Page 2 of Duke with a Lie (Wicked Dukes Society #4)
He moved toward her, some impulse he could neither define nor deny rising. “You know about what, little na?f?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“It’s what you are, is it not?”
“No!”
He stopped before her, and dear God, the headiness of her scent and nearness was an intoxicating combination that not even opium could rival. “Then tell me. What do you read about in your books?”
It was a question he should not ask.
Just as lingering here with her was a foolish risk he should not take.
And yet Aubrey stayed, awaiting her response. Needing it more than his next breath.
“About…about lovemaking and what happens between a man and a woman,” she said breathlessly.
And his stupid cock, which had begun to settle, twitched back to life.
Such words alone were paltry. They meant nothing. Issued in her sultry voice, however? They meant everything.
Aubrey cleared his throat. “You’ve been reading vulgar books?”
“ Books , yes,” she corrected with a prim air that had no place coupled with what she had just said. “ Not vulgar, however.”
Damn it all, why ? Why did she have to make such an inappropriate admission, and why did it have to affect him so?
He had to get her out of this bloody house party.
Out of this room.
Out of his reach.
“Ah, yes. Not vulgar at all. Would you care to repeat what you just explained to your brother?” he asked cruelly.
“It is none of Whitby’s concern what I read,” she snapped.
“Because you know he wouldn’t approve.”
Her nostrils flared. “Because I am a woman grown.”
He raised a brow and raked her over with a wilting gaze. “Are you? Because I do confess, you look rather like a girl playing at being a woman just now.”
For a moment, he thought she might slap him.
But instead, she did the opposite.
Lady Rhiannon Northwick took one step forward, her pink evening gown slamming into his trousers, billowing outward, and then she grabbed his necktie and tugged him toward her. In the next second, her lips were on his.
And Aubrey?
He was bloody lost .
Lost in her hot, silken lips. Lost in her curves melding into his hard frame, lost in her scent, in her breasts crushing into his chest, in the way she fit against him, as perfectly as if she’d been made to do so. Aubrey had no choice but to kiss her back with all the suppressed desire within him…
Fuck.
This wasn’t going to end well.
Rhiannon could scarcely believe that she was kissing the Duke of Richford.
The beautiful, cruel rake. The gentleman every woman threw herself at, be she wife or widow or debutante. The most beautiful man she’d ever met and the most confounding man she knew too.
Because he had called her a girl playing at being a woman.
Because she had been harboring a secret tendre for him ever since she’d first set eyes upon him at sixteen, and he never looked at her with the same melting gaze he settled upon every other lady.
Because she wanted him to notice her, to flirt with her, to bestow his disarming smiles and wicked sallies upon her.
To lead her into darkened alcoves at balls and kiss her breathless.
To desire her.
And yet, he had never paid her any more notice than he would a fly winging past his head.
Not in all this time. No matter how hard she tried to draw his gaze or earn his approval.
He never strayed from his icy mask of impassivity for her.
He had scarcely ever spoken more than a handful of words to Rhiannon.
To her shame, she had come here in the hope that she would cross paths with him. That she might woo him from behind the haven of her mask and anonymity. That she could give herself to him before she settled into a predictable, staid life as another man’s wife.
But he had dashed all her hopes with his cutting words.
She would show him that there was nothing at all girlish about her.
She was three-and-twenty, damn him. And he was being high-handed and condescending and…
Oh.
He kissed quite well.
She shouldn’t be surprised. He had likely seduced half the ladies in London by now. But as his lips moved over hers, lightly at first and then with greater, almost ravenous insistence, she quite forgot her reason for kissing him.
Damn him twice.
He had humiliated her, and Rhiannon had intended to filch that blasted key from his pocket. Instead, she was savoring his skilled seducer’s mouth. She was supposed to thwart him at his own game, to best him, to show him she was as unaffected as he was, although that was a dreadful lie.
And yet, her knees were going weak. Because how could she resist the only man she’d ever truly wanted, the Duke of Richford?
Her every breath was of his maddening scent, like a forest tinged with musk and amber.
The center of her being became her lips, and then just as suddenly, it changed to the small of her back, where his palm gently pressed, bringing her body into his.
A liquid heat slid through her, settling in her core and dampening her drawers.
This wouldn’t do.
