Dangerous Dukes 02 - Darian Hunter - Duke of Desire

by Carole Mortimer

  Not only that, but Carlisle had doubly insulted Mariah by having his mistress in residence as housekeeper in one of the homes Mariah herself had necessarily to visit on occasion.

  How did any woman survive that? But especially one as young and innocent as Mariah had been then?

  Darian knew it would be difficult for a woman of any age to have survived such base and selfish cruelty.

  Yet here Mariah stood before him, a lady in every sense of the word. So graciously beautiful, as well as being the most desirable woman he had ever known.

  Nor was it any wonder, after all that she had suffered at Beecham’s hands, that Mariah had turned to the comforting arms and desire of other men, both during and after her marriage.

  Had any of those other men made love to her? Darian wondered as he continued to admire her beauty and poise. Truly made love to her? Showering Mariah with the gentleness, the care and consideration that was her due?

  Or had they all without fail, as she had so scathingly scorned earlier, treated her as just another conquest in their bed? So that they might afterwards claim, to their male friends and associates, to have bedded the beautiful Countess of Carlisle?

  ‘Darian?’ Mariah prompted again, her expression having become wary at his continued silence.

  Darian had spent most of the past four hours pacing his bedchamber and thinking of Mariah. Of all that she had told him of her past, at the same time as he now knew it was that past that had made her the woman she was today: cool, poised and determined to remain totally removed from emotional entanglements with any man.

  It had brought Darian to the question that concerned him the most: how the two of them were to now proceed—or if Mariah would allow them to proceed at all.

  For he had promised himself he would not use any type of force upon Mariah. That he might perhaps allow himself to cajole, tease and seduce her, but he would not, could not, ever use coercion or force of any kind.

  ‘Nothing has happened.’ He drew in a ragged breath. ‘I want— I need— No, I ask—’ He broke off abruptly, only now appreciating how difficult it was going to be to keep the promise he had made to himself earlier, when just to look at Mariah again made his blood burn in his veins and his erection throb.

  Mariah was now truly alarmed by Darian’s behaviour. Of what might possibly have happened to put the arrogantly assured Duke of Wolfingham in such an obvious state of uncertainty. ‘Yes?’ she prompted tensely.

  He straightened his shoulders, emerald gaze fixed intently upon her as he spoke abruptly. ‘I would ask if you will allow me to kiss you before we go downstairs?’

  Darian Hunter was a man Mariah had every reason to know was always and completely assured as to the rightness of his own actions.

  As he had believed he was in the right two weeks ago, when he had warned her not to encourage his younger brother in his attentions to her.

  As he had believed her friendship with Aubrey Maystone must be one based on intimacy.

  As he believed her to be a woman who had indulged in many affairs, both during and after her marriage.

  Wolfingham had believed he was in the right in all of those things.

  Admittedly, he had already been proven wrong in two of those things, but the latter? Darian still believed in that legion of lovers Mariah was reputed to have had these past seven years, no doubt believed them to have been her comfort for the coldness of her marriage.

  And yet he now asked if he might kiss her?

  To say Mariah was flustered by Darian’s request would be putting it mildly. Especially when she had every reason to know that the arrogantly self-assured Duke of Wolfingham never ‘asked’ permission to do anything, let alone asked permission to kiss her. The notorious and scandalous Mariah Beecham, Countess of Carlisle…

  She attempted a sophisticated and dismissive laugh, hoping Wolfingham did not recognise it, as she certainly did, as sounding more nervous than assured. ‘I thought we had agreed not to continue with that conversation until after we have returned to London.’ She gave a pointed glance to where her shawls and handkerchiefs were once again draped over those peepholes into her bedchamber, in order to preserve her privacy, both while she’d bathed and changed her clothes earlier.

  A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw. ‘I find that my desire to at least touch you again cannot wait that long.’

  His desire to touch her again!

