The Regency Season Collection: Part One. Кэрол Мортимер

an arm politely to his wife. ‘If you will both excuse us?’ He bowed politely to Mariah and Wolfingham as the other couple moved away, Clara Nichols still twittering her disappointment over the Prince Regent as they did so.

      Mariah waited only long enough for the Nicholses to be out of earshot before turning to Darian. ‘Should we not wait here awhile longer before returning upstairs?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘I believe we have seen all that we needed to see, Mariah,’ he assured grimly.

      ‘We have?’

      He nodded tersely. ‘Besides which, if I do not leave this company very soon, then I am afraid I might lose my temper completely.’

      Mariah could see the truth of that claim in the dangerous glitter of his eyes and the nerve pulsing erratically in his tightly clenched jaw.

      She held her head high as she accompanied him across the room, knowing they were being observed with interest as she heard the outbreak of whispering and laughter in the room behind them as they stepped out into the hallway. ‘Must you always be so—so obvious as to our supposed intention of disappearing to make love together?’ she hissed the moment they were out in the deserted entrance hall.

      Darian was feeling murderous rather than obvious. How much longer must he endure this torture, of watching men like Nichols lusting after the woman he—the woman he—the woman he what? Exactly what was it that he felt towards Mariah?

      Protective, certainly.

      Proprietary.

       Possessive.

      To the extent he could quite cheerfully have taken on every man in that room who had so much as looked at Mariah sideways—which was all of them, damn it!

      ‘You are missing the point, Mariah.’

      ‘And it appears to me that you are enjoying yourself altogether too much at my expense!’ she came back heatedly.

      ‘Could we talk of this further once we reach your bedchamber?’ he prompted softly as Benson appeared at the top of the stairs, no doubt after having delivered Lady Nichols’s letter to her private parlour.

      ‘May I get you anything, your Grace?’ he offered politely as he reached the bottom of the staircase.

      ‘No, thank you, Benson,’ Darian answered distractedly, his hand firmly beneath Mariah’s elbow as he pulled her up the stairs beside him.

      ‘Darian?’

      ‘You are missing the point, Mariah,’ he repeated through gritted teeth as they reached the top of the staircase before turning into the hallway leading to their adjoining bedchambers.

      ‘Which is?’ she prompted as she opened the door to her room.

      ‘The letter,’ he reminded impatiently as he followed Mariah into her bedchamber. ‘The response to the Prince’s letter.’ He closed the door firmly behind him.

      All of Mariah’s indignation fled as she realised she had indeed allowed her embarrassment to distract her, that she was the one now guilty—however briefly!—of forgetting their reason for being at Eton Park at all this weekend. ‘Apart from Clara’s obvious disappointment as hostess that the Prince would not be gracing her ball tonight after all, there did not appear to be any response at all to his note,’ she stated belatedly. ‘No pointed looks, or conversation, with anyone else in the room. No one hastily leaving the room. There was no response whatsoever.’

      ‘Exactly.’ Wolfingham paced the room restlessly.

      Mariah continued to frown. ‘Does that mean Aubrey Maystone’s information was wrong?’

      ‘Maystone is never wrong,’ he assured grimly.

      ‘Then what happened just now?’

      ‘Nothing. That is the problem.’ Wolfingham looked grim.

      Mariah chewed briefly on her bottom lip. ‘Do you think that might be because someone suspects that we—’

      ‘Came back upstairs to make love?’ Wolfingham interrupted huskily. ‘Oh, I think that was more than obvious, my love.’

      Mariah blinked, momentarily confused at the sudden change in his tone. ‘What—’

      ‘I am sure that we have been more than obvious in our obsession to bed each other,’ Wolfingham acknowledged indulgently. ‘Indeed, I find I cannot wait another minute to undress you and make love with you,’ he added gruffly, at the same time as the fierceness of his gaze now moved pointedly to the shawls and handkerchiefs Mariah had left in place over the peepholes about the bedchamber. ‘Come over here, love,’ he invited huskily.

      A warning to Mariah that someone was standing behind one of the walls at this very minute, listening to their conversation?

      And necessitating in their continuing with the act of lovers once again eager to be alone together, so that they could make love?

      Oh, heavens!

      She gave an abrupt nod of her head, in silent acknowledgement of their eavesdropper, as she crossed the room to Wolfingham’s side. Her heart was pounding loudly in her chest, her pulse racing, as she wondered for how long, and how far, they would need to continue with their act of eager lovers.

      At the same time she felt an inner yearning to satisfy, just a little, the desire she had discovered she felt for Darian.

      All thoughts of anything else fled Darian’s head as Mariah now stood in front of him, so close he could feel her breath brushing warmly against his throat as she moved up on tiptoe. ‘Oh, yes, Mariah,’ he groaned in approval—both of her quickness of mind, in realising they were not completely alone, and most certainly of the fact that her teeth were now nibbling in earnest on the sensitivity of his earlobe; surely an unnecessary embellishment to their act when they could be overheard, but not observed?

      He turned his head slightly so that he could look into Mariah’s eyes, the fullness of her parted lips now just inches beneath his own as their gazes clashed and held, both of them breathing softly, expectantly.

      Darian took full advantage of Mariah’s closeness as his arms moved about her waist to pull her in tightly against him, his gaze continuing to hold hers as his head lowered and he took fierce possession of those parted lips with his own.

      Something Darian had wanted—hungered for—since they had parted so coolly after their walk earlier today.

      So much so that there was no way to stop the avalanche of desire that now swept over and through him as he felt Mariah’s lips part beneath his own, her arms about his waist.

      Darian deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping, tasting her parted lips, before plunging, thrusting into the moist heat beyond.

      Mariah tasted of the honey cake she had eaten with her tea; sweet and utterly delicious. Combined with her exotic perfume, it was addictive.

      Darian continued the depth of those kisses as, for the second time that day, he swept her up into his arms. Carrying Mariah across the room before placing her on top of the bedcovers and following her down. Settling his thighs between her parted ones, he took his weight on his elbows before cupping either side of her face with his hands and continuing to kiss her hungrily. Tasting, sipping, possessing!

      Mariah gave a throaty groan as Darian’s lips and tongue continued to claim her own. Even as his hands deftly removed the pins from her hair before loosening it on to the pillows beneath her, she moved her arms up over his shoulders as her fingers became entangled in the dark silkiness of his own hair.

      She was filled with a yearning ache as the heat of Darian’s arousal throbbed between her parted thighs. Pressing, shifting slowly against and into her, pleasure surging through her as that friction stroked against the throbbing nubbin between her now slick and swollen folds.

      Darian