Mariah could feel Darian’s tension as the two of them watched their hostess break the seal on the letter before quickly scanning its contents. Mariah actually held her breath as she waited for Clara Nichols’s response, which for the moment appeared to be only a displeased frown.
‘What is it, my dear?’ Richard Nichols called out across the room.
A pout appeared on Clara Nichols’s too-red lips. ‘The Prince Regent is unable to attend the ball this evening, after all. Some urgent business requiring he return to town earlier than expected.’
There were several murmurs of ‘too bad’ and ‘bad show’ from the other guests, but it was Richard and Clara Nichols whom Mariah continued to study intently, as she knew that Darian did also.
‘That is a pity.’ Richard Nichols strolled over to join his wife before reading the note for himself. ‘Oh well, can’t be helped, old girl.’ He patted his wife awkwardly on the shoulder. ‘The country’s needs must come first and all that.’
Lady Nichols continued to pout her disappointment. ‘It really is too bad of him,’ she snapped waspishly. ‘I only invited Lady Henley on his instructions I should do so.’
‘I am sure that there are plenty of other gentlemen present to keep that lady entertained. Hey, Wolfingham?’ Richard Nichols attempted a conspiratorial and conciliatory smile at the haughty duke.
‘You are welcome to do so, by all means, Nichols.’ That smile was not returned as Darian looked coldly down the length of his nose at the older man. ‘As I am sure I have made perfectly clear, I am happy in the company of Lady Beecham.’
‘A man can have too much of a good thing, though, don’t you think?’ Nichols suggested slyly.
Wolfingham’s jaw was tight. ‘No, I most certainly do not think,’ he bit out tautly, eyes glacial as he continued to look contemptuously at the other man.
A contempt, a danger, that Mariah knew the older man would be foolish to ignore. Most especially so when he still bore the bruises on his neck from the last time he had managed to infuriate Wolfingham.
She stood up to tuck her gloved hand into the crook of Darian’s arm, administering a gentle squeeze of caution even as she turned to smile at Richard Nichols. ‘I am afraid our…friendship…is relatively new, Lord Nichols, and Wolfingham is quite besotted still.’ She felt the tension in Darian’s arm beneath her fingertips as his response to such a ridiculous claim.
As it was indeed ridiculous to think of the haughty Duke of Wolfingham as ever being besotted with any woman, least of all the scandalous Countess of Carlisle!
‘Well, can’t blame a man for that.’ Richard Nichols wisely backed down. ‘Oh, do cheer up, Clara,’ he turned to instruct his sulking wife impatiently. ‘I am sure we shall manage quite well this evening without the Prince’s presence. After all, we do have the elusive Duke of Wolfingham as one of our guests!’
‘So he is.’ Clara Nichols brightened before turning to the waiting butler. ‘There is no reply, Benson.’ She placed the note back on the tray. ‘Could you see that this is put in my private parlour?’ she added dismissively.
‘Of course, milady.’ The butler bowed politely before withdrawing.
Mariah frowned her puzzlement as she continued to study Richard and Clara Nichols; there did not seem to be any undue reaction to the Prince’s note of apology, apart from Clara’s obvious disappointment.
Clara Nichols now directed another of those coquettish smiles at Wolfingham. ‘Where were we?’
‘I believe that Mariah and I were about to return upstairs,’ he bit out tautly.
‘Again? So soon?’ Clara Nichols gave Mariah an envious smile. ‘My, he is a lusty one, isn’t he, my dear?’
Mariah felt the warmth of colour enter her cheeks and dearly hoped that the other woman would see it as the burn of anticipation at being the recipient of Wolfingham’s passion, rather than the embarrassment it really was. ‘I am sure we are both very grateful to you for allowing us the privacy, in which to fully indulge ourselves, this weekend.’ She curled her nails painfully, and quite deliberately, into Darian’s tensed arm.
He moved his other hand to cover hers, squeezing with just enough pressure not to cause pain, but to administer a warning of his own. ‘Very grateful,’ he drawled drily.
