Читать книгу The Complete Regency Season Collection - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 45
ОглавлениеDarian found himself seated beside the fire at his club the following afternoon, after partaking of luncheon with two of his closest friends; Christian Seaton, the Duke of Sutherland, and Griffin Stone, the Duke of Rotherham.
‘You are saying the countess refused to see you when you called at Carlisle House this morning?’ Sutherland prompted lightly.
Darian scowled into the depths of his brandy glass. ‘Her butler claimed she was indisposed and not receiving visitors.’
‘Women do tend to suffer these indelicacies, you know.’ Rotherham nodded dismissively.
The scowl remained on Darian’s brow as he looked across the fireplace at his friend slumped in the chair opposite. ‘So you think the indisposition might be genuine, rather than an excuse not to see me in particular?’
‘Well, I would not go quite so far as to say that,’ Rotherham drawled. ‘From what you told us over luncheon, you did make rather a cake of yourself, you know, throwing out accusations and insults in that overbearing manner of yours!’
Darian gave a wince. ‘Thank you so much for your reassurances, Griff.’ After Anthony’s promised late visit to Wolfingham House the night before, Darian had every reason to know he had indeed made a cake of himself where Mariah Beecham was concerned and certainly did not need Rotherham to tell him as much.
The need to apologise to Mariah was the very reason Darian had attempted to call upon her this morning. Only to be sent away by her butler without so much as a glimpse of the lady, let alone be allowed to give the apology owed to her.
‘Think nothing of it, old boy.’ Rotherham grinned across at him unabashedly.
‘Beautiful woman, the countess,’ Sutherland murmured appreciatively as he relaxed in a third chair.
‘Oh, yes!’ Rotherham nodded.
Darian eyed the two men sharply. ‘Have either of you...?’ He could not quite bring himself to say the words; the thought that Sutherland or Rotherham might have been Mariah’s lover was enough to blacken his mood even more than it already was.
‘Never had the pleasure.’ Sutherland sighed his obvious disappointment.
‘Unfortunately not.’ Rotherham looked equally as wistful.
Darian found himself breathing a little easier at knowing that two of his friends, at least, had never been one of Mariah Beecham’s lovers. Even if rumour suggested that plenty of other gentlemen had!
‘I suppose there is always the possibility the countess was not actually at home when you called this morning?’ Sutherland quirked a brow. ‘You did say she was rather pally with Maystone yesterday evening, so perhaps she went home with him? Just a thought.’ He shrugged dismissively as Darian’s scowl deepened.
‘The idea did occur to me.’ Of course it had occurred to him that Mariah might have spent the night elsewhere than her London home.
Until he had remembered that Mariah had accompanied her young daughter to the Stockton ball and so was hardly likely to have abandoned that young lady in favour of going home with a lover.
Of course Mariah could have gone out again once she had returned Lady Christina to Carlisle House.
He shifted restlessly, aware that he was taking far too much of an interest in front of his two friends, who along with himself were the last of the bachelor Dangerous Dukes, in what Mariah Beecham did or did not do.
‘Do you have hopes in that direction yourself?’ Sutherland now arched a curious brow.
Did he?
Darian had been unable to sleep last night for thinking of Mariah, of holding her in his arms and kissing her.
Of his desire for her!
A desire he had neither sought nor wanted.
Because every objection he had given Anthony for his brother to bring an end to his involvement with Mariah Beecham—apart from the difference in their ages—also applied to Darian himself. An association, any association on his part with the notorious Mariah Beecham, was unacceptable.
A realisation that seemed not to make a bit of difference to the desire Darian felt for her and that had so disturbed his sleep the night before.
Oh, it was perfectly acceptable for Darian to take a mistress if he so chose, even if he had never chosen to do so before now. But Mariah Beecham, a woman whose private life was gossiped and speculated about constantly, was not suitable even for that role in the public or private life of the Duke of Wolfingham.
His continuing work for the Crown had caused Darian to long ago make a conscious decision not to bring any unnecessary attention to his private life. And any liaison with Mariah Beecham would necessarily become public and ultimately throw him front and centre of the same gossip that always surrounded her. Gossip Darian wished to avoid, even if Mariah had been willing to enter into such a relationship with him.
Which Darian had every reason to believe, to know—more so than ever, after his clarifying conversation with Anthony the night before—she was not!
So Darian had told himself again and again, as he lay in his bed unable to sleep the previous night.
