might have been amusing to see how you would have explained that occurrence to any who cared to ask. But, of course, you are Wolfingham, one of The Dangerous Dukes,’ she continued drily. ‘And like your four friends, Wolfingham does not care to explain himself, to any man or woman!’
Darian’s eyes narrowed. ‘You do not have a very good opinion of me, do you?’
‘Until yesterday evening I do not believe I held any opinion of you whatsoever,’ she assured uninterestedly.
His breath caught in his throat at that dismissal; if he did not care to explain himself to man or woman then it was equally as true that same man or woman would never dare to question him, either! ‘And now?’
‘Now I know without a doubt that you are both arrogant and insulting.’
Darian winced at her dismissive tone, knowing that he had been both of those things in his dealings with this woman. ‘If you would kindly send word to Wolfingham House, via one of your obviously capable footmen, and inform my butler that I have need of my carriage, I will then be able to remove my intrusive self from both your household and your presence!’
Mariah felt a sense of disquiet at the abruptness of Wolfingham’s departure. ‘I had not expected you to capitulate quite so easily, Wolfingham, in regard to my continuing friendship with your brother?’ she mocked.
‘I am not capitulating, merely withdrawing in order to rethink my strategy,’ he assured drily.
‘Ah.’ Mariah nodded knowingly. ‘I remind you that the doctor instructed that you were to remain abed for the next three days at least.’
Having now crossed to where his clothes lay draped over the bedroom chair, Wolfingham turned to look at her with those narrowed green eyes.
Green eyes surrounded by the longest, thickest, darkest lashes Mariah had seen on any man.
Indeed, Darian Hunter was a man of startling and masculine good looks; the nakedness of his back was exceedingly broad and muscled for a man who supposedly ran his estates from the comfort of his home here in London. As were his arms and the flatness of his abdomen, his legs also appearing long and muscled in those black evening trousers. Even his feet, sans his boots, bore a long and elegant appearance.
And Mariah could not remember the last time she had noticed the masculine beauty of any man, fully clothed or otherwise!
Perhaps when she had been Christina’s age, and on the brink of womanhood, she might have allowed her head to be turned a time or two by a handsome gentleman, but certainly not at any time since. The very nature of her marriage to Martin Beecham had meant there had never been any further inclination on her part to indulge in those girlish infatuations.
But Mariah could not deny, to herself at least, that she had noticed, and been aware of, every muscle and sinew of Darian Hunter’s muscular torso these past few minutes. And also been affected by it, as the slight fluttering of her pulse, the warmth in her cheeks and the aching fullness of her breasts all testified.
And she did not want to feel any of those things for any man!
Warning her that Darian Hunter more than lived up to his dangerous reputation, not only to her continued work for the Crown, but also to Mariah’s own peace of mind.
‘Nor shall I once I am returned to it,’ Darian now answered the countess huskily, aware of the sudden, sexual, tension in the heavy stillness of the bedchamber. ‘As for my brother, if all else fails, then I fear Anthony must learn of the vagaries of women in the way that all men do—the hard way!’ he added derisively.
‘Now you are being deliberately insulting again, Wolfingham, not just to me, but all women.’ An angry flush now coloured Mariah Beecham’s cheeks.
A blush that only succeeded in enhancing her beauty; her eyes glittered that deep turquoise, her cheeks glowing, her lips having become a deep and rosy red.
A very kissable deep and rosy red...
‘That was not my intention,’ Darian dismissed softly.
‘No?’
‘I believe my remark was more specific than that,’ he assured huskily, holding Mariah’s gaze as he slowly crossed to where she stood so stiff and challenging in the middle of the bedchamber. ‘Might I ask for your assistance in dressing? I realise it is usual for a man to ask a woman for help to undress,’ he added drily as Mariah’s brows rose in obvious surprise at his request, ‘but I am unable to pull my shirt on over my head on my own.’
Mariah accepted that Wolfingham’s request for assistance was perfectly logical, given his injury, and yet she still baulked at the thought of performing such a task of intimacy for him.
She very much doubted that Wolfingham—or any in society!—would believe it if told, but Mariah had seen no man, other than her husband, even half-naked as Wolfingham now was. And Martin, twenty-five years her senior, had certainly never possessed the same muscular and disturbing physique Wolfingham now displayed so splendidly.
Her mouth firmed. ‘I will send for one of my footmen to assist you.’
‘There is no need for that, surely, when you are standing right here before me?’ Darian murmured throatily, his good sense having once again deserted him as he was again assaulted by Mariah Beecham’s unique and arousing perfume. An arousal he was finding it more and more difficult to control when in this woman’s presence.
In view of Anthony’s infatuation with Mariah Beecham, it would be unwise for Darian to allow his own attraction to her to develop into anything deeper than the physical discomfort it already was. Even if Mariah Beecham was herself agreeable to taking it any further, which he already knew that she was not.
On a logical level, Darian knew and accepted all of those things.
Unfortunately, his aroused and hardened body had a completely different opinion on the matter!
‘If you please?’ His gaze was intent upon her face now as he held out his shirt to her, allowing him to note the deepening of the blush that coloured her cheeks and the pulse throbbing at the base of her slender throat.
A surprising physical reaction, surely, coming from an experienced woman reputed to have indulged in many affairs, both during her marriage and since?
Darian’s gaze narrowed searchingly as she stubbornly lifted her chin to meet his challenging gaze. She still made no effort to relieve him of his shirt. ‘Unless, of course, you find the idea, and me, too repulsive...?’
It took every effort of Mariah’s will to hold back the choked, slightly hysterical, laugh that threatened to burst from her throat, at the mere suggestion that any woman, that she, might find anything about Wolfingham in the least repulsive.
For the first time, in more years than she cared to remember, Mariah found herself wholly and completely physically aware of a man.
Of Darian Hunter, the arrogant and contemptuous Duke of Wolfingham, of all men.
Nevertheless, Mariah was aware. Of his reassuring height. His rakishly handsome good looks. And the lean and muscled strength of his body.
And she did not welcome the sensation.
She