‘We appear to be completely superfluous here, my dear. Shall we return to the entertainment of our other guests?’ Richard Nichols extended an arm politely to his wife. ‘If you will both excuse us?’ He bowed politely to Mariah and Wolfingham as the other couple moved away, Clara Nichols still twittering her disappointment over the Prince Regent as they did so.
Mariah waited only long enough for the Nicholses to be out of earshot before turning to Darian. ‘Should we not wait here awhile longer before returning upstairs?’
‘No.’
‘But—’
‘I believe we have seen all that we needed to see, Mariah,’ he assured grimly.
‘We have?’
He nodded tersely. ‘Besides which, if I do not leave this company very soon, then I am afraid I might lose my temper completely.’
Mariah could see the truth of that claim in the dangerous glitter of his eyes and the nerve pulsing erratically in his tightly clenched jaw.
She held her head high as she accompanied him across the room, knowing they were being observed with interest as she heard the outbreak of whispering and laughter in the room behind them as they stepped out into the hallway. ‘Must you always be so—so obvious as to our supposed intention of disappearing to make love together?’ she hissed the moment they were out in the deserted entrance hall.
Darian was feeling murderous rather than obvious. How much longer must he endure this torture, of watching men like Nichols lusting after the woman he—the woman he—the woman he what? Exactly what was it that he felt towards Mariah?
Protective, certainly.
Proprietary.
Possessive.
To the extent he could quite cheerfully have taken on every man in that room who had so much as looked at Mariah sideways—which was all of them, damn it!
‘You are missing the point, Mariah.’
‘And it appears to me that you are enjoying yourself altogether too much at my expense!’ she came back heatedly.
‘Could we talk of this further once we reach your bedchamber?’ he prompted softly as Benson appeared at the top of the stairs, no doubt after having delivered Lady Nichols’s letter to her private parlour.
‘May I get you anything, your Grace?’ he offered politely as he reached the bottom of the staircase.
‘No, thank you, Benson,’ Darian answered distractedly, his hand firmly beneath Mariah’s elbow as he pulled her up the stairs beside him.
‘Darian?’
‘You are missing the point, Mariah,’ he repeated through gritted teeth as they reached the top of the staircase before turning into the hallway leading to their adjoining bedchambers.
‘Which is?’ she prompted as she opened the door to her room.
‘The letter,’ he reminded impatiently as he followed Mariah into her bedchamber. ‘The response to the Prince’s letter.’ He closed the door firmly behind him.
All of Mariah’s indignation fled as she realised she had indeed allowed her embarrassment to distract her, that she was the one now guilty—however briefly!—of forgetting their reason for being at Eton Park at all this weekend. ‘Apart from Clara’s obvious disappointment as hostess that the Prince would not be gracing her ball tonight after all, there did not appear to be any response at all to his note,’ she stated belatedly. ‘No pointed looks, or conversation, with anyone else in the room. No one hastily leaving the room. There was no response whatsoever.’
‘Exactly.’ Wolfingham paced the room restlessly.
Mariah continued to frown. ‘Does that mean Aubrey Maystone’s information was wrong?’
‘Maystone is never wrong,’ he assured grimly.
‘Then what happened just now?’
‘Nothing. That is the
problem.’ Wolfingham looked grim.
Mariah chewed briefly on her bottom lip. ‘Do you think that might be because someone suspects that we—’
‘Came back upstairs to make love?’ Wolfingham interrupted huskily. ‘Oh, I think that was more than obvious, my love.’
Mariah blinked, momentarily confused at the sudden change in his tone. ‘What—’
‘I am sure that we have been more than obvious in our obsession to bed each other,’ Wolfingham acknowledged indulgently. ‘Indeed, I find I cannot wait another minute to undress you and make love with you,’ he added gruffly, at the same time as the fierceness of his gaze now moved pointedly to the shawls and handkerchiefs Mariah had left in place over the peepholes about the bedchamber. ‘Come over here, love,’ he invited huskily.
A warning to Mariah that someone was standing behind one of the walls at this very minute, listening to their conversation?
And necessitating in their continuing with the act of lovers once again eager to be alone together, so that they could make love?
Oh, heavens!