Today, with the disappointment of not being able to see and speak with Mariah this morning, as he had fully intended that he would, he was not so sure on the matter.
‘Of course not,’ he answered Sutherland sharply. ‘I am merely aware that I owe the woman an apology and I am anxious to get it over and done with.’
‘Protesting a little too strongly, do you think, Sutherland?’ Griffin Stone turned to prompt the other man drily.
‘More than a little, I would say,’ Sutherland drawled as they both turned to look at Darian, brows raised over mocking eyes.
Darian withstood that look with a censorious one of his own, having every intention of making his apologies to Mariah Beecham before returning to their previous relationship—that of complete indifference to each other.
* * *
Something Darian very much doubted was going to happen, on his part at least, when he was shown into the gold salon of Mariah’s home late the following morning and his rebellious body responded immediately.
He had wisely sent her a note late yesterday afternoon, requesting she supply a suitable time for him to call upon her today, rather than run the risk of calling and being turned away for a second time.
Mariah looked ethereally beautiful this morning, in a fashionable gown of the palest lemon, her blonde curls a golden halo about the pale delicacy of her face and throat.
A pallor that implied that perhaps Mariah’s claim, of being indisposed yesterday, had indeed been genuine?
‘Are you feeling any better today?’ Darian prompted gruffly as he crossed the room to where she now stood, taking the gloved hand she raised to him in formal greeting.
‘Such politeness, Wolfingham. Indeed, I should hardly recognise you,’ Mariah taunted drily as she deftly removed her hand from his before resuming her seat, the gold brocade sofa a perfect foil for her golden loveliness. Deliberately so?
His mouth thinned. ‘Could we perhaps at least attempt a modicum of politeness between the two of us, rather than begin to argue immediately after we see each other again?’
‘I do not believe it is a question of us arguing, Wolfingham. We simply do not like each other!’
He drew in a sharp breath, knowing that for his part that claim was untrue, that he liked—indeed, he desired—Mariah Beecham far more than was comfortable.
Mariah studied Wolfingham from beneath lowered lashes as he made no reply to her taunt.
It had been her dearest wish never to find herself alone with this gentleman again. She had only agreed to this morning’s meeting because she knew he was not a man she could continue to avoid indefinitely, if he had decided it should be otherwise. Her claim of being indisposed yesterday, as a way of avoiding Wolfingham when he called, had not been all fabrication; Mariah had stayed in her bed late yesterday morning, her head aching after suffering a restless and sleepless night.
Because she had not been able to stop thinking of Darian Hunter. Or his having kissed her.
Or remembering that she had responded.
A response that was so unprecedented, and had troubled Mariah so deeply, that she had found it impossible to sleep these past two nights for thinking of it.
A response she had since assured herself would not happen again.
Could not happen again!
So it was entirely frustrating for her to acknowledge her awareness of how arrogantly handsome Wolfingham looked this morning, dressed in a dark green superfine and buff-and-green-striped waistcoat, his linen snowy white, buff-coloured pantaloons moulded to the muscular length of his long thighs above his brown-topped black Hessians. His hair was in its usual fashionable disarray about his sharply etched features.
As she also noted the pallor to those sharply etched features and the dark shadows beneath his deep green eyes. As evidence, perhaps, that Wolfingham had not rested any better than she had herself these past two nights?
Although she doubted it was for the same reasons.
Against all the odds—her dislike of Wolfingham and the years of her unhappy marriage to Martin—for the first time in her life Mariah had found herself actually enjoying being held in a man’s arms two nights ago.
Even more surprising was the realisation of how she had responded to that depth of passion Wolfingham had ignited in her.
Her marriage to Martin had been completely without love and affection from the onset, on either side, and equally as without passion. Indeed, for the first ten years of their marriage, the two of them had spent very little time even living in the same house, Mariah languishing in the country with their daughter, while Martin preferred to spend most of the year living in London. At best they had been polite strangers to each other on the rare occasions they did meet, for the sake of their daughter, and more often than not they had ignored each other completely.
That had changed slightly seven years ago, when Mariah began to spend the Season in London, Martin necessarily having to accompany her to at least some of those social engagements. But even so, those occasions had only been for appearances’ sake, and they had continued to retain their separate bedchambers, and for the most part live their separate lives, on the occasions they were forced to reside in the same house together.
So, it had been all the more surprising to Mariah that she had not only responded to, but enjoyed being held in Darian Hunter’s arms and being kissed by him, the night of Lady Stockton’s ball. Not only an unprecedented response, but an unwanted one as well, and ensuring that Mariah was all the more determined it would not occur for a second time.
