Dangerous Dukes 02 - Darian Hunter - Duke of Desire

by Carole Mortimer

  Darian leant back abruptly against the cushions, knowing that their brief moment of tenderness was over. If it had ever really begun on Mariah’s part.

  His expression was grim as he turned to look out of the window to view the brightly lit house in the distance. He inwardly cursed himself for being a fool. He might have spent the past days and nights thinking of, desiring, Mariah, might even have anticipated being with her again, but she had shown him time and time again that she did not feel that same desire towards him.

  He gave a shake of his head as he once again turned his own thoughts to the business of the weekend ahead. ‘What sort of entertainments might I expect to endure this evening?’

  Mariah shrugged. ‘The full entertainments will not begin until tomorrow, obviously, but after dinner this evening I expect there will be cards and dancing.’

  Darian grimaced. ‘Sounds boringly normal to me.’

  She chuckled huskily. ‘I assure you there is nothing “normal” about cards and dancing in the Nicholses’ home!’

  Darian eyed her speculatively. ‘Meaning?’

  A small, secretive smile hovered at the corners of her mouth. ‘You will see soon enough!’

  Darian disliked the sound of that. As he disliked feeling as if he were at a disadvantage, as he surely was where such weekends as this were concerned.

  And meaning that he would have to look to Mariah for guidance as to the correct way for him to behave.

  But first, it seemed, he had to endure the simpering and coquettish Lady Clara Nichols as she gushingly welcomed him to her home, whilst her husband showed Mariah similar attentions. Attentions, he noted with satisfaction, that she laughed off quite easily.

  Darian was not so successful where Lady Clara was concerned, as she proudly introduced them to the rest of the company still assembled in the drawing room after tea: several lords, an earl, half a dozen Members of Parliament, some with their wives, but most not. There were also a dozen or so other female members of the ton, a titled lady or two, several Honourables, three well-known actresses and an opera singer, and all without the escort of their husbands.

  Lady Clara then insisted, her arm firmly linked with Darian’s, on personally accompanying them up the stairs to show them to their bedchambers.

  Darian felt quite sickened by her attentions by the time that lady finally took herself off to rejoin her other guests and no doubt indulge in gossip about the duke and the countess.

  His top lip curled with distaste the moment the door of the bedchamber had closed behind his simpering hostess. ‘There is something particularly sickening about a lady of possibly forty years giggling like a schoolgirl.’

  Mariah chuckled, no doubt at the look of disgust on his face, as she untied her bonnet and threw it down on to her bed. ‘How very ungrateful of you, Darian, when I do believe, from their situation of being at the front of the house and the opulence of these bedchambers, that Clara and Richard must have moved out of their own bedchambers in order to accommodate the two of us.’

  As expected, the two of them had been given adjoining bedchambers, the door between those rooms having been left pointedly open, and no doubt the reason Darian had been subjected to Clara Nichols’s girlishly suggestive giggles when she reminded them that dinner would be served in a little over two hours. No doubt she expected the two of them to indulge in some love play before that time.

  Darian’s room was acceptable, but Mariah’s—Clara Nichols’s own bedchamber?—was a ghastly nightmare of pink and cream lace and flounces. ‘How will you ever be able to sleep in such an explosion of pink?’ He grimaced as he stood in the doorway between their two rooms.

  Mariah gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I shall simply blow out the candles and then I shall not be able to see it.’

  Darian admired the picture of grace and beauty Mariah made in the candle and firelight as she stood in the middle of that ghastly pink room. A veritable vision in turquoise and cream, her hair appearing like spun gold, colour now warming her cheeks.

  His blood stirred and he felt that tingling at the base of his spine and between his thighs, the rising and thickening of his erection, as he imagined how much more lovely Mariah would look without any clothes on at all.

  Would the curls between her thighs be that same gold or possibly a shade darker?

  Would her nipples be the same ruby red as her lips?

