Читать книгу The Complete Regency Season Collection - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 44

Chapter Three

‘I trust, Lady Christina, that you do not think too badly of me for the circumstances under which we last met?’ Darian murmured politely as the two of them danced together at Lady Stockton’s ball, fully a week after their first momentous meeting in a guest bedchamber at Carlisle House.

A week in which Darian had necessarily to spend most of his time in his own bed, recovering from the setback from his bullet wound. For much of that time he’d found his thoughts returning to that morning in Mariah Beecham’s guest bedchamber.

Not that there had been a great deal for him to remember and think about once Christina Beecham had appeared in the bedchamber so unexpectedly.

Mariah’s amusement at the interruption had been short-lived, her movements having then become brisk and businesslike as she had helped Darian on with his shirt before excusing herself to go downstairs and see to the ordering of his carriage. The two ladies had left the bedchamber arm in arm together.

Darian had felt surprisingly weak after having completed dressing himself as best he could, sitting on the side of the bed to recover as he awaited the arrival of his carriage. Once arrived, his groom had then helped him down the stairs and into that carriage, necessitating that Darian’s words of gratitude for the countess’s assistance be brief.

Once returned to Wolfingham House, he had sent for his own physician, who’d agreed with his colleague’s diagnosis, as he confined Darian to bed for the next three days at least, and rest thereafter for several more days, unless Darian wished to shuffle off his mortal coil completely.

Darian despised any form of weakness, in himself more than others, and that enforced time abed had not sat easily upon his shoulders, despite receiving several visits from his closest friends to help relieve the boredom. Anthony had also called upon him several times and been told that Darian was indisposed and not receiving visitors, which allowed Darian to at least avoid that particular confrontation until he was feeling more himself.

He had to trust that the countess would keep her promise in regard to discussing with others the bullet wound to his shoulder and the night he had necessarily spent in her home. But he had no doubt Mariah would have taken great delight in regaling Anthony with the details of Darian’s efforts to persuade her to end their friendship.

Once he felt well enough, Darian had dictated a letter of gratitude to his secretary, to be delivered to the countess, carefully worded so as not to reveal the full extent of his indebtedness to her. He had received no acknowledgement or reply to that missive. As if Mariah Beecham, like himself, would prefer to continue as if that night had not taken place at all.

Consequently, this was the first occasion upon which Darian had been able to offer his apologies in person, to the younger of the two Beecham ladies at least, for the manner of his indisposition the week before.

Mariah Beecham had proved somewhat more elusive this evening than her daughter, always flirting or dancing away on the arm of some other gentleman whenever Darian had attempted to approach her. Christina Beecham had proved far less averse to his request that she dance a set with him. No doubt, unlike her mother before her, Christina Beecham was fully aware of the compliment being paid to her, as the Duke of Wolfingham did not, as a rule, dance at any of these occasions.

She looked up at him shyly now from between thick blonde lashes, her eyes the same beautiful turquoise colour as her mother’s, her blonde-haired beauty also similar to that of the countess. ‘Mama has already explained the situation to me, your Grace,’ she now dismissed huskily.

Darian would be very interested to hear how Mariah had managed to do that, when he was not altogether sure how to explain the situation himself. To himself, as well as to others.

‘Indeed,’ he murmured noncommittally. ‘She seems to be fully occupied this evening.’ Another glance about the ballroom had shown him that Mariah Beecham was no longer in the room.

Christina gave a smile of affection. ‘Mama’s time, and dance card, are always fully occupied at such entertainments as these, your Grace.’

Darian looked down searchingly at the younger of the Beecham ladies. ‘And are you not bothered by having to witness the spectacle of seeing so many gentlemen flirting and leering at your mother’s— Forgive me,’ he bit out stiffly. ‘That was unforgivably rude of me.’ And, he realised, far too close to his feelings on the matter for his own comfort.

Mariah was wearing a red silk gown this evening, with a very low décolletage that revealed the full, ivory swell of the tops of her breasts. A fact Darian had noted several gentlemen taking advantage of as they talked or danced with her.

‘Yes, it was,’ Christina Beecham answered him with the same bluntness as her mother. ‘But then, Mama had already warned me you are very forthright, in both your manner and speech,’ she added pertly.

