Darian had been awake shortly after seven o’clock, earlier than was usual for him, but as he had expected, he had passed another restless night and, once fully awake, could not bear to stay abed any longer. He had known, from the sounds and soft conversation he could hear in the adjoining room, that Mariah was also awake and talking to her maid.

  He had found several peepholes in his own bedchamber the night before and used his handkerchiefs accordingly, but they had both agreed the coverings should come down during the day, if only so that the Nicholses did not realise they both knew of the peepholes.

  If the Nicholses’ butler—he had introduced himself as Benson, when Mariah had enquired—was surprised to see any of the guests appearing in the breakfast room a little after eight o’clock in the morning, then the blandness of his expression did not show it. He remained as stoically impassive as he had yesterday evening, as he served the Nicholses’ guests dinner.

  It did not help Darian’s peace of mind that Mariah looked beautiful and untroubled this morning, in a russet-coloured silk morning gown, her golden hair swept up and secured at her crown, with clusters of curls at her temple and nape.

  She had also been coolly polite to him so far this morning, to the point of irritation.

  As if their closeness last night had never happened.

  As if Darian had not feasted upon her bared breasts.

  As if she had not thoroughly enjoyed having him feast upon her bared breasts.

  As if she was annoyed with him for having taken such liberties?

  The temper that seemed to burn just below the surface of Darian’s emotions whenever it came to Mariah once again raised its ugly head at her lack of response to his suggestion. ‘Unless you would rather wait for some of the other guests to come down and perhaps join them?’

  Mariah looked at Wolfingham beneath lowered lashes, having sensed that he was angry with her from the moment he knocked briskly on the door adjoining their two bedchambers earlier, then waited for her permission before entering. It had been her experience that Wolfingham did not wait for permission to do anything he pleased.

  He looked very severe in his anger. Very much Wolfingham.

  The darkness of his hair was brushed back severely from the harshness of his face. His eyes were a flinty, uncompromising green. And there were brackets of displeasure beside his nose and mouth. His movements were also brisk and impatient.

  She raised cool brows. ‘I shall be quite happy to seek my own entertainment this morning if you are too busy to accompany me on a walk.’

  He speared her with that impatient green gaze across the width of the table. ‘And what else could there possibly be here to keep me busy this morning?’

  Mariah turned to smile at the butler as he lingered by the array of breakfast trays, in readiness for serving them more food. ‘Could we possibly have some more coffee, Benson? Thank you.’ She waited until the butler had left the room before turning back to Darian. ‘If you wish to argue with me, might I suggest that you wait until after we have gone outside,’ she hissed in warning.

  His brows rose autocratically. ‘Why should you imagine I might wish to argue with you?’

  Mariah could think of only one reason for Darian’s bad humour this morning: the same sexual frustration she had suffered last night!

  She was not completely innocent in the ways of men, knew that a man’s passion, once aroused, was apt to make him irritable if it was not assuaged; the housekeeper, Mrs Smith, had once taken a week’s leave to visit her sick sister and Martin had been unbearable for the whole time she had been gone. To the point that Mariah had feared he might turn his attentions towards her in the other woman’s absence. As a precaution against that possibility, Mariah had wisely taken herself off to the country for the rest of that week.

  She could not avoid Darian Hunter’s company by doing the same. Not for this weekend, at least.

  Nor was she altogether sure she wished to.

  She had lain awake in bed for hours after they had parted the night before, her body uncomfortably achy and needy. Her breasts had felt swollen, the tips seeming to tingle and burn, occasionally sending shards of pleasure coursing through her as they rubbed against the material of her night-rail. Between her thighs had felt uncomfortably hot and damp, despite her having used a washcloth before going to bed. And there had been an ache amongst the curls down there that had throbbed even harder when she pressed her thighs together, in an effort to dispel that unaccustomed heat.

  For the first time in her life Mariah had suffered what she was sure must be sexual frustration.

  And it was both frightening and exhilarating, to realise how attracted she had become to Darian Hunter in such a short space of time. How much she desired him. How much she desired to have him make love to and with her.

  That realisation frightened her more than anything else!

  She lowered her lashes in case that desire should now be reflected in her eyes. ‘I know that you do, Darian,’ she answered him quietly. ‘And I am sorry for it—’ She broke off as he stood up abruptly, his chair scraping back noisily on the polished wooden floor. ‘Darian?’

  His eyes glittered dangerously as he stood beside the table glowering down at her. ‘Exactly what are you apologising for, Mariah?’ he demanded exasperatedly.

  She swallowed. ‘I realise that last night—that it did not proceed, as you might have wished it to have done—’

  ‘As I might have wished?’ he repeated softly, dangerously so. ‘Are you denying that your own wishes were exactly the same as my own?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘I advise caution with your answer, Mariah,’ he warned softly, those green eyes glittering dangerously, a nerve pulsing in his clenched jaw. ‘I am not some callow youth who does not know when a woman feels desire.’

  Colour warmed Mariah’s cheeks and she was unsure whether it was from embarrassment at the intimacy of their conversation, or jealousy, because Darian must have intimate knowledge of other women’s desire to be so well informed. ‘This is neither the time nor the place for—’

  ‘Will it ever be, Mariah?’ he bit out scathingly. ‘Will you ever be willing to give yourself to me?’

