Duke of Wolfingham to be capable of.
Before today...
Mariah had no doubts now that Wolfingham had indeed chosen to hide his real self behind the guise of that cold and disdainful duke, because she now suspected—knew—that behind that haughty exterior was a man of deep passions.
Deep and unrelenting passions that terrified her at the same time as they caused a wild fluttering inside her.
She straightened determinedly. ‘You do understand that, if I should agree to do this in order to flush out the traitors, the public liaison between the two of us would be for appearances’ sake only? That there would be no actual intimacy?’
Her eyes widened as Wolfingham gave a rueful chuckle, the signs of that humour, in the warmth of his green eyes and the soft curve of chiselled lips, instantly lessening his veneer of austerity and making him appear years younger than his age.
‘You do have a certain way with words, Mariah.’ Darian gave a wry shake of his head. ‘And I assure you, I never doubted for a moment that our liaison,’ he drily echoed her own words, ‘would be for appearances’ sake only.’ He sobered. ‘If we should agree to go forward with Maystone’s proposal,’ he added harshly, ‘which neither of us has yet done.’
Mariah did not see how either of them had any real choice in the matter, if the perpetrators of this plot to assassinate the Prince Regent were to be arrested.
‘What have you done with Lady Christina this weekend?’ Darian prompted as he and Mariah travelled into Kent on Friday evening in the warmth of his lamplit coach. His valet and Mariah’s maid, along with their luggage, had already travelled into Kent in a second coach sent on ahead earlier today.
Cool turquoise eyes turned to look at him across the width of the coach. Mariah looked cosily warm in a travelling cloak, bonnet and muff for her hands of that same vibrant turquoise colour. ‘She is staying with friends.’
‘And do you trust that my younger brother will not take advantage of your absence?’ Darian had sent a note informing his brother that he would be away in the country this weekend, but not with whom; he fully expected to hear of his brother’s displeasure if or when Anthony learnt that Darian had spent the weekend in the company of the mother of the young lady about whom he had serious intentions.
‘I trust my daughter not to allow any gentleman to take advantage of my absence.’ Mariah had chosen not to speak to Christina regarding Anthony Hunter in particular, believing that to do so would only cause her independent-minded young daughter’s attention to fixate on the gentleman. But a casual conversation between mother and daughter had confirmed that Christina did not have serious feelings for any of the young gentlemen who flocked to her side on every social occasion.
Wolfingham nodded. ‘And Lady Nichols was receptive to my accompanying you?’
Mariah gave a dismissive snort. ‘What society hostess would not be receptive to counting the elusive Duke of Wolfingham amongst her guests?’
‘The Countess of Carlisle?’ Darian arched a mocking brow.
‘True,’ that countess drawled dismissively before turning away to look out of the window into the dark of the night.
This was the first time that Darian had seen Mariah since they had informed Maystone of their decision to attend the Nicholses’ weekend house party together, their arrangements having then been made through an exchange of terse notes.
A terseness that obviously still existed between the two of them now that they were together again.
Darian straightened on his side of the coach. ‘And how successful do you think we shall be at this ruse of an affair between the two of us, when you cannot even bring yourself to look at me for longer than a few seconds?’
Mariah closed her eyes briefly behind the brim of her bonnet before gathering herself to once again look coolly across the carriage at Wolfingham. ‘We have not arrived at Eton Park yet, your Grace.’
Darian Hunter gave a mocking shake of his head. ‘It is then that I am to expect that the woman who now calls me your Grace so condescendingly will suddenly turn into my adoring lover?’
Mariah firmly repressed the shiver that ran the length of her spine—she did not care to search too deeply as to whether it was a shudder of revulsion or a quiver of anticipation!—at the mere suggestion of herself and this forcefully powerful man ever really becoming lovers.
Wolfingham was just so immediate. So overpoweringly male. Just so—so Wolfingham that he would totally possess any woman brave enough to attempt to match herself against the passions that Mariah now knew, without a doubt, burned so fiercely behind that mask of stern disapproval.
Even seated in the confines of this coach with him Mariah was aware of that fire smouldering, burning, beneath his outwardly relaxed, even bored, countenance.
‘I will never be any man’s adoring lover, Wolfingham,’ she scorned—or any man’s lover at all! ‘And I will only be your pretend lover for this one weekend,’ she assured firmly. ‘I believe that you will also find my acting skills are more than sufficient as to be convincing once we are in the company of others.’ How could they not be, when for years she had managed, in public at least, to look as if she found pleasure in being at her husband’s side?
‘And might I enquire as to where and how you might have attained and honed these acting skills?’ Wolfingham arched a sceptical brow.
‘Perhaps you should turn your attention to your own performance rather than worrying about mine?’ she challenged sharply rather than answer his question.
Darian noted that the asperity, which usually edged Mariah’s tone whenever she spoke to him, had now returned. It was an improvement on her earlier cool uninterest, but only barely!
He settled more comfortably against the plush cushions of the seat. ‘I do not recall ever having received any complaints in the past regarding my performance,’ he drawled mockingly.
A flush now coloured Mariah’s cheeks, of either embarrassment or anger—though Darian would guess at it being the latter; there was no reason for Mariah to feel embarrassment discussing such a subject when she had been a married lady for many years and so familiar with her husband’s performance. And that of the other gentlemen who had shared her bed during and after her marriage!
A thought that did not give Darian any pleasure whatsoever.
He eyed her with frustration from behind lowered lids. Indeed, it had been long days—and nights—of frustrations since the morning he had called at her home and they had been joined by Aubrey Maystone.
Not least because Mariah had proved so elusive on the occasions Darian had asked for the two of them to meet in person since that time, so that they might discuss how they were to proceed this weekend. Requests Mariah had consistently refused, on the excuse of having far too many other engagements, and the arrangements to be made for their weekend away in Kent, to be able to fit a visit from him into that busy schedule.
Darian’s suggestion that, as her lover, he was supposed to be visiting her had been met with a wall of silence on Mariah’s part. A silence that had not been broken until he had called at her home to collect her earlier this evening.
Another frustration had been Maystone’s inability to persuade any of the three men, now being held and questioned, into giving them more information regarding one or both of the Nicholses’ involvement in this plot against the Prince.
Thankfully, Maystone and other members of the government had succeeded in continuing to convince the Prince Regent that it was for the best that he not attend even the Nicholses’ masked ball on Saturday evening.
Instead, Aubrey Maystone and several of his agents would take up residence at Winterton