Читать книгу The Complete Regency Season Collection - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 50

Chapter Nine

‘Good gracious!’ Darian winced up at the pale pink marble structure of what could only be described as a miniature copy of the Greek Parthenon he had visited whilst taking the Grand Tour ten years ago or more.

Nestled amongst the woodland to the left of the lake at Eton Park, exactly as Benson had said it would be, it had six small Doric-style marble columns fronting the building, with ten more along each side, and a domed cupola on the roof. And standing in pride of place before the huge wooden doors at its entrance was a nude statue, of what Darian could only assume was Aphrodite, cupping and stroking her own breast.

A nude statue that should not have been there, considering that, if Darian remembered his Greek mythology correctly, the Parthenon in Greece was dedicated to Athena, the virginal goddess of wisdom and philosophy.

‘I can only assume that Lord and Lady Nicholses’ knowledge of the Greek gods must be as lacking as their good taste,’ Mariah drawled beside him, revealing that her own knowledge on the subject was not lacking at all.

Darian chuckled huskily. ‘One does not need to make assumptions once they have seen this.’

Mariah’s eyes danced merrily as she glanced up at him. ‘It does err rather on the side of ostentatious.’

‘That is one word for it!’ Darian gave a disgusted shake of his head. ‘I sincerely hope that Benson is not of the opinion that the two of us share his employers’ bad taste!’

Mariah peered around the statue at the huge oak doors. ‘What do you think is inside?’

‘Even more lewd statues?’

‘Perhaps,’ she murmured distractedly as she moved forward to rest one gloved hand on the handle of the door. ‘Shall we go inside and see?’ she invited huskily.

Darian had to admit to feeling as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders since leaving the oppression of the Nicholses’ household, having enjoyed being out in the fresh air with Mariah walking companionably beside him and wearing a pelisse and bonnet the same russet colour as her gown.

He was in no hurry to forgo that feeling of companionship by entering what he could only assume, in the knowledge of the Nicholses’ tastes, and Benson’s warning that it would not be empty this evening, was more than likely to be a place where the Nicholses continued their debauchery. ‘I doubt it will be any more tasteful inside than out.’ He grimaced.

Mariah turned the handle and pushed open the door. ‘We will not know— Oh!’ She gave a gasp as she stepped inside. ‘Oh, do come and look, Darian,’ she encouraged breathlessly. ‘It is— You will never believe what is in here!’

Darian found himself moving forward to join Mariah inside the temple, partially lured there at having her address him by his first name, something she rarely did voluntarily, but also out of the need to discover exactly what sort of debauchery had awaited her inside and rendered her so breathless.

Darian felt the difference in temperature as soon as he stepped inside—the cavernous marble building was filled with an inexplicable heat. Or perhaps not so inexplicable, as he breathed in the slightly sulphurous smell only thinly disguised by the scent of lavender and realised that the mixture of smells was emanating from the deep sunken bathing pool of water in the centre of the rose marble building.

Mariah’s eyes were glowing with pleasure as she turned to look at him. ‘I believe it is a natural hot spring!’

That was exactly what it appeared to be. Darian knew that there were a dozen or more of these natural hot springs in England and that society made a point of flocking to them, usually during the summer months, in order to drink or bathe in what they considered to be the health-giving waters.

But he had never before seen or even heard of there being a private hot spring such as this one obviously was...

He shrugged. ‘We are close to Tunbridge Wells, so perhaps this is an offshoot of the one there?’

‘It is wonderful!’ Mariah drew off one of her gloves before stepping forward to crouch down and dip her fingers into the scented water. ‘And it is lovely and warm!’ she announced excitedly.

Darian was more than a little grateful for Mariah’s distraction with the sunken bathing pool, once his gaze had skimmed over the rest of the interior of the marble building.

There were half a dozen tall candleholders about the cavernous room, fresh candles in them, no doubt in preparation for this evening’s entertainments. And a dozen or more slightly raised platforms, each littered with sumptuous and brightly coloured silk cushions.

Darian gave a grimace, his gaze moving swiftly on, as he easily guessed the purpose for those.

The two-foot-high frieze on the walls was a plethora of painted scenes of the mythical gods engaged in acts of debauchery with man, woman and beast, as was the domed ceiling above them. But it was the five statues placed about the side of the pool that now caused him to draw his breath in sharply.

