Darian Hunter: Duke of Desire. Carole Mortimer

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      Mariah had, of course, been aware of Anthony Hunter’s youthful attentions to her during these past few weeks. Attentions that she had neither encouraged nor discouraged. The former, because Anthony could never be any more to her than an entertaining boy, and the latter, because she had not wanted to hurt those youthful feelings.

      All of which she would happily have assured his arrogant duke of a brother, if Wolfingham had not been so determined to be unpleasant to her from the moment they began dancing together.

      She should have known that Darian Hunter, a gentleman known for his contempt of all polite social occasions, would have an ulterior motive when he had accepted the invitation to her ball. That he had also claimed a dance with her was unheard of; the duke’s usual preference was to stand on the edge of society, looking coldly down his haughty nose at them all.

      So much for that particular social feather in her cap! For Mariah now knew that Darian Hunter’s only reason for attending her ball, for asking her to dance, had been with the intention of being unpleasant to her.

      If only he was not so devilishly handsome, Mariah might have found it in her heart to forgive him. After all, his concern for the welfare of his younger brother and ward was commendable; Mariah also felt that same protectiveness in regard to her daughter, Christina.

      And Wolfingham’s arrogant handsomeness was of a kind that no woman could remain completely immune to it. Not even a woman as jaded as herself.

      That she knew she was not immune rankled and irritated Mariah more than any of the insulting things Wolfingham had just said to her.

      The duke was excessively tall, at least a foot taller than her own five feet, his overlong hair as black as night and inclined to curl slightly on his brow and about his ears. His face—emerald-green eyes fringed by thick dark lashes, a long patrician nose, sharp blades for cheekbones, with sculptured lips that might have graced a Michelangelo statue, along with a strong and determined jaw—possessed a masculine beauty that was undeniably arresting.

      The width of his shoulders, and broad and powerfully muscled chest, were all also shown to advantage in his perfectly tailored, black evening clothes. As were his lean and muscled thighs, and the long length of his legs and calves.

      Wolfingham was, in fact, everything that Mariah, while acknowledging his male splendour, recoiled from and disliked in a man.

      ‘I was not implying anything, madam.’ Those sculptured lips now turned back contemptuously. ‘Merely stating a fact.’

      Mariah eyed him coldly. ‘Indeed?’

      Wolfingham nodded tersely. ‘I know, for example, that my brother has attended every one of the same excessive amount of entertainments as you have these past three weeks or more. That he then rarely leaves your side for longer than a few minutes. That he calls at your home at least three, sometimes four, times a week and that he stays well beyond the time of any of your other callers. And that, in turn, you—’

      ‘You are having me watched?’ Mariah gasped, so disturbed at the thought she had almost stumbled in the dance.

      ‘I am having my brother watched,’ Wolfingham corrected grimly, his tightened grip upon her gloved hand having prevented her stumble. ‘It is an unfortunate...coincidence that you have always happened to be wherever Anthony is and so your own movements have been afforded that same interest.’

      It was truly insupportable that the haughtily contemptuous Duke of Wolfingham dared to so blatantly admit to having monitored those innocent meetings. Totally unacceptable on any level Mariah cared to consider and regardless of Wolfingham’s reasons for having done so.

      Lord Anthony Hunter was young, yes, but surely old enough to live his own life as he chose, without this excessive interference from his arrogant and disapproving older brother?

      As for Mariah, she did not care in the least for having her personal life placed under such close scrutiny.

      ‘Well, madam, what is your answer to be to my request?’ Darian prompted impatiently, aware that the dance would soon come to an end and having no desire to waste any more of his evening than was absolutely necessary at the countess’s ball. His shoulder, still healing from the recent bullet wound, was currently giving him an excessive amount of pain, following his exertions on the dance floor.

      Mariah Beecham pulled her hand from his and stepped back and away from him as the dance came to an end. ‘My answer is to make a request of my own, which is that you should leave my home forthwith!’

      Darian’s eyes widened in surprise before he was able to hide it; he had been the Marquis of Durham for all of his life, and the Duke of Wolfingham these past seven years, and as such no one talked to him in such a condescending manner as Mariah Beecham had just done.

      He did not know whether to be irritated or amused that she should have done so now. ‘And if I should choose not to?’

      Her smile was again obviously for the benefit of anyone observing them, rather than genuinely meant, her gaze remaining icily cold as she took the arm he offered to lead her from the dance floor. ‘In that case I will have no choice but to ask two of my footmen to forcibly remove you,’ she answered with insincere sweetness as she removed her hand and turned to face him.

      In contrast, Darian’s own smile was perfectly sincere. Indeed, he could not remember being this amused and entertained, by anyone or anything, in a very long time. If ever! ‘Are you certain two footmen would be sufficient to the task?’ he drawled derisively.

      An angry flush coloured those alabaster cheeks at his obvious mockery. ‘I do not care how many footmen it takes, your Grace, as long as they are successful in removing you, and your insulting presence, from my home.’ Her voluptuous breasts quickly rose and fell in her agitation.

      ‘I believe I have only been stating the obvious, madam.’ Darian arched a challenging brow.

      ‘Which is that you consider me entirely unsuitable as a focus for your brother’s infatuation?’

      ‘I would go further, madam, and say that I find you entirely unsuitable to occupy any situation in my brother’s life.’ Darian’s mouth thinned disapprovingly at the realisation that he now found himself in the position of being attracted to this bewitching woman. A woman, he had discovered during the course of the past few minutes, totally unlike any other he had ever met.

      Mariah Beecham was undoubtedly a dazzling beauty and it was impossible for a man’s gaze not to admire the rise and fall of those voluptuous and creamy breasts. But he had discovered, as they danced together, that she was far more than just a beautiful face and a desirable body.

      Her forthright manner, and her obvious contempt for him, was a refreshing change after the years of women simpering and flirting in his company, in a bid to secure his attention and in the hopes they might one day become his duchess.

      Mariah Beecham was obviously a mature and sophisticated woman. A wealthy and independent woman more than capable of making her own decisions as well as bringing up her young daughter alone. Moreover, the countess was a woman who made it perfectly clear that she would do it in exactly the way that she pleased.

      That sophistication and independence of will was having the strangest effect upon Darian’s libido. Indeed, he found himself becoming aroused by her to a degree that he acknowledged СКАЧАТЬ