Page 29 of Duke with a Lie (Wicked Dukes Society #4)

D inner was complete. Rain was still lashing the windowpanes in a rhythmic tinkle, and the occasional rumble of thunder split through the skies.

It shocked him how comfortable he felt sharing an informal meal with Rhiannon.

They had much to converse about, discussing everything from books to art to poetry and wine.

He was more content than he had been in as long as he could recall.

Aubrey hadn’t anticipated the possibility of a storm trapping Rhiannon and him at the gamekeeper’s cottage when he had first settled upon this plan. But now that it appeared to be the inevitable outcome for the evening, he hardly minded.

Having her to himself all night long would be anything but a hardship. He had precious little interest in the naughty games or the players at the manor house. And he didn’t lie to himself about the reason for that—she was staring at him from the other end of the table.

She was all he had seen, all he had been able to think about, from the moment he had first spied her at Wingfield Hall.

“Will you now show me the den of depravity upstairs?” Rhiannon asked him.

He nearly spat the mouthful of lemonade he had just taken all over the food they hadn’t managed to eat.

Aubrey swallowed hastily. “Yes, but only if you walk up the stairs before me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”

“So that I can watch your arse swaying in those trousers of yours.”

Her cheeks pinkened. “They’re not trousers. They’re bloomers.”

She was so damned lovely, and despite her bravado, she still was very much an innocent. He was enjoying every second of thoroughly debauching her, however.

“They look like trousers to me,” he argued mildly, enjoying himself.

She glared. “They look nothing at all like a gentleman’s trousers. Which is precisely why they are called bloomers.”

He grinned. “Whatever you wish to call them, they look positively sinful on you. A man cannot help but to think about peeling you out of them when he looks at you.”

But then, he also had that same feeling when he looked at Rhiannon, regardless of what she was wearing. So perhaps it wasn’t the bloomers after all, but him. He was naught but a randy beast in her presence.

She rose from the table, wincing. “Perhaps you might peel me out of my boots first. My poor feet ache.”

He didn’t doubt it, though he certainly had been guilty of admiring her in them. The heels were high, the flowery embroidery as flamboyant as her personality, the ankles impossibly narrow.

Aubrey stood as well. “I’ll just gather the rest of our meal for the larder before we go.”

“You mean you won’t leave it for the servants to clean up?” she asked, sounding surprised.

There she went again, looking at him as if he were her knight errant.

“Not because I am noble and considerate, however,” he corrected at once. “I am merely selfish. I want you all to myself, without interruptions. I instructed the servants not to come until I request them.”

That much was also true.

“Of course,” she agreed easily.

Too easily.

But he didn’t bother arguing, because he knew what would happen when that obstinate expression appeared on her lovely face. She would continue to fight him. He would simply have to prove it to her another way.

Together, they emptied the remaining food into the larder. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the sway of her hips as she made her short trips from the kitchen to the small alcove. Her curves were on full display in her bloomers and shirtsleeves.

Thunder cracked loudly overhead as they completed their task.

“I do believe we may be stranded here for the night,” he told her. “There is no sense trying to ride back to the manor house in the dark and the rain, particularly with it being so wet from the storm.”

Rhiannon gave him a searching look. “Is there anyone who will take note of your absence at the main house? It wouldn’t do for someone to come looking for the both of us and find us here together.”

“Perhaps King, Riverdale, or Whit, but I doubt very much that any of them would search for long. They would assume I’m with a woman and leave it at that.”

“Ah, of course,” she said lightly. “Silly me. This is hardly your first assignation, is it?”

Aubrey almost told her that this was far more to him than any assignation had ever been.

But he stopped himself. He was trying to convince her that he was no bloody good for her, damn it.

When they inevitably parted at the house party’s end, he had no wish for her to have developed tender feelings for him.

Already, he feared they were treading a dangerous path.

He had meant every word of warning he had issued to her earlier.

She deserved far better than he could ever give her.

He held her gaze now, unflinching. “It is not my first, nor will it be my last.”

She nodded, her lips tightening as if she forced a smile. “I am already aware of who and what you are. You needn’t fear I shall forget.”

