Rules of Passion (Greentree Sisters 2)

“You do. What are you afraid of? I promise you I have no intention of ravishing you in your carriage.”

He laughed, and then groaned, but whether from pain or sheer frustration Marietta didn’t know. She pretended it was from the former, and murmured solicitously as she followed them outside to the coach, and helped to make him comfortable inside. There were an array of cushions and bolsters that someone had thoughtfully placed on the seats, and a travel rug, which she tucked around him fussily while he stared at her with haunted eyes.

“For pity’s sake,” he whimpered, “leave me alone.”

“You should have stayed in bed, Max. I did warn you but you wouldn’t listen.”

He fixed her with a look, his eyes bright through the screen of his dark lashes. Marietta had often heard the saying if looks could kill, but she had never really understood its true meaning—until now.

“You may not believe this, Miss Greentree, but knowing you were right does not alleviate my present condition,” he said. “Why couldn’t one of my servants have accompanied me home? Where is Pomeroy?”

“I don’t know where Pomeroy is. Perhaps he was busy.”

Max didn’t bother to answer that, instead he closed his eyes with grim determination, and kept them shut.

Marietta smiled to herself, and leaned back against the soft squabs as the coach set off. It was very selfish of her, but perhaps Max’s injury would work to her advantage. If she could win a promise from him while he was in a weakened state so much the better for her plans.

As they traversed the streets of London, Marietta realized that she had no idea where Max lived. The question had never come up. She opened her mouth to ask him, but he was lying so stiffly opposite her, and was so obviously in pain, that she did not speak after all.

I know hardly anything about him.

The thought gave her pause. Although she felt a strange sense of recognition for Max, a feeling of familiarity, the truth was she and he were near strangers. When she acknowledged it, she felt afraid. Aphrodite had put Max forward as the man to practice upon, and it had seemed a simple task, but now…Marietta took a steadying breath, reminding herself that she didn’t have to do this. She could change her mind.

Well, couldn’t she?

And what then? Live her life in the shadows? Marietta knew she couldn’t bear that—it would not be living at all. As a courtesan she would have a full life, and yet be free of the fear of being emotionally hurt again. Her heart would be protected. Safe. The men who would be her companions would give her a chance to enjoy herself in ways that were material and physical, but she would not love them. Max might be a stranger, but he was no more so than the men she must learn to please if she became a courtesan.

Satisfied by her self-persuasion, at least for the moment, Marietta relaxed. Only to be shaken by a sudden crash outside the coach. Their driver shouted and swerved, and the wheels lurched violently. Marietta gripped the leather strap and looked out of the window in time to see an overturned timber cart, with lengths of wood spread across the roadway. Their coach driver must have run over the timber, but he was luckier, or cleverer, than some of those following.

A glance across at Max told her that he would not be impressed by her description of the scene. He had his eyes tight shut and his teeth gritted as agony lanced through the wound in his head. He would have been better off staying at Aphrodite’s, but Marietta could sympathize with his need to get home to familiar surroundings.

“Do you want me to—” she began.

“No.”

“You don’t know what I’m going to say yet,” she told him mildly.

“I don’t care.”

“I was going to ask if you wished to rest your head on my lap. It might be softer, and I could shield you from some of the worst bumps.”

Max glared at her, his eyes narrow slits gleaming with bad temper. “You wish me to rest my head on your lap? Would you like to stroke my brow, too?”

“Do you want me to?” Marietta asked, making her eyes wide and innocent.

He snorted, and then groaned as his headache stabbed sheer agony into the echoing vault that was his skull. Although Max had his share of illnesses and accidents—some would say more than his fair share of the latter—such pain was new to him. He’d never suffered from headaches—an innocuous name for what was currently going on in his head. Why on earth had he declined the doctor’s offer of a hefty dose of laudanum? What had he been

trying to prove? Sheer pigheaded pride and stubbornness he supposed, the same stubborn pride that was preventing him from resting his head on Marietta Greentree’s delightful lap.

Without warning the coach rattled over some uneven cobbles, and suddenly his pride dissolved. “Do it then,” he said between white lips. “Please.”

Looking concerned rather than triumphant, Marietta slipped into the seat beside him, and settled herself carefully among the cushions. She lifted his head, gently, and Max raised himself up with a muttered curse. After a brief, painful period of shuffling about, Max’s head was resting on her lap, Marietta was bracing one arm over his shoulders to help steady him, while her other hand lay upon his brow. Her fingers seemed naturally to curl in the threads of his dark hair, as she stroked it back from the bandage.

“How is that, Lord Roseby?” she said sweetly.

Was she teasing him? Mocking his arrogance? Max didn’t care. His pain was still excruciating but somehow it didn’t matter as much now that Marietta’s scent was all around him, and he was enveloped by her soft body. Max sighed as she brushed her fingertips lightly over his skin, almost a caress. Turning his face towards her, he snuggled closer. The swell of her breast was heavy against his cheek. As Marietta held him against the roll and jolt of the coach, he wanted to press even closer. He wanted to…to unbutton her bodice and put his lips on her bare skin. To run his tongue over the lush curves of her breasts.

The hot rush of desire surprised him, but at least it helped him to forget his headache.