  And would the folds between her thighs—

  ‘If you would not mind, Darian?’ Mariah’s voice softly interrupted his erotic musings. ‘My maid will be here shortly to help me bathe and dress for dinner, as no doubt will your own valet. Oh, and, Darian…?’ she added as he gave a terse bow of acceptance before turning to leave, waiting until he had slowly turned back to her before speaking again. ‘Close the door on your way out, please.’

  His jaw tightened at the dismissal as he stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind him, knowing he needed the privacy in order to take care of the need throbbing through his body, before he dared to rejoin Mariah!

  *

  ‘You are not intending to appear in that gown in public!’

  Mariah turned from where she had been gazing at her reflection in the mirror as she put the last of the pearl clips into her hair, to now look at Wolfingham as he once again stood in the open doorway between their two bedchambers. His appearance was as resplendent as usual in black evening clothes and snowy white linen, an ebony sheen to his hair, his features once again as hard as granite.

  It was the look of horror on those hard features, as he gazed back at her unblinkingly, that now brought a wry smile to her lips. ‘You do not like it?’

  Like it? Darian had never seen a gown like it before! Well, not outside the walls of a brothel, at least.

  The gown left Mariah’s shoulders bare except for two tiny ribbon straps and was made of some diaphanous cream material, lined with the sheerest of lace. It clearly revealed the bare outline of the curvaceous body beneath and darkening at the apex between Mariah’s thighs—revealing the nakedness of the darker curls covering her mound.

  As for the bodice of the gown! It was almost non-existent, just that cream diaphanous material covering the fullness of Mariah’s breasts, the nipples plump berries and clearly showing through as being as ruby red as her lips—that ruby colour aided by rouge, if he was not mistaken.

  His traitorous body had surged back into full attention the moment he looked at the reflection of those plump nipples in the mirror, and imagined Mariah applying that rouge to those succulent berries. ‘I see that a certain part of you does, at least.’ Mariah looked pointedly at the unmistakable evidence of his arousal.

  Darian did not in the least enjoy feeling like a callow youth taking his first look at a naked woman.

  Except Mariah was not naked.

  Perhaps he would not have reacted so strongly if she had been!

  Of course he would, Darian instantly chastised himself. It was only that there was something so provocative about the tantalising glimpses of those slender and obviously naked curves as Mariah moved across the room to collect her gloves from the bed, giving just the hint of those golden curls nestling between her thighs. And her breasts were magnificent; creamy, full and plump, with those red and succulent rouged nipples just begging to be tasted and suckled.

  Darian wanted nothing more at that moment than to lay Mariah down upon the bed before taking those berries into his mouth and sucking and tasting their plumpness until he was sated.

  If he ever was!

  As for the shadow of those darker golden curls and the promise of what lay hidden between her thighs— Darian imagined lowering her gently down on to the bed and pushing her gown up her thighs so that he might explore every silken inch of that hidden treasure. To caress the plumpness of her folds. Taste and suck the tiny nubbin above— Beads of perspiration broke out on Darian’s forehead as he fought an inward battle not to give in to the urge to cross the room and take Mariah in his arms, to fulfil every single one
of the fantasies that had been slowly driving him insane and that he now found impossible to stop.

  ‘I am ready to go downstairs and join the other guests, if you are?’

  It took every effort of his indomitable will to pull Darian back from the brink of giving in to his desires, his voice harsh as he answered her. ‘Do you have a shawl or something you can wear about your shoulders?’ The thought of other men ogling Mariah’s almost naked breasts, and that tantalising outline of her naked curves beneath her gown, was enough to make him clench his fists violently.

  Mariah gave a bell-like laugh as she collected up a fan from her dressing table rather than a shawl. ‘You will see, Darian, my gown is quite modest in comparison with the gowns some of the other ladies will be wearing this evening.’

  He had no interest in what the other ladies were wearing this evening; they could all walk around stark naked for all Darian cared. But if he caught one single gentleman in the act of ogling Mariah— He was behaving more than ridiculously, Darian recognised self-disgustedly, when he had no more right to approve or disapprove of other gentlemen ogling Mariah, tonight or any other night, than—than the Prince Regent did!