Darian found he did not care for being dismissed so scathingly. Nor did he believe Mariah had used a word so innocent as ‘forthright’ to describe his previous manner and conversations with her. ‘I meant no disrespect to you,’ he bit out tersely.

‘Only to Mama,’ she acknowledged drily. ‘Mama has taught me that it is better not to pass comment on what one does not know.’

‘Obviously my own mother was neglectful in that particular duty.’

‘Obviously.’

Yes, this lady, for all she was very young, was proving to be just as capable of delivering a set-down as her mother!

Darian was also aware that his own reaction to those flirting and leering gentlemen was not one of impartiality, but rather one of complete partiality. Indeed, he had disliked intensely to have to stand by and witness those other gentlemen showing Mariah such marked attentions.

In truth, he had thought of Mariah Beecham far more than was wise this past week. Of her beauty. Her unique perfume. Of his own physical and uncontrollable response to the lush curves of her body.

And, quite frankly, he found the whole situation annoying. Distracting. Unbearable.

‘My dance, I believe, Darian?’

Darian roused himself from those troubling thoughts to look about him almost dazedly; the music had stopped playing and the other couples had left the dance floor, as they now gave curious glances their way. All without Darian having been aware of any of it. His brother, Anthony, was also now standing beside him with eyebrows raised expectantly, as he waited for Darian to release Christina Beecham.

‘Of course.’ He straightened abruptly as his arms fell back to his sides and he stepped away from Lady Christina. ‘I— Thank you,’ he added with a belated bow towards the young lady.

Anthony continued to look at him frowningly, eyes narrowed speculatively as he took his brother’s place at Christina Beecham’s side. ‘Are you quite well again now, Darian?’

‘Quite, thank you.’ Darian nodded abruptly.

‘In that case I will call upon you tomorrow,’ Anthony stated firmly, his expression challenging, telling Darian that the conversation between the two of them might have been delayed for this past week, whilst he was feeling unwell, but it was not to be avoided altogether!

‘Very well.’ Darian gave another distracted nod as he once again glanced about the ballroom to see that the three of them were still the focus of more than one group of gossiping people.

‘Your Grace?’

‘Lady Christina?’ Darian turned, one brow raised enquiringly.

A sparkle of humour now brightened those eyes, so like her mother’s. ‘I believe Mama to have accepted Lord Maystone’s invitation to accompany him into the next room to partake of refreshment.’

Had he made his interest in Mariah’s whereabouts so obvious that even her daughter was aware of it?

And what the deuce was Mariah doing in Maystone’s company, a gentleman Darian had reason to know rather better than might be socially apparent?

Aged in his late fifties, and a widower for more than twenty years, Aubrey Maystone was nevertheless still a handsome man, with his head of silver hair and chiselled features. Nor had his trimness gone to obesity, as had happened to so many of his peers.

He was also Darian’s contact at the Foreign Office in regard to his work for the Crown.

Whatever the reason for Aubrey Maystone’s interest in Mariah, Darian had no intentions of wasting any more of his own time this evening in an effort to secure the opportunity in which to converse with her again.

He took care to avoid his brother’s no-doubt accusing gaze as he gave Lady Christina a rueful smile. ‘Thank you.’ He gave another bow before turning to cross the ballroom in long and determined strides as he went in search of the refreshment room.

And Mariah Beecham.

* * *

‘I believe you have accepted an invitation to attend Lord and Lady Nicholses’ house party in Kent this weekend?’ Lord Maystone nodded his acquaintance to Mrs Moore, as she stood across the room, even as he continued his softly spoken conversation with Mariah.

‘I have, yes.’ Mariah eyed him curiously. ‘Will you also be attending?’

‘Good heavens, no!’ Maystone turned to give her his full attention, a look of distaste upon his lined but handsome face. ‘Subjecting myself to a single tedious evening of socialising in a week is quite enough for me. I assure you, I have no intentions of suffering through a weekend of it.’

‘Poor Aubrey.’ Mariah chuckled sympathetically, placing a conciliatory hand briefly on his arm as she sobered. ‘Do you have a special reason for asking whether or not I am to attend this particular weekend party?’ Aubrey Maystone had long been her contact for the work she did for the Crown.

‘I have reason to believe— Ah, Wolfingham.’ Aubrey turned to greet the younger man warmly. ‘Just the man! The countess is as polite as she is beautiful, but nevertheless I believe her to be in need of far younger company than my own.’

