Dangerous Dukes 02 - Darian Hunter - Duke of Desire

by Carole Mortimer

  For the first time in her life Mariah had suffered what she was sure must be sexual frustration.

  And it was both frightening and exhilarating, to realise how attracted she had become to Darian Hunter in such a short space of time. How much she desired him. How much she desired to have him make love to and with her.

  That realisation frightened her more than anything else!

  She lowered her lashes in case that desire should now be reflected in her eyes. ‘I know that you do, Darian,’ she answered him quietly. ‘And I am sorry for it—’ She broke off as he stood up abruptly, his chair scraping back noisily on the polished wooden floor. ‘Darian?’

  His eyes glittered dangerously as he stood beside the table glowering down at her. ‘Exactly what are you apologising for, Mariah?’ he demanded exasperatedly.

  She swallowed. ‘I realise that last night—that it did not proceed, as you might have wished it to have done—’

  ‘As I might have wished?’ he repeated softly, dangerously so. ‘Are you denying that your own wishes were exactly the same as my own?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘I advise caution with your answer, Mariah,’ he warned softly, those green eyes glittering dangerously, a nerve pulsing in his clenched jaw. ‘I am not some callow youth who does not know when a woman feels desire.’

  Colour warmed Mariah’s cheeks and she was unsure whether it was from embarrassment at the intimacy of their conversation, or jealousy, because Darian must have intimate knowledge of other women’s desire to be so well informed. ‘This is neither the time nor the place for—’

  ‘Will it ever be, Mariah?’ he bit out scathingly. ‘Will you ever be willing to give yourself to me?’

  Mariah drew her breath in sharply even as a bite of longing twisted almost painfully between her thighs. What would it be like to give herself to this man? Not just any man, but to Darian Hunter, the Duke of Wolfingham?

  Nothing like that horrendous single experience with Martin, she was sure. Even in her limited experience, she knew Darian had already demonstrated that he was a generous and attentive lover, with more of an interest in ensuring his partner’s pleasure than taking his own.

  Could she give herself to this man? Could she let down her guard, her inhibitions, and open herself up to such intimacy? Such vulnerability?

  She was starting to believe, that with Darian Hunter, she just might be able to do so…

  She straightened her shoulders as she made her decision. ‘Perhaps,’ she allowed gruffly.

  Darian’s eyes widened as he barely heard Mariah’s softly spoken reply. He had feared the worst minutes ago, as Mariah’s eyes once again took on that look of distance, as if she were no longer quite here with him in this room, but somewhere else entirely. Lost in memories, perhaps? Some of them unpleasant ones, if he had read her expression correctly.

  Of her husband? Or some other man she had been involved with during her marriage or since?

  Darian’s ire rose just at the thought of a man, any man, ever having hurt her, in any way.

  ‘Mariah?’ He sat down in the chair beside her before taking one of her hands in both of his. Instantly becoming aware of the trembling of her fingers beneath delicate lace gloves—evidence that those thoughts had indeed been unhappy ones? Whatever the reason, he felt heartened by the fact that she did not instantly pull her hand away from his.

  ‘Do you think we could please get out of this oppressive house, if only for a few hours?’

  She blinked long lashes. ‘I ordered fresh coffee.’

  ‘I am sure that Benson is an understanding fellow. He would have to be to suffer working for the Nicholses!’ Darian grimaced.

  ‘Ah, Benson.’ The butler appeared in the room almost as if he had been cued to do so. ‘The countess and I have decided to go for a walk in the grounds this morning—do you recommend any direction in particular?’

  The butler poured fresh coffee into their cups as he answered, his face as expressionless as ever. ‘I believe most of her ladyship’s guests find Aphrodite’s Temple of interest, your Grace.’

  ‘Aphrodite’s Temple?’ Darian repeated doubtfully; if he remembered his Greek mythology correctly, from his years spent at Eton, Aphrodite had been the goddess of love, beauty and sexuality, but better known as being a goddess who indulged her own selfish sexual desires and lust.

  Totally suited to the Nicholses’ lifestyle, of course, but not necessarily Darian’s own.

