Читать книгу The Complete Regency Season Collection - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 54

Chapter Thirteen

‘Does our hostess seem less than composed to you this evening?’ Darian murmured softly to Mariah, eyes narrowed as he observed a rather red-faced Clara Nichols across the crowded ballroom, as she issued low-voiced instructions to a somewhat panicked-looking young footman.

A small ballroom that, along with the hundred or so masked and indecently clothed guests laughing and talking too loudly, was every bit as outrageously decadent as Mariah had earlier warned him it would be.

The walls were all mirrors, reflecting back the dozens of candles illuminating the room, as well as the lurid and explicit frescoes painted on the ceiling above. Although to Darian’s way of thinking, it was hard to decide which was worse, those erotic frescoes above, or the half-clothed guests milling about below.

He had certainly breathed a sigh of relief once he had realised that Mariah’s gown, a delicate gold confection of some gossamer material to match the gold of her mask, was actually not as revealing as it at first appeared.

Her beautiful and creamy shoulders were completely bare, admittedly, but there was at least a bodice to the gown, albeit a sheer and delicate lace that did little to hide the fullness of her breasts and rouged nipples below. But the body of the gown was at least lined, with only the barest hint—literally!—of the silky limbs and blonde curls hidden beneath.

With things so unsettled between the two of them still, Darian did not believe he would have been able to hold on to his temper if he also had to cope with other gentlemen ogling Mariah’s near nakedness!

‘She does,’ Mariah now answered him equally as softly. ‘Perhaps I should stroll over and see what is amiss?’

Darian’s first instinct was to say no, to keep Mariah safely beside him, rather than risk her moving through the crowded room, and the possible groping hands of the other gentlemen present, to where their hostess stood beside the doorway.

There was also a would-be assassin still somewhere in their midst.

Darian quickly repressed his overprotectiveness, knowing that Mariah would no more accept that than she had wished to listen to his conversation earlier, in regard to the continuation of their relationship once they were back in town. He had no doubt that she would especially baulk at any sign of possessiveness towards her on his part. Even if that was exactly how he felt!

Just the thought of any other man but himself so much as looking at Mariah with more than admiration was enough to cause his jaw to tighten and his back teeth to grind together.

‘We shall both go,’ he compromised as he held out his arm to her.

Mariah eyed Darian from behind her mask as she placed her gloved hand on his arm before allowing him to escort her across the crowded ballroom, knowing that the avidly covetous eyes of at least a dozen other women followed his progress.

He was, without a doubt, the most handsome and striking-looking gentleman in the room, formidably so.

Once again dressed all in black, accompanied by snowy white linen, the mask that covered the top half of Wolfingham’s face was also a plain and unrelenting black, green eyes glinting warningly through the two eye-slits to ward off the approach of any of the other guests.

Mariah repressed a shiver at just how devilish Darian looked this evening. Dark and watchful. Cold and unrelenting.

Nothing at all like the warm and satiated man who had made love to her, and to whom she had made love, earlier this evening.

‘Cold?’ Darian turned to her solicitously as he obviously felt her shiver.

Mariah straightened determinedly; after all, she was the one who had insisted there was nothing between them but the intimacy of the circumstances under which they now found themselves. She was a little disappointed, hurt, at how easily Darian had accepted her dismissal after making only a token protest, but that was for her to deal with, not him. Darian had promised nothing and she had asked for nothing, which was how it should be. How it must be, if she was to continue to maintain her emotional independence.

‘Not at all.’ She now gave him an over-bright smile. ‘Did you manage to send your groom with a note to Winterton Manor?’ she prompted softly.

‘Yes,’ Wolfingham confirmed. ‘Although he has not returned as yet with Maystone’s reply,’ he added grimly.

‘Do you think that something might have happened to him along the way?’ Mariah frowned; Aubrey had told them that Winterton Manor, where the older man had waited these past twenty-four hours or so, along with several other of his agents, until he heard word from them, was only situated five miles or so from Eton Park.