Mariah was relieved she had her back turned towards Darian Hunter, so he would not mistake the colour in her cheeks for anything other than what it was: annoyance at the way in which he had seemed to dog her every step this evening.

Lady Stockton had obviously been as surprised as her guests when the Duke of Wolfingham, a man who rarely attended any of the entertainments of the ton, but who had now attended two in as many weeks, had arrived at her home earlier this evening. A surprise that had lasted for only a few seconds, as that lady hastily crossed the room to welcome her illustrious guest.

Mariah’s reaction to seeing Wolfingham again had been less enthusiastic. She wondered what he was doing here.

Indeed, she had gone out of her way not to show any reaction at all, but rather to ignore him completely.

Not an easy task, when it seemed that every time she had turned round this evening Wolfingham had been standing there behind her, looking very dark and handsome in his impeccable evening clothes, the darkness of his hair rakishly dishevelled.

Nor did Mariah believe his appearance now, in the refreshment room, to be coincidental, either.

No doubt, whilst forced to convalesce, in order to recover completely from his injury, the duke had also had time to rethink his decision not to leave his younger brother’s fate to chance—or Mariah’s caprice or whimsy.

Whatever the reasoning behind Wolfingham’s dogged persistence this evening, Mariah was more than a little weary of reassuring him that she had absolutely no romantic interest, nor would she ever have, in his brother, Anthony.

‘Not at all, Aubrey.’ She gave Maystone a warm smile as she now linked her arm with his. ‘Indeed, you are so handsome and distinguished that you put all younger men to shame,’ she added before turning to look up at Wolfingham now that she felt reassured her cheeks were no longer flushed.

Darian’s lips twitched and he held back a smile as he met Mariah Beecham’s challenging gaze, recognising her remark for exactly what it was: an insult to him rather than just a compliment to Aubrey Maystone.

Although the warmth of familiarity between the two of them did seem to imply a deeper acquaintance than just a socially polite one.

To the degree that Maystone might be Mariah’s current lover? If that was so, then it made a nonsense of Darian’s request that she cease her friendship with the far more youthful and inexperienced Anthony.

The possibility of that being true also brought a scowl to Darian’s brow. ‘Lady Beecham.’ He bowed formally as it was the first occasion upon which the two of them had actually spoken this evening; Mariah’s avoidance of him had been absolute. ‘Maystone.’ Darian’s nod to the older man was terse.

‘Wolfingham.’ There was a mischievous twinkle in the older man’s eyes, as if he had guessed Darian’s thoughts and was amused by them. ‘Have you come to steal Mariah away from me for a dance, or are you going to join us in some refreshment?’

‘Well, I am certainly not here for refreshment.’ Darian made no effort to hide his distaste as he eyed the glasses in their hands. ‘I have heard it said that Lady Stockton is parsimonious with the brandy in her punch.’

‘Surely it is not necessary to become inebriated in order to enjoy oneself?’ Mariah drawled mockingly.

‘Not at all.’ Darian observed her between narrowed lids. ‘But if I wished to drink something as innocuous as fruit juice then I should request fruit juice.’ Standing so close to Mariah, he was once again aware of her unique perfume, the lightness of spring flowers and that deeper, more exotic perfume, which he now recognised as being jasmine. It was a heady and arousing combination.

‘How true.’ Maystone’s dismissive laugh broke the tension that had been steadily rising between Darian and Mariah. ‘It seems I must forgo your delightful company for now, my dear.’ He placed his glass down on the table and raised Mariah’s gloved hand to his lips before releasing it. ‘And allow a younger man to steal you away from me for a dance.’

Mariah frowned as she answered coolly, ‘To my knowledge, his Grace has not had the foresight to request a dance with me this evening. As such, I am afraid my dance card is completely full.’

‘Well, there you have it, Wolfingham.’ Maystone turned towards him with a grin. ‘You will have to be much quicker off the mark in future, if you are to secure a dance with our delightful Mariah,’ he teased jovially.

Darian’s frustration with his own increasing arousal, as well as Mariah’s avoidance of him, was now such that he could barely keep the impatience from his tone and he knew the frown had deepened on his brow. ‘A pity, of course, Lady Beecham,’ he drawled coldly. ‘But as consolation I have just enjoyed the pleasure of dancing with your lovely daughter, Lady Christina. A delightful young woman and a credit to both you and her father.’