Each and every one of them was of Aphrodite, in all her naked glory, engaged in a variety of sexual acts so explicit that no imagination was necessary and causing Darian’s mouth to set grimly.

It was so typical of the Nicholses that they had taken a thing of beauty and turned it into yet another scene for their own very questionable sexual tastes.

‘Have you ever seen anything like it before, Darian?’ Mariah was totally enthralled by the pool, her expression enrapt, as she moved her bare fingers backwards and forwards in the warmth of the water.

With its dozen or so steps down into the water it reminded Mariah of a painting she had once seen, of Queen Cleopatra bathing in such a pool filled with the ass’s milk reputed to have preserved her wondrous beauty.

‘No, I cannot say I have ever seen anything quite like this before,’ Darian answered coolly.

She turned to look at him quizzically, noting the emerald glitter of his eyes and the slight flush to his cheeks, caused by the warmth of the temple. His mouth was pressed into a thin, uncompromising line. She straightened slowly. ‘What is it?’

A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw. ‘We should leave! And continue with our walk,’ he added tersely as she looked confused by his vehemence.

Mariah blinked at the harshness of his tone. ‘But it is so cosy and warm in here, and surely the perfect place for us to escape the company of the other guests until luncheon.’ She had thought Darian had desired to be alone with her just a short time ago.

His shoulders were tensed beneath his perfectly tailored dark green superfine. ‘I agree that the bathing pool is of interest.’

‘But?’

He sighed his impatience. ‘But the rest of the temple is far less so.’

Mariah had been so enthralled, so enchanted, at the discovery of the beautiful sunken pool that she had not bothered to look at anything else in the room.

She did so now. And instantly felt the colour heat her own cheeks as she saw the erotic scenes painted on the walls and the ceiling above them. ‘I am afraid this has ruined the surprise of the Nicholses’ smaller ballroom—’ Mariah drew in a sharp breath as she now saw the statues posed about the edge of the pool.

The naked goddess Aphrodite was cradling the head of an equally naked man, whose proportions were worthy of the name Adonis, as he suckled one of her breasts whilst the other hand cupped beneath its twin, thumb and finger in the act of pinching the turgid nipple.

The next was of Aphrodite sprawled upon a couch, the Adonis still at her breasts, her legs parted, a look of ecstasy upon her face as another man feasted on the bounty between her thighs.

Aphrodite reclining upon the same couch, one of the men now lying between her thighs, the hardness of his arousal poised at her entrance— Mariah’s gaze moved quickly to the next statue, only to move quickly on again as she saw that Aphrodite was now posed on her hands and knees, her tongue licking her lips as a man stood behind her holding her hips in place, ready for him to enter her like a stallion covering a mare, whilst another man knelt in front of her, his hard arousal jutting forward—

Mariah ceased breathing altogether, her cheeks burning as her gaze hurriedly shifted to the last statue. She saw that the man behind Aphrodite had now buried himself to the hilt between her thighs, a smile now curving the fullness of her lips as she arched her throat, the huge erection of the second man in her mouth.

‘You have never been in here before?’ Wolfingham enquired harshly.

‘I— No.’ Mariah was too stunned still to be able to think straight. Or even attempt the sophisticated response that might have been expected of her! ‘No, thank goodness,’ she repeated irritably. ‘I usually retire earlier than the other guests at these affairs and have never— I have never seen any of this before now.’ She waved a dismissive hand, eyes downcast so that she did not have to actually look at those statues again.

Statues that should not have shocked the notorious Lady Mariah Beecham and would surely have amused the sophisticated Countess of Carlisle. And yet Mariah was shocked and far from amused.

She was also aware that her thoughts had taken flight as she imagined herself and Darian engaged in those intimacies.

His mouth on her breast.

His mouth feasting between her thighs.

His shaft buried to the hilt between those same thighs.

His entering her from behind with the fierceness of a stallion coupling with a mare.

Mariah’s fingers encircling his hardness as she parted her own lips and took that swollen length into her mouth. She turned sharply on her heel, knowing her response should have been one of sophistication, and perhaps even boredom, at such an erotic display, but for the moment she was unable to even attempt to be either. ‘You are right. We should leave.’

