Darian Hunter: Duke of Desire. Кэрол Мортимер

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, she had gone out of her way not to show any reaction at all, but rather to ignore him completely.

      Not an easy task, when it seemed that every time she had turned round this evening Wolfingham had been standing there behind her, looking very dark and handsome in his impeccable evening clothes, the darkness of his hair rakishly dishevelled.

      Nor did Mariah believe his appearance now, in the refreshment room, to be coincidental, either.

      No doubt, whilst forced to convalesce, in order to recover completely from his injury, the duke had also had time to rethink his decision not to leave his younger brother’s fate to chance—or Mariah’s caprice or whimsy.

      Whatever the reasoning behind Wolfingham’s dogged persistence this evening, Mariah was more than a little weary of reassuring him that she had absolutely no romantic interest, nor would she ever have, in his brother, Anthony.

      ‘Not at all, Aubrey.’ She gave Maystone a warm smile as she now linked her arm with his. ‘Indeed, you are so handsome and distinguished that you put all younger men to shame,’ she added before turning to look up at Wolfingham now that she felt reassured her cheeks were no longer flushed.

      Darian’s lips twitched and he held back a smile as he met Mariah Beecham’s challenging gaze, recognising her remark for exactly what it was: an insult to him rather than just a compliment to Aubrey Maystone.

      Although the warmth of familiarity between the two of them did seem to imply a deeper acquaintance than just a socially polite one.

      To the degree that Maystone might be Mariah’s current lover? If that was so, then it made a nonsense of Darian’s request that she cease her friendship with the far more youthful and inexperienced Anthony.

      The possibility of that being true also brought a scowl to Darian’s brow. ‘Lady Beecham.’ He bowed formally as it was the first occasion upon which the two of them had actually spoken this evening; Mariah’s avoidance of him had been absolute. ‘Maystone.’ Darian’s nod to the older man was terse.

      ‘Wolfingham.’ There was a mischievous twinkle in the older man’s eyes, as if he had guessed Darian’s thoughts and was amused by them. ‘Have you come to steal Mariah away from me for a dance, or are you going to join us in some refreshment?’

      ‘Well, I am certainly not here for refreshment.’ Darian made no effort to hide his distaste as he eyed the glasses in their hands. ‘I have heard it said that Lady Stockton is parsimonious with the brandy in her punch.’

      ‘Surely it is not necessary to become inebriated in order to enjoy oneself?’ Mariah drawled mockingly.

      ‘Not at all.’ Darian observed her between narrowed lids. ‘But if I wished to drink something as innocuous as fruit juice then I should request fruit juice.’ Standing so close to Mariah, he was once again aware of her unique perfume, the lightness of spring flowers and that deeper, more exotic perfume, which he now recognised as being jasmine. It was a heady and arousing combination.

      ‘How true.’ Maystone’s dismissive laugh broke the tension that had been steadily rising between Darian and Mariah. ‘It seems I must forgo your delightful company for now, my dear.’ He placed his glass down on the table and raised Mariah’s gloved hand to his lips before releasing it. ‘And allow a younger man to steal you away from me for a dance.’

      Mariah frowned as she answered coolly, ‘To my knowledge, his Grace has not had the foresight to request a dance with me this evening. As such, I am afraid my dance card is completely full.’

      ‘Well, there you have it, Wolfingham.’ Maystone turned towards him with a grin. ‘You will have to be much quicker off the mark in future, if you are to secure a dance with our delightful Mariah,’ he teased jovially.

      Darian’s frustration with his own increasing arousal, as well as Mariah’s avoidance of him, was now such that he could barely keep the impatience from his tone and he knew the frown had deepened on his brow. ‘A pity, of course, Lady Beecham,’ he drawled coldly. ‘But as consolation I have just enjoyed the pleasure of dancing with your lovely daughter, Lady Christina. A delightful young woman and a credit to both you and her father.’

      Mariah looked up sharply at Wolfingham, easily noting the mocking challenge in his deep green eyes as he returned her gaze unblinkingly. No doubt because he was fully aware of the fact that she would prefer that he stay well away from her young and impressionable daughter.

      Oh, Christina had accepted readily enough Mariah’s explanations as to Wolfingham’s indisposition the previous week having been the reason for his having to remain at Carlisle House overnight. But beneath that acceptance there had been an underlying girlish excitement, a curiosity, about the arrogantly handsome and illustrious Duke of Wolfingham. The last thing Mariah wished was for Christina to develop a crush on the man.

      Not that she thought Wolfingham was in the least serious in his attentions to Christina; rather Mariah believed his intention had merely been to annoy her. If so, he had succeeded!

      The less she, and Christina, had to do with Darian Hunter, the dangerous Duke of Wolfingham, the better Mariah would like it. Her lifestyle was such, most especially her work for the Crown, that she did not wish to have such an astutely disturbing gentleman as Wolfingham taking an interest in it, or her.

      ‘I believe the music and dancing have now stopped for supper, your Grace.’ Mariah had noted the influx of people into the room and strolling towards the supper tables. ‘It appears to be raining outside, so perhaps you might care to accompany me for a stroll in the West Gallery?’ At which time she intended to warn him to stay away from her daughter!

      Darian was not particularly proud of himself for having used Lady Christina Beecham as a means of securing Mariah’s company, but neither was he about to apologise for it. Not when it had succeeded in accomplishing his aim, which was to talk with Mariah again. In private.

      Although he wasn’t sure that being alone with Mariah was an entirely good idea, given his painful state of arousal.

      * * *

      ‘You will stay away from my daughter!’ Mariah barely waited until the two of them had entered the long and deserted picture gallery, lit by a dozen candles or more, before removing her hand from Wolfingham’s arm and glaring up at him, her cheeks hot with temper in the candlelight.

      ‘Will I?’ he came back with infuriating calm, dark brows raised in equally as mild query.

      ‘Yes—when it is not a serious interest, but merely a means of punishing me.’

      ‘That is not very flattering to Lady Christina.’

      ‘But true.’

      ‘Is it?’ he returned mildly.

      ‘What do you want from me, Wolfingham?’ Mariah looked up at him in exasperation. ‘A public declaration of my uninterest in your brother? Would that appease you? Reassure you?’

      He gave a humourless smile. ‘It would most certainly not appease or reassure Anthony.’ His mouth tightened. ‘Nor would it do anything for my own future relationship with him, if