She gave an abrupt nod of her head, in silent acknowledgement of their eavesdropper, as she crossed the room to Wolfingham’s side. Her heart was pounding loudly in her chest, her pulse racing, as she wondered for how long, and how far, they would need to continue with their act of eager lovers.
At the same time she felt an inner yearning to satisfy, just a little, the desire she had discovered she felt for Darian.
All thoughts of anything else fled Darian’s head as Mariah now stood in front of him, so close he could feel her breath brushing warmly against his throat as she moved up on tiptoe. ‘Oh, yes, Mariah,’ he groaned in approval—both of her quickness of mind, in realising they were not completely alone, and most certainly of the fact that her teeth were now nibbling in earnest on the sensitivity of his earlobe; surely an unnecessary embellishment to their act when they could be overheard, but not observed?
He turned his head slightly so that he could look into Mariah’s eyes, the fullness of her parted lips now just inches beneath his own as their gazes clashed and held, both of them breathing softly, expectantly.
Darian took full advantage of Mariah’s closeness as his arms moved about her waist to pull her in tightly against him, his gaze continuing to hold hers as his head lowered and he took fierce possession of those parted lips with his own.
Something Darian had wanted—hungered for—since they had parted so coolly after their walk earlier today.
So much so that there was no way to stop the avalanche of desire that now swept over and through him as he felt Mariah’s lips part beneath his own, her arms about his waist.
Darian deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping, tasting her parted lips, before plunging, thrusting into the moist heat beyond.
Mariah tasted of the honey cake she had eaten with her tea; sweet and utterly delicious. Combined with her exotic perfume, it was addictive.
Darian continued the depth of those kisses as, for the second time that day, he swept her up into his arms. Carrying Mariah across the room before placing her on top of the bedcovers and following her down. Settling his thighs between her parted ones, he took his weight on his elbows before cupping either side of her face with his hands and continuing to kiss her hungrily. Tasting, sipping, possessing!
Mariah gave a throaty groan as Darian’s lips and tongue continued to claim her own. Even as his hands deftly removed the pins from her hair before loosening it on to the pillows beneath her, she moved her arms up over his shoulders as her fingers became entangled in the dark silkiness of his own hair.
She was filled with a yearning ache as the heat of Darian’s arousal throbbed between her parted thighs. Pressing, shifting slowly against and into her, pleasure surging through her as that friction stroked against the throbbing nubbin between her now slick and swollen folds.
Darian broke the kiss, breathing heavily as moist lips now travelled the length of her throat. ‘God, how I want you!’ he groaned achingly. ‘You are so beautiful, Mariah. So very beautiful.’ One of his hands now moved caressingly, restlessly, beneath the curve of her breast, before pulling down that silken barrier to bare their fullness, his hand now cupping her breast in sacrifice to his questing lips and tongue.
‘Darian!’ Mariah’s back arched off the bed as he claimed one aroused and sensitive nipple into the heat of his mouth, pleasure surging, filling her, as his tongue flicked against that hardened nub, teeth gently biting before he suckled deeply, drawing the whole of her nipple into the heat of his mouth.
Darian’s mouth was heat and fire, pleasure beyond description. A pleasure that surged and intensified unbearably between Mariah’s parted thighs, causing her to arch up against his hardness, in need of a greater friction as she searched, ached for the full promise of that pleasure.
‘Yes!’ she cried out as Darian shifted slightly to her side, his lips and tongue still drawing fiercely on her breast as his hand moved to push her gown up her thighs. Caressing, seeking, finding the opening in her drawers that allowed his fingers access to caress the slick moisture of her swollen folds, at the same time as the soft pad of his thumb stroked the throbbing nubbin above. ‘Please, Darian! Yes!’ Mariah was mindless with pleasure as she arched up into those caresses, wanting, needing, something more.
‘Come for me, Mariah,’ Darian encouraged throatily at the same time as first one finger, then two, entered the slickness of her core. ‘Please come for me, Mariah!’ He suckled hard on her nipple at the same time as those fingers now moved rhythmically, his thumb stroking, pressing down on that swollen nubbin above.