‘Mariah?’ Darian reached out and grasped her wrist as she would have brushed past him as she hurried to the door.

His gaze was searching on her flushed cheeks, and he drew in a sharp breath as she raised her lashes and he saw the fevered glitter in her eyes. An aroused and fevered glitter?

Mariah had presented him with one puzzle after another since the moment they’d first met, it seemed. One moment behaving every inch the sophisticated and notorious woman of society she was reputed to be. The next, as she appeared now, seeming to be as shocked as a girl barely out of the schoolroom, by this evidence of the excesses of the less reputable members of the ton.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mariah glanced about them at the erotica depicted so graphically on the frieze on the walls and ceiling, and those explicitly erotic statues. And knowing that she could not—

‘Not here, Darian. I could not bear to do this here—’ She broke off with a shudder. ‘I can only imagine the scenes of excess this room has witnessed during the Nicholses’ weekend parties! And will no doubt witness again this very night.’ She was so tense now that she flinched as one of Darian’s hands moved up to cup her cheek before he gently lifted her face up towards his own.

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

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

Not completely because of him, or for him.

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

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

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

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

Only for Darian.

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

Until Darian.

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

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

‘You did?’

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

‘You are not disappointed?’

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

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

‘From your husband?’

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

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

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

‘Ever?’

Her mouth tightened. ‘No.’

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

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

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

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

‘No more than I loved him, no.’

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

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

‘And you must needs marry Carlisle?’

‘Yes!’ she hissed vehemently.

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

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

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

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

‘Why?’

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

‘Again, why?’

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

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

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

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

‘Please, Mariah,’ Darian encouraged again gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Could that possibly be the answer to this puzzle?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her gaze also avoided meeting his. ‘No—’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Perhaps for your own sake?’

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

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

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

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

She drew in a ragged breath. ‘Yes.’

‘Oh, Mariah,’ he breathed out raggedly.

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

‘And?’ Darian encouraged gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Why not?’ Darian scowled darkly.

Mariah shook her head. ‘My father was very wealthy, but even so he was only a minor landowner, had made his money in trade and was only accepted into the fringes of society, as was I. Carlisle, on the other hand, might not have been rich, but his title made him extremely powerful in society. And if my father had challenged him, or Carlisle had called him out for making his accusations against him, I have absolutely no doubt as to which of them would have walked away.’ She gave a shudder.

Nor did Darian; Martin Beecham had been known as an excellent shot and swordsman.

‘Besides,’ Mariah continued in that same flat voice, ‘Carlisle had made it clear to me after—afterwards...’ a little colour flared briefly in her cheeks before as quickly fading again ‘...that if I told my father what had happened, then he would deny my accusations, claim that it was just my own guilty conscience regarding our having acted on our desire for each other. And that the only outcome to my confession would be the one that he wanted anyway, our immediate betrothal and marriage. He also threatened—’ She breathed shakily. ‘He said he would do that again, and again, until I carried his child, so leaving me with no choice but to marry him.’

‘The utter and complete bastard!’ If Carlisle had been alive today then Darian knew that he would happily have thrust a sword or knife blade through the other man’s cruel black heart, for what he had done to Mariah. Or put a bullet in that same warped and twisted heart.

Mariah pressed her face against Darian’s chest, causing him to bend lower in order to hear her next words. ‘When I discovered just weeks later that I was indeed expecting his child, I wanted to die, to run away. I even thought of ending my own life. And yet I could not do that either, not with the babe inside me. It would have been nothing less than murder. And my father, as Carlisle had predicted, once told of my condition could not refuse the earl’s offer of marriage. Not without causing scandal and ruin for all of us. I was well and truly trapped. Into marrying a man I not only hated, but also had every reason to fear—’ She broke off as a sob caught at the back of her throat.

Darian inwardly cursed himself for having forced the subject to the point that he had put Mariah through the pain of reliving those unhappy memories of her past.

The memory of the taking of what Darian was sure would have to have been her young and inexperienced body.

A body that now trembled almost uncontrollably against his own as Mariah battled to stop the tears from falling.

Darian had no doubt they were tears Mariah should have shed eighteen years ago. For the manner in which she had lost her innocence. For the babe, conceived in fear on Mariah’s part and greed on Carlisle’s.

For the twelve years of unhappiness she had spent as wife to the very man who had raped her.