Dangerous Dukes 02 - Darian Hunter - Duke of Desire

by Carole Mortimer

  The more time Darian spent in Mariah’s company, the more of a mystery she became to him. And it was a mystery that Darian was fast becoming addicted to solving.

  He had no wish for it to be that way. Had no wish to ever become so enthralled by one particular woman that he could think of nothing and no one else.

  So enthralled that his every waking thought was of making love to and with her. As the pulsing and throbbing of his erection now testified he wished to do. With Mariah.

  Perhaps if he made love with her, witnessed her in the throes of sexual pleasure, saw that she was a flesh-and-blood woman with carnal needs that matched, or even exceeded, his own, then this hunger would go away?

  His fingers tightened about her wrist. ‘There is no reason for us to leave here just yet if you wish to remain.’

  Mariah’s heart leapt in her chest, the heat increasing in her cheeks, as she looked up and saw the burning intensity of Darian’s gaze fixed so intently upon her lips. Lips that instantly tingled with the memory of his kisses from the evening before.

  Lips that parted instinctively as Darian’s gaze held hers captive as his head lowered towards her own.

  It was as if the hours between their time together the previous evening and this morning had never happened; the desire was instant. Tongues duelled, hands caressed, their breathing sounding ragged in the silence of the temple as they kissed hungrily.

  It was as if they could not get enough of each other. Could not get close enough.

  Mariah could feel the evidence of Darian’s desire pressing hot and heavy against her softness as the kiss continued, tongues tasting, teeth gently biting. She felt the pulse, the thrill, of that arousal, all the way from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her breasts swelled, ached painfully, against the bodice of her gown. She felt a gush of wetness between her thighs in response to that desire and she was aware of Darian groaning low in his throat as he now arched, ground that arousal, against and into her.

  She felt her folds swell, become wet and slick, as Darian moved one of his hands down and in between them in order to cup her mound through her gown. His palm pressed against her, unerringly finding and putting rhythmic pressure upon the sensitive nubbin nestled amongst her curls, as his fingers curled to trace the delicate folds beneath. Teasing. Caressing.

  Mariah wanted more, needed more, as she instinctively thrust up and into those caressing fingers, the pleasure building, growing unbearable as she arched her throat, head back, eyes widening— And instantly found herself looking up at those scenes of debauchery painted upon the ceiling!

  It was as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over her, dousing every measure of arousal and desire as Mariah wrenched her mouth from Darian’s to draw in a deep and shaky breath at the same time as she pushed against Darian’s chest and put herself at arm’s length. ‘I do not—’ She gave a shake of her head. ‘This place makes me feel…uncomfortable.’

  Darian’s eyes glittered down at her heatedly. ‘Uncomfortable or aroused?’

  Mariah’s breath hitched in her throat and the trembling increased in her limbs. A trembling that Darian could not help but be aware of when his hands were still on her waist. ‘A little of both,’ she acknowledged gruffly.

  She heard Darian draw in his own breath sharply before he answered her huskily, ‘I feel the same way.’

  Mariah glanced about them at the erotica depicted so graphically on the frieze on the walls and ceiling, and those explicitly erotic statues. And knowing that she could not— ‘Not here, Darian. I could not bear to do this here—’ She broke off with a shudder. ‘I can only imagine the scenes of excess this room has witnessed during the Nicholses’ weekend parties! And will no doubt witness again this very night.’ She was so tense now that she flinched as one of Darian’s hands moved up to cup her cheek before he gently lifted her face up towards his own.

  Darian looked down at Mariah searchingly, once again struck by her beauty, at the same time as he recognised those familiar shadows in her eyes and the slight trembling of her lips.

  As he also knew that the flush in her cheeks was partly due to the arousal the eroticism in this temple could not help but evoke.

  Not completely because of him, or for him.

  And it might be a matter of false pride on Darian’s part, but when—if—he ever made love to Mariah completely, then he wished to be the only reason for her arousal.