Darian frowned. ‘We shall go out to the stables and check for news of his return, once we have talked to Clara Nichols.’

Mariah’s brows rose. ‘Surely there is no reason for both of us to go?’

Perhaps not, but Darian still felt that reluctance to leave Mariah’s side. ‘We shall both go, Mariah,’ he repeated uncompromisingly, returning the searching glance Mariah gave him with one of cool determination.

Darian sensed an underlying air of tension in the Nicholses’ ballroom this evening, one that smacked almost of desperation. As if someone in this room knew they were being hunted. And if anything amiss was about to happen, then Darian intended being at Mariah’s side when and wherever it did.

‘Very well.’ Mariah finally nodded acquiescence, her eyes narrowing as they approached their flustered hostess and her obviously nervously trembling footman.

‘Something definitely has Clara on the verge of a fit of the vapours,’ she murmured softly to Darian, her voice rising as they reached Clara Nichols’s side. ‘Clara, darling, whatever is the matter?’ She left Darian’s side to link her arm companionably through the older woman’s.

Lady Nichols dismissed the footman before answering. ‘Oh, Mariah,’ she wailed. ‘Nothing this evening is going as it should, and— Oh! Good evening, your Grace,’ she greeted hastily as she saw Darian was standing just behind Mariah.

‘Can the countess and I be of any help?’ he queried lightly, senses now on full alert, knowing it was most unusual for ladies of the ton to become so discomposed in front of their guests, no matter what the situation.

‘Oh, no!’ Clara Nichols looked horrified at the suggestion. ‘No, thank you, Wolfingham,’ she added with more calm. ‘It was just a— There were several domestic matters in need of my attention. It is all settled now.’

Mariah somehow doubted that, from the hunted look still in Clara Nichols’s pale and constantly shifting blue eyes. ‘Could the capable Benson not have dealt with them?’

The older woman’s mouth thinned, those angry spots returning to her cheeks. ‘Benson is the main cause of the problem! Indeed, personal recommendation or not, I am seriously thinking of dismissing him the moment he returns.’ Her eyes now glittered with her anger. ‘The servants are all in disarray without his guidance.’ She had obviously forgotten her earlier reassurances to the contrary, in her agitation. ‘And I am sure that there are far more guests here this evening than were actually invited.’ She looked askance at the very overcrowded ballroom.

‘Indeed?’ Wolfingham was narrow-eyed as he also glanced at the overabundance of masked guests.

‘No doubt they had heard of the entertainments here and wished to be a part of it, whether invited or not,’ Clara twittered coyly.

‘No doubt,’ Wolfingham drawled drily. ‘When Benson returns from where?’ he added softly.

Clara gave an impatient shake of her head. ‘He has gone to be at the bedside of his sick father. Against my instructions, I might add,’ she added agitatedly. ‘When he asked earlier I refused him leave to go until tomorrow, but I learnt just minutes ago that he has gone this evening anyway!’

Mariah’s breath caught in her throat as she turned to give Darian a wincing glance.

Stupid!

How could they both have been so utterly, utterly stupid?

Or, perhaps more accurately, how could she and Darian have allowed themselves to become so distracted, by their ever-deepening attraction to each other, as to totally miss what had been right in front of their noses this whole time?

Of course neither Richard nor Clara Nichols had reacted as had been expected to the news that the Prince would not be attending their masked ball this evening, after all. Why should they, when neither of them was the assassin or one of the conspirators, whom Mariah and Darian had been sent here to find, in the discovered attempt to assassinate the Prince Regent.

To date, all of the known network of arrested spies, set up by André Rousseau during the year he had spent working as a tutor in England, had been employees in the households of rich or politically powerful people. Servants of one kind or another who could move about at will without attracting attention. A private secretary. A tutor. A footman.

A butler...

Benson!

Benson had been Rousseau’s spy in the Nicholses’ household.

Benson, who had only been employed in the Nicholses’ household for a matter of months.

