what she had seen and done in the temple. From her imaginings as to what it would be like to engage in those acts with Darian. Imaginings that had deepened, flourished, during the kiss that had followed.
And that momentary weakness had now cost her dearly.
Damn it, she had told him of Carlisle’s brutality. Her forced marriage. She had cried in Wolfingham’s arms. She, who never cried, preferring never to show any sign of weakness. To anyone.
And she did not intend to continue to do so now where Wolfingham was concerned, either. Had made a vow to herself long ago not to allow anyone, apart from Christina, to come so close to her, to know her so well, they were capable of hurting her. ‘Do you still wish to continue with our walk, or has all this ridiculous emotion dampened not only your shirt but your enthusiasm for walking?’ she prompted coolly.
That astute green gaze remained narrowed on her as Wolfingham stepped closer. ‘There was nothing in the least ridiculous about your upset just now, Mariah.’
‘And I believe it to have been an utterly ridiculous waste of time,’ she insisted coldly, ‘when the past, talking about it, changes nothing.’
‘And what of the future, Mariah?’ He stepped so close to her now that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her brow. ‘What of your future?’
She gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Once this weekend is over, I do not believe that to be any of your business.’ Mariah clasped her hands together so that Darian could not see they were trembling still, evidence that her emotions were not as back under her control as she would have wished them to be. Her complete lack of control, just minutes ago, now made her feel vulnerable, in a way she found most disturbing.
Wolfingham raised his hands to cup both her cheeks before he tilted her face up so that he might look directly into her eyes. ‘And what if I wish to make it my business?’
Wolfingham’s gentleness was unbearable, before and again now, when Mariah knew her emotions, despite her denials to the contrary, remained ragged and torn. When her defence against Darian’s gentleness remained ragged and torn.
‘I am sure I am not the first woman to have been trapped into an unhappy marriage,’ she said drily. ‘Nor will I be the last. And as you say, I did become a countess because of it.’
‘Do not attempt to make light of it, Mariah!’ Wolfingham rasped harshly.
‘How do you wish me to behave, Darian?’ Her eyes flashed darkly as she looked up at him defiantly. ‘I have wailed and railed, and now I wish to forget it. As I have forgotten it these past seventeen years.’
‘Did you forget, Mariah?’ He looked down at her searchingly. ‘Did you ever really forget what that man did to you?’
Of course Mariah had never forgotten. She had not wanted to forget, was the woman she was today because of it.
Her chin rose. ‘Enough so that I do not require, or need, your own or anyone’s pity because of it.’
‘Does this feel like pity to you?’ Wolfingham had grasped one of her hands and placed it over the noticeable bulge in his pantaloons. ‘Does it?’ He pushed for an answer, his eyes glittering down at her darkly.
‘And how long will that desire last, Wolfingham?’ Mariah fell back on derision as her defence as she deliberately removed her hand at the same time as she returned his gaze mockingly. ‘Until you have sated your lust between my thighs and then wish to move on to some other conquest? Possibly to a woman who is younger and less complicated!’
He gave a slow shake of his head. ‘I find your complications intriguing and your age of four and thirty is unimportant to me.’ A nerve pulsed in the tightness of his jaw. ‘And I resent your assumption that my desire for you is a fleeting thing.’
‘Perhaps I presume as much because it has been my experience that a man will say anything, promise anything, when he wishes to bed a certain woman.’ She eyed him scornfully.
Darian frowned his frustration. He did not give a damn what Mariah’s previous lovers had told her, or promised her, when he was the man now standing before her, telling her, physically showing her, how much he desired her. How much he desired to be with her.
A desire of such intensity that Darian had no doubt it would not abate for some time. If ever.
More than anything he wished to take Mariah to his bed. To gently kiss her, caress her, to taste her, to worship every satiny inch of her, and show her the depth of his desire for her. And then he wished to start all over again. And again. And then again. Again, and again, and again, until Mariah was left in absolutely no doubt as to the depth of his desire for her.
At the same time as he knew that this place, Eton Park, with its peepholes into the bedchambers and a temple worthy of the debauchery of the Roman Empire at the height of its power, and the guests to match, plus the Nicholses’ intrigues, was not where he wished to lie with Mariah the first time. Not where he wished to make love with her, to worship her and her body, as she so deserved to be worshipped.
His hands fell back to his sides as he stepped back. ‘Very well, we will continue with our walk for now. But we will talk on this subject again once we are back in London,’ he added softly.
She arched a taunting brow. ‘Not if I do not wish to do so.’
Darian’s mouth quirked into an equally mocking smile. ‘A word of advice, Mariah. I am not like any of your previous lovers. When you know me better, which you most assuredly will, I believe you will find that I am a man who always means what he says as well as always keeps his promises!’
Mariah masked her uneasiness as she fell into step beside him as he began to walk back in the direction of the lake, very much afraid that Darian Hunter was indeed a man who always meant what he said as well as kept all of his promises.
Afraid?
Oh, yes, Mariah was very much afraid, in spite of everything that had happened between them since they first met, that she desired Darian Hunter as much as he now claimed to desire her.
That she desired to know Darian in a way she had never desired any other man.
* * *
‘Do try to smile, Darian, rather than scowl and glower in that dark and disapproving way,’ Mariah advised lightly later that afternoon, viewing his reflection in the mirror after he had entered her bedchamber through the door adjoining their two rooms, after only the briefest of knocks. His appearance was elegantly foreboding in a black superfine, grey waistcoat and pantaloons. ‘Else, once we arrive downstairs for tea, the other guests will think that the two of us have argued.’ She looked at her own reflection in the mirror to give her already perfectly styled hair another pat, rather than continue to look at Darian’s more disturbing reflection.
Everything about this man disturbed her.
The way he looked.
Her undeniable response to his touch.
The desire she was finding it more and more difficult to deny or control.
And the fact that she had confided so much of her past to him earlier today.
That breach