‘Did you have something in particular you wished to discuss with me when you called upon me yesterday morning, then sent a note requesting a convenient time you might call again today? Or is it as I suspected and you merely wish to add to the insults you invariably make when we meet?’
Darian’s breath left him in a hiss at this deliberate challenge; at least when he was breathing out his senses were not being invaded by Mariah Beecham’s heady and arousing perfume.
Darian had once again been aware of that perfume the moment he stepped into the salon. Indeed, he believed he now knew that unique aroma so well he would be able to pick Mariah Beecham out of a roomful of veiled and heavily robed women, just by the smell of that heady perfume alone.
Seeing Mariah again this morning, being with her again, his senses once again invaded by her beauty and aroused by that heady perfume, made a complete nonsense of his denials of yesterday to Rotherham and Sutherland, in regard to his not having the slightest interest in pursuing a relationship with Mariah Beecham.
He might not want to feel this desire for her, but he did feel it nonetheless.
‘Oh, do stop scowling, Wolfingham, for it is giving me a headache,’ Mariah snapped at his continued silence. ‘I am sure there are many women who might find all this brooding intensity attractive, but I am not one of them.’ She wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘Personally, such behaviour has always filled me with a burning desire to administer a weighty smack to the cheek of the gentleman in question.’
The situation in which Darian currently found himself did not at all call for any sign of levity on his part. Consequently he did try very hard not to give in to the laughter that threatened to burst forth.
To no avail, unfortunately; his amusement was such that it refused to be denied and he found himself chuckling with husky appreciation for Mariah’s obviously heartfelt sentiments.
‘You are incorrigible, madam,’ he admonished once he had regained his breath enough to speak.
‘I, sir, merely remain unimpressed by any gentleman’s angst,’ Mariah returned disparagingly.
‘But more so when that gentleman is me,’ Wolfingham acknowledged drily.
‘Yes.’ She did not even attempt to deny it as she gave an impatient shake of her head. ‘It was you who asked if you might call upon me today, Wolfingham, so I ask once again that you state your business and then leave. I find maintaining even this level of politeness between the two of us to be taxing in the extreme.’
Darian knew he fully deserved Mariah’s lack of enjoyment of his company. He had made so many mistakes in their short acquaintance, it seemed. Too many for her to forgive him? Easily, if at all.
He drew in a deep breath. ‘I needed to speak with you again because it appears that I owe you an apology, Mariah.’
Her eyes widened in obvious surprise. ‘Indeed?’
His jaw grated he held it so tightly clenched. ‘Yes.’
‘For what, pray? You have made far too many insults, to me and about me, for me to ever be able to pick out a specific one for which you might apologise.’
Darian bristled. ‘Such as?’
‘The disgusting thoughts you so obviously held two evenings ago, with regard to my friendship with Aubrey Maystone, for one.’
Ah. Yes. Well, there was that, of course...
He shifted uncomfortably. ‘It was a natural conclusion to have come to, surely, given the circumstances of the ease of the friendship between the two of you?’
‘Only if your mind was already in the gutter, as yours so often appears to be where I am concerned!’ Her eyes flashed.
Darian could not deny that he had thought the worst of Mariah before he had even met her, hence his initial alarm regarding Anthony’s involvement with her. But in his defence Mariah Beecham’s reputation in society was such that surely, at the time, he could have formed no other opinion, in regard to Anthony’s obvious and public attentions to her.
At the time.
Darian knew differently now, of course. Which was the very reason he had been so determined to speak with Mariah these past two days. So that he might apologise and, hopefully, discuss the matter with her further.
‘It was doubly insulting, when you had already accused me of being involved in an affair with your younger brother,’ she now accused coldly.
And now, Darian recognised heavily, was the perfect opportunity in which to make that apology and inform her of his mistake.
He grimaced. ‘I have had the opportunity to speak with Anthony again, since the two of us parted so badly at the Stockton ball.’ He ignored her scathing snort; she knew as well as he did that it had been Anthony’s parting remark—promise—that had caused the two brothers to talk again later that very same night. ‘And it would seem—it would seem—’
Darian was not accustomed to apologising for his actions, to anyone, and yet in this particular instance he knew he had no choice; he had seriously wronged Mariah and now he must apologise for it.
He sighed. ‘My brother has now made it more than clear to me that his affections lie elsewhere than yourself.’