  He drew in a steadying breath before nodding abruptly and releasing her before stepping back. ‘Then again I suggest we continue with our walk.’

  Mariah was more than a little unsettled by the abruptness of Darian’s acceptance of her withdrawal as she led the way out of the marble temple. Could it be that he had actually wanted to remain in the temple and indulge in those sexual fantasies depicted by the paintings and statues?

  Sexual fantasies that still made the blood boil in her veins and her body ache for—for Darian.

  Only for Darian.

  She had never felt this attraction to any other man. Never felt this ache for a man’s touch. Never wanted, hungered for, a physical closeness with any man. Never burned for the promise of pleasure his lips and hands had evoked.

  Until Darian.

  She looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes once they were outside again in the crisp March air. ‘I apologise if my words of earlier led you to expect otherwise, Darian. But I simply could not bear the thought of us being together in such a place.’ She gave a shudder of revulsion. ‘It was—’

  ‘Unpleasant at best and thoroughly disgusting at worst?’ He nodded grimly. ‘I thought so, too.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘I did,’ he rasped harshly. ‘You may rest assured, I shall be having words with Benson on the subject once we have returned to the house,’ he added grimly.

  ‘You are not disappointed?’

  A frown appeared between his eyes. ‘Why should I be disappointed?’

  ‘I gave the impression earlier—I all but implied—that we, the two of us, might—’ She straightened her shoulders. ‘I am aware that a man does not take sexual disappointment well.’

  ‘From your husband?’

  ‘No!’ Mariah gasped in protest, only to quickly seek composure as she realised how telling her answer might have been. She strived to adopt a derisively dismissive smile. ‘No man needs suffer sexual disappointment in regard to his own wife, when the law allows him to do with her whatever, and as often as he wills it.’

  Wolfingham’s eyes narrowed. ‘Were you happy in your marriage, Mariah?’

  She eyed him coolly. ‘I believe I have already intimated to you, in a previous conversation, that I was not.’

  ‘Ever?’

  Her mouth tightened. ‘No.’

  Darian could read nothing from the stiffness of Mariah’s expression. Or perhaps that stiffness was telling in itself.

  ‘Was Carlisle cruel to you?’ He found himself tensing as he waited for her answer.

  Her chin rose proudly. ‘Only if indifference can be called cruelty. And in the case of my husband, I did not consider it to be so.’

  ‘His indifference? He did not love you?’ Darian’s gaze sharpened on the paleness of her face.

  ‘No more than I loved him, no.’

  ‘Then why marry him at all?’ Darian frowned. ‘Your daughter’s age now intimates you yourself were barely out of the schoolroom when you married. That it was in all probability your first Season. Surely, as you informed me regarding your daughter, there was no hurry for you to accept the first offer of marriage made to you?’ His mouth twisted harshly. ‘Or perhaps you fancied yourself as being a countess?’

  ‘No!’ Her denial came out sharply this time, her eyes glittering as she looked up at him coldly. ‘Sometimes—sometimes we cannot do as we wish but as we must,’ she added tautly as Darian continued to look down at her beneath hooded lids.

  ‘And you must needs marry Carlisle?’

  ‘Yes!’ she hissed vehemently.


  Darian’s gaze narrowed as he studied her intently, looking, searching for the answers he knew Mariah had not yet given him. That the closed expression on her face said she might never give him…

  Part of Mariah’s mystery was her unwillingness to discuss the past with him. Her past. A past that he was now sure had made her the coolly detached woman she so often was today.

  A past that had also led to her being here with him now, acting as an agent for the Crown?

  ‘Talk to me, Mariah. Help me to understand,’ he invited gently. ‘Explain why you felt you had to marry Carlisle when, as you have said, you did not love him, or he you, and you did not fancy yourself as becoming his countess. Was your family in financial difficulty? Did your father have debts owing to Carlisle directly? Help me to understand, Mariah,’ he repeated gruffly.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I need to!’ he ground out harshly.

  ‘Again, why?’

