under the robe, transparent silken trousers, like a harem girl, and above that a tight little blouse that didn’t quite cover her smooth stomach. There were no petticoats or stays to mold and hide her true shape. All those delightfully opulent curves belonged to Marietta Greentree.

She became aware of his inspection, and pulled the robe together again, eyeing him suspiciously. “They made me wear this,” she said. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” he managed, his voice a little hoarse. “Why wouldn’t I like it?”

“I don’t know. Because it’s very daring and you’re a gentleman, or so you keep telling me.”

“Well I do like it, Marietta. Very much.”

“Are you going to kiss me again?” she whispered, her eyes darkening.

“Probably,” he admitted. “Yes, I am going to kiss you.”