  It was Wolfingham’s touch that had been her undoing from the beginning. Not just once, but so many times. On the terrace of her own home. In the guest bedchamber of her home, where he had necessarily to stay in order to recover after his collapse. In the gallery of Lady Stockton’s home. And here. Here at Eton Park she had allowed Darian to touch her more intimately than any other man had ever done before.

  Mariah now feared her response to his touch.

  Not because she thought Darian would ever physically hurt her—she was already sure he would never use force upon any woman. She had come to know him these past two weeks, knew he was not a man who showed his strength or power through physical dominance over others, but by the sheer force of his indomitable will.

  No, she did not fear Darian would physically hurt her, as Carlisle had hurt and humiliated her, to such an extent she had never cared to repeat the experience.

  Darian Hunter was capable of hurting her in a much different way.

  She was not only aroused by him, felt desire for him, she also liked and admired him. His strength. His honesty. His family loyalty. His devotion to his country. He was, as she had learnt these past weeks, in all things an honourable man.

  A man she might love.

  And Mariah did not wish to love any man, even one as handsome and honourable as she now knew Darian Hunter, the Duke of Wolfingham, to be.

  The independence of nature she so enjoyed now had been hard won, after years of living only half a life, hidden away in the country, and for the most part ignored by the husband she hated and despised. For the past seven years, since revealing Martin’s treasonous behaviour to Aubrey Maystone, she had no longer had reason to fear Martin, or anything he might try to do to her. Aubrey Maystone had taken care of that.

  For the first time in her life Mariah had done exactly as she pleased, her worthwhile work for the Crown enabling her to become a woman she could not only respect, but also like.

  For her to fall in love, with any man, would, she believed, be to put all of that at risk.

  To fall in love with Darian Hunter, the much respected and admired Duke of Wolfingham, would most certainly lead to heartbreak on the day he cast her aside and left her for another female who had caught his fancy.

  Wolfingham might have a reputation in society as being severe and very proper, nor had there ever been any gossip as to his ever having taken a permanent mistress. But that did not mean there had not been other rumours, of his liaisons with several ladies of the ton, and the gaming hells and the houses of the demi-monde he had visited on the evenings he spent with the other Dangerous Dukes.

  Dangerous.

  Yes, where Mariah was concerned Darian Hunter more than lived up to his reputation as being dangerous. To her independence. To her untutored body. To her untouched heart.

  And that she could not, dare not, allow.

  ‘Goodness, Wolfingham, where on earth has all this politeness and solicitude come from?’ she taunted him mockingly. ‘If it is because of our conversation earlier today, then let me assure you that it is of no consequence.’

  ‘No consequence?’

  ‘Absolutely none,’ she dismissed coolly in the face of his vehemence. ‘It was too many years ago to be of any significance to the here and now. Nor, as I assured you earlier, do I have need of anyone’s pity. Least of all your own,’ she added with deliberate scorn.

  ‘Least of all mine?’ Wolfingham’s eyes were steely now as he looked at her through narrowed lids.

  ‘But of course.’ Mariah returned that hard gaze with a challenging one of her own. ‘You
really are arrogance personified if you believed otherwise. In the circumstances I described to you earlier, a woman can either grow stronger from the experience or allow herself to be beaten down by it. I am certain that by now you know me well enough to have realised which one of those women I have become?’ She arched haughty brows.

  Oh, yes, Darian knew full well which one of those women best described Mariah. Her fortitude was only one of the reasons he admired and liked her so much. Desired her so much. A desire she was now at pains to inform him she wanted no part of.

  To a degree she would not even give permission for him to so much as kiss or touch her again.

  Was that avoidance not telling in itself?

  Or was he simply grasping at straws, because he so much wished for Mariah to return his desire?

  It was a question Darian intended to explore with all thoroughness once they were well away from Eton Park.

  He nodded. ‘As it is almost five o’clock, might I suggest that we join the other guests downstairs for tea?’

