For what, Darian was unsure. He only knew that he wanted to get out of this unpleasant and cloyingly decadent household, if only for a few hours. And that he wanted more than anything for Mariah to accompany him.
He stood up, retaining his hold upon her hand as he pulled her up beside him, so close he could almost feel the brush of her hair against his jaw, her perfume once again invading and capturing his senses. ‘Ready?’
Mariah’s heart leapt in her chest, as she knew instinctively that Darian was asking for more than if she was ready to go for their walk. That he was continuing their previous conversation rather than starting a new one.
Was she ready?
Was she prepared to take their relationship a step further?
To give in to the desires of her own body and engage in intimacy with Darian?
Could she do that?
Or would the memories of the past intrude once again and bring with them the fear and aversion that was all she had known as Martin’s wife?
Mariah looked up at him searchingly, not at his handsomeness; that was all too apparent. No, she looked into his eyes, those clear, deep and unwavering green eyes. Eyes that spoke of a man of both honour and truth. A man capable of killing his enemy, if necessary, but totally incapable of physically hurting a woman, most especially one he desired. And Wolfingham did desire her, was making no effort to hide that fact as he steadily met and returned her searching gaze.
Was she ready?
Was it time for her to release her memories of the past, along with her inhibitions, and give in to these new, and at times uncomfortable, yearnings of her own body?
Was she ready to do that?
Chapter Nine
‘Good gracious!’ Darian winced up at the pale pink marble structure of what could only be described as a miniature co
py of the Greek Parthenon he had visited whilst taking the Grand Tour ten years ago or more.
Nestled amongst the woodland to the left of the lake at Eton Park, exactly as Benson had said it would be, it had six small Doric-style marble columns fronting the building, with ten more along each side, and a domed cupola on the roof. And standing in pride of place before the huge wooden doors at its entrance was a nude statue, of what Darian could only assume was Aphrodite, cupping and stroking her own breast.
A nude statue that should not have been there, considering that, if Darian remembered his Greek mythology correctly, the Parthenon in Greece was dedicated to Athena, the virginal goddess of wisdom and philosophy.
‘I can only assume that Lord and Lady Nicholses’ knowledge of the Greek gods must be as lacking as their good taste,’ Mariah drawled beside him, revealing that her own knowledge on the subject was not lacking at all.
Darian chuckled huskily. ‘One does not need to make assumptions once they have seen this.’
Mariah’s eyes danced merrily as she glanced up at him. ‘It does err rather on the side of ostentatious.’
‘That is one word for it!’ Darian gave a disgusted shake of his head. ‘I sincerely hope that Benson is not of the opinion that the two of us share his employers’ bad taste!’
Mariah peered around the statue at the huge oak doors. ‘What do you think is inside?’
‘Even more lewd statues?’
‘Perhaps,’ she murmured distractedly as she moved forward to rest one gloved hand on the handle of the door. ‘Shall we go inside and see?’ she invited huskily.
Darian had to admit to feeling as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders since leaving the oppression of the Nicholses’ household, having enjoyed being out in the fresh air with Mariah walking companionably beside him and wearing a pelisse and bonnet the same russet colour as her gown.
He was in no hurry to forgo that feeling of companionship by entering what he could only assume, in the knowledge of the Nicholses’ tastes, and Benson’s warning that it would not be empty this evening, was more than likely to be a place where the Nicholses continued their debauchery. ‘I doubt it will be any more tasteful inside than out.’ He grimaced.
Mariah turned the handle and pushed open the door. ‘We will not know— Oh!’ She gave a gasp as she stepped inside. ‘Oh, do come and look, Darian,’ she encouraged breathlessly. ‘It is— You will never believe what is in here!’
Darian found himself moving forward to join Mariah inside the temple, partially lured there at having her address him by his first name, something she rarely did voluntarily, but also out of the need to discover exactly what sort of debauchery had awaited her inside and rendered her so breathless.
Darian felt the difference in temperature as soon as he stepped inside—the cavernous marble building was filled with an inexplicable heat. Or perhaps not so inexplicable, as he breathed in the slightly sulphurous smell only thinly disguised by the scent of lavender and realised that the mixture of smells was emanating from the deep sunken bathing pool of water in the centre of the rose marble building.
Mariah’s eyes were glowing with pleasure as she turned to look at him. ‘I believe it is a natural hot spring!’