Darian sank back down on to his seat, but remained sitting forward so that he might reach out and take both Mariah’s hands from inside her muff, frowning as he felt the way that her fingers trembled as he held them in his own. ‘There is nothing for you to be frightened of, Mariah,’ he assured gruffly. ‘I promise I will do my utmost to ensure that no harm shall come to you this weekend.’

  Mariah held back the hysterical laugh that threatened to burst forth at the obvious sincerity of Darian’s promise of allowing no harm to come to her—when the person she now feared the most was him.

  Oh, not him exactly, but her responses to him certainly. Responses, of heat and desire, that did not seem to have dissipated or lessened in these past three days of not seeing him, as she had hoped that they might.

  Responses that she had believed herself to be incapable of feeling towards any man.

  Until Wolfingham.

  Just a few minutes of being back in his company and Mariah had known that she was still aware of everything about him. The dark and glossy thickness of his hair. Those beautiful emerald-green eyes. The stark and chiselled handsomeness of his features. The strength of his muscled body.

  The gentleness of the long and sensitive hands that now held her hands so lightly, but securely, within his own.

  Hands that Mariah could only too easily imagine moving, exploring her body, lighting a fire wherever they touched, giving pleasure wherever they caressed. And what did she know of the pleasure of her body at any man’s hands?

  Nothing, came the blunt and unequivocal answer.

  If she really were a normal widow, the woman of experience Wolfingham believed her to be, then she would know. Just as she would take every advantage of their weekend together to explore this attraction she felt for him.

  Except Mariah was not normal, as a widow or a woman.

  Christina had been conceived on the one and only occasion Martin had— No, Mariah could never think of what he had done to her that night as making love! It had been force and pain, and humiliation for her, nothing more and nothing less.

  Their marriage had been nothing but a sham from the beginning, Martin spending most of his nights in the bed of his mistress, the same woman who acted as housekeeper in their London home, and had done so for twenty years or more before Mariah and Martin were married.

  Many wives might have resented having her husband’s mistress actually living in one of their homes, but Mariah had felt only gratitude; whilst Martin’s nights were occupied with Mrs Smith then he would not think of coming to her bed. She had dismissed Mrs Smith after Martin’s death, of course, for Christina’s sake as well as her own, but Mariah’s gratitude to that lady had been such that she had provided the other woman with a large enough pension for her to live comfortably for the rest of her life.

  What would Wolfingham—a man who believed her to have been an adulteress in her marriage and to have had a multitude of lovers during her five years of widowhood—what would such a man think if he were to learn that Mariah had had but a single night of carnal knowledge in her life and that one occasion had been the most horrible, degrading, painful—

  ‘Where have you gone, Mariah?’ Darian had not liked the way in which her expression had grown distant, turned inwards, her thoughts giving a shadow to the depths of those beautiful eyes. He liked it even less when she had given an obvious shudder just now of what seemed like revulsion...

  Because she did genuinely fear the coming events at the Nicholses’ home?

  Or because she felt revulsion for the idea of even that pretence of an intimate relationship with him?

  Unfortunately, Darian had no answer to that question.

  She roused herself with effort, purposefully pulling her hands from his as she straightened, a bright and meaningless smile now curving those ruby-red lips, a smile that did nothing to take away the shadows in her eyes. ‘Why, I am right here in the carriage with you, Wolfingham,’ she assured him with unmistakable brittleness. ‘And I do believe we are now on the driveway approaching Eton Park,’ she added with obvious relief.

  Darian leant back abruptly against the cushions, knowing that their brief moment of tenderness was over. If it had ever really begun on Mariah’s part.

  His expression was grim as he turned to look out of the window to view the brightly lit house in the distance. He inwardly cursed himself for being a fool. He might have spent the past days and nights thinking of, desiring, Mariah, might even have anticipated being with her again, but she had shown him time and time again that she did not feel that same desire towards him.

  He gave a shake of his head as he once again turned his own thoughts to the business of the weekend ahead. ‘What sort of entertainments might I expect to endure this evening?’

  Mariah shrugged. ‘The full entertainments will not begin until tomorrow, obviously, but after dinner this evening I expect there will be cards and dancing.’

  Darian grimaced. ‘Sounds boringly normal to me.’

  She chuckled huskily. ‘I assure you there is nothing “normal” about cards and dancing in the Nicholses’ home!’

  Darian eyed her speculatively. ‘Meaning?’

  A small, secretive smile hovered at the corners of her mouth. ‘You will see soon enough!’

  Darian disliked the sound of that. As he disliked feeling as if he were at a disadvantage, as he surely was where such weekends as this were concerned.

  And meaning that he would have to look to Mariah for guidance as to the correct way for him to behave.

  But first, it seemed, he had to endure the simpering and coquettish Lady Clara Nichols as she gushingly welcomed him to her home, whilst her husband showed Mariah similar attentions. Attentions, he noted with satisfaction, that she laughed off quite easily.

