soon as I have regained the strength to get out of bed and go down to the stables in search of my groom,’ Darian added.
‘Is it possible, as we were followed up the stairs, that perhaps we have not been as clever in our deception of being lovers as we had hoped to be?’
Darian did not believe for a moment any of this conversation had been the reason behind Mariah’s sudden tension a few minutes ago; she had paused too long, considered her words for too long, before answering him. Nor was he insensitive to the fact that she seemed to be distancing herself from him once again, despite still being held in his arms, her half-naked body draped alongside his own, her hand resting warmly—trustingly?—on his chest.
At the same time he was aware of how tenuous still was the closeness between the two of them, despite the depths of the intimacies they had just shared. That unless he wished to call Mariah a liar and risk alienating her even further, he had no choice but to accept this as her explanation for her sudden quiet.
For now...
‘From the speed with which they left, once the two of us began to make love, I believe they can have no further doubt regarding the latter— Mariah?’ he questioned again sharply as he felt her increase in tension. He turned on his side to look at her searchingly, easily noting the pallor of her cheeks, the shadows in those beautiful turquoise eyes, before she lowered her long, dark silky lashes and hid those shadows from his view. ‘Do you regret what just happened between the two of us?’
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue—tasting him there, as Darian could still taste her on his own lips? The colour that suddenly warmed her cheeks, as she became aware of her movements, would seem to imply that she did.
‘I accept it was necessary,’ she answered him evenly now. ‘If we were to successfully keep up this pretence that we are lovers.’
‘It is no longer a pretence, Mariah!’ Darian felt stung into snapping his frustration with her coolness. With the fact that they both knew there had been no need for the continuation of that pretence, once he had assured Mariah their eavesdropper had departed.
She swallowed, those long lashes still hiding the expression in her eyes. ‘We have shared...certain intimacies. That does not make us lovers.’
‘Then what does?’ Darian scowled down at her darkly. ‘I will admit that this was far from the ideal place, or situation, for the two of us to have become lovers,’ he continued impatiently, very aware that he had previously decided he could not allow such a thing to happen at Eton Park. But he could no more have resisted, denied himself the pleasure of making love to and with Mariah just now, than King Canute had been able to turn back the tide! ‘But that does not change the fact that it is now exactly what the two of us are,’ he added huskily.
Mariah drew in a ragged breath even as she gave a definitive shake of her head. ‘I believe we have allowed the licentiousness and erotica at this place to colour our judgement. That once we return to town we shall both see how...ridiculous such a relationship would be between us.’
‘Ridiculous?’ Darian knew the frown had deepened on his brow.
‘Of course.’ She gave a dismissive laugh as she finally looked up at him, those eyes reflecting her derision. ‘We have absolutely nothing in common outside of this current situation. No common interests, or friends. Indeed, in London you are every inch the austere and sober Duke of Wolfingham as I am the scandalous Countess of Carlisle.’
Having come to know Mariah better, Darian was now extremely sceptical about the latter.
‘And this?’ He reached out to grasp the tops of her arms. ‘What was it that just happened between the two of us?’
‘A very enjoyable but unrepeatable interlude,’ she dismissed drily. ‘As I have said, I believe we have both allowed our forced alliance, along with the licentiousness of our surroundings, and the people here, to arouse and cloud our better judgement. Left to our own devices in town, the two of us would never have so much as spared each other an approving glance.’
Darian could not deny that his opinion of Mariah, before meeting her, had been far from favourable. Nor had that opinion changed once he had met and spoken to her, despite the unwanted and begrudging desire he had felt for her.
But sometime during these past few weeks his opinion of Mariah had changed. Dramatically. He now knew her to be a woman of great courage and fortitude. A woman who risked her own life and reputation, on a daily basis, in order to work secretly for the Crown. For that alone Darian might have admired and respected her.
But there was so much more to Mariah than that.
Darian now knew that she had also fought her own personal demons of the past and not just survived them, but had become a gracious lady of great dignity and personal independence.
Much like a soldier after a success in battle.
Truly, Darian believed Mariah to have as much courage, to be as heroic, as he or any of his four closest friends had been in their fight against tyranny, openly and secretly.
None of which changed the fact that Mariah was now rejecting, out of hand, the very idea of the two of them continuing any sort of relationship once they had returned to town.
A rejection, the challenge of her expression, as she met his gaze so fearlessly, he would do well to heed.
Darian had never been one to back down from any sort of fight. Least of all one that mattered to him as much as this one did. As much as continuing to see Mariah, to be with Mariah, now did.
But she was absolutely correct in one regard. This was not the time, or the place, for them to have this conversation. There was too much else at stake: a would-be assassin in this house they still had to identify and bring to justice.
As such, Darian would agree to delay the conversation between himself and Mariah.
For now.
Once they had left Eton Park and returned to town, he had every intention of pursuing a satisfactory conclusion to this conversation.
Of pursuing Mariah.
‘Does our hostess seem less than composed to you this evening?’ Darian murmured softly to Mariah, eyes narrowed as he observed a rather red-faced Clara Nichols across the crowded ballroom, as she issued low-voiced instructions to a somewhat panicked-looking young footman.
A small ballroom that, along with the hundred or so masked and indecently clothed guests laughing and talking too loudly, was every bit as outrageously decadent as Mariah had earlier warned him it would be.
The walls were all mirrors, reflecting back the dozens of candles illuminating the room, as well as the lurid and explicit frescoes painted on the ceiling above. Although to Darian’s way of thinking, it was hard to decide which was worse, those erotic frescoes above, or the half-clothed guests milling about below.
He had certainly breathed a sigh of relief once he had realised that Mariah’s gown, a delicate gold confection of some gossamer material to match the gold of her mask, was actually not as revealing as it at first appeared.
Her beautiful and creamy shoulders were completely bare, admittedly, but there was at least a bodice to the gown, albeit a sheer and delicate lace that did little to hide the fullness of her breasts and rouged nipples below. But the body of the gown was at least lined, with only the barest hint—literally!—of the silky limbs and blonde curls hidden beneath.
With things so unsettled between the two of them still, Darian did not believe he would have been able to hold on to his temper if he also had to cope with other gentlemen ogling Mariah’s near nakedness!
‘She does,’ Mariah now answered him equally as softly. ‘Perhaps I should stroll over and see what is amiss?’
Darian’s first instinct was