drew in a deep breath before straightening her shoulders and unclasping her fingers, her chin high as she turned to give Wolfingham a derisive smile. ‘How unfortunate, for the Nichols, that you grew wise to their little scheme!’
Darian was relieved to see that some of the colour had now returned to Mariah’s cheeks. Although he did not believe for a moment that she was as composed as she now wished to appear; her obvious shock a few minutes ago had most certainly been genuine.
A shock he might not have expected from one as promiscuous as Mariah Beecham was reputed to be.
He also wondered what thoughts had been going through her head just a few minutes ago. Whatever they were, they had brought a grey tinge to her already pale cheeks and haunted shadows to those beautiful eyes.
‘Very unfortunate,’ he echoed drily, prepared, for the moment, to accept that Mariah was determined to place those walls back about her emotions. This was not the time, and certainly not the place, to question her further on the subject.
But the very fact that she had not as yet upbraided him for their lovemaking earlier was surely evidence of her inner unease?
A lovemaking, and Mariah’s response, that Darian knew was going to haunt and disturb his own rest tonight—again!
‘Do you have any shawls or handkerchiefs with you? I could place them over the pictures and the head of the bed to ensure your privacy,’ he explained at her questioning frown.
‘Oh. Oh, yes, of course,’ she breathed in obvious relief as she moved to open the wardrobe and look through the things on the shelves in there. ‘Here.’ She handed Darian several handkerchiefs and two shawls. ‘Will they be enough to prevent anyone from at least seeing into this room?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Darian tied the two shawls securely to the paintings before moving on to do the same to the bed with the handkerchiefs. ‘There.’ He nodded his satisfaction as he stepped back.
‘What of your own bedchamber?’
‘I have some handkerchiefs of my own,’ he dismissed.
‘I— Then I will wish you a good night.’
He frowned. ‘Mariah—’
‘I believe we have provided enough of a display for our audience for one night, Wolfingham. Besides which, it is late and I am very tired.’ She arched one pointed brow.
Darian knew himself well and truly dismissed, without either of them having made direct reference to their heated lovemaking earlier.
If Nichols had not interrupted them then Darian might not have left this bedchamber at all tonight.
But equally, if Nichols had not interrupted the two of them, allowing Darian the time to think of what the other man was doing there at all, then they might even now be providing entertainment for the other guests.
Not that Darian was the prude Mariah had once thought him. Far from it. He had spent his share of time in gaming hells and the houses of the demi-monde, and knew full well the games played in such establishments. But that play was at the consent of both parties, not the intrusion, the violation, tonight’s game would have been to the privacy of their lovemaking. He did not perform for the entertainment of strangers.
‘Very well, Mariah.’ He nodded as he strode across the room to bend down and kiss her lightly upon her brow. ‘I wish you a good night,’ he added huskily as he looked down at her intently.
Mariah felt flustered by Darian’s close proximity, coming so soon after this shocking discovery of the peepholes in her bedchamber.
So soon after she had felt those strange and wonderful sensations as he made love to her earlier out in the hallway.
Sensations Mariah could still feel, in the tingling fullness of her breasts and the swollen dampness between her thighs.
And so reminiscent of those sensations she had felt when he’d kissed her at Lady Stockton’s ball.
Was it possible, after all these years of feeling nothing, that her body was actually awakening to sexual arousal?
A sexual arousal caused solely and completely by Darian Hunter, the Duke of Wolfingham?
And felt only for him?
Mariah stepped back abruptly, too alarmed by even the possibility of that being true to be able to suffer his close proximity a moment longer. ‘Goodnight, Wolfingham,’ she stated firmly.
Darian studied her from between narrowed lids for several seconds longer, knowing from the determined set of Mariah’s mouth and chin that she considered this conversation over.
He gave a terse nod. ‘If you should need me, you know where I am.’
Her brows rose. ‘You are suggesting that I might possibly be overcome with lust for you in the middle of the night?’
Darian grimaced at her scathingly derisive tone. ‘I am suggesting that I noticed there is no key in the lock to this bedchamber. We could place a chair beneath the door handle,’ he suggested as he saw the alarmed look Mariah gave in the direction of the door.
‘Yes! Yes, please do,’ she confirmed more coolly. ‘Thank you,’ she added softly, eyes downcast, as Darian saw to the placing of that chair.
Darian sighed his frustration as he looked at her bent head for several seconds more. Not sexual frustration—that seemed to be with him constantly whenever he was with Mariah. And when he was not!
No, his frustration now was due to another reason entirely.
With Mariah he so often felt as if he took one step forward and then was forced, by circumstances, into taking two steps back. As now. Their lovemaking had been beyond enjoyable. Darian could not remember ever having been aroused quite so quickly, or so strongly, by any other woman. And he knew, from the obvious responses of her body, her breathless sighs of pleasure, that Mariah had been just as aroused. And yet now she was dismissing him as if that closeness had never happened.
It was beyond frustrating; it was infuriating.
Mariah was a woman of four and thirty, had been a married woman for twelve of those years, and as such she could not be unaware of how much he had wanted to make love to and with her a short time ago. Or that she returned that desire for him to make love to and with her. And yet she behaved now as if that desire had never happened.
Was that only because of the unpleasantness of the circumstances here at Eton Park?
Or because, beneath that desire, she disliked him still?
Darian breathed out his frustration with the situation. ‘Goodnight, Mariah,’ he repeated harshly before turning on his heel and leaving the room abruptly, firmly closing the door adjoining their two bedchambers behind him.
Mariah sank back down on to the side of the bed the moment Darian closed the door between their rooms, her thoughts in turmoil. Not because, unpleasant as it was, of the knowledge of those intrusive peepholes in the walls of her bedchamber. Nor was she overly concerned as to what might or might not transpire tomorrow, after the Regent’s note of apology had been delivered.
No,