  Darian was not so successful where Lady Clara was concerned, as she proudly introduced them to the rest of the company still assembled in the drawing room after tea: several lords, an earl, half a dozen Members of Parliament, some with their wives, but most not. There were also a dozen or so other female members of the ton, a titled lady or two, several Honourables, three well-known actresses and an opera singer, and all without the escort of their husbands.

  Lady Clara then insisted, her arm firmly linked with Darian’s, on personally accompanying them up the stairs to show them to their bedchambers.

  Darian felt quite sickened by her attentions by the time that lady finally took herself off to rejoin her other guests and no doubt indulge in gossip about the duke and the countess.

  His top lip curled with distaste the moment the door of the bedchamber had closed behind his simpering hostess. ‘There is something particularly sickening about a lady of possibly forty years giggling like a schoolgirl.’

  Mariah chuckled, no doubt at the look of disgust on his face, as she untied her bonnet and threw it down on to her bed. ‘How very ungrateful of you, Darian, when I do believe, from their situation of being at the front of the house and the opulence of these bedchambers, that Clara and Richard must have moved out of their own bedchambers in order to accommodate the two of us.’

  As expected, the two of them had been given adjoining bedchambers, the door between those rooms having been left pointedly open, and no doubt the reason Darian had been subjected to Clara Nichols’s girlishly suggestive giggles when she reminded them that dinner would be served in a little over two hours. No doubt she expected the two of them to indulge in some love play before that time.

  Darian’s room was acceptable, but Mariah’s—Clara Nichols’s own bedchamber?—was a ghastly nightmare of pink and cream lace and flounces. ‘How will you ever be able to sleep in such an explosion of pink?’ He grimaced as he stood in the doorway between their two rooms.

  Mariah gave a dismissive shrug. ‘I shall simply blow out the candles and then I shall not be able to see it.’

  Darian admired the picture of grace and beauty Mariah made in the candle and firelight as she stood in the middle of that ghastly pink room. A veritable vision in turquoise and cream, her hair appearing like spun gold, colour now warming her cheeks.

  His blood stirred and he felt that tingling at the base of his spine and between his thighs, the rising and thickening of his erection, as he imagined how much more lovely Mariah would look without any clothes on at all.

  Would the curls between her thighs be that same gold or possibly a shade darker?

  Would her nipples be the same ruby red as her lips?

  And would the folds between her thighs—

  ‘If you would not mind, Darian?’ Mariah’s voice softly interrupted his erotic musings. ‘My maid will be here shortly to help me bathe and dress for dinner, as no doubt will your own valet. Oh, and, Darian...?’ she added as he gave a terse bow of acceptance before turning to leave, waiting until he had slowly turned back to her before speaking again. ‘Close the door on your way out, please.’

  His jaw tightened at the dismissal as he stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind him, knowing he needed the privacy in order to take care of the need throbbing through his body, before he dared to rejoin Mariah!

  ‘You are not intending to appear in that gown in public!’

  Mariah turned from where she had been gazing at her reflection in the mirror as she put the last of the pearl clips into her hair, to now look at Wolfingham as he once again stood in the open doorway between their two bedchambers. His appearance was as resplendent as usual in black evening clothes and snowy white linen, an ebony sheen to his hair, his features once again as hard as granite.

  It was the look of horror on those hard features, as he gazed back at her unblinkingly, that now brought a wry smile to her lips. ‘You do not like it?’

  Like it? Darian had never seen a gown like it before! Well, not outside the walls of a brothel, at least.

  The gown left Mariah’s shoulders bare except for two tiny ribbon straps and was made of some diaphanous cream material, lined with the sheerest of lace. It clearly revealed the bare outline of the curvaceous body beneath and darkening at the apex between Mariah’s thighs—revealing the nakedness of the darker curls covering her mound.

  As for the bodice of the gown! It was almost non-existent, just that cream diaphanous material covering the fullness of Mariah’s breasts, the nipples plump berries and clearly showing through as being as ruby red as her lips—that ruby colour aided by rouge, if he was not mistaken.

  His traitorous body had surged back into full attention the moment he looked at the reflection of those plump nipples in the mirror, and imagined Mariah applying that rouge to those succulent berries. ‘I see that a certain part of you does, at least.’ Mariah looked pointedly at the unmistakable evidence of his arousal.

  Darian did not in the least enjoy feeling like a callow youth taking his first look at a naked woman.

  Except Mariah was not naked.

  Perhaps he would not have reacted so strongly if she had been!

  Of course he would, Darian instantly chastised himself. It was only that there was something so provocative about the tantalising glimpses of those slender and obviously naked curves as Mariah moved across the room to collect her gloves from the bed, giving just the hint of those golden curls nestling between her thighs. And her breasts were magnificent; creamy, full and plump, with those red and succulent rouged nipples just begging to be tasted and suckled.

  Darian wanted nothing more at that moment than to lay Mariah down upon the bed before taking those berries into his mouth and sucking and tasting their plumpness until he was sated.

  If he ever was!

