to where their hostess stood beside the doorway.
There was also a would-be assassin still somewhere in their midst.
Darian quickly repressed his overprotectiveness, knowing that Mariah would no more accept that than she had wished to listen to his conversation earlier, in regard to the continuation of their relationship once they were back in town. He had no doubt that she would especially baulk at any sign of possessiveness towards her on his part. Even if that was exactly how he felt!
Just the thought of any other man but himself so much as looking at Mariah with more than admiration was enough to cause his jaw to tighten and his back teeth to grind together.
‘We shall both go,’ he compromised as he held out his arm to her.
Mariah eyed Darian from behind her mask as she placed her gloved hand on his arm before allowing him to escort her across the crowded ballroom, knowing that the avidly covetous eyes of at least a dozen other women followed his progress.
He was, without a doubt, the most handsome and striking-looking gentleman in the room, formidably so.
Once again dressed all in black, accompanied by snowy white linen, the mask that covered the top half of Wolfingham’s face was also a plain and unrelenting black, green eyes glinting warningly through the two eye-slits to ward off the approach of any of the other guests.
Mariah repressed a shiver at just how devilish Darian looked this evening. Dark and watchful. Cold and unrelenting.
Nothing at all like the warm and satiated man who had made love to her, and to whom she had made love, earlier this evening.
‘Cold?’ Darian turned to her solicitously as he obviously felt her shiver.
Mariah straightened determinedly; after all, she was the one who had insisted there was nothing between them but the intimacy of the circumstances under which they now found themselves. She was a little disappointed, hurt, at how easily Darian had accepted her dismissal after making only a token protest, but that was for her to deal with, not him. Darian had promised nothing and she had asked for nothing, which was how it should be. How it must be, if she was to continue to maintain her emotional independence.
‘Not at all.’ She now gave him an over-bright smile. ‘Did you manage to send your groom with a note to Winterton Manor?’ she prompted softly.
‘Yes,’ Wolfingham confirmed. ‘Although he has not returned as yet with Maystone’s reply,’ he added grimly.
‘Do you think that something might have happened to him along the way?’ Mariah frowned; Aubrey had told them that Winterton Manor, where the older man had waited these past twenty-four hours or so, along with several other of his agents, until he heard word from them, was only situated five miles or so from Eton Park.
Darian frowned. ‘We shall go out to the stables and check for news of his return, once we have talked to Clara Nichols.’
Mariah’s brows rose. ‘Surely there is no reason for both of us to go?’
Perhaps not, but Darian still felt that reluctance to leave Mariah’s side. ‘We shall both go, Mariah,’ he repeated uncompromisingly, returning the searching glance Mariah gave him with one of cool determination.
Darian sensed an underlying air of tension in the Nicholses’ ballroom this evening, one that smacked almost of desperation. As if someone in this room knew they were being hunted. And if anything amiss was about to happen, then Darian intended being at Mariah’s side when and wherever it did.
‘Very well.’ Mariah finally nodded acquiescence, her eyes narrowing as they approached their flustered hostess and her obviously nervously trembling footman.
‘Something definitely has Clara on the verge of a fit of the vapours,’ she murmured softly to Darian, her voice rising as they reached Clara Nichols’s side. ‘Clara, darling, whatever is the matter?’ She left Darian’s side to link her arm companionably through the older woman’s.
Lady Nichols dismissed the footman before answering. ‘Oh, Mariah,’ she wailed. ‘Nothing this evening is going as it should, and— Oh! Good evening, your Grace,’ she greeted hastily as she saw Darian was standing just behind Mariah.
‘Can the countess and I be of any help?’ he queried lightly, senses now on full alert, knowing it was most unusual for ladies of the ton to become so discomposed in front of their guests, no matter what the situation.
‘Oh, no!’ Clara Nichols looked horrified at the suggestion. ‘No, thank you, Wolfingham,’ she added with more calm. ‘It was just a— There were several domestic matters in need of my attention. It is all settled now.’
Mariah somehow doubted that, from the hunted look still in Clara Nichols’s pale and constantly shifting blue eyes. ‘Could the capable Benson not have dealt with them?’
The older woman’s mouth thinned, those angry spots returning to her cheeks. ‘Benson is the main cause of the problem! Indeed, personal recommendation or not, I am seriously thinking of dismissing him the moment he returns.’ Her eyes now glittered with her anger. ‘The servants are all in disarray without his guidance.’ She had obviously forgotten her earlier reassurances to the contrary, in her agitation. ‘And I am sure that there are far more guests here this evening than were actually invited.’ She looked askance at the very overcrowded ballroom.
‘Indeed?’ Wolfingham was narrow-eyed as he also glanced at the overabundance of masked guests.
‘No doubt they had heard of the entertainments here and wished to be a part of it, whether invited or not,’ Clara twittered coyly.
‘No doubt,’ Wolfingham drawled drily. ‘When Benson returns from where?’ he added softly.
Clara gave an impatient shake of her head. ‘He has gone to be at the bedside of his sick father. Against my instructions, I might add,’ she added agitatedly. ‘When he asked earlier I refused him leave to go until tomorrow, but I learnt just minutes ago that he has gone this evening anyway!’
Mariah’s breath caught in her throat as she turned to give Darian a wincing glance.
Stupid!
How could they both have been so utterly, utterly stupid?
Or, perhaps more accurately, how could she and Darian have allowed themselves to become so distracted, by their ever-deepening attraction to each other, as to totally miss what had been right in front of their noses this whole time?
Of course neither Richard nor Clara Nichols had reacted as had been expected to the news that the Prince would not be attending their masked ball this evening, after all. Why should they, when neither of them was the assassin or one of the conspirators, whom Mariah and Darian had been sent here to find, in the discovered attempt to assassinate the Prince Regent.
To date, all of the known network of arrested spies, set up by André Rousseau during the year he had spent working as a tutor in England, had been employees in the households of rich or politically powerful people. Servants of one kind or another who could move about at will without attracting attention. A private secretary. A tutor. A footman.
A butler...
Benson!
Benson had been Rousseau’s spy in the Nicholses’ household.
Benson, who had only been employed in the Nicholses’ household for a matter of months.
Benson, who had proved to be such ‘a treasure’ since coming to work in the Nicholses’ household.
Benson, who had been the only person to leave the Nicholses’ sitting room after the Prince’s note had been delivered and read.
Benson, who had carried that note up the stairs to Clara Nichols’s private sitting room, before no doubt proceeding to read its contents!
Benson, his suspicions perhaps aroused, who had then followed Mariah and Darian back up the stairs, before entering