Dangerous Dukes 02 - Darian Hunter - Duke of Desire Read online

  The Players: Darian Hunter, Duke of Wolfingham: legendary rake and notorious bachelor Mariah Beecham, Countess of Carlisle: society’s scandalous widow and secret agent of the crown The Stage: A notoriously debauched house party The Scene: Forced to pose as lovers, Darian and Mariah must work together to stop an assassination plot The Twist: As the shocking and oh-so-sensual games play out around them, the romantic ruse becomes all too real. And the tantalizing temptation to indulge their every desire becomes overwhelming…

  DANGEROUS DUKES

  Rakes about town

  Carole Mortimer introduces London’s most delectable dukes in her new miniseries. But don’t be fooled by their charm, because beneath their lazy smiles, they’re deliciously sexy—and highly dangerous!

  Available this month

  DARIAN HUNTER: DUKE OF DESIRE

  And don’t miss the first title in this miniseries

  ZACHARY BLACK: DUKE OF DEBAUCHERY

  Already available Or the online prequel

  MARCUS WILDING: DUKE OF PLEASURE

  Mariah held back the hysterical laugh that threatened to burst forth at the obvious sincerity of Darian’s promise of allowing no harm to come to her—when the person she now feared the most was him.

  Oh, not him exactly, but her responses to him certainly. Responses of heat and desire. Responses which she had believed herself to be incapable of feeling toward any man.

  Until Wolfingham.

  Just a few minutes of being back in his company and Mariah had known that she was still aware of everything about him. The dark and glossy thickness of his hair. Those beautiful emerald-green eyes. The stark and chiseled handsomeness of his features. The strength of his muscled body.

  The gentleness of the long and sensitive hands that now held her hands so lightly, but securely, within his own.

  Hands that Mariah could only too easily imagine moving, exploring her body, lighting a fire wherever they touched, giving pleasure wherever they caressed. A pleasure she never imagined she could desire so deeply.…

  *

  Darian Hunter: Duke of Desire

  Harlequin® Historical #1209—November 2014

  Carole

  Mortimer

  Darian Hunter:

  Duke of Desire

  Available from Harlequin® Historical and

  CAROLE MORTIMER

  *The Duke’s Cinderella Bride #960

  *The Rake’s Wicked Proposal #969

  *The Rogue’s Disgraced Lady #975

  *Lady Arabella’s Scandalous Marriage #987

  Regency Christmas Proposals #1015

  *“Christmas at Mulberry Hall”

  ΔThe Lady Gambles #1066

  ΔThe Lady Forfeits #1070

  ΔThe Lady Confesses #1072

  **Some Like It Wicked #1116

  **Some Like to Shock #1120

  §Not Just a Governess #1148

  §Not Just a Wallflower #1164

  ◊Zachary Black: Duke of Debauchery #1204

  ◊Darian Hunter: Duke of Desire #1209

  Other works include Harlequin HQN

  ¤The Wicked Lord Montague Harlequin Historical Undone! ebooks *At the Duke’s Service

  Convenient Wife, Pleasured Lady

  ΔA Wickedly Pleasurable Wager

  **Some Like It Scandalous

  §Not Just a Seduction

  ◊Marcus Wilding: Duke of Pleasure *The Notorious St. Claires

  ΔThe Copeland Sisters

  **Daring Duchesses

  §A Season of Secrets

  ¤part of Castonbury Park Regency miniseries

  ◊Dangerous Dukes Did you know that these novels are also available as ebooks?

  Visit www.Harlequin.com.

  Carole Mortimer also writes for Harlequin Presents®!

  Dedication

  My good friend, Susan Stephens.

  What fun we have on our travels!

  CAROLE MORTIMER

  was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978 and has now written more than 150 books for Harlequin®. Carole has six sons: Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, “I’m happily married to Peter Sr. We’re best friends, as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.”

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt

  Prologue

  March 1815—White’s Club, London

  ‘You wanted to speak to me?’

  Having been perusing today’s newspaper, whilst seated in an otherwise deserted private room of his club, Darian Hunter, the Duke of Wolfingham, now continued reading to the end of the article before folding the broadsheet neatly into four and placing it down on the low table beside him. He then glanced up at the fashionably dressed young gentleman who had addressed him so aggressively. ‘And a good afternoon to you, too, Anthony,’ he greeted his younger brother calmly.

  Anthony eyed him impatiently. ‘Do not come the haughty duke with me, Darian! Most especially when I know it is you who wished to speak with me rather than the other way about. You have left messages for me all over town,’ he reminded as Darian raised dark brows questioningly. ‘I presumed the matter must be of some urgency?’

  ‘Is that why it has taken you those same two days to respond to those messages?’ Darian was not fooled for a moment by his brother’s bluster. He knew that his brother always went on the attack when he knew he was in the wrong, but was refusing to admit it.

  ‘I have better things to do with my time than seek out the more often than not elusive Duke of Wolfingham—even if he does happen to be my big brother as well as my guardian. The latter for only another three months, I thank heavens!’

  ‘Oh, do sit down, Anthony,’ Darian snapped. ‘You are making the place look untidy.’

