He moved his other hand to cover hers, squeezing with just enough pressure not to cause pain, but to administer a warning of his own. ‘Very grateful,’ he drawled drily.
‘We appear to be completely superfluous here, my dear. Shall we return to the entertainment of our other guests?’ Richard Nichols extended an arm politely to his wife. ‘If you will both excuse us?’ He bowed politely to Mariah and Wolfingham as the other couple moved away, Clara Nichols still twittering her disappointment over the Prince Regent as they did so.
Mariah waited only long enough for the Nicholses to be out of earshot before turning to Darian. ‘Should we not wait here awhile longer before returning upstairs?’
‘No.’
‘But—’
‘I believe we have seen all that we needed to see, Mariah,’ he assured grimly.
‘We have?’
He nodded tersely. ‘Besides which, if I do not leave this company very soon, then I am afraid I might lose my temper completely.’
Mariah could see the truth of that claim in the dangerous glitter of his eyes and the nerve pulsing erratically in his tightly clenched jaw.
She held her head high as she accompanied him across the room, knowing they were being observed with interest as she heard the outbreak of whispering and laughter in the room behind them as they stepped out into the hallway. ‘Must you always be so—so obvious as to our supposed intention of disappearing to make love together?’ she hissed the moment they were out in the deserted entrance hall.
Darian was feeling murderous rather than obvious. How much longer must he endure this torture, of watching men like Nichols lusting after the woman he—the woman he—the woman he what? Exactly what was it that he felt towards Mariah?
Protective, certainly.
Proprietary.
Possessive.
To the extent he could quite cheerfully have taken on every man in that room who had so much as looked at Mariah sideways—which was all of them, damn it!
‘You are missing the point, Mariah.’
‘And it appears to me that you are enjoying yourself altogether too much at my expense!’ she came back heatedly.
‘Could we talk of this further once we reach your bedchamber?’ he prompted softly as Benson appeared at the top of the stairs, no doubt after having delivered Lady Nichols’s letter to her private parlour.
‘May I get you anything, your Grace?’ he offered politely as he reached the bottom of the staircase.
‘No, thank you, Benson,’ Darian answered distractedly, his hand firmly beneath Mariah’s elbow as he pulled her up the stairs beside him.
‘Darian?’
‘You are missing the point, Mariah,’ he repeated through gritted teeth as they reached the top of the staircase before turning into the hallway leading to their adjoining bedchambers.
‘Which is?’ she prompted as she opened the door to her room.
‘The letter,’ he reminded impatiently as he followed Mariah into her bedchamber. ‘The response to the Prince’s letter.’ He closed the door firmly behind him.
All of Mariah’s indignation fled as she realised she had indeed allowed her embarrassment to distract her, that she was the one now guilty—however briefly!—of forgetting their reason for being at Eton Park at all this weekend. ‘Apart from Clara’s obvious disappointment as hostess that the Prince would not be gracing her ball tonight after all, there did not appear to be any response at all to his note,’ she stated belatedly. ‘No pointed looks, or conversation, with anyone else in the room. No one hastily leaving the room. There was no response whatsoever.’
‘Exactly.’ Wolfingham paced the room restlessly.
Mariah continued to frown. ‘Does that mean Aubrey Maystone’s information was wrong?’
‘Maystone is never wrong,’ he assured grimly.
‘Then what happened just now?’
‘Nothing. That is the