  A surprised blink of Mariah’s long dark lashes was her only outward sign that she was surprised at his ease in accepting her refusal. ‘But of course.’ She nodded graciously as she collected up her fan before sweeping past him and preceding him out of the bedchamber.

  Darian smiled grimly as he followed her out into the hallway before offering her his arm to escort her down the stairs.

  Mariah might believe him to have been routed by her set-down, but if she had come to know him half as well as he now knew her, then she would very soon realise that his patience, in achieving his goals, was infinite.

  And his most pressing goal, desire, was to make love with Mariah.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘If one knows where to look, it is almost possible to see the bruises in the shape of fingerprints upon Lord Nichols’s neck,’ Mariah remarked conversationally a short time later before taking a sip of tea from her cup, as she and Wolfingham sat together on a chaise in the Nicholses’ salon. Its placement by one of the windows allowed them to observe the other guests.

  ‘He’s lucky he still has a neck to bruise,’ Wolfingham muttered, the ice in his gaze the only sign of his displeasure, as he gave every outward appearance of relaxation, lounging on the chaise beside her.

  Mariah chuckled softly. ‘I am not sure I ever thanked you properly for your gallantry last night.’

  He turned to face her. ‘No, I do not believe you did,’ he drawled drily.

  ‘Well, I do thank you.’ Mariah was unnerved to once again find herself the focus of those piercing green eyes. ‘These people really are an unpleasant lot, aren’t they?’ Her gaze now swept contemptuously over the other guests.

  The men were drinking brandy instead of tea, with most of them already well on their way to being inebriated yet again. Including their host, as he occasionally cast a furtively nervous glance in Wolfingham’s direction.

  The women were once again wearing an assortment of gowns that would be more suited to a bordello or brothel. Not that Mariah had ever been in either establishment, but she could well imagine the state of déshabillé of the women who did.

  Normally Mariah would have had no difficulty in maintaining a certain distance, from both the gentlemen’s drinking and the ladies’ state of undress, when attending one of these weekend parties. She had no doubt it was the challenge her coolness represented to the gentlemen that caused the ton’s hostesses to continue to include her in these weekend invitations. The gentlemen made no secret that they began each of these weekends with a wager on which one of them might succeed in bedding the Countess of Carlisle.

  Yes, normally Mariah would not have the slightest difficulty maintaining that distance.

  Wolfingham’s presence, and Mariah’s complete awareness of the lean and muscled length of his body as he lounged on the chaise beside her, had heightened her senses to such a degree, she now seemed to feel and view everything as if through a magnifying glass.

  The way in which even the statuary and decor in this house seemed to be attuned to the debauchery that went on under its roof.

  The gentlemen’s red and bloated faces, and their avidly glittering eyes as they ogled the ladies’ state of undress.

  Those same ladies vying with each other, with more and more outrageous behaviour, in order to attract and hold the attention of the gentleman, or gentlemen, they had decided to bed.

  The way in which Wolfingham’s austere handsomeness, in the formal black of his clothing and snowy white linen, succeeded in putting him above any and all of the other gentlemen present.

  Knowing that, aware of that, this weekend, and Mariah’s forced association with Wolfingham, could not come to an end soon enough for her.

  ‘Very,’ Wolfingham now drawled disdainfully. ‘I feel soiled just by being in the same room with them.’

  Mariah arched a mocking brow. ‘And yet you and the other Dangerous Dukes are rumoured to frequent brothels and the houses of the demi-monde.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘I draw the line at brothels. And the ladies of the demi-monde do not pretend to be upstanding members of society.’

  Mariah’s curiosity was piqued by the fact that he had not denied frequenting those houses. ‘Do you—’

  ‘And what are you two whispering about together so secretly?’