Benson, who had proved to be such ‘a treasure’ since coming to work in the Nicholses’ household.

Benson, who had been the only person to leave the Nicholses’ sitting room after the Prince’s note had been delivered and read.

Benson, who had carried that note up the stairs to Clara Nichols’s private sitting room, before no doubt proceeding to read its contents!

Benson, his suspicions perhaps aroused, who had then followed Mariah and Darian back up the stairs, before entering that passageway behind the wall in Mariah’s bedchamber, for the sole purpose of listening to their conversation?

Mariah knew by Darian’s slight nod of acknowledgement, and the grimness of his expression, that he had already drawn those same conclusions.

As they both must now also be aware that Benson had already departed Eton Park, before either of them had been able to make that connection.

To go where, though, and for what purpose? Did Benson intend to go to London and somehow attempt to assassinate the Prince Regent still?

‘You said that Benson came to you through personal recommendation?’ Wolfingham, obviously one step ahead in his thinking than Mariah, now prompted their hostess shrewdly.

‘Why, yes.’ Clara Nichols looked slightly surprised by his interest, before then giving an affectionate smile. ‘But, of course, I could not possibly be cross with dear Wedgy. I can only assume that Benson must have fooled him as to his reliability, in the same way that he has fooled all of us.’

‘“Wedgy”?’ Darian had little or no patience left for the woman’s prattling, especially so when she obviously had absolutely no knowledge of just how much, and in what way, Benson had fooled them all.

His hostess continued to smile. ‘Darling Wedgy. Lord William Edgewood,’ she supplied irritably as Darian continued to glower down his aristocratic nose at her. ‘But I have always called him Wedgy. William and Edgewood—Wedgy, do you see?’

Darian did indeed see. He saw exactly how the slightly rotund and jolly, and apparently innocuous, Lord Edgewood, a man he now recalled was also attached to the Foreign Office and so privy to certain information—such as the Prince Regent’s social engagements!—might have conspired with others in an attempt to assassinate the Prince Regent.

‘We have been friends since childhood, you see,’ Clara continued to confide. ‘More than friends in recent years, of course,’ she added coyly, obviously in reference to the debauched display of that affection they had been forced to witness the evening before. ‘But I have always considered that friends make the best lovers.’

‘What colour mask is Wedgewood wearing this evening?’ Darian could not even pretend to listen politely to this dreadful woman another moment longer.

Clara blinked at his obvious aggression. ‘He is wearing the red mask of the devil.’

How appropriate! ‘And have you seen him yet this evening?’

His hostess frowned as she nodded. ‘Just before this latest crisis, as it happens.’

‘Where?’

Clara frowned her irritation. ‘Really, Wolfingham, you are being less than polite.’

‘Where did you last see him, madam?’ he demanded tautly.

She blinked pale lashes. ‘He was talking to one of the musicians as they prepared their instruments before they commenced playing. Why, Mariah, what on earth is wrong with Wolfingham this evening?’ She looked totally bewildered as the duke turned sharply on his highly polished heels to disappear into the melee of the crowded ballroom, without so much as a word of apology or explanation.

Mariah knew exactly what was wrong with Darian, and the reason for his having left so abruptly, and her heart began to beat a wild tattoo in her chest at the realisation that Darian had every intention of confronting Lord Edgewood. ‘I will explain later.’ She threw the words distractedly at Clara before herself hurrying off in Darian’s wake.

Very aware that the assassin’s plans for this weekend had been thwarted on two levels. First, by the arrival of the Prince Regent’s note of apology. And second, by Benson’s hurried departure.

Whether or not Lord Edgewood knew of the disappearance of his co-conspirator, Mariah certainly knew that a cornered animal was more likely to come out fighting, rather than cowering in the corner. And William Edgewood, once he became aware of Benson’s defection, was obviously intelligent enough to realise he no longer had anything else to lose.

A single glance at the grimness of Darian’s expression, before he left to go in search of the older man, had told her that the dangerous Duke of Wolfingham fully intended to confront the older man as being the traitor he so obviously was.