Good. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

Of course it was.

“Then shall we adjourn upstairs?” he asked, offering her his arm.

Her gaze never faltered as she settled her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Of course. I have been promised an orgy, and I am determined to see it.”

“I am afraid you may be doomed to disappointment on that count, minx. I have no intention of sharing you this evening.”

He guided her back down the hall to the staircase at the front of the cottage. With the darkness of the skies and the shade of the tree foliage, the steps were shadowy and mysterious. He fetched a small, handled oil lamp, lighting it to illuminate the way.

Aubrey gestured for Rhiannon to precede him. “You first, and I’ll light our path from behind.”

She made her way up the stairs with hesitant care. They were steep and fashioned of worn, slippery old wood, which didn’t suit her fashionable heeled boots. He didn’t want her falling and injuring herself, and this way, he could be sure to catch her if needed whilst also ogling her bottom.

And what a fine bottom it was, particularly when lovingly outlined by her bloomers.

“I think I’m going to have to burn these bloody things before the house party is at an end,” he grumbled, hating the thought of anyone else admiring her in them.

Especially that boring bastard, Carnis. The earl wasn’t worthy of Rhiannon’s passionate fire. But then, neither was Aubrey.

“Burn what things?” she asked, sounding indignant. “Not my boots. They’re my favorite pair.”

“Your trousers,” he growled.

They made it to the second floor, and she whirled about to face him as he reached the top of the stairs, her countenance adorably indignant. “They’re not trousers, you vexing man. They’re?—”

He slanted his mouth over hers, stealing a kiss because he couldn’t possibly exist for another second on this bloody earth without having her lips beneath his. Her arms went around him, and she kissed him back immediately with a hunger that rivaled his own.

“Bloomers,” he supplied as he reluctantly tore his lips from hers before he did something idiotic like drop the lamp and set the cottage ablaze.

“You know quite well what they’re called. I think you enjoy nettling me.”

He enjoyed everything about her.

But he couldn’t say that, so he grinned instead. “I do admit to a partiality for when your eyes flash with irritation at me. They turn the color blue the sky gets just after a summer rainstorm has passed.”

She would never know how many times he had been tempted to kiss her senseless through their various clashes here at Wingfield Hall. It seemed an impossible dream that he could have her soft, lush mouth beneath his now whenever he wished.

Temporarily , he reminded himself harshly. You have but a few days to get her out of your blood, and then your time with her must be at an end. Three more, to be precise.

How the hell would that ever be enough?

Her face softened and she smiled at him, and he tried very hard to believe that it would be possible to grow tired of this sweet, seductive hellion.

“Where is the bedroom?” she asked softly.

His cock, already hardening, went rigid as a fire poker. “Come with me.”

Rhiannon woke in the middle of the night to the music of rain on the cottage roof and Aubrey’s ragged sleep breathing.

“No,” he groaned. “Please, no.”

A possessive arm was wrapped around her waist, and their bodies were nestled together, her back to his chest. His hold on her tightened, his breaths growing more erratic as he made a choked sound.

Something was disturbing him. A nightmare, perhaps?

“Don’t go,” he muttered.

She rubbed his arm soothingly. “I’m not going anywhere, my love.”

He burrowed his face into her throat. “Blood. Oh God. So much blood.”

And then he made an odd sound, almost as if he were weeping. Which was truly unusual, for he was always so self- possessed, so cold and calculated. The Duke of Richford, sobbing in his sleep?

“Aubrey,” she murmured in a hushed tone. “You’re having a bad dream.”

To her relief, her words seemed to pacify him.

His breathing gradually settled down and his grip on her eased, the sobbing sounds slowly stopping.

For an indeterminate span of time, she lay there, listening to him sleep, stroking his arm, wondering what manner of nightmare had been haunting his slumber.

Her own sleep remained elusive, her mind flitting with far too many thoughts.

In the hush of the night, she simply lay there, savoring his proximity.

When he slept, all the protective walls he kept around himself were lowered.

This, she thought, was the true Aubrey. The lover who tended to her pleasure and her every need with unhesitating care.

The man who wrapped her in his arms and held her close.