Darian Hunter: Duke of Desire

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 his shaft had risen, and was now painfully engorged, in response to the desire he was currently feeling towards her.

Which had not been his intention when he came here this evening. Darian’s only desire had been to protect Anthony from the woman.

His jaw tightened. ‘I will leave willingly, and gladly, madam, if you will first consent to cut my brother loose from your enthralment.’

Mariah’s breath caught in her throat at this man’s temerity in continuing to insult her after having come to her home for the sole purpose of upbraiding her, in regard to what he considered her encouragement of his brother’s attentions to her. ‘I believe you must address any such remarks to your brother, rather than to myself, Wolfingham.’

‘Anthony is too besotted with you to listen to reason.’

‘That would seem to imply that you have tried?’ she taunted.

Wolfingham’s mouth thinned at her mockery. ‘I do not appreciate your humour on the subject, madam.’

Her eyes flashed. ‘And I, sir, do not in the least appreciate the insulting manner in which you have chosen to address me this evening.’

‘Then it would appear we are at an impasse,’ he drawled coldly.

Mariah’s eyes narrowed. ‘If you will excuse me— Let go of my arm, Wolfingham.’ Her warning was dangerously soft as she looked first at those long and elegant fingers currently wrapped about the top of her arm, before raising the coldness of her gaze to stare challengingly into the duke’s grimly arrogant face.

Darian had not meant to so much as lay another finger upon Mariah Beecham, not when he was already far too physically aware of her. His action, of reaching out to clasp her arm, had been purely instinctive, a reaction to the fact that she obviously intended to walk away from him.

Something he found he did not like in the slightest.

‘I believe we would be better continuing this conversation outside on the terrace,’ he bit out grimly as he maintained his hold upon her arm long enough to cross the ballroom and step outside on to the deserted terrace.

He released her arm as abruptly as he had earlier grasped it, before placing both of his hands behind his back and clasping them together as he looked down the length of his nose at her.

‘How dare you manhandle me in that way?’ Mariah Beecham gasped her outrage at finding herself alone outside on the terrace with him.

‘I believe you will find that I dare much in the protection of my impressionable younger brother, madam.’ Darian looked down at her coldly. ‘Most especially so when I have good reason to believe a woman such as yourself could never have any serious intentions with regard to a man as young and inexperienced as Anthony.’

‘A woman such as me?’ she repeated softly.

Darian nodded tersely. ‘We must both be aware of your reputation, madam.’

She eyed him coldly. ‘Must we?’

His gaze turned frosty at her tone. ‘That reputation apart, you were married to a man at least twenty-five years your senior and now you are dallying with a man at least ten years younger than yourself.’ Darian gave a shrug. ‘Perhaps it is that you are afraid of entertaining the attentions of a man of your own age?’

Mariah knew that this man could have absolutely no idea of the unhappiness she had suffered during her years of marriage to the much older Martin Beecham; they had both taken great care, for their daughter, Christina’s, sake, to ensure that society did not learn of their deep-felt dislike of each other.

As for her dallying with this man’s younger brother? It was pure nonsense. The young Lord Anthony had certainly received no encouragement from her, in what Wolfingham now claimed was his brother’s infatuation with her.

Truth be told, Mariah did not have a serious interest in any gentleman, her marriage to Martin having soured her towards spending too much time in the company of any man, let alone trusting her emotions, her heart, to one of them. In her opinion, all men were selfish and controlling. And she had no intentions of being controlled by anyone ever again.

Certainly not Wolfingham!

‘A man such as yourself, you mean?’ she taunted drily.

‘I would appear to fit that criteria, yes,’ he bit out harshly.

She gave a scornful smile. ‘I believe you are still a year or two younger than I, Wolfingham. Nor, after this conversation, would I be foolish enough to ever believe any interest you showed in me, now or in the future, to be in the least sincere.’

Then she would be wrong, Darian acknowledged reluctantly. Because these past few minutes in her company had shown him he was very interested in Mariah Beecham. Intellectually as well as physically.

Not only was it an unwise interest on his part, but it was also a forbidden one, in light of Anthony’s feelings for the woman. Darian could not be so disloyal to his brother as to try to win, and bed, the woman Anthony believed himself to be in love with.

‘You would be perfectly correct to mistrust any such interest,’ he conceded drily.

‘Then if we have quite finished this conversation?’ She arched haughty brows. ‘It is rather chilly out here and I have other guests to attend to.’

‘First I wish to know if it is your intention to continue seeing Anthony.’

‘As it would appear he attends most, if not all, of the same entertainments as myself, I do not see how I can do otherwise.’

So much for his being a voice of reason, Darian derided himself impatiently. He seemed, in fact, to have only succeeded in making the situation worse, rather than better. By approaching Mariah Beecham and talking to her of his concern for Anthony, he appeared to have angered the lady into doing the opposite of what he asked.

Not only that, but he now seemed to have developed a physical desire for the woman himself!

She looked especially lovely in the moonlight, her hair having turned palest gold, her flawless skin pure ivory against the darker silk of her gown. As for her perfume! It was a mixture of flowers and some heady and exotic scent Darian could not quite place, but that seeped insidiously into his very pores, heightening his senses, so that he was aware only of the woman standing so proudly beautiful before him.

‘Must we continue to argue about this, Mariah?’ His voice lowered huskily even as he took a step forward.

Her gaze became guarded as she tilted her head further back in order to be able to look up at him. ‘I have not given you permission to use my first name,’ she bit out frostily. ‘Nor am I aware of any argument between the two of us. You have made a request and I have discounted the very idea of there ever being any sort of alliance between your brother and myself. As far as I am concerned, that is an end to the subject.’

Darian drew in a deep breath. ‘I do not see how it can be, when Anthony seems so set upon his pursuit of you.’

Mariah was not at all happy at the way Darian Hunter had moved so much closer to her. So close, in fact, that she felt as if her personal space had been invaded. And not in an altogether unpleasant way.

Her years of marriage to Martin had been extremely difficult ones, so much so that in the early years of their marriage she had preferred to remain secluded in the country. Maturity had brought with it a certain confidence, a knowledge, if you will, of her own powers as a woman, if not in regard to her husband, then at least towards the attentions shown to her by other gentlemen. With that confidence had come the art, the safety, of social flirtation, without the promise of there ever being anything more.

It was a veneer of sophistication that had stood her in good stead since Martin’s death five years ago, when so many other gentlemen had decided that the now widowed and very wealthy Countess of Carlisle would make them an admirable wife.

As if Mariah would willingly forgo the newfound freedom and wealth that widowhood had given her, in order to become another man’s wife and possession!