to Darian Hunter and the desire she could no longer deny, to herself at least, that she felt for him.
And him alone.
* * *
‘Would you care to go for a ride, or perhaps a walk, in the fresh air this morning, Mariah?’ Darian suggested as he looked across the breakfast table at her.
A breakfast table at which only the two of them sat, the other guests, as Mariah had suggested might be the case, either still asleep after their late night, or choosing to break their fast in the privacy of their bedchambers.
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
