Mariah loved her daughter dearly and, because of that, had willingly sacrificed the years she had suffered of being thought of as just an adjunct of her husband, Lord Martin Beecham, the Earl of Carlisle.
Finding herself suddenly of use, her opinions of importance, had caused Mariah to relish the new role in her life.
As a consequence, the past seven years were the first ones where Mariah had felt useful and valued for herself alone.
She would be unable to continue along that path if anyone in society were to ever discover that she used her title and wealth only as a way in which she might work, and spy, for the Crown.
If the shrewd Darian Hunter, Duke of Wolfingham, were to ever discover her work as a spy for the Crown…
She forced a teasing smile to now curve her lips. ‘Surely that is for me to know and for others to find out?’
Darian drew in a sharp breath at Mariah Beecham’s huskily flirtatious tone, a quiver of awareness tingling down the length of his spine as his body responded.
At the same time, he sensed that Mariah’s flirtation was somehow not genuine, but forced, although he had no idea why that should be.
Indeed, nothing about this woman, or her actions, was in the least clear to him. And until such time as it was, if it ever was, he would be well advised to remain wary in her company.
‘Considering that you have refused my request to discourage my brother’s interest in you,’ he answered her briskly as he stood up, ‘and the amount of times our paths have chanced to cross these past seven years or more, I very much doubt there will be any opportunity in future for me to know you any better than I do at this moment.’
‘Do I detect a note of regret in your tone?’ she taunted.
‘Not in the least,’ Darian dismissed harshly. ‘I am more than ready to leave and so end our acquaintance.’
‘Then you had best do so,’ she drawled unconcernedly.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Did you dismiss my carriage last night?’
The countess laughed huskily. ‘Tempted as I was to do otherwise!’ She nodded in confirmation. ‘It might have been amusing to see how you would have explained that occurrence to any who cared to ask. But, of course, you are Wolfingham, one of The Dangerous Dukes,’ she continued drily. ‘And like your four friends, Wolfingham does not care to explain himself, to any man or woman!’
Darian’s eyes narrowed. ‘You do not have a very good opinion of me, do you?’
‘Until yesterday evening I do not believe I held any opinion of you whatsoever,’ she assured uninterestedly.
His breath caught in his throat at that dismissal; if he did not care to explain himself to man or woman then it was equally as true that same man or woman would never dare to question him, either! ‘And now?’
‘Now I know without a doubt that you are both arrogant and insulting.’
Darian winced at her dismissive tone, knowing that he had been both of those things in his dealings with this woman. ‘If you would kindly send word to Wolfingham House, via one of your obviously capable footmen, and inform my butler that I have need of my carriage, I will then be able to remove my intrusive self from both your household and your presence!’
Mariah felt a sense of disquiet at the abruptness of Wolfingham’s departure. ‘I had not expected you to capitulate quite so easily, Wolfingham, in regard to my continuing friendship with your brother?’ she mocked.
‘I am not capitulating, merely withdrawing in order to rethink my strategy,’ he assured drily.
‘Ah.’ Mariah nodded knowingly. ‘I remind you that the doctor instructed that you were to remain abed for the next three days at least.’
Having now crossed to where his clothes lay draped over the bedroom chair, Wolfingham turned to look at her with those narrowed green eyes.
Green eyes surrounded by the longest, thickest, darkest lashes Mariah had seen on any man.
Indeed, Darian Hunter was a man of startling and masculine good looks; the nakedness of his back was exceedingly broad and muscled for a man who supposedly ran his estates from the comfort of his home here in London. As were his arms and the flatness of his abdomen, his legs also appearing long and muscled in those black evening trousers. Even his feet, sans his boots, bore a long and elegant appearance.
And Mariah could not remember the last time she had noticed the masculine beauty of any man, fully clothed or otherwise!
Perhaps when she had been Christina’s age, and on the brink of womanhood, she might have allowed her head to be turned a time or two by a handsome gentleman, but certainly not at any time since. The very nature of her marriage to Martin Beecham had meant there had never been any further inclination on her part to indulge in those girlish infatuations.
But Mariah could not deny, to herself at least, that she had noticed, and been aware of, every muscle and sinew of Darian Hunter’s muscular torso these past few minutes. And also been affected by it, as the slight fluttering of her pulse, the warmth in her cheeks and the aching fullness of her breasts all testified.
And she did not want to feel any of those things for any man!