  Without either of them having been aware of it—Darian was sure that Mariah’s attention had been as focused on him as his was on her—their hostess had crossed the room to join them and now stood looking down at them with coquettish curiosity. A lapse in concentration on their part, which Darian knew could have been very costly indeed, if they had chanced to be talking of their real reason for being here this weekend.

  He stood up politely and instantly regretted doing so as his superior height gave him a clear view down the front of Clara Nichols’s loose gown, as far as her navel—decidedly not an arousing sight. ‘We were discussing the…merits of the temple in your garden, madam.’

  Lady Nichols’s rouged lips gave a knowing smile. ‘So that’s where the two of you have been all day.’

  ‘This morning, at least.’ Darian gave an acknowledging nod. ‘Your butler was most helpful, this morning, in telling us of its existence.’

  ‘Benson has turned out to be a treasure.’ His hostess smiled fondly at the butler as he circulated amongst the guests, calmly refilling the gentlemen’s brandy glasses with the same aplomb as he did the ladies’ teacups, before withdrawing from the room with that same calm after one of the footmen had entered and drawn him aside to speak to him quietly. ‘One is never quite sure, when one takes on new household staff, whether or not they are going to suit, but Benson did come personally recommended and he has more than lived up to it these past few months.’ Lady Nichols turned to eye them speculatively. ‘I trust you both enjoyed our little temple?’

  ‘Most diverting,’ Darian answered noncommittally, a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece revealing that it was just a few minutes after five o’clock, time for the Prince Regent’s note to be delivered, for which he and Mariah had been patiently waiting these past twenty-four hours. And, hopefully, the reason Benson had been summoned from the room?

  Well, the waiting had perhaps not been quite so patient, on Darian’s part! Indeed, it had been unimaginable torture, having to suffer the company of such people and made all the worse by his increasing desire for Mariah. His only wish now was to have this charade over as soon as was possible, so that they might return to town and he could concentrate his considerable attention on seducing Mariah.

  ‘You will have the opportunity to return there later on tonight, of course,’ Lady Nichols continued to chatter. ‘It is so romantic in the evenings.’

  Darian almost choked on the sip of brandy he had been about to take, at the very idea of the erotica displayed in that temple ever being thought of as romantic. Certainly it appeared that Lady Nichols’s idea of romance, and his own, differed greatly!

  How long did it take Benson
to collect the Prince’s note of apology from the rider and return with it?

  ‘We are both so looking forward to the masked ball this evening, Clara.’ Mariah claimed their hostess’s attention as Darian made no reply.

  ‘And I trust that you will not remain quite so…exclusive…this evening, sir?’ Lady Nichols gave Darian’s arm a playful tap with her fan. ‘There are many more ladies present who would welcome your attentions.’

  Darian narrowed his gaze on her. ‘Indeed.’

  Where the hell was Benson with the Prince’s note?

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Their hostess gave another of those tittering giggles, so incongruous in a woman who was aged in her forties, at the least. ‘Indeed, the ladies have talked and speculated of nothing else since your arrival yesterday.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Darian repeated stiltedly, his hands clenching tensely into fists at his sides.

  ‘Oh, my goodness, yes!’ Lady Nichols looked up at him with what she no doubt thought was a winning smile, obviously having absolutely no idea how close Darian was to telling her to go to the devil and take her simpering flirtation with her! ‘I myself would dearly love to—’

  ‘I do believe Benson is trying to attract your attention, Clara,’ Mariah put in hastily, having thankfully spotted the butler approaching them, a silver tray held aloft on one hand; the increasing coldness of Darian’s expression, and those hands clenched at his sides, warned Mariah he was seriously in danger of telling Clara Nichols exactly how repugnant he found both her and her guests. Their reason for being here be damned!

  ‘What is it, Benson?’ Their hostess could barely contain her irritation at the interruption as she frowned at her butler.

  ‘This was just delivered for you, madam.’ Benson offered the silver tray. ‘I took the liberty of asking the rider to wait, in case there is a reply,’ he added helpfully.