  Darian forced all trace of anger from his voice and expression, already knowing that Mariah did not react well to either. ‘Perhaps you might humour me by doing so?’

  Her eyes flashed darkly. ‘There was nothing in the least humorous about my marriage.’

  He sighed. ‘Perhaps I chose the wrong word. It would please me if you would do me the honour of confiding in me, Mariah,’ he amended softly.

  She looked at him searchingly for several long seconds, no doubt looking for sarcasm or mockery in his expression, but surely she would find only sincerity.

  ‘Please, Mariah,’ Darian encouraged again gently.

  She breathed heavily. ‘I married Carlisle for none of the reasons you have mentioned.’ Her tone was still cold, uncompromising. ‘My father was—still is, a very wealthy man. But Carlisle’s coffers were bare and he required some of that wealth.’ She shrugged. ‘Enough to marry a woman he did not love and who did not love him. As might well be expected from such an ill-matched alliance, it was not a happy marriage. For either of us. And that is an end to it.’

  Darian doubted that very much. ‘And is that the reason you had affairs with other men? Why you now attend licentious weekend parties such as this one?’

  ‘You are being deliberately insulting!’ Her cheeks were flushed.

  ‘I am trying to understand.’ Darian drew in a deep and controlling breath as he saw the way in which Mariah drew back at his forcefulness. ‘Can you not see, I am trying to understand you, Mariah,’ he spoke more calmly, evenly, knowing his impatience would not endear him to Mariah, or encourage her in the confidences he wanted, needed, to hear from her.

  ‘Why?’ She eyed him challengingly. ‘What should it matter one way or another whether or not you understand me?’

  Darian ground his teeth together. ‘It matters to me.’

  She smiled without humour. ‘That is no answer at all.’

  He sighed. ‘Can you not see I am puzzled as to why any young and beautiful woman would marry a man she admits she did not love, who did not love her and who was so much older than herself? I could better understand it if Carlisle had been rich and you or your family had been in need. Or even if you fancied yourself as being Carlisle’s countess. But you have denied any and all of those as being the reason for entering into a marriage that you admit to knowing would bring you no happiness. I can think of no other reason why—’ Darian broke off abruptly, eyes widening as a third alternative began to take form and root in his mind.

  A third alternative that would most certainly have required that Mariah must marry Carlisle.

  Could that possibly be the answer to this puzzle?

  Mariah admitted to being four and thirty, and her daughter, Christina, was now aged seventeen, which meant that Mariah could only have been sixteen when that daughter was conceived.

  ‘You were with child when you married Carlisle,’ he breathed softly, knowing he had guessed correctly as he saw every last vestige of colour leach from Mariah’s already pale cheeks.

  Mariah drew her breath sharply, wishing she could deny it, yet at the same time she knew there was no point in her doing so.

  Wolfingham had been intelligent enough, determined enough, to accurately guess as to the reason for her marriage to Martin. If she denied it now he would only need to ask any who had been part of society seventeen years ago to discover—to confirm—that the Earl and Countess of Carlisle’s daughter had been born not quite seven months after their wedding had taken place.

  Her chin rose challengingly. ‘Yes, I was with child when Martin and I married.’

  Those intelligent green eyes continued to look down at her, searching, probing, as if Wolfingham might pluck the answers to the rest of this mystery from inside her head.

  Outwardly Mariah withstood the probe of that astute green gaze, her chin raised in challenge as her turquoise gaze returned his unflinchingly.

  But inwardly she was far less secure in her emotions. In being able to withstand these probing questions, coming so soon after they had visited Aphrodite’s Temple together. Not just because of those erotic and disturbing paintings and statues, but also because her body was still deeply aroused from Darian’s kisses coming so soon after, and the manner in which he had touched her, aroused her, between her thighs.

  An arousal, a desire for more, that she knew had already battered her shaky defences.

  ‘How was such a thing possible?’ Darian breathed softly.