‘Hah!’ Those turquoise-blue eyes gleamed across at him with triumphant satisfaction. ‘Did I not tell you that you were mistaken in your accusations?’
‘It is very unbecoming in a woman to say “I told you so” in that gleeful manner, Mariah.’ Darian scowled, still more than a little irritated with himself for having initially jumped to the wrong conclusion where his brother’s affections were concerned, and even more so for having then acted upon those conclusions by insulting Mariah to such a degree he now owed her an apology.
He was equally as irritated that by doing so he had now placed himself in the position of being the one to tell Mariah the truth of that situation.
‘Not when that woman has been proved right and you have been proved wrong.’ she came back tartly.
Darian chose his words carefully. ‘I was only half-wrong—’
‘How can a person, even the illustrious and arrogant Duke of Wolfingham, be half-wrong?’ she scorned. ‘Admit it, Wolfingham. In this matter you were completely and utterly in the wrong.’
‘No, I was not.’ Darian sighed deeply, choosing to ignore the scathing comment in regard to himself; no doubt Mariah would have more, far stronger insults to hurl at him before this conversation was over. ‘I was merely mistaken as to which of the Beecham ladies held Anthony’s affections and consequently, the reason for his polite and public attentions to you.’
He also had absolutely no idea how Mariah was going to react upon learning that Anthony was paying court to her young daughter, Christina, rather than to herself. Even if he only took into consideration Mariah’s feelings towards him, Anthony’s despicable and insulting older brother, then Darian was sure that it could not be in a favourable way.
Any more than were his own feelings on the matter. Admittedly, he could not help but feel a certain amount of relief at having learnt that Anthony was not besotted with Mariah Beecham, after all. For the reasons he had previously stated.
But also on a personal level.
Unwanted as his own desire for Mariah might be, Darian nevertheless felt a certain relief at knowing he was not harbouring a desire for the same woman for whom he had believed his brother had serious intentions.
As for the real object of his brother’s affections...
Admittedly the seventeen-year-old Lady Christina Beecham was more acceptable as a wife for Anthony than her mother could ever have been. But, in Darian’s opinion, only marginally so. Christina Beecham could not escape the fact that she was the daughter of a woman with a notorious and scandalous reputation.
A woman with a notorious and scandalous reputation who, he realised belatedly, for the moment seemed to have been struck uncharacteristically dumb. At having learnt that his brother, Anthony’s, romantic inclinations were directed towards her young daughter rather than herself?
Mariah drew a harsh breath into her starved lungs as she realised she had forgotten to do so these past few seconds. ‘Forgive me, but I— Am I to understand that your brother, Lord Anthony Hunter, a gentleman aged almost five and twenty, believes himself to be in love with—that he has serious intentions towards my seventeen-year-old daughter?’
Wolfingham gave a terse nod of his head. ‘That is exactly what I am saying, yes. I have no reason to believe that your daughter returns Anthony’s feelings.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘But perhaps you do?’
‘Not as such, no.’
‘You seem unduly concerned?’
‘She is seventeen years of age, Wolfingham. At the very least Christina will have been flattered by the attentions of an eligible and sophisticated gentleman such as your brother,’ Mariah answered distractedly as she now recalled all those occasions these past few weeks when Lord Anthony Hunter had been included in the group of admirers surrounding herself and Christina.
As she also remembered the polite attentions the young Lord Anthony had paid to her and the visits he had made to Carlisle House—and that Wolfingham had mistaken for a romantic interest in Mariah—in an effort, no doubt, to ingratiate himself into Mariah’s good opinion.
And Christina’s youthful heart?
The more Mariah considered the matter, the more she believed that her daughter could not help but be aware of Anthony Hunter’s romantic interest in her.
Having spent much of Christina’s early years closeted alone together in the country, Mariah believed she and Christina were closer than most mothers and daughters of the ton. But Christina was fully grown now—or believed that she was!—and Mariah now realised that those childhood confidences had become fewer and fewer during these past few weeks spent together in London.
Perhaps because Christina harboured a secret passion for her handsome admirer?
A secret passion that, because of her age, she knew Mariah could not, and would not, approve of?
Oh, she had been unable to deny Christina her first Season; her daughter was seventeen, after all. But Mariah had not launched Christina into society with any intentions of seeing her young daughter engaged to be married within weeks of her having made that appearance.
As she herself had been.
Mariah gave a determined shake of her head. ‘Whether she does or does not, it will not do, Wolfingham.’
