Regency rebels, p.26
Regency Rebels, page 26
A nerve pulsed in the duke’s tightly clenched jaw. ‘Except a moral one.’
‘You are a fine one to preach to me of morals, Wolfingham, when you are currently sporting the bullet wound you received whilst fighting a duel over some woman!’ Her eyes flashed in the candlelight.
Darian glowered his frustration down at her, wanting to deny the accusation, but knowing that to do so would then bring the real cause of that wound back into question. A question he would not, could not, answer.
Having no answer, he decided to act instead.
Although that was possibly an exaggeration on his part, when his arms seemed to have moved of their own volition as they encircled Mariah’s waist and he pulled her in close against the hardness of his body.
Her exotic perfume immediately filled all of his senses as his head swooped down to capture her lips with his own. Soft and delectable lips that had parted with surprise, so allowing for further intimacy as Darian’s tongue swept lightly across her lips before plunging into the heated warmth beneath.
She felt so slender in his arms, the fullness of her breasts crushed against his chest, her lips and mouth tasting of honey. A silky-soft sweetness and heat that drew Darian in even closer, as he attempted to claim, to possess, that heat as his own. To claim, to possess, Mariah as his own.
Mariah had been totally unprepared for Wolfingham taking her into his arms, let alone having him kiss her. So unprepared, that for several stunned seconds she found herself responding to that kiss as her hands moved up to cling to the lapels of the duke’s evening coat, her body crushed, aligned with Wolfingham’s, as his mouth continued to plunder and claim her own. Making her fully aware not only of the hardness of his chest, but also the long length of his arousal pressing against the warmth of her abdomen.
She allowed herself to feel a brief moment of triumph, at the knowledge, this physical evidence, that Darian Hunter, the coldly arrogant Duke of Wolfingham, was aroused by her. From holding her in his arms. From kissing her.
Those brief moments of triumph were quickly followed by ones of panic and a desperate need to free herself. A move she attempted to instigate as she now pushed against that hard and muscled chest even as she wrenched her mouth out from beneath that sensually punishing kiss. ‘Release me immediately, Wolfingham!’
Her eyes now gleamed up at him in the candlelight, her chest quickly rising and falling as she breathed heavily, having managed to put several inches between the hardness of his body and her own, but failing to release herself completely.
‘You are taking your protection of your brother too far, sir,’ she added fiercely as her hands against his chest kept him at a distance but he still made no effort to remove the steel band of his arms from about her waist.
A nerve pulsed in the tightness of his jaw. ‘This has nothing to do with my brother.’
‘It has everything to do with him.’
Darian was breathing heavily, unable to reason clearly as he looked down at Mariah, his mind and senses too full of her to form a coherent thought, other than the taste of her on his own lips and tongue. The feel of her soft curves against his much harder ones. The smell of her causing his body to throb and pound with need.
A need that the pallor of Mariah’s face in the candlelight, and over-bright turquoise eyes, said she did not reciprocate.
He gave a pained frown. ‘What did you think would happen when you invited me to join you alone here in the gallery, Mariah?’
‘Not this!’ Her breasts quickly rose and fell in rhythm with her agitated breathing as she continued to hold him at arm’s length. ‘Never this!’
Darian’s frown deepened to one of concern as he heard the underlying sob in her voice. ‘Mariah—’
‘I believe the lady has expressed a wish to be set free, Darian!’
Darian’s head whipped round at the sound of his brother’s harshly reproving voice, a scowl darkening his brow as he saw Anthony watching them from the shadowed doorway into the gallery, the expression on his brother’s face one of disgust as well as fury.
A disgust and fury Darian fully deserved, given the circumstances, of Mariah’s obvious distress and the feelings Anthony had previously expressed for the woman Darian now held in his arms.
Feelings that Darian had totally forgotten about in his need to claim Mariah’s lips for his own.
His arms fell heavily back to his sides as he stepped back and away from her, only to then reach out a hand to steady Mariah as she appeared to stumble.
‘Do not touch me!’ she lashed out verbally even as she pulled free of his grasp, twin spots of fevered colour now high in her cheeks as she turned away. ‘Accompany me back to Lady Stockton’s ballroom, if you please, Lord Anthony,’ she requested stiffly as she left Darian’s side to walk quickly down the gallery to take the arm his brother so gallantly offered her.
Anthony paused to give Darian a warning glance over the top of Mariah’s averted head. ‘I have changed my mind, Darian, and we will now talk again later tonight, rather than tomorrow morning.’
Darian recognised those words for exactly what they were: a threat, not a promise.
Chapter Four
Darian 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.’
