The Regency Season Collection: Part One. Кэрол Мортимер
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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, the reason for the present disquiet of her emotions was all due 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