  Mariah gave a humourless laugh at the incongruity of the question. ‘I believe Christina to have been conceived in the same manner in which all children are!’

  Darian reached out to grasp the tops of her arms, relaxing his hold slightly as he instantly became aware of the way in which Mariah was trembling. ‘You are avoiding answering the question directly, Mariah.’

  Her gaze also avoided meeting his. ‘No—’

  ‘Yes,’ he insisted gently. ‘You did not love Carlisle. Your manner when you speak of him implies that you did not even like him. You have stated that he was indifferent to you and did not love you any more than you loved him. There have been no other children in your marriage. If those were the true circumstances—’

  ‘I do not tell lies, Darian,’ Mariah bit out tautly, her chin defensively high, while inside, much as she fought against it, she felt those walls about her emotions slowly but surely crumbling at her feet. ‘I abhor it in others and will not allow it in or to myself.’

  ‘Then why, young as you were, would you have given yourself to a man such as Carlisle—’ Wolfingham broke off with a gasp, his cheeks taking on a shocking pallor. ‘Carlisle took you against your will.’ It was a statement, not a question.

  It was too much. Darian was too much. And Mariah could no longer bear it. She could not look at him any longer!

  ‘No.’ Darian’s hands tightened on Mariah’s arms as she would have pulled away from him, with the obvious intention of escaping. Of possibly returning to the house without him. ‘No, Mariah,’ he repeated softly, even as he released his grip to instead gather her into his arms as he cradled her close against him. ‘We have come so far in this conversation, now we must finish it.’

  ‘Why must we?’ She held herself stiffly in his arms.

  ‘Perhaps for your own sake?’

  She gave a choked laugh. ‘I already know the events of the past, Darian, I certainly do not need to talk of them in order to remember them with sickening clarity.’

  ‘Please, Mariah,’ Darian encouraged gruffly, holding back his need to know the truth as he sensed the emotions now raging within her.

  He could sense her anger, certainly. Her pain. And perhaps still a little of the desire they had felt for each other earlier? Which, he realised ruefully, was perhaps the only reason that she had not already issued him one of her icy set-downs before marching back to the house. Alone.

  Darian’s arms tightened about Mariah. ‘Was I right when I said that Carlisle took you against your will?’

  She drew in a ragged breath. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, Mariah,’ he
breathed out raggedly.

  ‘Carlisle was— I told you, he was in need of funds,’ she continued forcefully, as if to ward off any show of compassion from Darian. ‘He knew, all of society knew, that my father was extremely wealthy.’

  ‘And?’ Darian encouraged gently.

  She drew in a ragged breath. ‘Can you not leave this alone?’

  ‘No more than I can leave you alone,’ he assured tautly.

  Mariah sighed softly before answering him. ‘The Season was only weeks old and Carlisle had danced with me several times at various balls. He could not have failed to know I did not—that I had no particular liking for him. Nor would I ever willingly accept a marriage proposal from him. No matter what his title,’ she added ruefully.

  Darian was now ashamed of himself for ever having suggested that might have been her motive for marrying a man so much older than herself. ‘It was a natural, if insulting, assumption to have made.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she allowed flatly before continuing. ‘Carlisle was not a man to accept a refusal, most especially not from the daughter of a man he, and his family, considered as being so inferior to himself.’

  ‘His family were cruel to you?’ If that was so, then it explained Mariah’s overprotectiveness towards her daughter’s future husband and family.

  ‘They considered me beneath them and treated me accordingly,’ Mariah confirmed huskily, licking the dryness of her lips before speaking again. ‘Knowing of my aversion, Carlisle lay in wait for me at one of those balls, trapped me alone in a room and—and then he— I will leave you to draw your own conclusion as to what happened next!’ She shivered in Darian’s arms.

  ‘Mariah?’ A black haze had passed in front of Darian’s eyes at all that Mariah had not said. That she could not say. ‘Why did your father not deal with him? Call him out? Expose him in society for the beast he was?’

  ‘I did not— I dared not tell either of my parents what had happened.’