  ‘It is Lady Nichols’s name for it, your Grace.’ Benson seemed to guess some of his thoughts, his expression still stoic and unrevealing. ‘It is situated amongst the trees to the left of the lake at the back of the house.’

  ‘Mariah?’ Darian turned to prompt, aware that she had not taken part in the conversation as yet. But still Darian felt heartened by the fact that she had allowed her hand to remain in both of his.

  She looked up at the butler. ‘It sounds…intriguing, Benson.’

  She dutifully picked up her cup with her other hand and drank some of the coffee.

  The butler nodded. ‘And it is always deserted during the day.’

  Darian narrowed his eyes. ‘But not in the evenings?’

  ‘Not this evening, certainly, your Grace.’

  To say Darian was intrigued would be putting it mildly. Although, bearing in mind the sexual games the Nicholses liked to play, he could well imagine that Aphrodite’s Temple might prove a little too much for what he now believed to be Mariah’s sensibilities. She was much more easily shocked than he might ever have imagined, or hoped for, before spending so much time in her company.

  She had become, in fact, the most intriguing woman he had ever met. And was becoming more so rather than less, the more time he spent in her company. It was a certainty he had never been in the least bored when with her.

  ‘Thank you, Benson.’ Mariah smiled up at the butler warmly. ‘Perhaps you might ask my maid to bring down my pelisse and bonnet from my bedchamber?’

  ‘Of course, my lady.’ He bowed.

  The silence in the breakfast room seemed charged once the butler had left the two of them alone there. Almost as if the very air itself was waiting expectantly.

  For what, Darian was unsure. He only knew that he wanted to get out of this unpleasant and cloyingly decadent household, if only for a few hours. And that he wanted more than anything for Mariah to accompany him.

  He stood up, retaining his hold upon her hand as he pulled her up beside him, so close he could almost feel the brush of her hair against his jaw, her perfume once again invading and capturing his senses. ‘Ready?’

  Mariah’s heart leapt in her chest, as she knew instinctively that Darian was asking for more than if she was ready to go for their walk. That he was continuing their previous conversation rather than starting a new one.

  Was she ready?

  Was she prepared to take their relationship a step further?

  To give in to the desires of her own body and engage in intimacy with Darian?

  Could she do that?

  Or would the memories of the past intrude once again and bring with them the fear and aversion that was all she had known as Martin’s wife?

  Mariah looked up at him searchingly, not at his handsomeness; that was all too apparent. No, she looked into his eyes, those clear, deep and unwavering green eyes. Eyes that spoke of a man of both honour and truth. A man capable of killing his enemy, if necessary, but totally incapable of physically hurting a woman, most especially one he desired. And Wolfingham did desire her, was making no effort to hide that fact as he steadily met and returned her searching gaze.

  Was she ready?

  Was it time for her to release her memories of the past, along with her inhibitions, and give in to these new, and at times uncomfortable, yearnings of her own body?

  Was she ready to do that?

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Good gracious!’ Darian winced up at the pale pink marble structure of what could only be described as a miniature co
py of the Greek Parthenon he had visited whilst taking the Grand Tour ten years ago or more.

  Nestled amongst the woodland to the left of the lake at Eton Park, exactly as Benson had said it would be, it had six small Doric-style marble columns fronting the building, with ten more along each side, and a domed cupola on the roof. And standing in pride of place before the huge wooden doors at its entrance was a nude statue, of what Darian could only assume was Aphrodite, cupping and stroking her own breast.

  A nude statue that should not have been there, considering that, if Darian remembered his Greek mythology correctly, the Parthenon in Greece was dedicated to Athena, the virginal goddess of wisdom and philosophy.

  ‘I can only assume that Lord and Lady Nicholses’ knowledge of the Greek gods must be as lacking as their good taste,’ Mariah drawled beside him, revealing that her own knowledge on the subject was not lacking at all.

  Darian chuckled huskily. ‘One does not need to make assumptions once they have seen this.’