Mariah looked up sharply at Wolfingham, easily noting the mocking challenge in his deep green eyes as he returned her gaze unblinkingly. No doubt because he was fully aware of the fact that she would prefer that he stay well away from her young and impressionable daughter.

Oh, Christina had accepted readily enough Mariah’s explanations as to Wolfingham’s indisposition the previous week having been the reason for his having to remain at Carlisle House overnight. But beneath that acceptance there had been an underlying girlish excitement, a curiosity, about the arrogantly handsome and illustrious Duke of Wolfingham. The last thing Mariah wished was for Christina to develop a crush on the man.

Not that she thought Wolfingham was in the least serious in his attentions to Christina; rather Mariah believed his intention had merely been to annoy her. If so, he had succeeded!

The less she, and Christina, had to do with Darian Hunter, the dangerous Duke of Wolfingham, the better Mariah would like it. Her lifestyle was such, most especially her work for the Crown, that she did not wish to have such an astutely disturbing gentleman as Wolfingham taking an interest in it, or her.

‘I believe the music and dancing have now stopped for supper, your Grace.’ Mariah had noted the influx of people into the room and strolling towards the supper tables. ‘It appears to be raining outside, so perhaps you might care to accompany me for a stroll in the West Gallery?’ At which time she intended to warn him to stay away from her daughter!

Darian was not particularly proud of himself for having used Lady Christina Beecham as a means of securing Mariah’s company, but neither was he about to apologise for it. Not when it had succeeded in accomplishing his aim, which was to talk with Mariah again. In private.

Although he wasn’t sure that being alone with Mariah was an entirely good idea, given his painful state of arousal.

* * *

‘You will stay away from my daughter!’ Mariah barely waited until the two of them had entered the long and deserted picture gallery, lit by a dozen candles or more, before removing her hand from Wolfingham’s arm and glaring up at him, her cheeks hot with temper in the candlelight.

‘Will I?’ he came back with infuriating calm, dark brows raised in equally as mild query.

‘Yes—when it is not a serious interest, but merely a means of punishing me.’

‘That is not very flattering to Lady Christina.’

‘But true.’

‘Is it?’ he returned mildly.

‘What do you want from me, Wolfingham?’ Mariah looked up at him in exasperation. ‘A public declaration of my uninterest in your brother? Would that appease you? Reassure you?’

He gave a humourless smile. ‘It would most certainly not appease or reassure Anthony.’ His mouth tightened. ‘Nor would it do anything for my own future relationship with him, if you were to tell him that I had been instrumental in bringing about the sudden end to your friendship.’

Mariah drew in a deep breath through her nose. ‘Perhaps you should have thought of that before you chose to so arrogantly interfere in his life a week ago?’

‘What is your relationship with Maystone?’

Mariah was momentarily disconcerted by this sudden change of topic. As she was meant to be?

She and Aubrey Maystone preferred to keep the true nature of their relationship private and as such it was rare for them to pass any time together in public. Indeed, they would not have done so this evening if Aubrey had not expressed a wish to speak with her urgently. A conversation that had been cut short by the arrival of Darian Hunter.

But the manner of the public acquaintance between Mariah and Lord Maystone was such that Wolfingham could not possibly have guessed that there was a deeper, more private, connection between the two of them. Could he?

Mariah was quickly learning that it would not be wise on her part, or anyone else’s, to underestimate the intelligence or astuteness of Darian Hunter.

‘My acquaintance with Lord Maystone is a long-standing one,’ she answered frostily. ‘Come about because he was once a friend of my late husband.’

‘And is that all he is to you?’

‘What are you accusing me of now, Wolfingham?’ Her tone was impatiently exasperated, deliberately so. ‘Do you imagine that I am currently enjoying a relationship with Lord Maystone, as well as your brother? Would that not make my bed very overcrowded?’ she added scathingly. ‘And what business would it be of yours, even if that were the case? I am a widow and they are both unattached gentlemen, so there is no prior claim to hinder the existence of either relationship.’ She gave a dismissive shrug.

A nerve pulsed in the duke’s tightly clenched jaw. ‘Except a moral one.’

‘You are a fine one to preach to me of morals, Wolfingham, when you are currently sporting the bullet wound you received whilst fighting a duel over some woman!’ Her eyes flashed in the candlelight.