As Mariah was also aware that Darian had barely survived André Rousseau’s bullet just weeks ago.

* * *

‘A little caution, if you please, Wolfingham!’

Darian came to an abrupt halt to turn sharply in the middle of the ballroom, having easily recognised the softly spoken warning as coming from one of his closest friends, Christian Seaton, the Duke of Sutherland. And obviously also one of those uninvited guests Clara Nichols had referred to just minutes ago!

‘These masks hide a multitude of sins.’ Sutherland confirmed drily, dressed similarly to Darian, in dark clothing and a black mask, his eyes glinting violet through the eye-slits. ‘Your groom arrived at Winterton Manor with your note and we arrived here just in time to stop and question the Nicholses’ butler as he was attempting to leave,’ he supplied economically. ‘Rotherham and Maystone are here somewhere, too.’

‘You know of Edgewood’s involvement?’

‘Oh, yes. Benson squeaked like a stuck pig once he knew the game was up. No doubt hoping to shift some of the blame!’ The other man gave a grim smile. ‘Griff and Maystone are watching him even as we speak.’

Darian nodded abruptly. ‘Do we have a plan of extraction?’

‘Maystone suggests— Good heavens, what is she doing?’ Sutherland growled with a sudden start of surprise.

Darian tensed, very much afraid he knew exactly which ‘she’ his friend was referring to. ‘Where?’

‘The little fool!’ Sutherland had now turned fully in order to look across the heads of the other guests in the direction of the musicians. ‘Can you not keep your woman under control, Darian?’ he demanded disgustedly as the two of them began to push their way towards where Mariah now stood in conversation with Lord William Edgewood.

‘She is not my woman—’ Darian broke off with a start as he realised that, yes, that was exactly what Mariah now was.

His woman.

The woman he wished to protect, with his own life if necessary.

The woman he admired and respected more than any other.

The woman he now realised meant more to him than any other woman ever had. Or ever would?

And at this moment his woman was deliberately endangering herself by engaging in conversation with the very man they both knew to have been one of the conspirators in the intended assassination of their beloved Regent.

His mouth thinned as he prompted again, ‘Do we have a plan, Christian?’

‘We did, yes,’ the other man confirmed just as grimly. ‘That may be a little more difficult now that— Where is she going now?’ Sutherland demanded incredulously, both men coming to a halt and watching helplessly as Mariah, her hand companionably in the crook of Lord Edgewood’s arm, now crossed to the French doors and strolled outside on to the terrace with him.

‘Damn it to hell!’ Darian had never felt so helpless in his life before as he did at that moment. Or so much like putting Mariah across his knee and administering a sound thrashing, for having endangered herself so deliberately. A thrashing, because of his earlier promise to himself never to cause Mariah any physical harm, that would have to take a verbal form. A verbal tongue-lashing he fully intended to carry out the moment the two of them were alone together again.

If they were ever alone together again.

* * *

‘There is such an uncomfortable crush in there already,’ Mariah remarked lightly as she stepped outside into the briskness of the March evening air beside William Edgewood.

He released his arm from her hold. ‘You may drop the pretence now, Countess,’ he dismissed scornfully.

‘Pretence?’ She gazed up at him guilelessly.

Edgewood gave a scathing snort. ‘I am sure that we both know, with Wolfingham so obviously your lover, that you have absolutely no real interest in stepping outside into the moonlight with an old man like me.’

In truth, Mariah had not thought any further beyond the need she felt to prevent Darian from challenging the older man, as she had known he fully intended doing when he left her side so precipitously.

Outside, and alone on the terrace with William Edgewood—who appeared to have dropped all pretence of being that amiable fool everyone believed him to be and now looked at her with shrewdly calculating eyes—she now had time and opportunity to realise her mistake.

To realise that cornered animal had now turned its rabid attentions on to her.

She faced Edgewood unflinchingly as she decided to do exactly as he had suggested and cease all pretence. ‘Your cohort has already fled.’

