Page 20 of Duke with a Lie (Wicked Dukes Society #4)

R hiannon had found the perfect place to hide from Richford at the ball that evening.

It was in plain sight.

After confiding her plight in her new friend, she and Lady Blue had traded gowns and masks for the evening.

She had even donned a red-haired wig that Lady Blue had brought with her for reasons that were still unknown to Rhiannon.

Lady Blue’s chestnut hair was exceptionally lovely on its own.

Rhiannon hadn’t dared to ask, however, too pleased with the chance for a disguise.

The wig was finely crafted, and it hid her own golden hair perfectly.

As she moved into the transformed ballroom with other guests, she was confident that Richford would have no idea who she was.

Her gown and mask were blue, her hair was red, and she was still furious with him for his high-handed behavior.

How dare he cavort with another woman before her and then have the audacity to interrupt her in the garden and bloody poor Lord Question Mark’s nose?

That was how she had begun to think of her unfortunate would-be suitor—Lord Question Mark—because his name was, indeed, a mystery to her.

They had scarcely been alone before Richford had come rampaging down the path, breathing fire quite as if he were a mythical dragon determined to protect the damsel in distress.

Never mind that she hadn’t been a damsel in distress at all.

Rather, she had quite intentionally accompanied Lord Question Mark to the gardens for a stroll.

True, he had shoved her out of his way, and she had landed hard on her bottom—so hard that a bruise had formed, for she’d examined herself in the mirror when dressing—but Rhiannon was persuaded that he hadn’t been attempting to push her down.

Likely, Lord Question Mark had been trying to keep her safe from Richford’s swinging fists.

And my how they had swung. She was reasonably certain Lord Question Mark was presently sporting a broken nose.

“You look lovely, my dear Lady Pink,” came a familiar voice at her side then, intruding on her ruminations.

She turned to find Lady Blue approaching, wearing one of Rhiannon’s pink gowns and her matching silk mask. “Thank you, as do you. Pink certainly becomes you. I’m indebted to you for trading gowns.”

Lady Blue smiled. “I’m happy to help a friend avoid an overbearing curmudgeon for the night. You’ll be free to dance and flirt with whomever you like all evening long.”

Rhiannon felt her smile slip, because she didn’t want to dance or flirt with anyone else.

All she wanted was Richford, even if he infuriated her.

Also, her head was beginning to itch beneath the wig, and the blazing chandeliers were radiating heat.

She felt a trickle of perspiration run down her back.

“He’ll never know it’s me,” she said, trying to hide the note of disappointment in her voice.

What was wrong with her? She should be happy. She ought to be reveling in the chance to find a gentleman of her choosing without fear that Richford would appear and pummel him.

Lady Blue opened her fan and began waving it. “My, it’s hot in here, isn’t it?”

“Dreadfully sweltering,” Rhiannon agreed, resisting the urge to scratch her head as she began fanning herself as well.

“Is there any gentleman you would like to meet?” her friend asked.

Rhiannon turned her attention to the throng of revelers in the ballroom.

All manner of gentlemen were in attendance.

Her gaze flitted over a tall, dark-haired man with twin patches of gray at his temples and a strong, angular jaw.

He was quite handsome. Then there was a man with golden waves and broad shoulders who was equally attractive.

Some wore masks, while others didn’t. A few were known to her, easily recognized without a disguise in place.

Oh, how she wished that one of them would incite a spark deep within her.

But inside, she was empty. She felt nothing.

“Not yet,” she murmured. “What of you?”

“Me?” Lady Blue laughed. “I’m afraid I’ve had no success in finding a suitable lover just yet, but there is still time. Perhaps this ball will prove a boon.”

Rhiannon continued searching the crush of guests in the ballroom, only belatedly realizing what—or whom—she was looking for.

Him.

“I don’t see Richford gracing us with his masculine beauty yet this evening,” her friend said at her side, as if she had read Rhiannon’s mind.

“I hadn’t even noticed,” she lied.

Lady Blue said nothing, but Rhiannon was acutely aware of her friend’s pointed stare trained on her from the periphery of her vision.

She turned away from the ballroom and prospective beaus. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

Her friend’s expression was contemplative. “Because I suspect you’re not being truthful with yourself or me.”

“What do you mean? Of course I am.” Rhiannon shifted uncomfortably.

“Do you have feelings for Richford?” Lady Blue asked softly, keeping her voice from carrying.