  As for the shadow of those darker golden curls and the promise of what lay hidden between her thighs—

  Darian imagined lowering her gently down on to the bed and pushing her gown up her thighs so that he might explore every silken inch of that hidden treasure. To caress the plumpness of her folds. Taste and suck the tiny nubbin above—

  Beads of perspiration broke out on Darian’s forehead as he fought an inward battle not to give in to the urge to cross the room and take Mariah in his arms, to fulfil every single one of the fantasies that had been slowly driving him insane and that he now found impossible to stop.

  ‘I am ready to go downstairs and join the other guests, if you are?’

  It took every effort of his indomitable will to pull Darian back from the brink of giving in to his desires, his voice harsh as he answered her. ‘Do you have a shawl or something you can wear about your shoulders?’ The thought of other men ogling Mariah’s almost naked breasts, and that tantalising outline of her naked curves beneath her gown, was enough to make him clench his fists violently.

  Mariah gave a bell-like laugh as she collected up a fan from her dressing table rather than a shawl. ‘You will see, Darian, my gown is quite modest in comparison with the gowns some of the other ladies will be wearing this evening.’

  He had no interest in what the other ladies were wearing this evening; they could all walk around stark naked for all Darian cared. But if he caught one single gentleman in the act of ogling Mariah— He was behaving more than ridiculously, Darian recognised self-disgustedly, when he had no more right to approve or disapprove of other gentlemen ogling Mariah, tonight or any other night, than—than the Prince Regent did!

  Although he had no doubt that the Prince Regent, if he had been one of the guests this evening, would have taken great delight in enjoying Mariah’s appearance. The man might be plumper and more dissipated than he had been in his youth, but he still had charm enough to seduce the ladies.

  Whereas Darian’s charm, what little he did possess—and no doubt Mariah would say he possessed none!—seemed to have completely deserted him for the moment.

  ‘Darian?’ Mariah prompted again lightly.

  He gathered himself to straighten determinedly before crossing the room to hold out his arm to her, feeling much as he had when he had necessarily to prepare himself before a battle.

  And unsure whether that battle this evening would be with his own wayward emotions, or with the other gentlemen present.

  Chapter Seven

  Mariah was enjoying herself.

  Actually enjoying herself, when normally she would simply have gone through the motions of doing so at this sort of entertainment, flirting and laughing with the gentlemen whilst at the same time keeping them in line—and their groping hands firmly at bay—with a delicately aimed flick of her fan.

  And the reason she was enjoying herself was standing broodingly at her side now that all the guests had retired to the drawing room following dinner, giving every appearance of a dark and avenging angel, ready to swoop down on any who might even think of crossing over the invisible line he had drawn about the two of them since they had sat down to dinner earlier.

  The dark and avenging angel Darian Hunter, the Duke of Wolfingham.

  As she had warned Wolfingham before coming down the stairs earlier, most of the other ladies were dressed much more daringly than she was this evening. Indeed, there was a plethora of completely bared breasts visible about the drawing room as the gentlemen, and many of the ladies, completely against the normal rules of polite society, enjoyed an after-dinner brandy together. Most of the gowns were without the benefit of that layer of lace that covered Mariah’s breasts and several of the gowns were made of a totally transparent and gauzy material that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

  And for all the notice Wolfingham had taken—was still taking!—of any of those erotically displayed ladies, they might as well have been wearing sackcloth.

  It was a refreshing change for Mariah to be in the presence of a gentleman whose gaze was not constantly wandering to the half-naked bodies of other women.

  Just as Wolfingham’s glowering and tight-lipped disapproval of the approach of both the ladies and the gentlemen present this evening had kept everyone but their hostess from attempting to interrupt their privacy. Wolfingham had wasted no time in dispatching that lady, too, with a few choice and tersely spoken words.

  Instead, he had centred all of his attention on Mariah as they ate the sumptuously prepared dinner served to them earlier, his conversation exclusive, and occasionally feeding her the odd delicacy of food from his own plate, as a way, no doubt, of giving further illusion to their intimacy.

  Mariah had blushed like a schoolgirl the first time Darian behaved so unexpectedly, that blush having deepened as he centred his hawklike gaze upon her lips when she finally leant forward to take the food from his fork. She had been better prepared the second time it had happened, but still felt unaccountably hot at the way his green gaze stared so intently at her lips.

  And throughout all of it Darian had seemed completely unaware of the sexual play going on about them.

  The assembled company had been slightly restrained to begin with, all obviously aware of having the imposing Duke of Wolfingham within their midst, but several glasses of wine later, along with Wolfingham’s apparent distraction with Mariah, and those inhibitions had quickly fallen away.

  Several of the gentlemen had openly caressed and tweaked bared breasts, and one gentleman had even crawled beneath the table for several minutes, the expression of rapture on the flushed face of the actress seated next to him, followed by her breathy and noisy gasps of pleasure as she climaxed, clearly showing where that gentleman was lavishing his attentions.

  Mariah had glanced away as if bored as the gentleman crawled back up into his seat, his mouth moist and lips swollen, the expression on his flushed face becoming one of equal rapture as that lady returned the favour, by unbuttoning his pantaloons and openly stroking him until he, too, reached a completion.