Читать книгу The Complete Regency Season Collection - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 52

Chapter Eleven

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Darian narrowed his gaze on her. ‘Indeed.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 caution 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.

Wolfingham had not found her wanting.

For so many years Mariah had wondered if it was because she was so undesirable that Martin had never wanted a normal marriage with her. Not that she had ever wanted a normal marriage with the man she had considered as being her rapist, but Martin’s complete lack of interest in her physically, and for so many years, had certainly caused her to question her own desirability.

Oh, she had played her part well these past seven years, had flirted and teased whichever gentlemen had needed to be flirted with and teased, in order for her to extract the information from them that she needed. But she had never felt like this with any of those other men, never wanted as she had wanted with Darian. Never felt even tempted with those other men, had known that she would just be another conquest to them.

In contrast, Darian had made love to her like a thirsty man in a desert, praising her all the while, telling her time and time again how beautiful she was to him. How much he desired her. How much he wanted and appreciated her body.

Gifting Mariah with that freedom, that liberation in her own sexuality that she had long believed dead inside her.

And in doing so Darian had given her pleasure unlike anything Mariah had ever known before.

A pleasure she now fully intended to gift back to him.

A seductive smile curved her lips as she recalled that look of bliss on the male statue’s face as Aphrodite took his full and burgeoning length into her mouth.