  Although he had no doubt that the Prince Regent, if he had been one of the guests this evening, would have taken great delight in enjoying Mariah’s appearance. The man might be plumper and more dissipated than he had been in his youth, but he still had charm enough to seduce the ladies.

  Whereas Darian’s charm, what little he did possess—and no doubt Mariah would say he possessed none!—seemed to have completely deserted him for the moment.

  ‘Darian?’ Mariah prompted again lightly.

  He gathered himself to straighten determinedly before crossing the room to hold out his arm to her, feeling much as he had when he had necessarily to prepare himself before a battle.

  And unsure whether that battle this evening would be with his own wayward emotions, or with the other gentlemen present.

  Chapter Seven

  Mariah was enjoying herself.

  Actually enjoying herself, when normally she would simply have gone through the motions of doing so at this sort of entertainment, flirting and laughing with the gentlemen whilst at the same time keeping them in line—and their groping hands firmly at bay—with a delicately aimed flick of her fan.

  And the reason she was enjoying herself was standing broodingly at her side now that all the guests had retired to the drawing room following dinner, giving every appearance of a dark and avenging angel, ready to swoop down on any who might even think of crossing over the invisible line he had drawn about the two of them since they had sat down to dinner earlier.

  The dark and avenging angel Darian Hunter, the Duke of Wolfingham.

  As she had warned Wolfingham before coming down the stairs earlier, most of the other ladies were dressed much more daringly than she was this evening. Indeed, there was a plethora of completely bared breasts visible about the drawing room as the gentlemen, and many of the ladies, completely against the normal rules of polite society, enjoyed an after-dinner brandy together. Most of the gowns were without the benefit of that layer of lace that covered Mariah’s breasts and several of the gowns were made of a totally transparent and gauzy material that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

  And for all the notice Wolfingham had taken—was still taking!—of any of those erotically displayed ladies, they might as well have been wearing sackcloth.

  It was a refreshing change for Mariah to be in the presence of a gentleman whose gaze was not constantly wandering to the half-naked bodies of other women.

  Just as Wolfingham’s glowering and tight-lipped disapproval of the approach of both the ladies and the gentlemen present this evening had kept everyone but their hostess from attempting to interrupt their privacy. Wolfingham had wasted no time in dispatching that lady, too, with a few choice and tersely spoken words.

  Instead, he had centred all of his attention on Mariah as they ate the sumptuously prepared dinner served to them earlier, his conversation exclusive, and occasionally feeding her the odd delicacy of food from his own plate, as a way, no doubt, of giving further illusion to their intimacy.

  Mariah had blushed like a schoolgirl the first time Darian behaved so unexpectedly, that blush having deepened as he centred his hawklike gaze upon her lips when she finally leant forward to take the food from his fork. She had been better prepared the second time it had happened, but still felt unaccountably hot at the way his green gaze stared so intently at her lips.

  And throughout all of it Darian had seemed completely unaware of the sexual play going on about them.

  The assembled company had been slightly restrained to begin with, all obviously aware of having the imposing Duke of Wolfingham within their midst, but several glasses of wine later, along with Wolfingham’s apparent distraction with Mariah, and those inhibitions had quickly fallen away.

  Several of the gentlemen had openly caressed and tweaked bared breasts, and one gentleman had even crawled beneath the table for several minutes, the expression of rapture on the flushed face of the actress seated next to him, followed by her breathy and noisy gasps of pleasure as she climaxed, clearly showing where that gentleman was lavishing his attentions.

  Mariah had glanced away as if bored as the gentleman crawled back up into his seat, his mouth moist and lips swollen, the expression on his flushed face becoming one of equal rapture as that lady returned the favour, by unbuttoning his pantaloons and openly stroking him until he, too, reached a completion.

  It was a disgusting and embarrassing display, and one that Mariah had been forced to witness at least a dozen times during these past seven years of spying for the Crown.