Her stomach tightened, her heart lurching.

“Yes, I do. Feelings of immense frustration, anger, vexation…” She allowed her words to trail off, wondering if she was protesting too much.

“I was referring to a different sort of feelings.”

Heavens, was she that obvious?

Rhiannon frowned. “What sort of feelings, then?”

“Are you in love with him?”

Rhiannon had never told anyone about the way she felt for Richford.

It had been her shameful secret. He was a beautiful rake, older than she was, beyond her reach.

He had never taken notice of her. And yet, over years as she had crossed paths with him at balls and dinners, what had begun as a na?ve girl’s infatuation had grown and blossomed into something more. Something deep and abiding.

She sighed, hating to admit it, to hear the words aloud.

But she also wondered if it would be freeing to unburden herself.

She hadn’t been able to tell Rhys, of course, because he was her brother and Richford was his friend.

Mater was disinterested and scarcely paid note of anything Rhiannon did, aside from urging her to marry the earl.

Nor had she ever told her small circle of friends.

“How did you know?” she asked Lady Blue.

“It occurred to me that there could be a different, deeper reason for your ire with him,” her friend explained shrewdly. “He is being an overbearing oaf, to be sure, but I have also seen the way you look at him, and just now, I saw the way your gaze passed over every other gentleman here.”

“I am the world’s greatest fool,” she said bitterly, whipping her fan back and forth.

At least the breeze she stirred was aiding in the itchy discomfort being caused by her blasted wig.

“Loving someone isn’t foolish,” her friend told her. “Not unless it is someone who doesn’t deserve your love.”

Rhiannon wondered if Lady Blue was talking about her husband. “Did you fall in love with someone who didn’t deserve it?”

“I don’t even know if it was love any longer,” her friend said sadly. “All I do know is that whatever I felt for him, he most certainly didn’t deserve it. Now, all I want is to be free of him. But he ignores all my letters, and I’ve grown weary of waiting. He’s forced my hand.”

“I’m sorry.” Rhiannon’s heart ached for her friend and the misery she had so obviously endured. “If he cannot see how lovely and kindhearted you are, then he is an idiot.”

“But enough about me.” Lady Blue whipped her fan with greater force. “We were speaking of you , my dear.”

“I don’t want to speak of me either.” She sighed heavily for the second time. “He’ll never notice me, not the way I want him to.”

“See if he notices you tonight,” her friend suggested.

“I’m wearing your gown and a wig along with this mask. I should hardly think he would recognize me.” She fanned herself aggressively, feeling the wisps curling about her face fluttering. “Besides, I’m determined to enjoy myself without him hovering over me.”

“Perhaps he’ll surprise you.”

“I doubt that.”

Because all the Duke of Richford had managed to do thus far had been to disappoint her. Perhaps it was time to finally admit to herself that he simply wasn’t for her.

Aubrey spotted Rhiannon at once from across the throng of tittering lords and ladies in their masks and silk and jewels.

It didn’t matter that she was wearing what appeared to be a cinnamon-hued wig or that she was dressed in blue instead of her customary pink. He would know her anywhere. She was whirling about the floor in the arms of a dark-haired man, laughing at something the fellow had told her.

He took a glass of champagne from a passing servant and downed it in three gulps, watching her and trying to quell his inner urge to break another nose.

Then he took a second glass and quaffed that one as well by the time the dance was done.

When she and her partner were finally finished, he didn’t waste any time in striding forward.

“I believe the next dance is mine,” he said.

Her sky-blue eyes went wide behind her mask. “I’m afraid you must be mistaken, sir.”

Was the minx attempting to pretend she didn’t know him? Did she truly think he wouldn’t recognize her if she donned a disguise?

“I’m rarely mistaken,” he told her, sketching an elegant bow before offering her his arm.

Her partner had already wandered off in search of his next dance, leaving Rhiannon standing with Aubrey, clearly uncertain of what to do next.

“That is quite insufferable of you,” she said, putting on a haughty air.

He tried not to stare at the way her corset pushed up her breasts like ripe offerings, but it was difficult indeed. The gown was molded to her curves like a glove, and it was little wonder every man in the vicinity was eyeing her like lions who were searching for their prey.

Too bloody bad for the lot of them. This particular luscious lamb was his.

To protect , Aubrey reminded himself sternly. His to protect and keep from throwing herself at scoundrels.