Pleasure, unlike anything Mariah had ever known, or imagined, now exploded between her thighs, her head thrashing from side to side on the pillows as that release coursed hotly, claiming the rest of her body in wave after wave of seemingly endless pleasure.
She was still lost to the wonder, the euphoria of that pleasure, as Darian gazed down at her darkly before sliding down the length of her body until he knelt between her parted thighs. Mariah offered no resistance as he slowly pushed her gown up to her waist before moving aside to allow for the removal of her drawers and bared her to his heated gaze as he parted her legs so that he might once again kneel between them.
‘So pretty. Like a rose in bloom,’ he murmured appreciatively as his fingers moved to part her swollen folds, allowing him to gaze his fill of her before he lay down between her thighs, his tongue a hot and pleasurable rasp against her highly sensitised and aroused flesh.
‘Darian?’ Mariah felt she should protest at such intimacy, but in truth she felt so satiated still, so lost in wonder as she felt the stirring of her arousal for a second time in as many minutes, that she could barely speak, let alone offer words of protest.
‘Let me.’ The coolness of his breath was sweet torture against her hot and aching flesh. ‘You are so beautiful here, Mariah,’ he groaned as he touched her gently. ‘So beautiful!’
His lips and tongue caressed her at the same time as his hands moved up to cup her breasts. Mariah gazed down in wonder as those long fingers and thumbs tweaked and pinched her swollen nipples, at the same time as Darian’s head was buried between her thighs, the sight of such intimacy enough to cause her to gasp anew.
‘Again, Mariah,’ he encouraged roughly. ‘I want you to come for me again.’
Mariah felt captured, swept along in a relentless tide as a second wave of pleasure built higher deep inside her and then higher still. Higher and higher— ‘Darian!’ Her back arched to push her breasts into Darian’s hands, encouraging, welcoming the pleasure-pain as he now squeezed and pinched her nipples to the same rhythm as her thighs moved into the stroking of his lips and tongue.
She gave a gasp, eyes wide with shock as pleasure even more intense than the first suddenly ripped through her.
This was what all the poets wrote about so ardently. What singers crooned about so achingly. What lovers so hungered for they were willing to throw away all cautio
n and reputation in order to achieve it.
Mariah had never known, never guessed, that lovemaking, this wonderful feeling of completion, would be so all-consuming. So much so that nothing else mattered, the outside world, and everyone in it, ceasing to exist. Only Darian and Mariah remained at that moment.
‘Oh, goodness.’ She groaned weakly as she remembered that the two of them were not all that existed in the world, that they had a listening audience.
Darian raised his head to look at her, his face flushed, lips moist and slightly swollen from ministering to Mariah’s pleasure. ‘He or she left some time ago,’ he assured gruffly, pulling her gown slightly down over her legs before he moved up the bed to lie down beside her.
Mariah looked at him anxiously. ‘How do you know?’
‘I heard the click of the door shutting as they left. I did not spend all my afternoon in my bedchamber, but explored those peepholes and passages’ he explained as her eyes widened. ‘I would never allow anyone to see or hear your pleasure but me, Mariah,’ he assured softly as he lifted a hand to smooth back the hair at her temple.
Mariah felt grateful for Darian’s reassurances, even as she trembled at the full realisation of what had just happened between the two of them. What she had all but begged to happen, as she arched and thrust against the caress of Darian’s mouth and hands.
She should feel mortification just thinking of those intimacies. Should feel embarrassment, if not horror, at her own wanton response and encouragement of those intimacies. Her complete lack of inhibition.
Mariah could feel none of those things.
Instead, for the first time in her life, Mariah felt totally fulfilled as a desirable woman. A desired and now totally satiated woman.
It was exhilarating.
Liberating, in a way Mariah had never imagined.
So much so that there was no room inside her for embarrassment or self-consciousness.
Darian Hunter, the austere and exacting Duke of Wolfingham, had just made thorough love to her. Had touched and caressed her more intimately than any other man had ever done. Than any other man had ever wanted to do. And he had not found her wanting.
Dangerous Dukes 02 - Darian Hunter - Duke of Desire Page 17