He arched dark brows. ‘You would refuse Anthony’s suit?’
‘Her uncle, the earl, is her male guardian, but I will strongly advise against it, yes.’
‘Why would you?’ Having been so set against the match himself, Darian now felt contrarily defensive on his brother’s behalf. Anthony might be young, and occasionally irresponsible, but none could doubt his eligibility in the marriage mart. ‘Lady Christina is seventeen years of age—’
‘And so far too young to fall in love, or consider taking on the duties of marriage!’ Mariah scorned.
‘Surely she is the same age as you must have been when you married?’
‘We were not discussing me!’ Those turquoise-coloured eyes now glittered fiercely across the room at him.
Wolfingham’s gaze became quizzical at her vehemence. ‘I thought an advantageous marriage was the whole purpose of a young lady making her debut in society?’
‘That is a typically male assessment of the situation.’
He arched a dark brow. ‘Then perhaps it is that you consider that having a daughter married to be ageing to yourself?’
‘Do not be any more ridiculous than you have already been, Wolfingham!’ Mariah stood up agitatedly. ‘My reservations have absolutely nothing to do with myself and everything to do with Christina. She is far too young to know her own mind in such matters.’
‘She seemed a prepossessing young lady when I danced with her the other evening.’
‘So she is.’ Mariah nodded her impatience. ‘And no doubt I will one day, in the distant future, be happy to dance at her wedding. But not now, when Christina has only been out for a matter of weeks, rather than years. Nor do I have any reason to believe that you would approve of an alliance between your brother and my daughter?’ She looked up at him challengingly.
No, of course Darian did not approve of it and he had voiced his reservations regarding the match to his brother when the two of them had spoken so frankly together two evenings ago. A disapproval that Darian knew had once again fallen on deaf ears; Anthony was bound and determined in his pursuit of Christina Beecham.
A determination that was obviously to now be thwarted by that young lady’s mother.
Again, Darian found himself playing devil’s advocate. ‘I still fail to see, apart from your daughter’s youth, what your own objections can be to the match. Anthony will come into his own fortune on the occasion of his twenty-fifth birthday in just a few months’ time. He is the grandson, the son and now the brother of a duke—’
‘I am fully aware of who Lord Anthony is and of his family connections,’ Mariah assured him dismissively.
‘And the fact that the severe and sober Duke of Wolfingham is his brother is no doubt part of the reason for your own objections to the match?’ Darian surmised drily.
‘Do not even pretend to be insulted, Wolfingham, when you know full well your feelings on this matter entirely match my own.’ Mariah sighed her impatience.
‘I repeat, why are they?’
Mariah drew in a deep and controlling breath, knowing she was overreacting to this situation, allowing her own unhappy marriage at the age of seventeen, the same age as her daughter was now, to colour her judgement. And in front of the astute and intelligent Darian Hunter, of all people. ‘Of course I wish for Christina’s future happiness. Just not yet. She is so young and has not yet had chance to enjoy even her first Season.’
‘Is it only because he is my younger brother?’ he guessed shrewdly.
Mariah gave a determined shake of her head. ‘I also have no doubt that, if Christina were ever to become your brother’s wife, you would make her life, as your sister-in-law, nothing but a misery.’
He stiffened. ‘You are insulting, madam, to believe I would ever treat any woman so shabbily.’
‘You would treat any daughter of mine more than shabbily,’ she insisted. ‘And I do not want that for Christina. She deserves so much more than that.’ So much more than Mariah had suffered herself as Martin’s wife, unloved by her husband and disapproved of and ignored by his family for her more humble beginnings. ‘No.’ She shuddered at the thought of Christina suffering the same fate. ‘If Lord Anthony should ask, I will not ever give my blessing to such a match.’
Darian frowned darkly. ‘And what of your daughter’s feelings on the matter? Have you considered that perhaps she might return Anthony’s affections? If not now, then at some future date?’
‘It is perhaps a possibility that she may one day believe she returns those feelings,’ Mariah allowed grudgingly. ‘But at seventeen she is too young to know her own heart and mind.’
‘As you yourself were at the same age?’
She stiffened. ‘Again, we were not talking about me.’
‘Then perhaps we should be.’
‘No, we will not,’ Mariah informed Wolfingham coldly. ‘Not now, nor at any time in the future.’
Darian studied Mariah intently, knowing by the stubborn set of her mouth, and those flashing turquoise eyes, that she would not be moved on the subject of her own marriage.
And so adding to the mystery that Mariah Beecham had become to him.
