Darian Hunter: Duke of Desire. Carole Mortimer
proved somewhat more elusive this evening than her daughter, always flirting or dancing away on the arm of some other gentleman whenever Darian had attempted to approach her. Christina Beecham had proved far less averse to his request that she dance a set with him. No doubt, unlike her mother before her, Christina Beecham was fully aware of the compliment being paid to her, as the Duke of Wolfingham did not, as a rule, dance at any of these occasions.
She looked up at him shyly now from between thick blonde lashes, her eyes the same beautiful turquoise colour as her mother’s, her blonde-haired beauty also similar to that of the countess. ‘Mama has already explained the situation to me, your Grace,’ she now dismissed huskily.
Darian would be very interested to hear how Mariah had managed to do that, when he was not altogether sure how to explain the situation himself. To himself, as well as to others.
‘Indeed,’ he murmured noncommittally. ‘She seems to be fully occupied this evening.’ Another glance about the ballroom had shown him that Mariah Beecham was no longer in the room.
Christina gave a smile of affection. ‘Mama’s time, and dance card, are always fully occupied at such entertainments as these, your Grace.’
Darian looked down searchingly at the younger of the Beecham ladies. ‘And are you not bothered by having to witness the spectacle of seeing so many gentlemen flirting and leering at your mother’s— Forgive me,’ he bit out stiffly. ‘That was unforgivably rude of me.’ And, he realised, far too close to his feelings on the matter for his own comfort.
Mariah was wearing a red silk gown this evening, with a very low décolletage that revealed the full, ivory swell of the tops of her breasts. A fact Darian had noted several gentlemen taking advantage of as they talked or danced with her.
‘Yes, it was,’ Christina Beecham answered him with the same bluntness as her mother. ‘But then, Mama had already warned me you are very forthright, in both your manner and speech,’ she added pertly.
Darian found he did not care for being dismissed so scathingly. Nor did he believe Mariah had used a word so innocent as ‘forthright’ to describe his previous manner and conversations with her. ‘I meant no disrespect to you,’ he bit out tersely.
‘Only to Mama,’ she acknowledged drily. ‘Mama has taught me that it is better not to pass comment on what one does not know.’
‘Obviously my own mother was neglectful in that particular duty.’
‘Obviously.’
Yes, this lady, for all she was very young, was proving to be just as capable of delivering a set-down as her mother!
Darian was also aware that his own reaction to those flirting and leering gentlemen was not one of impartiality, but rather one of complete partiality. Indeed, he had disliked intensely to have to stand by and witness those other gentlemen showing Mariah such marked attentions.
In truth, he had thought of Mariah Beecham far more than was wise this past week. Of her beauty. Her unique perfume. Of his own physical and uncontrollable response to the lush curves of her body.
And, quite frankly, he found the whole situation annoying. Distracting. Unbearable.
‘My dance, I believe, Darian?’
Darian roused himself from those troubling thoughts to look about him almost dazedly; the music had stopped playing and the other couples had left the dance floor, as they now gave curious glances their way. All without Darian having been aware of any of it. His brother, Anthony, was also now standing beside him with eyebrows raised expectantly, as he waited for Darian to release Christina Beecham.
‘Of course.’ He straightened abruptly as his arms fell back to his sides and he stepped away from Lady Christina. ‘I— Thank you,’ he added with a belated bow towards the young lady.
Anthony continued to look at him frowningly, eyes narrowed speculatively as he took his brother’s place at Christina Beecham’s side. ‘Are you quite well again now, Darian?’
‘Quite, thank you.’ Darian nodded abruptly.
‘In that case I will call upon you tomorrow,’ Anthony stated firmly, his expression challenging, telling Darian that the conversation between the two of them might have been delayed for this past week, whilst he was feeling unwell, but it was not to be avoided altogether!
‘Very well.’ Darian gave another distracted nod as he once again glanced about the ballroom to see that the three of them were still the focus of more than one group of gossiping people.
‘Your Grace?’
‘Lady Christina?’ Darian turned, one brow raised enquiringly.
A sparkle of humour now brightened those eyes, so like her mother’s. ‘I believe Mama to have accepted Lord Maystone’s invitation to accompany him into the next room to partake of refreshment.’
Had he made his interest in Mariah’s whereabouts so obvious that even her daughter was aware of it?
And what the deuce was Mariah doing in Maystone’s company, a gentleman Darian had reason to know rather better than might be socially apparent?
Aged in his late fifties, and a widower for more than twenty years, Aubrey Maystone was nevertheless still a handsome man, with his head of silver hair and chiselled features. Nor had his trimness gone to obesity, as had happened to so many of his peers.
He was also Darian’s contact at the Foreign Office in regard to his work for the Crown.
Whatever the reason for Aubrey Maystone’s interest in Mariah, Darian had no intentions of wasting any more of his own time this evening in an effort to secure the opportunity in which to converse with her again.
He took care to avoid his brother’s no-doubt accusing gaze as he gave Lady Christina a rueful smile. ‘Thank you.’ He gave another bow before turning to cross the ballroom in long and determined strides as he went in search of the refreshment room.
And Mariah Beecham.
* * *
‘I believe you have accepted an invitation to attend Lord and Lady Nicholses’ house party in Kent this weekend?’ Lord Maystone nodded his acquaintance to Mrs Moore, as she stood across the room, even as he continued his softly spoken conversation with Mariah.
‘I have, yes.’ Mariah eyed him curiously. ‘Will you also be attending?’
‘Good heavens, no!’ Maystone turned to give her his full attention, a look of distaste upon his lined but handsome face. ‘Subjecting myself to a single tedious evening of socialising in a week is quite enough for me. I assure you, I have no intentions of suffering through a weekend of it.’
‘Poor Aubrey.’ Mariah chuckled sympathetically, placing a conciliatory hand briefly on his arm as she sobered. ‘Do you have a special reason for asking whether or not I am to attend this particular weekend party?’ Aubrey Maystone had long been her contact for the work she did for the Crown.
‘I have reason to believe— Ah, Wolfingham.’ Aubrey turned to greet the younger man warmly. ‘Just the man! The countess is as polite as she is beautiful, but nevertheless I believe her to be in need of far younger company than my own.’
Mariah was relieved she had her back turned towards Darian Hunter, so he would not mistake the colour in her cheeks for anything other than what it was: annoyance at the way in which he had seemed to dog her every step this evening.
Lady Stockton had obviously been as surprised as her guests when the Duke of Wolfingham, a man who rarely attended any of the entertainments of the ton, but who had now attended two in as many weeks, had arrived at her home earlier this evening. A surprise that had lasted for only a few seconds, as that lady hastily crossed the room to welcome her illustrious guest.
Mariah’s reaction to seeing Wolfingham again had been less enthusiastic. She wondered what he was doing here.
Indeed,