  Anthony gave a wicked grin at having obviously succeeded in irritating Darian as he threw himself down into the chair opposite. He was dressed in the height of fashion as usual, in his jacket of royal blue, with a bright blue-and-green paisley-patterned waistcoat beneath and buff-coloured pantaloons, his dark hair rakishly overlong and falling across his brow. ‘When did you get back to town?’

  ‘Two days ago, obviously,’ Darian drawled.

  ‘And you immediately sought me out?’ Anthony raised mocking brows. ‘I am flattered, brother.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ he advised pointedly.

  His brother now raised his gaze heavenwards. ‘What have I done to annoy you this time? Overspent at my tailor’s? Gambled at the cards a little too heavily?’

  ‘If only it was your usual irresponsible behaviour then I should not have needed to speak with you at all, but merely dealt with the matter as I always do,’ Darian drawled in a bored voice. ‘I am sure we are both well aware of why it is I wished to speak with you, Anthony,’ he added softly.

  ‘Not the slightest idea.’ The fact that Anthony shifted uncomfortably, his gaze now avoiding meeting Darian’s as a slight flush coloured his cheeks, instantly gave lie to the claim.

  Darian gave a humourless smile. �
��Do not force me to mention the lady by name.’

  Anthony narrowed eyes as emerald green as Darian’s own, the two of them very alike in colouring and looks, and so obviously brothers, in spite of the eight years’ difference in their ages; Darian aged two and thirty to his brother’s four and twenty. ‘If you are referring to the actress with whom I had a liaison last month, then I do not even recall her name—’

  ‘I am not.’

  Anthony gave an exaggerated stretch of his shoulders. ‘Then give me a clue, brother, because I have absolutely no idea what—or possibly who?—you might be referring to.’

  Darian’s mouth firmed at his brother’s determination not to make this an easy conversation. For either of them. ‘It has been brought to my attention that you have been seen in the company of a certain lady, more often than is socially acceptable.’

  Anthony stilled. ‘Indeed?’

  Darian nodded. ‘And while it is perfectly acceptable for you to discreetly indulge in a gentleman’s diversions, this particular lady could never be considered as being in the least discreet. Indeed, she is—’

  ‘Have a care, Darian,’ Anthony warned softly.

  ‘Her associations, past and present, mean she is not a woman with whom it is acceptable for a gentleman of your standing to indulge in these diversions,’ Darian maintained determinedly. ‘You—’ He broke off as Anthony sprang lightly to his feet, hands clenched into fists at his sides as he glared down at Darian. ‘I have not finished—’

  ‘In regard to this particular lady, I assure you that you have indeed finished,’ Anthony said fiercely. ‘And might I say that you have a damned nerve, daring to lecture me about my behaviour, when you have only just returned from spending almost two weeks in the company of whatever doxy it was who had so taken your fancy you might have disappeared off the edge of the earth! Or perhaps it is that you consider a duke is allowed to live by different standards than us mere mortals?’

  Darian lowered heavy lids as he flicked an imaginary speck of lint from the sleeve of his jacket, at the same time avoiding meeting his brother’s accusing gaze.

  Not because he had just spent almost two weeks with his latest doxy. ‘Latest doxy’? Darian could not even remember the last time he had spent any length of time in a woman’s company, let alone her bed.

  No, the reason for his avoidance of Anthony’s probing gaze was because he had not been in a woman’s company at all, but had spent almost two weeks across the sea in France, acting secretly as an agent for the Crown.

  Almost two weeks when he and his good friend Zachary Black, the Duke of Hawksmere, had roamed the French countryside, and then Paris itself, as they endeavoured to gauge how the French people themselves felt about Napoleon’s return, the emperor having recently escaped from Elba and currently on his way to the French capital.

  Not even Darian’s own brother was aware of the work he had undertaken for the Crown these past five years. Anthony certainly had no idea that Darian had suffered a bullet wound to the shoulder just days ago, a souvenir of this last foray into France. And that he was suffering with the pain and discomfort of that wound even now.

  Something that had not improved his temper in the slightest. ‘Perhaps you would care to lower your voice?’

  ‘Why should I, when there is no one else here to hear us?’ Anthony challenged as he looked about the otherwise empty room.

  Darian sighed. ‘I am well aware that this lady has certain attributes that you—most gentlemen!—might find diverting. But she is not a discreet woman. Far from it, if gossip is to be believed. People in society are starting to comment upon your marked attentions to her.’

  ‘Then let them,’ Anthony dismissed with bravado.

  He sighed. ‘It simply will not do, Anthony.’

  ‘Says who? You?’ his brother challenged, aggressive once again. ‘I am almost five and twenty, Darian, not five. Nor,’ he added darkly, ‘do I appreciate your interference in this matter.’

  ‘Even when I have your best interests at heart?’

  ‘Not when I am in love with the lady, no.’

  Darian held on to his temper with difficulty, having had no idea that his brother’s affections had become engaged to such a degree. A physical diversion, if discreetly handled, was acceptable; a love affair most certainly was not. ‘I am sure the lady has certain charms and experience, which you obviously find attractive. But it would be a mistake on your part to confuse lust with love.’

