The Regency Season Collection: Part One. Кэрол Мортимер
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say that,’ Rotherham drawled. ‘From what you told us over luncheon, you did make rather a cake of yourself, you know, throwing out accusations and insults in that overbearing manner of yours!’
Darian gave a wince. ‘Thank you so much for your reassurances, Griff.’ After Anthony’s promised late visit to Wolfingham House the night before, Darian had every reason to know he had indeed made a cake of himself where Mariah Beecham was concerned and certainly did not need Rotherham to tell him as much.
The need to apologise to Mariah was the very reason Darian had attempted to call upon her this morning. Only to be sent away by her butler without so much as a glimpse of the lady, let alone be allowed to give the apology owed to her.
‘Think nothing of it, old boy.’ Rotherham grinned across at him unabashedly.
‘Beautiful woman, the countess,’ Sutherland murmured appreciatively as he relaxed in a third chair.
‘Oh, yes!’ Rotherham nodded.
Darian eyed the two men sharply. ‘Have either of you...?’ He could not quite bring himself to say the words; the thought that Sutherland or Rotherham might have been Mariah’s lover was enough to blacken his mood even more than it already was.
‘Never had the pleasure.’ Sutherland sighed his obvious disappointment.
‘Unfortunately not.’ Rotherham looked equally as wistful.
Darian found himself breathing a little easier at knowing that two of his friends, at least, had never been one of Mariah Beecham’s lovers. Even if rumour suggested that plenty of other gentlemen had!
‘I suppose there is always the possibility the countess was not actually at home when you called this morning?’ Sutherland quirked a brow. ‘You did say she was rather pally with Maystone yesterday evening, so perhaps she went home with him? Just a thought.’ He shrugged dismissively as Darian’s scowl deepened.
‘The idea did occur to me.’ Of course it had occurred to him that Mariah might have spent the night elsewhere than her London home.
Until he had remembered that Mariah had accompanied her young daughter to the Stockton ball and so was hardly likely to have abandoned that young lady in favour of going home with a lover.
Of course Mariah could have gone out again once she had returned Lady Christina to Carlisle House.
He shifted restlessly, aware that he was taking far too much of an interest in front of his two friends, who along with himself were the last of the bachelor Dangerous Dukes, in what Mariah Beecham did or did not do.
‘Do you have hopes in that direction yourself?’ Sutherland now arched a curious brow.
Did he?
Darian had been unable to sleep last night for thinking of Mariah, of holding her in his arms and kissing her.
Of his desire for her!
A desire he had neither sought nor wanted.
Because every objection he had given Anthony for his brother to bring an end to his involvement with Mariah Beecham—apart from the difference in their ages—also applied to Darian himself. An association, any association on his part with the notorious Mariah Beecham, was unacceptable.
A realisation that seemed not to make a bit of difference to the desire Darian felt for her and that had so disturbed his sleep the night before.
Oh, it was perfectly acceptable for Darian to take a mistress if he so chose, even if he had never chosen to do so before now. But Mariah Beecham, a woman whose private life was gossiped and speculated about constantly, was not suitable even for that role in the public or private life of the Duke of Wolfingham.
His continuing work for the Crown had caused Darian to long ago make a conscious decision not to bring any unnecessary attention to his private life. And any liaison with Mariah Beecham would necessarily become public and ultimately throw him front and centre of the same gossip that always surrounded her. Gossip Darian wished to avoid, even if Mariah had been willing to enter into such a relationship with him.
Which Darian had every reason to believe, to know—more so than ever, after his clarifying conversation with Anthony the night before—she was not!
So Darian had told himself again and again, as he lay in his bed unable to sleep the previous night.
Today, with the disappointment of not being able to see and speak with Mariah this morning, as he had fully intended that he would, he was not so sure on the matter.
‘Of course not,’ he answered Sutherland sharply. ‘I am merely aware that I owe the woman an apology and I am anxious to get it over and done with.’
‘Protesting a little too strongly, do you think, Sutherland?’ Griffin Stone turned to prompt the other man drily.
‘More than a little, I would say,’ Sutherland drawled as they both turned to look at Darian, brows raised over mocking eyes.
Darian withstood that look with a censorious one of his own, having every intention of making his apologies to Mariah Beecham before returning to their previous relationship—that of complete indifference to each other.
* * *
Something Darian very much doubted was going to happen, on his part at least, when he was shown into the gold salon of Mariah’s home late the following morning and his rebellious body responded immediately.
He had wisely sent her a note late yesterday afternoon, requesting she supply a suitable time for him to call upon her today, rather than run the risk of calling and being turned away for a second time.
Mariah looked ethereally beautiful this morning, in a fashionable gown of the palest lemon, her blonde curls a golden halo about the pale delicacy of her face and throat.
A pallor that implied that perhaps Mariah’s claim, of being indisposed yesterday, had indeed been genuine?
‘Are you feeling any better today?’ Darian prompted gruffly as he crossed the room to where she now stood, taking the gloved hand she raised to him in formal greeting.
‘Such politeness, Wolfingham. Indeed, I should hardly recognise you,’ Mariah taunted drily as she deftly removed her hand from his before resuming her seat, the gold brocade sofa a perfect foil for her golden loveliness. Deliberately so?
His mouth thinned. ‘Could we perhaps at least attempt a modicum of politeness between the two of us, rather than begin to argue immediately after we see each other again?’
‘I do not believe it is a question of us arguing, Wolfingham. We simply do not like each other!’
He drew in a sharp breath, knowing that for his part that claim was untrue, that he liked—indeed, he desired—Mariah Beecham far more than was comfortable.
Mariah studied Wolfingham from beneath lowered lashes as he made no reply to her taunt.
It had been her dearest wish never to find herself alone with this gentleman again. She had only agreed to this morning’s meeting because she knew he was not a man she could continue to avoid indefinitely, if he had decided it should be otherwise. Her claim of being indisposed yesterday, as a way of avoiding Wolfingham when he called, had not been all fabrication; Mariah had stayed in her bed late yesterday morning, her head aching after suffering a restless and sleepless night.
Because she had not been able to stop thinking of Darian Hunter. Or his having kissed her.
Or remembering that she had responded.
A response that was so unprecedented, and had troubled Mariah so deeply, that she had found it impossible to sleep these past two nights for thinking of it.
A response she had since assured herself would not happen again.
Could not happen again!
So it was entirely frustrating for her to acknowledge her awareness of how arrogantly handsome Wolfingham looked