Darian Hunter: Duke of Desire (Dangerous Dukes 3)

‘And I trust that you will not remain quite so…exclusive…this evening, sir?’ Lady Nichols gave Darian’s arm a playful tap with her fan. ‘There are many more ladies present who would welcome your attentions.’

Darian narrowed his gaze on her. ‘Indeed.’

Where the hell was Benson with the Prince’s note?

‘Oh, yes.’ Their hostess gave another of those tittering giggles, so incongruous in a woman who was aged in her forties, at the least. ‘Indeed, the ladies have talked and speculated of nothing else since your arrival yesterday.’

‘Indeed?’ Darian repeated stiltedly, his hands clenching tensely into fists at his sides.

‘Oh, my goodness, yes!’ Lady Nichols looked up at him with what she no doubt thought was a winning smile, obviously having absolutely no idea how close Darian was to telling her to go to the devil and take her simpering flirtation with her! ‘I myself would dearly love to—’

‘I do believe Benson is trying to attract your attention, Clara,’ Mariah put in hastily, having thankfully spotted the butler approaching them, a silver tray held aloft on one hand; the increasing coldness of Darian’s expression, and those hands clenched at his sides, warned Mariah he was seriously in danger of telling Clara Nichols exactly how repugnant he found both her and her guests. Their reason for being here be damned!

‘What is it, Benson?’ Their hostess could barely contain her irritation at the interruption as she frowned at her butler.

‘This was just delivered for you, madam.’ Benson offered the silver tray. ‘I took the liberty of asking the rider to wait, in case there is a reply,’ he added helpfully.

Mariah could feel Darian’s tension as the two of them watched their hostess break the seal on the letter before quickly scanning its contents. Mariah actually held her breath as she waited for Clara Nichols’s response, which for the moment appeared to be only a displeased frown.

‘What is it, my dear?’ Richard Nichols called out across the room.

A pout appeared on Clara Nichols’s too-red lips. ‘The Prince Regent is unable to attend the ball this evening, after all. Some urgent business requiring he return to town earlier than expected.’

There were several murmurs of ‘too bad’ and ‘bad show’ from the other guests, but it was Richard and Clara Nichols whom Mariah continued to study intently, as she knew that Darian did also.

‘That is a pity.’ Richard Nichols strolled over to join his wife before reading the note for himself. ‘Oh well, can’t be helped, old girl.’ He patted his wife awkwardly on the shoulder. ‘The country’s needs must come first and all that.’

Lady Nichols continued to pout her disappointment. ‘It really is too bad of him,’ she snapped waspishly. ‘I only invited Lady Henley on his instructions I should do so.’

‘I am sure that there are plenty of other gentlemen present to keep that lady entertained. Hey, Wolfingham?’ Richard Nichols attempted a conspiratorial and conciliatory smile at the haughty duke.

‘You are welcome to do so, by all means, Nichols.’ That smile was not returned as Darian looked coldly down the length of his nose at the older man. ‘As I am sure I have made perfectly clear, I am happy in the company of Lady Beecham.’

‘A man can have too much of a good thing, though, don’t you think?’ Nichols suggested slyly.

Wolfingham’s jaw was tight. ‘No, I most certainly do not think,’ he bit out tautly, eyes glacial as he continued to look contemptuously at the other man.

A contempt, a danger, that Mariah knew the older man would be foolish to ignore. Most especially so when he still bore the bruises on his neck from the last time he had managed to infuriate Wolfingham.

She stood up to tuck her gloved hand into the crook of Darian’s arm, administering a gentle squeeze of caution even as she turned to smile at Richard Nichols. ‘I am afraid our…friendship…is relatively new, Lord Nichols, and Wolfingham is quite besotted still.’ She felt the tension in Darian’s arm beneath her fingertips as his response to such a ridiculous claim.

As it was indeed ridiculous to think of the haughty Duke of Wolfingham as ever being besotted with any woman, least of all the scandalous Countess of Carlisle!

‘Well, can’t blame a man for that.’ Richard Nichols wisely backed down. ‘Oh, do cheer up, Clara,’ he turned to instruct his sulking wife impatiently. ‘I am sure we shall manage quite well this evening without the Prince’s presence. After all, we do have the elusive Duke of Wolfingham as one of our guests!’

‘So he is.’ Clara Nichols brightened before turning to the waiting butler. ‘There is no reply, Benson.’ She placed the note back on the tray. ‘Could you see that this is put in my private parlour?’ she added dismissively.

‘Of course, milady.’ The butler bowed politely before withdrawing.

Mariah frowned her puzzlement as she continued to study Richard and Clara Nichols; there did not seem to be any undue reaction to the Prince’s note of apology, apart from Clara’s obvious disappointment.

Clara Nichols now directed another of those coquettish smiles at Wolfingham. ‘Where were we?’

‘I believe that Mariah and I were about to return upstairs,’ he bit out tautly.

‘Again? So soon?’ Clara Nichols gave Mariah an envious smile. ‘My, he is a lusty one, isn’t he, my dear?’

Mariah felt the warmth of colour enter her cheeks and dearly hoped that the other woman would see it as the burn of anticipation at being the recipient of Wolfingham’s passion, rather than the embarrassment it really was. ‘I am sure we are both very grateful to you for allowing us the privacy, in which to fully indulge ourselves, this weekend.’ She curled her nails painfully, and quite deliberately, into Darian’s tensed arm.