Page 33 of Duke with a Lie (Wicked Dukes Society #4)

“ Y ou see? I told you that it’s possible to fuck in a tub.”

Rhiannon was still breathless from the staggering climax that had roared through her as Aubrey had made love to her in the bath. She was in his lap, a boneless heap, arms wrapped around his neck for purchase to keep her from sliding limply beneath the water.

She could hear the smug grin in his voice, but she didn’t object.

Oh, the arrogant, wonderful, beautiful man.

He had returned to her with a night rail, his own soap and shampoo, a brush for her hair, and a far more sensible pair of slippers for her feet.

A host of servants had arrived with their luncheon and then departed for the manor house, leaving the two of them alone, lost in their own little world yet again.

“Mmm,” she murmured, all she could manage for the moment. The water was hot from the range and decadently scented as it sloshed around them.

The floor was a sopping mess they would have to navigate with great care when they emerged. But she wasn’t concerned about that just now. In fact, she wasn’t certain she cared about anything.

Unless it was the man in her arms.

He kissed her ear, her throat. “I will admit that it was hardly a chore proving you wrong in this particular instance.”

Helpless laughter bubbled up in her throat as she turned her head toward him, dazzled by his gorgeous face and the way his smile lit up his emerald eyes. Dazzled by him in every way, full stop.

“I suppose I’ll allow you your small victory for now,” she teased lightly.

Her heart was so full. Overflowing. The day had been nothing short of wondrous.

“How generous of you, my lady.” He cupped her nape and tipped her head, bringing her mouth to his for a long, slow, and thorough kiss.

“I am a remarkably generous woman,” she said when his mouth left hers.

“And modest.”

“The most modest.” She kissed him again before lifting her head to study him, committing every detail of this moment to her memory so that she could recall it later, like a treasured picture in a frame. “Thank you for bringing me here to this cottage.”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “You needn’t thank me, minx. I can assure you, the decision was a wholly selfish one. I intend to spend as much time on your lessons as possible until the house party is at an end.”

“I have been enjoying my lessons immensely.” She smiled down at him.

“As have I,” he said. “Although I must admit that it rankles to think of you wedding the Earl of bloody Carnis. All your sensual fire will be wasted upon him. The man has the personality of a wet counterpane.”

She frowned down at Aubrey, searching his countenance for a hint that he was bamming her.

And finding none.

A hint of misgiving splintered her heart.

“What do you mean?”

He gave a bitter laugh. “Forgive me for insulting your betrothed. But you must know the man is as interesting as a musty old pair of boots. I gather you must have some tender feelings for the fellow in order to agree to marry him, but I dislike him quite intensely.”

He thought she was still intending to marry the earl? After all they had shared together? After he had kept her here at this cottage, nothing but the two of them, making love in every manner possible?

She felt her smile slipping. “I wished to marry him to please my mother. I thought that doing so would grant me her favor, or perhaps her attention, two things she has never willingly bestowed upon me. But all that has changed now.”

“You are marrying him for other reasons?”

The lingering languor from their lovemaking fled her body.

She disentangled herself from Aubrey and moved to the other end of the tub.

The movement didn’t truly separate her from him, given the size of the tub and Aubrey’s impressive height and long legs.

But it was all she could manage without rising naked before him like Venus from the sea.

“I do not know if I am marrying him at all,” she said, mustering her pride.

Aubrey still believed she would wed the earl.

The shock of this realization was akin to a slap to the face.

She didn’t know what to make of it, what to make of him . She suddenly felt cold in the water. A shiver passed through her. What if everything they had shared these last few days hadn’t changed anything for him?

“You aren’t marrying the earl, then?” Aubrey asked, his eyes sharp.

“Perhaps,” she said, feeling a bit raw, as if the protective shell she kept around her heart had been suddenly scraped off. “Perhaps not.”

“You shouldn’t marry him. Carnis is not a good match for you at all.”

“Oh? And who would be a good match, then?” she asked him, inwardly pleading for him to realize what his answer should be.

Me.

But Aubrey didn’t say that.

Instead, he lifted a shoulder in a shrug, his expression unreadable. “I’m afraid I haven’t an inkling, my dear.”