A mystery that had already occupied far too much of his time and thoughts these past ten days.
He gave a grimace. ‘Have you considered how your husband might have felt regarding an alliance between his daughter and the Hunter family?’
Her chin rose. ‘I had no interest in my husband’s opinions whilst he was alive and I certainly have none now that he is dead.’
Because, as he had begun to suspect, like so many marriages of the ton, the Beecham marriage had been one of convenience rather than a love match? A question of marrying wealth to a title? The wealth of Mariah’s father matched to Beecham’s title as the Earl of Carlisle?
Darian’s own parents had married under similar circumstances, but they had been two of the lucky ones, in that they had come to feel a deep love and respect for each other, ensuring that their two sons had grown up in a family filled with that same love and respect.
The fact that Mariah had only been seventeen to Beecham’s two and forty when their marriage took place, and the rumours of her numerous affairs since, would seem to imply she might not have been so fortunate.
‘That is a very enlightening comment,’ he said slowly.
‘Is it?’ Mariah returned scathingly. ‘I doubt I am the first woman to admit to having felt a lack of love for the man who was her husband.’
‘Your words implied a lack of respect, too.’
Those eyes flashed again. ‘Respect has to be earned. It is not just given.’
‘And Carlisle did not earn yours?’
‘The feeling was mutual, I assure you.’
‘And yet the two of you had a daughter together.’
A cold shiver ran down the length of Mariah’s spine as she remembered the night of Christina’s conception. A painful and frightening experience for Mariah and a triumphant one for Martin.
Her gaze now avoided Wolfingham’s probing green one. ‘I believe it is time you left.’
‘Mariah—’
‘Now, Wolfingham!’ Before Mariah broke down completely. Something she dared not do, in front of the one man who had already somehow managed to get through the barrier Mariah had long ago placed about both her emotions and the memories of the past. For fear they might destroy her utterly.
Darian had no idea what would have happened next. Whether he would have acceded to Mariah’s request for him to leave, or whether he would have followed his own instincts and instead taken Mariah in his arms and comforted her. This talk of her marriage to Carlisle seemed to have shaken her cool self-confidence in a way nothing else had.
Instead, their privacy was interrupted as the butler entered the room bearing a card upon a silver tray, which he proceeded to present to Mariah.
She picked up the card and quickly read it, before tucking it into the pocket of her gown as she spoke to her butler. ‘Please show his Lordship into my private parlour, Fuller,’ she instructed briskly. ‘And then return here and show his Grace out.’ Her gaze was challenging as she turned and waited for the butler to leave before looking across the room at Darian.
Darian breathed out his frustration, both with what was obviously Mariah’s dismissal of him and a burning curiosity to know the identity of the man the dismissed butler was even now escorting to Mariah’s private parlour.
Which was utterly ridiculous of him.
He had lived for two and thirty years without having the slightest interest in Mariah Beecham, or any of her friendships, and for him to now feel disgruntled, even jealous, of this other man was ludicrous on his part.
And yet Darian could not deny that was exactly how he now felt.
Just as he knew Mariah was equally as determined that her two male visitors would not meet each other.
‘I believe I am perfectly capable of showing myself out, Mariah,’ Darian informed her harshly.
She blinked. ‘Fuller will return in just a moment.’
‘And I am ready to depart now.’
‘But—’
‘Good day to you, Mariah.’ Darian bowed to her stiffly before crossing the room and stepping out into the cavernous hallway, only to come to an abrupt halt as he saw the identity of Mariah’s caller.
‘Wolfingham!’ Lord Aubrey Maystone turned at the bottom of the staircase to greet him enthusiastically; eyes alight with pleasure as he strode forward to shake Darian warmly by the hand. ‘How fortuitous this is, for you are just the man I wanted to see.’
Darian failed to see how that was possible, when Maystone could not have had any idea that Darian would be at Mariah Beecham’s home this morning.
Or could he?
As Darian knew only too well, from working so closely with the older man for so many years, Maystone was deceptively wily. A man capable of weaving webs within webs and all without losing sight of a single thread of those intricate weavings.
Although Darian seriously doubted that the other man’s role as spymaster was his reason for calling upon Mariah this morning.
Indeed, Mariah’s instruction, for Maystone to be taken to her private parlour, left only one conclusion in regard to Maystone’s presence here this morning: that the older man was indeed the man Mariah was currently intimately involved with and his joviality was now merely a politeness in front of Mariah’s butler.
