of acknowledgement, and the grimness of his expression, that he had already drawn those same conclusions.
As they both must now also be aware that Benson had already departed Eton Park, before either of them had been able to make that connection.
To go where, though, and for what purpose? Did Benson intend to go to London and somehow attempt to assassinate the Prince Regent still?
‘You said that Benson came to you through personal recommendation?’ Wolfingham, obviously one step ahead in his thinking than Mariah, now prompted their hostess shrewdly.
‘Why, yes.’ Clara Nichols looked slightly surprised by his interest, before then giving an affectionate smile. ‘But, of course, I could not possibly be cross with dear Wedgy. I can only assume that Benson must have fooled him as to his reliability, in the same way that he has fooled all of us.’
‘“Wedgy”?’ Darian had little or no patience left for the woman’s prattling, especially so when she obviously had absolutely no knowledge of just how much, and in what way, Benson had fooled them all.
His hostess continued to smile. ‘Darling Wedgy. Lord William Edgewood,’ she supplied irritably as Darian continued to glower down his aristocratic nose at her. ‘But I have always called him Wedgy. William and Edgewood—Wedgy, do you see?’
Darian did indeed see. He saw exactly how the slightly rotund and jolly, and apparently innocuous, Lord Edgewood, a man he now recalled was also attached to the Foreign Office and so privy to certain information—such as the Prince Regent’s social engagements!—might have conspired with others in an attempt to assassinate the Prince Regent.
‘We have been friends since childhood, you see,’ Clara continued to confide. ‘More than friends in recent years, of course,’ she added coyly, obviously in reference to the debauched display of that affection they had been forced to witness the evening before. ‘But I have always considered that friends make the best lovers.’
‘What colour mask is Wedgewood wearing this evening?’ Darian could not even pretend to listen politely to this dreadful woman another moment longer.
Clara blinked at his obvious aggression. ‘He is wearing the red mask of the devil.’
How appropriate! ‘And have you seen him yet this evening?’
His hostess frowned as she nodded. ‘Just before this latest crisis, as it happens.’
‘Where?’
Clara frowned her irritation. ‘Really, Wolfingham, you are being less than polite.’
‘Where did you last see him, madam?’ he demanded tautly.
She blinked pale lashes. ‘He was talking to one of the musicians as they prepared their instruments before they commenced playing. Why, Mariah, what on earth is wrong with Wolfingham this evening?’ She looked totally bewildered as the duke turned sharply on his highly polished heels to disappear into the melee of the crowded ballroom, without so much as a word of apology or explanation.
Mariah knew exactly what was wrong with Darian, and the reason for his having left so abruptly, and her heart began to beat a wild tattoo in her chest at the realisation that Darian had every intention of confronting Lord Edgewood. ‘I will explain later.’ She threw the words distractedly at Clara before herself hurrying off in Darian’s wake.
Very aware that the assassin’s plans for this weekend had been thwarted on two levels. First, by the arrival of the Prince Regent’s note of apology. And second, by Benson’s hurried departure.
Whether or not Lord Edgewood knew of the disappearance of his co-conspirator, Mariah certainly knew that a cornered animal was more likely to come out fighting, rather than cowering in the corner. And William Edgewood, once he became aware of Benson’s defection, was obviously intelligent enough to realise he no longer had anything else to lose.
A single glance at the grimness of Darian’s expression, before he left to go in search of the older man, had told her that the dangerous Duke of Wolfingham fully intended to confront the older man as being the traitor he so obviously was.
As Mariah was also aware that Darian had barely survived André Rousseau’s bullet just weeks ago.
* * *
‘A little caution, if you please, Wolfingham!’
Darian came to an abrupt halt to turn sharply in the middle of the ballroom, having easily recognised the softly spoken warning as coming from one of his closest friends, Christian Seaton, the Duke of Sutherland. And obviously also one of those uninvited guests Clara Nichols had referred to just minutes ago!
‘These masks hide a multitude of sins.’ Sutherland confirmed drily, dressed similarly to Darian, in dark clothing and a black mask, his eyes glinting violet through the eye-slits. ‘Your groom arrived at Winterton Manor with your note and we arrived here just in time to stop and question the Nicholses’ butler as he was attempting to leave,’ he supplied economically. ‘Rotherham and Maystone are here somewhere, too.’
‘You know of Edgewood’s involvement?’
‘Oh, yes. Benson squeaked like a stuck pig once he knew the game was up. No doubt hoping to shift some of the blame!’ The other man gave a grim smile. ‘Griff and Maystone are watching him even as we speak.’
Darian nodded abruptly. ‘Do we have a plan of extraction?’
‘Maystone suggests— Good heavens, what is she doing?’ Sutherland growled with a sudden start of surprise.
Darian tensed, very much afraid he knew exactly which ‘she’ his friend was referring to. ‘Where?’
‘The little fool!’ Sutherland had now turned fully in order to look across the heads of the other guests in the direction of the musicians. ‘Can you not keep your woman under control, Darian?’ he demanded disgustedly as the two of them began to push their way towards where Mariah now stood in conversation with Lord William Edgewood.
‘She is not my woman—’ Darian broke off with a start as he realised that, yes, that was exactly what Mariah now was.
His woman.
The woman he wished to protect, with his own life if necessary.
The woman he admired and respected more than any other.
The woman he now realised meant more to him than any other woman ever had. Or ever would?
And at this moment his woman was deliberately endangering herself by engaging in conversation with the very man they both knew to have been one of the conspirators in the intended assassination of their beloved Regent.
His mouth thinned as he prompted again, ‘Do we have a plan, Christian?’
‘We did, yes,’ the other man confirmed just as grimly. ‘That may be a little more difficult now that— Where is she going now?’ Sutherland demanded incredulously, both men coming to a halt and watching helplessly as Mariah, her hand companionably in the crook of Lord Edgewood’s arm, now crossed to the French doors and strolled outside on to the terrace with him.
‘Damn it to hell!’ Darian had never felt so helpless in his life before as he did at that moment. Or so much like putting Mariah across his knee and administering a sound thrashing, for having endangered herself so deliberately. A thrashing, because of his earlier promise to himself never to cause Mariah any physical harm, that would have to take a verbal form. A verbal tongue-lashing he fully intended to carry out the moment the two of them were alone together again.
If they were ever alone together again.
* * *
‘There is such an uncomfortable crush in there already,’ Mariah remarked lightly as she stepped outside into the briskness of the March evening air beside William Edgewood.
He released his arm from her hold. ‘You may drop the pretence now, Countess,’ he dismissed scornfully.