  Mariah’s eyes danced merrily as she glanced up at him. ‘It does err rather on the side of ostentatious.’

  ‘That is one word for it!’ Darian gave a disgusted shake of his head. ‘I sincerely hope that Benson is not of the opinion that the two of us share his employers’ bad taste!’

  Mariah peered around the statue at the huge oak doors. ‘What do you think is inside?’

  ‘Even more lewd statues?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she murmured distractedly as she moved forward to rest one gloved hand on the handle of the door. ‘Shall we go inside and see?’ she invited huskily.

  Darian had to admit to feeling as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders since leaving the oppression of the Nicholses’ household, having enjoyed being out in the fresh air with Mariah walking companionably beside him and wearing a pelisse and bonnet the same russet colour as her gown.

  He was in no hurry to forgo that feeling of companionship by entering what he could only assume, in the knowledge of the Nicholses’ tastes, and Benson’s warning that it would not be empty this evening, was more than likely to be a place where the Nicholses continued their debauchery. ‘I doubt it will be any more tasteful inside than out.’ He grimaced.

  Mariah turned the handle and pushed open the door. ‘We will not know— Oh!’ She gave a gasp as she stepped inside. ‘Oh, do come and look, Darian,’ she encouraged breathlessly. ‘It is— You will never believe what is in here!’

  Darian found himself moving forward to join Mariah inside the temple, partially lured there at having her address him by his first name, something she rarely did voluntarily, but also out of the need to discover exactly what sort of debauchery had awaited her inside and rendered her so breathless.

  Darian felt the difference in temperature as soon as he stepped inside—the cavernous marble building was filled with an inexplicable heat. Or perhaps not so inexplicable, as he breathed in the slightly sulphurous smell only thinly disguised by the scent of lavender and realised that the mixture of smells was emanating from the deep sunken bathing pool of water in the centre of the rose marble building.

  Mariah’s eyes were glowing with pleasure as she turned to look at him. ‘I believe it is a natural hot spring!’

  That was exactly what it appeared to be. Darian knew that there were a dozen or more of these natural hot springs in England and that society made a point of flocking to them, usually during the summer months, in order to drink or bathe in what they considered to be the health-giving waters.

  But he had never before seen or even heard of there being a private hot spring such as this one obviously was…

  He shrugged. ‘We are close to Tunbridge Wells, so perhaps this is an offshoot of the one there?’

  ‘It is wonderful!’ Mariah drew off one of her gloves before stepping forward to crouch down and dip her fingers into the scented water. ‘And it is lovely and warm!’ she announced excitedly.

  Darian was more than a little grateful for Mariah’s distraction with the sunken bathing pool, once his gaze had skimmed over the rest of the interior of the marble building.

  There were half a dozen tall candleholders about the cavernous room, fresh candles in them, no doubt in preparation for this evening’s entertainments. And a dozen or more slightly raised platforms, each littered with sumptuous and brightly coloured silk cushions.

  Darian gave a grimace, his gaze moving swiftly on, as he easily guessed the purpose for those.

  The two-foot-high frieze on the walls was a plethora of painted scenes of the mythical gods engaged in acts of debauchery with man, woman and beast, as was the domed ceiling above them. But it was the five statues placed about the side of the pool that now caused him to draw his breath in sharply.

  Each and every one of them was of Aphrodite, in all her naked glory, engaged in a variety of sexual acts so explicit that no imagination was necessary and causing Darian’s mouth to set grimly.

  It was so typical of the Nicholses that they had taken a thing of beauty and turned it into yet another scene for their own very questionable sexual tastes.

  ‘Have you ever seen anything like it before, Darian?’ Mariah was totally enthralled by the pool, her expression enrapt, as she moved her bare fingers backwards and forwards in the warmth of the water.

  With its dozen or so steps down into the water it reminded Mariah of a painting she had once seen, of Queen Cleopatra bathing in such a pool filled with the ass’s milk reputed to have preserved her wondrous beauty.

  ‘No, I cannot say I have ever seen anything quite like this before,’ Darian answered coolly.