He said it with such carelessness, as if her future were passing scenery he watched with disinterest from the window of a railcar.

Misgiving settled within her, heavier than a stone.

Had she misread him? He had warned her repeatedly, even that very morning, that he was heartless.

Before her was surely that part of him now, so callous and cool, as if everything they had shared these last few days—the intimacies, the conversations, the most personal parts of themselves stripped bare—had meant nothing.

She forced a smile, summoning her tattered pride. “Fortunately, I don’t have to fret over who to choose as my husband until I return to London.”

His jaw tightened, the only indication her words affected him. “Are there others in consideration, aside from Carnis?”

“Of course,” she lied, feigning a bright smile. “There is the Marquess of Penleigh as well.”

“An arrogant arse,” Aubrey declared. “You deserve far better than Penleigh. Why, the man is a widower with two young children. According to common fame, the fellow is responsible for the former Lady Penleigh’s untimely demise.”

She had heard no such rumor, although she was aware the marquess had two children. He was a pleasant man, and they had conversed on numerous occasions at various balls and suppers. But whilst they possessed a mutual respect for each other, there had been no romantic interest in either direction.

“I must not forget Lord Barclay,” she continued.

“Do you mean Viscount Barclay, the mad footballer?” he asked, sounding incredulous.

She gave him a quelling look. “Yes.”

He shook his head. “Not clever enough by half for a woman of your immense intellect. The man only gives a damn about football and cricket. You would grow tired of conversing with him after approximately fifteen seconds.”

“Then there is the Duke of Weyrich,” she carried on, pulling names out of her memory with complete disregard for whether any of the gentlemen in question had even danced with her at a ball, let alone courted her.

“I never liked the bastard,” Aubrey muttered.

“You are not required to like His Grace,” she pointed out coolly. “You will not be his wife after all. I would, were I to choose to accept his suit.”

Aubrey’s lip curled in apparent disdain. “Right. Of course not. But I am an excellent judge of character, and Weyrich is not a good man.”

“Perhaps I do not need a good man as my husband,” Rhiannon dared to tell him. “Perhaps I only need the man who is the right man for me.”

They stared at each other, the silence between them so tense that just one more word and it might have shattered like glass.

Oh, how she wanted to unburden herself to him.

To tell him that the right man for her was him .

If only he would not be too obtuse to see it.

And yet, she was afraid to do so, terribly frightened that if she pushed him too far, he would close himself off to her.

She couldn’t bear that. Couldn’t even contemplate the notion of losing him.

She had clearly inferred far more about Aubrey’s intentions than he was willing to admit.

“You are only three-and-twenty,” Aubrey said then. “You are yet young. I wouldn’t think there ought to be a need for haste in determining your future husband. If you wish for children, there is time aplenty to beget brats.”

Was he being deliberately cruel? She couldn’t say.

“I am pleased to hear there is time aplenty for me to beget brats ,” she drawled cuttingly, rising from the bath. “I should so hate to think that I am too ancient for my prospective husband. My sole purpose in life is, quite naturally, to provide him with an heir and a spare.”

She stood, naked, allowing water to run down her body, and all too aware of his hungry gaze on her, devouring her.

But for the first time since they had arrived at the cottage, Rhiannon wasn’t thinking lustful thoughts where the Duke of Richford was concerned.

Indeed, all she could seem to think about was boxing his supercilious ears.

She stepped over the rim of the tub and onto the towel he had laid on the floor before their bath. Finding a spare, dry towel, she snatched it up and wrapped it around herself. The last thing she felt like at the moment was being on display before him. She already felt vulnerable enough as it was.

“That is not what I was suggesting, minx,” he said behind her, punctuated by the sound of him rising from the bath as well. “I was merely cautioning you not to rush with your judgment. Choose wisely. You will be trapped with this chap for the rest of your life. All I want is your happiness.”

She wrapped her towel around herself and turned back to him.

A mistake, because he was still naked and dripping, looking like some sort of marbled Greek god descended among mortals to torment them with his unearthly beauty.

Water ran down his chest, over his muscled abdomen and powerful thighs.

His cock was thick and long, rising to attention.

She wanted to catch every droplet with her tongue, and then she wanted to splash his insufferably handsome face with water.