  And one that tonight had caused a flush of heat to course through Mariah’s own veins and an unaccustomed tingling and warmth to spread between her thighs.

  A heat and tingling that she had preferred not to question too deeply.

  ‘Say no, Darian,’ she warned Wolfingham softly now as she shook her own head at Clara Nichols as the other woman moved about the room gathering up the people who wished to play cards.

  Darian gave a terse shake of his own head to their poutingly disappointed hostess before moving to stand slightly in front of Mariah, the broadness of his back and shoulders blocking her from the view of the majority of the other guests in the room. ‘Why?’ he returned as softly.

  Mariah looked up at him beneath lowered lashes. ‘Because I doubt you will like the forfeit if you lose. Do you ever lose?’

  Darian raised one dark brow. ‘At cards?’

  ‘At anything!’

  Well, he was certainly losing his battle tonight in regard to the desire he felt for Mariah.

  Dinner with the Nicholses’ guests had been a disgusting display of body parts and licentious behaviour, which he had found distinctly untitillating and which had actually turned his stomach on several occasions. Several sexual acts had actually occurred at the dinner table, made all the more incongruous by the fact that they were all seated about a formal dining table in an equally formal dining room and were being waited upon by the Nicholses’ placid-faced butler and footmen.

  He had noticed several gentlemen eyeing Mariah covetously when they first sat down at the dinner table. Glances he had frowned darkly upon. Those glances had then turned towards Darian, envious in some cases and actually belligerent in one or two others.

  Because none of those gentlemen had been numbered amongst Mariah’s lovers? Darian hoped it was so.

  He had soon forgotten all but Mariah, as he shut out the presence and behaviour of the people around them and concentrated all of his attentions on her.

  He had enjoyed talking with her, their conversations intelligent and witty. He had also fed her sweetmeats on occasion, initially as a way of publically demonstrating the intimacy of their relationship, but continuing to do so time and time again as his shaft hardened as he watched her lips encircle his fork and imagined how those soft and full li
ps would feel encircling him in the same sensuous way. He had almost come undone completely when she had once run her tongue along her bottom lip as she licked away an excess of cream from a bonbon he had just fed her.

  ‘Very rarely,’ he answered her drily now. ‘What exactly is it that you forfeit here for losing at cards?’

  ‘Watch.’ She turned to where two tables had now been set up with four card players on each, two gentleman and two ladies on one and three gentlemen and one lady on the other.

  ‘Good gracious.’ Darian gave a shudder just seconds later as Clara Nichols, obviously the loser of the first hand of cards, instantly stood up to remove her gown, resuming her seat dressed only in silk drawers and pale stockings held up by two pink—what other colour would the woman choose!—garters, her breasts hanging down like two giant udders. ‘There should be a law against such an unpleasant display.’ Darian’s mouth twisted with distaste.

  ‘No doubt there is outside of the privacy of one’s home.’ Mariah smiled up at him impishly. ‘And some gentlemen find such full breasts…erotic.’

  ‘I cannot see how they could!’

  ‘Watch,’ she encouraged again, just in time for Darian to glance across the room and see a prominent member of the government—prominent in more ways than one at this precise moment!—lying back upon Lady Clara’s bare thighs and placing his head beneath one of her pendulous breasts before sucking the nipple heartily into his mouth.

  ‘He looks like a giant baby taking suck from its mother!’ Darian muttered with disgust.

  ‘I believe that is Lord Edgewood’s little fetish, yes.’ Mariah nodded. ‘And many women’s breasts become less pert as we age, especially when we have borne children,’ she added with a playful tap of her fan on his shoulder.

  Whether intended or not—and Darian suspected not, in his particular case—the movement drew attention to her own perfectly formed and jiggling breasts, beautifully pert rouge-tipped breasts that peeped out at him temptingly from beneath that thin barrier of lace. ‘I am pleased to note your own have not suffered from a similar malaise,’ he murmured gruffly.