  ‘How dare you?’ Anthony challenged fiercely, his face having become a mottled and angry red. ‘My intentions towards the lady are completely honourable!’

  Then it was worse even than Darian had feared. ‘By all means continue to bed her then, Anthony, if that is your wish. All I am asking is that you at least try to make less of the association when the two of you are in public.’

  ‘Continue to—’ Anthony looked as if he might now explode with the depth of his fury. ‘I have not laid so much as an indelicate finger upon the lady. Nor do I intend to do so until after I have made her my wife.’

  Now it was Darian’s turn to stand up, his shock at this announcement too great to be contained. ‘You cannot even think of making such a woman your wife!’

  ‘Such a woman? You damned hypocritical prig!’ Anthony glared at him, eyes glittering darkly. ‘You return from who knows where, after spending days, almost two weeks, in some woman’s bed, and you have the nerve to tell me how I might conduct my own life. Whom I may or may not marry! Well, I shall have none of it, Darian,’ he dismissed heatedly. ‘In just a few more weeks I shall have control of my own life and my own fortune, and when I do I shall marry whom, and when, I damn well please.’

  Darian gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘This particular woman is—’

  ‘A darling. An angel.’ His brother’s voice rose angrily. ‘And it is as well you have chosen not to so much as say her name, because your conversation today shows you are not fit to do so.’

  Darian winced. From all that he had heard of the lady, she was neither a darling nor an angel. Far from it.

  Nor did he have any intentions of allowing his brother to marry such a woman.

  And if Anthony could not be made to see sense, then the lady must…

  Chapter One

  Two days later—the ballroom of Carlisle House, London

  ‘Would you care to repeat your remark, Wolfingham, for I fear the music and loud chatter must have prevented me from hearing you correctly the first time?’

  Darian did not need to look down, into the face of the woman with whom he was dancing, to know Mariah Beecham, widowed Countess of Carlisle, had heard him correctly the first time; her displeasure was more than obvious, in both the frosty tone of her voice and the stiffness of her elegantly clad body.

  ‘I doubt that very much, madam,’ he drawled just as icily, as the two of them continued to smile for the benefit of any watching them as they moved about the dance floor, in perfect sequence with the other couples dancing. ‘Nevertheless, I will gladly repeat my statement, in that it is my wish that you immediately cease to encourage my brother in this ridiculous infatuation he seems to have developed for you.’

  ‘The implication being that you believe me to have been deliberately encouraging those attentions in the first place?’ His hostess for the evening arched one haughty blonde brow over eyes of an exquisite and unusual shade of turquoise blue.

  A colour that Darian had previously only associated with the Mediterranean Sea, on a clear summer’s day.

  Darian had long been aware of this lady’s presence in society, of course, first as the Earl of Carlisle’s much younger wife and, for these past five years, as that deceased gentleman’s very wealthy and scandalous widow.

  But this was the first occasion upon which Darian had spent any length of time in her company. Having done so, he now perfectly understood his younger brother’s infatuation with the countess; she was, without doubt, a woman of unparalleled beauty.

  Her hair
was the gold of ripened corn, her complexion as pale and smooth as alabaster; a creamy brow, softly curving cheeks, her neck long, with elegantly plump shoulders shown to advantage by the low décolletage of her gown. Those unusual turquoise eyes were surrounded by thick dark lashes, her nose small and pert above generous—and sensual—lips and the ampleness of her breasts revealed above a silk gown of the same deep turquoise colour as her eyes.

  No, Darian could not fault his brother’s taste in women, for Mariah Beecham was a veritable diamond, in regard to both her beauty and those voluptuous breasts.

  Unfortunately, she was also a widow aged four and thirty to Anthony’s only four and twenty, and mother to a daughter of seventeen. Indeed her daughter, the Lady Christina Beecham, was newly out this Season, and so also present this evening. She also bore a startling physical resemblance to her mother.

  The young Lady Christina Beecham did not, however, as yet have the same scandalous reputation as her mother.

  It was that reputation that had prompted Darian’s recent concerns in regard to his brother’s future happiness and for him to have uncharacteristically decided to interfere in the association.

  He would have understood if Anthony had merely wished to discreetly share the lady’s bed for a few weeks, or possibly even months. He accepted that all young gentlemen indulged in these sexual diversions—indeed, he had done so himself for many years at that age—for their own enjoyment and in order to gain the physical experience considered necessary for the marriage bed.

  Unfortunately, this lady could never be called discreet. And Anthony had made it more than plain, in their conversation two days ago, that he did not regard Mariah Beecham as his mere mistress.

  As Anthony’s older brother and only relation, Darian could not allow him to entertain such a ruinous marriage. As Anthony’s guardian, for at least another few months and so still in control of Anthony’s considerable fortune, Darian considered it to be nothing more than an unsuitable infatuation.

  His efforts so far to dissuade Anthony from continuing in his pursuit of this woman had been to no avail; his brother could be as stubborn as Darian when he had decided on a course of action.