  Mariah drew her breath in sharply even as a bite of longing twisted almost painfully between her thighs. What would it be like to give herself to this man? Not just any man, but to Darian Hunter, the Duke of Wolfingham?

  Nothing like that horrendous single experience with Martin, she was sure. Even in her limited experience, she knew Darian had already demonstrated that he was a generous and attentive lover, with more of an interest in ensuring his partner’s pleasure than taking his own.

  Could she give herself to this man? Could she let down her guard, her inhibitions, and open herself up to such intimacy? Such vulnerability?

  She was starting to believe, that with Darian Hunter, she just might be able to do so...

  She straightened her shoulders as she made her decision. ‘Perhaps,’ she allowed gruffly.

  Darian’s eyes widened as he barely heard Mariah’s softly spoken reply. He had feared the worst minutes ago, as Mariah’s eyes once again took on that look of distance, as if she were no longer quite here with him in this room, but somewhere else entirely. Lost in memories, perhaps? Some of them unpleasant ones, if he had read her expression correctly.

  Of her husband? Or some other man she had been involved with during her marriage or since?

  Darian’s ire rose just at the thought of a man, any man, ever having hurt her, in any way.

  ‘Mariah?’ He sat down in the chair beside her before taking one of her hands in both of his. Instantly becoming aware of the trembling of her fingers beneath delicate lace gloves—evidence that those thoughts had indeed been unhappy ones? Whatever the reason, he felt heartened by the fact that she did not instantly pull her hand away from his.

  ‘Do you think we could please get out of this oppressive house, if only for a few hours?’

  She blinked long lashes. ‘I ordered fresh coffee.’

  ‘I am sure that Benson is an understanding fellow. He would have to be to suffer working for the Nicholses!’ Darian grimaced.

  ‘Ah, Benson.’ The butler appeared in the room almost as if he had been cued to do so. ‘The countess and I have decided to go for a walk in the grounds this morning—do you recommend any direction in particular?’

  The butler poured fresh coffee into their cups as he answered, his face as expressionless as ever. ‘I believe most of her ladyship’s guests find Aphrodite’s Temple of interest, your Grace.’

  ‘Aphrodite’s Temple?’ Darian repeated doubtfully; if he remembered his Greek mythology correctly, from his years spent at Eton, Aphrodite had been the goddess of love, beauty and sexuality, but better known as being a goddess who indulged her own selfish sexual desires and lust.

  Totally suited to the Nicholses’ lifestyle, of course, but not necessarily Darian’s own.

  ‘It is Lady Nichols’s name for it, your Grace.’ Benson seemed to guess some of his thoughts, his expression still stoic and unrevealing. ‘It is situated amongst the trees to the left of the lake at the back of the house.’

  ‘Mariah?’ Darian turned to prompt, aware that she had not taken part in the conversation as yet. But still Darian felt heartened by the fact that she had allowed her hand to remain in both of his.

  She looked up at the butler. ‘It sounds...intriguing, Benson.’

  She dutifully picked up her cup with her other hand and drank some of the coffee.

  The butler nodded. ‘And it is always deserted during the day.’

  Darian narrowed his eyes. ‘But not in the evenings?’

  ‘Not this evening, certainly, your Grace.’

  To say Darian was intrigued would be putting it mildly. Although, bearing in mind the sexual games the Nicholses liked to play, he could well imagine that Aphrodite’s Temple might prove a little too much for what he now believed to be Mariah’s sensibilities. She was much more easily shocked than he might ever have imagined, or hoped for, before spending so much time in her company.

  She had become, in fact, the most intriguing woman he had ever met. And was becoming more so rather than less, the more time he spent in her company. It was a certainty he had never been in the least bored when with her.

  ‘Thank you, Benson.’ Mariah smiled up at the butler warmly. ‘Perhaps you might ask my maid to bring down my pelisse and bonnet from my bedchamber?’

  ‘Of course, my lady.’ He bowed.

  The silence in the breakfast room seemed charged once the butler had left the two of them alone there. Almost as if the very air itself was waiting expectantly.

  For what, Darian was unsure. He only knew that he wanted to get out of this unpleasant and cloyingly decadent household, if only for a few hours. And that he wanted more than anything for Mariah to accompany him.

  He stood up, retaining his hold upon her hand as he pulled her up beside him, so close he could almost feel the brush of her hair against his jaw, her perfume once again invading and capturing his senses. ‘Ready?’

  Mariah’s heart leapt in her chest, as she knew instinctively that Darian was asking for more than if she was ready to go for their walk. That he was continuing their previous conversation rather than starting a new one.

  Was she ready?

  Was she prepared to take their relationship a step further?

  To give in to the desires of her own body and engage in intimacy with Darian?

  Could she do that?

  Or would the memories of the past intrude once again and bring with them the fear and aversion that was all she had known as Martin’s wife?

  Mariah looked up at him searchingly, not at his handsomeness; that was all too apparent. No, she looked into his eyes, those clear, deep and unwavering green eyes. Eyes that spoke of a man of both honour and truth. A man capable of killing his enemy, if necessary, but totally incapable of physically hurting a woman, most especially one he desired. And Wolfingham did desire her, was making no effort to hide that fact as he steadily met and returned her searching gaze.

  Was she ready?

  Was it time for her to release her memories of the past, along with her inhibitions, and give in to these new, and at times uncomfortable, yearnings of her own body?

  Was she ready to do that?

  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.