Rhiannon released his necktie, slowly moving her hand between their bodies.
His tongue plundered her mouth and simultaneously wiped all thoughts from her mind.
He tasted like wine and sin. No man had ever dared to kiss her like this, carnally, deeply, in a way that made her feel as if he had plumbed the depths of her.
The handful of suitors she’d had—before the Earl of Carnis—who had been bold enough to make an overture had given her nothing more than a chaste press of their lips to hers.
She had never been consumed as if she were a decadent dish laid before a starving man.
Rhiannon opened for the duke, surrendering. Giving him everything he wanted, everything he would take. She thought she could kiss him like this forever and never grow weary of it.
But then she reminded herself with firm determination that he was only kissing her because she had initiated the contact. He didn’t see her as a woman, and she needed to get that blasted key and restore her pride and sanity both.
His stomach was lean and firm beneath her slowly questing touch. She didn’t dare linger overly long or take her time. Her fingers simply crept into the pocket of his waistcoat and slid against the cool metal of the key.
She almost had it.
Just one small move, and the key would be entirely free…
Richford tore his mouth from hers and moved away with such hasty force that Rhiannon nearly fell onto her rump. She stumbled, blinking, lips tingling with the aftereffects of his kiss, cheeks going hot.
The key was still in his pocket.
Curse him. She had failed at her task.
And to make matters worse, he appeared utterly unmoved by what had just happened between them. His green gaze was cold and unreadable, his bearded jaw hard, his expression smug. Whilst Rhiannon was breathless, face flaming, feeling like the gauche na?f he had accused her of being.
“You see?” he asked softly, his tone pitying. “You are naught but a girl, playing a woman’s games.”
“Let me out of this room,” she commanded through gritted teeth.
“Not a chance.” He raised a golden brow, leaning a hip indolently into a settee at his side while he studied her. “You claim to know what these house parties are about, and yet your ignorance shows.”
“Of course I know what they’re about,” she brazened.
“Oh? Enlighten me.”
More heat washed over her cheeks, but she held his stare, determined not to allow him to embarrass her.
“Do you think I’m unaware of what your secret society truly is?
I can assure you I’m not. The ladies and gentlemen who belong to your club convene at the house parties you host because they wish to indulge in congress beyond the bounds of their marriages. ”
“Congress,” he repeated in a silken tone.
One that made her nipples tighten into hard points within her bodice.
She licked her lips, which proved a mistake because she tasted him. And good, sweet heavens, she wanted more. She wanted this man on her lips first thing every morning and before she went to bed each night.
That wasn’t meant to be, she reminded herself sternly. She was almost promised to wed another.
“Yes,” she bit out. “As I said, what happens between a man and a woman.”
“Such as?” He began prowling toward her.
Rhiannon didn’t want to take a step in retreat. Even if he was like a beast stalking its prey.
She tipped up her chin. “I needn’t elaborate. I’m sure you already know the answer.”
He chuckled softly, stopping before her once more. “How knowledgeable you are for a girl who has just had her first kiss.”
“That was hardly my first kiss.”
Richford stilled, a strange, intent expression on his face. “Who?”
She blinked, confused. “I beg your pardon?”
“Give me names, minx. I want to know who to tell your brother to beat to within an inch of their miserable lives.”
“Perhaps you ought to begin with your own name,” she countered archly, crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive pose.
“What just happened is scarcely anything of note.”
If his tongue in her mouth hadn’t been anything of note , then the sky wasn’t blue.
Rhiannon was still breathless, her knees still weak, her body still flushed, every part of her still intensely aware of him.
But perhaps for such an experienced, wicked rake, their heated kisses had been commonplace. It was a sobering thought indeed.
“Of course you’re right,” she forced herself to agree, trying with all her might to conceal her umbrage and the hurt lurking close beneath the surface. “My beaus have all been far bolder. But that’s neither here nor there. All I want is for you to give me the key so that I can carry on.”
His jaw tightened. “Carry on with what? Surely you aren’t foolish enough to imagine I’d allow you to return to the house party.”
“Yes, that is precisely what I imagine. I came here for a reason.”
“To ruin yourself?” Richford shook his head. “I won’t allow it. As one of your brother’s closest friends, I could never in good conscience keep your presence here a secret from him.”