‘So Clara unwittingly informed me a few minutes ago.’ He nodded tersely.

Mariah nodded briskly. ‘There is no way of escaping, nowhere you might go now where you will not be caught and held for trial as a traitor and attempted assassin.’

‘Would not France be the practical choice?’ he derided.

Mariah gave a pained frown. ‘Why? Why would you turn traitor on your own country? On your Regent?’ She had once asked Martin the same question.

‘You can ask me that here, in the midst of this debauchery that has become England?’ Edgewood scoffed. ‘And with a Regent more licentious than the rest?’

And Martin’s answer had been just the same.

‘You are just as guilty of that licentiousness—’

‘Necessarily so...’ he nodded ‘...if I was to fool others into not suspecting my real feelings on the matter. My mother was French, you know. I am half-French, and my loyalties lie there rather than— Ah, Wolfingham, I wondered how long it would take for you to follow your mistress!’ Edgewood murmured derisively as he glanced over Mariah’s shoulder. ‘And I see you have brought several of your friends with you, too!’

Mariah turned sharply to look at where Darian—and several of his friends?—had now joined them outside on the terrace.

At least, she had fully intended to turn and look at them.

Instead, she found herself suddenly held as Lord Edgewood’s prisoner, as he pulled her roughly in front of him and anchored her there, by placing an arm about her throat and pressing a pistol painfully against her temple.

A single glance at Darian showed his eyes to be glittering intently behind his mask in the moonlight, his displeasure, at the vulnerable position in which Mariah now found herself, clear for all to see as he glared at her furiously.

She quickly moved her gaze to the three masked gentlemen standing behind him, believing she recognised one of them as being the grey-haired Aubrey Maystone, but the identity of the other two were hidden behind their masks. ‘It would seem you are outnumbered, Lord Edgewood,’ she remarked slightly huskily, the tightness of his arm about her throat preventing her from breathing properly.

‘But I have the pistol,’ he pointed out conversationally.

‘We all have pistols, Edgewood,’ Aubrey Maystone assured drily as those pistols now appeared in all the other gentlemen’s hands.

Including Darian’s, Mariah realised, wondering where on his person he could have kept it hidden until now.

Was she becoming slightly hysterical, in questioning something so trivial, when Lord Edgewood had a pistol pressed so painfully against her temple? Lord, she hoped not!

‘But I also have the Countess of Carlisle,’ Edgewood came back confidently. ‘Eh, Wolfingham?’ he added challengingly.

Darian was well aware of the fact that Edgewood now held a pistol against Mariah’s temple. Could see all too clearly how the end of the barrel of that pistol was digging into her tender flesh. Hurting her.

‘You are only making your situation worse, Edgewood.’ Aubrey Maystone drew the other man’s attention back to him.

‘Could it possibly be any worse, when I am obviously already known as a conspirator and traitor against the Crown?’ The other man eyed Maystone coldly.

Darian took advantage of Edgewood’s distraction to inch his way slowly to the side and then forward, aided in his stealth of movement by Sutherland and Rotherham, as they both moved to flank Aubrey Maystone.

If Darian could just move a little further forward he might be able to—

‘Stay exactly where you are, Wolfingham,’ Edgewood warned harshly as he now pointed the pistol in Darian’s direction.

It needed only that brief moment of Edgewood’s distraction from Mariah for there to be a blur of movement at Darian’s side as Sutherland dived downwards towards Edgewood’s legs, at the same time as Rotherham leapt forward, with the obvious intention of wrestling the raised pistol from Edgewood’s hand.

Leaving Darian to stand and watch as the scene played out before him.

Mariah was deafened as Lord Edgewood’s pistol suddenly went off beside her ear, quickly followed by the report of another shot being fired, before she then felt herself toppling over as Lord Edgewood’s legs were knocked from beneath him, pulling her down heavily on top of him. Her last vision was of a horrified Darian before she hit her head hard on the floor of the terrace and she knew no more.