  She turned to look at him quizzically, noting the emerald glitter of his eyes and the slight flush to his cheeks, caused by the warmth of the temple. His mouth was pressed into a thin, uncompromising line. She straightened slowly. ‘What is it?’

  A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw. ‘We should leave! And continue with our walk,’ he added tersely as she looked confused by his vehemence.

  Mariah blinked at the harshness of his tone. ‘But it is so cosy and warm in here, and surely the perfect place for us to escape the company of the other guests until luncheon.’ She had thought Darian had desired to be alone with her just a short time ago.

  His shoulders were tensed beneath his perfectly tailored dark green superfine. ‘I agree that the bathing pool is of interest.’

  ‘But?’

  He sighed his impatience. ‘But the rest of the temple is far less so.’

  Mariah had been so enthralled, so enchanted, at the discovery of the beautiful sunken pool that she had not bothered to look at anything else in the room.

  She did so now. And instantly felt the colour heat her own cheeks as she saw the erotic scenes painted on the walls and the ceiling above them. ‘I am afraid this has ruined the surprise of the Nicholses’ smaller ballroom—’ Mariah drew in a sharp breath as she now saw the statues posed about the edge of the pool.

  The naked goddess Aphrodite was cradling the head of an equally naked man, whose proportions were worthy of the name Adonis, as he suckled one of her breasts whilst the other hand cupped beneath its twin, thumb and finger in the act of pinching the turgid nipple.

  The next was of Aphrodite sprawled upon a couch, the Adonis still at her breasts, her legs parted, a look of ecstasy upon her face as another man feasted on the bounty between her thighs.

  Aphrodite reclining upon the same couch, one of the men now lying between her thighs, the hardness of his arousal poised at her entrance— Mariah’s gaze moved quickly to the next statue, only to move quickly on again as she saw that Aphrodite was now posed on her hands and knees, her tongue licking her lips as a man stood behind her holding her hips in place, ready for him to enter her like a stallion covering a mare, whilst another man knelt in front of her, his hard arousal jutting forward— Mariah ceased breathing altogether, her cheeks burning as her gaze hurriedly shifted to the last statue. She saw that the man behind Aphrodite had now buried himself to the hilt betwe
en her thighs, a smile now curving the fullness of her lips as she arched her throat, the huge erection of the second man in her mouth.

  ‘You have never been in here before?’ Wolfingham enquired harshly.

  ‘I— No.’ Mariah was too stunned still to be able to think straight. Or even attempt the sophisticated response that might have been expected of her! ‘No, thank goodness,’ she repeated irritably. ‘I usually retire earlier than the other guests at these affairs and have never— I have never seen any of this before now.’ She waved a dismissive hand, eyes downcast so that she did not have to actually look at those statues again.

  Statues that should not have shocked the notorious Lady Mariah Beecham and would surely have amused the sophisticated Countess of Carlisle. And yet Mariah was shocked and far from amused.

  She was also aware that her thoughts had taken flight as she imagined herself and Darian engaged in those intimacies.

  His mouth on her breast.

  His mouth feasting between her thighs.

  His shaft buried to the hilt between those same thighs.

  His entering her from behind with the fierceness of a stallion coupling with a mare.

  Mariah’s fingers encircling his hardness as she parted her own lips and took that swollen length into her mouth. She turned sharply on her heel, knowing her response should have been one of sophistication, and perhaps even boredom, at such an erotic display, but for the moment she was unable to even attempt to be either. ‘You are right. We should leave.’

  ‘Mariah?’ Darian reached out and grasped her wrist as she would have brushed past him as she hurried to the door.

  His gaze was searching on her flushed cheeks, and he drew in a sharp breath as she raised her lashes and he saw the fevered glitter in her eyes. An aroused and fevered glitter?

  Mariah had presented him with one puzzle after another since the moment they’d first met, it seemed. One moment behaving every inch the sophisticated and notorious woman of society she was reputed to be. The next, as she appeared now, seeming to be as shocked as a girl barely out of the schoolroom, by this evidence of the excesses of the less reputable members of the ton.