Darian glowered his frustration down at her, wanting to deny the accusation, but knowing that to do so would then bring the real cause of that wound back into question. A question he would not, could not, answer.

Having no answer, he decided to act instead.

Although that was possibly an exaggeration on his part, when his arms seemed to have moved of their own volition as they encircled Mariah’s waist and he pulled her in close against the hardness of his body.

Her exotic perfume immediately filled all of his senses as his head swooped down to capture her lips with his own. Soft and delectable lips that had parted with surprise, so allowing for further intimacy as Darian’s tongue swept lightly across her lips before plunging into the heated warmth beneath.

She felt so slender in his arms, the fullness of her breasts crushed against his chest, her lips and mouth tasting of honey. A silky-soft sweetness and heat that drew Darian in even closer, as he attempted to claim, to possess, that heat as his own. To claim, to possess, Mariah as his own.

Mariah had been totally unprepared for Wolfingham taking her into his arms, let alone having him kiss her. So unprepared, that for several stunned seconds she found herself responding to that kiss as her hands moved up to cling to the lapels of the duke’s evening coat, her body crushed, aligned with Wolfingham’s, as his mouth continued to plunder and claim her own. Making her fully aware not only of the hardness of his chest, but also the long length of his arousal pressing against the warmth of her abdomen.

She allowed herself to feel a brief moment of triumph, at the knowledge, this physical evidence, that Darian Hunter, the coldly arrogant Duke of Wolfingham, was aroused by her. From holding her in his arms. From kissing her.

Those brief moments of triumph were quickly followed by ones of panic and a desperate need to free herself. A move she attempted to instigate as she now pushed against that hard and muscled chest even as she wrenched her mouth out from beneath that sensually punishing kiss. ‘Release me immediately, Wolfingham!’

Her eyes now gleamed up at him in the candlelight, her chest quickly rising and falling as she breathed heavily, having managed to put several inches between the hardness of his body and her own, but failing to release herself completely.

‘You are taking your protection of your brother too far, sir,’ she added fiercely as her hands against his chest kept him at a distance but he still made no effort to remove the steel band of his arms from about her waist.

A nerve pulsed in the tightness of his jaw. ‘This has nothing to do with my brother.’

‘It has everything to do with him.’

Darian was breathing heavily, unable to reason clearly as he looked down at Mariah, his mind and senses too full of her to form a coherent thought, other than the taste of her on his own lips and tongue. The feel of her soft curves against his much harder ones. The smell of her causing his body to throb and pound with need.

A need that the pallor of Mariah’s face in the candlelight, and over-bright turquoise eyes, said she did not reciprocate.

He gave a pained frown. ‘What did you think would happen when you invited me to join you alone here in the gallery, Mariah?’

‘Not this!’ Her breasts quickly rose and fell in rhythm with her agitated breathing as she continued to hold him at arm’s length. ‘Never this!’

Darian’s frown deepened to one of concern as he heard the underlying sob in her voice. ‘Mariah—’

‘I believe the lady has expressed a wish to be set free, Darian!’

Darian’s head whipped round at the sound of his brother’s harshly reproving voice, a scowl darkening his brow as he saw Anthony watching them from the shadowed doorway into the gallery, the expression on his brother’s face one of disgust as well as fury.

A disgust and fury Darian fully deserved, given the circumstances, of Mariah’s obvious distress and the feelings Anthony had previously expressed for the woman Darian now held in his arms.

Feelings that Darian had totally forgotten about in his need to claim Mariah’s lips for his own.

His arms fell heavily back to his sides as he stepped back and away from her, only to then reach out a hand to steady Mariah as she appeared to stumble.

‘Do not touch me!’ she lashed out verbally even as she pulled free of his grasp, twin spots of fevered colour now high in her cheeks as she turned away. ‘Accompany me back to Lady Stockton’s ballroom, if you please, Lord Anthony,’ she requested stiffly as she left Darian’s side to walk quickly down the gallery to take the arm his brother so gallantly offered her.

Anthony paused to give Darian a warning glance over the top of Mariah’s averted head. ‘I have changed my mind, Darian, and we will now talk again later tonight, rather than tomorrow morning.’

Darian recognised those words for exactly what they were: a threat, not a promise.