Page 40 of Duke with a Lie (Wicked Dukes Society #4)

He gave her a cunning smile as he lifted her hand to his lips.

“That is indeed what I require. It is, at the very least, what is owed to me. We will marry as soon as possible, given that I don’t wish for there to be any question should there be issue from our union.

I will inform your brother of the happy news about our imminent wedding. ”

“Please do,” she bit out. “I think I shall remain here for a few minutes more and take in the air if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” He rose and bowed before her.

Rhiannon had scarcely waited until his footfalls faded into the distance before she sank to her knees and retched into a rosebush.

As the carriage swayed through the crush of vehicles outside the Duke of Riverdale’s town house, Rhiannon pressed a hand over her churning stomach.

The starting, then stopping, and then beginning again was making the threat of casting up the meager toast and tea she had consumed earlier that afternoon more acute by the moment.

“You’re rather pale this evening,” Mater observed shrewdly, peering at her through the low light of the carriage lamps.

“I wish we would arrive at the ball,” she said. “I grow weary of being trapped within the confines of this carriage.”

“As do I,” Rhys ventured, tugging at his necktie and scowling. “I loathe balls. I wouldn’t even be attending if it weren’t Riverdale hosting.”

“It is most unexpected, His Grace’s sudden announcement concerning his duchess,” Mater added, a note of disapproval in her voice. “What do you make of such an unusual development, Whitby?”

“I was equally surprised to learn Riverdale was secretly married,” Rhys said mildly.

Rhiannon squirmed on the Moroccan leather squabs, not liking the subject veering dangerously close to her brother’s circle of friends.

It was painful enough that she must attend Riverdale’s ball.

At least she didn’t need to fear that Aubrey would be in attendance.

When she had made indirect inquiries of her brother related to the ball, she had learned that Aubrey was apparently ensconced in the countryside at Villiers House.

Her relief at knowing she wouldn’t have to face him had been palpable. And not just because she wasn’t certain how her broken heart and eviscerated pride would weather such a storm. But for another reason as well.

For the last few days, she had begun feeling unwell at unusual times, sometimes even retching. At first, she had told herself the reason was her upset over Carnis forcing her into an unwanted marriage. But now, she wasn’t so certain.

It added to her ever-growing suspicion.

Every day, she waited for her courses to arrive.

And each day came and went without them.

Rhiannon was unfailingly punctual in such matters, and she was late. With each new day, a pressing fear crept over her. Richford had been careful. He had not spent his seed inside her. At least, not entirely. Or so she had thought.

What if he hadn’t been careful enough? What if she was carrying his child? How could she tell her brother? And even worse, how could she marry Carnis if she was indeed carrying Aubrey’s babe?

To her shame, each time the thought arose, along with the fear came the tiniest surge of hope. To have a part of him, to bear his daughter or son, would fill the cracks and voids he had left in her shattered heart.

“I suppose I must count my small mercies,” Mater was saying. “If you must wed Lady Miranda, at least you haven’t kept it a secret from me. Imagine Riverdale’s poor mother. I can only think she is dreadfully ashamed of her son.”

“We have been over this, Mater,” Rhys said, a note of steel entering his voice. “I must wed Lady Miranda because I am in love with her, and I am hopelessly lost without her. It’s a miracle she will have me, sinner that I am.”

Mater said nothing, her lips pinched tightly together.

She disapproved of Rhys marrying a divorced woman.

But where she argued against scandal, Rhys courted it.

His love for the woman he intended to marry was admirable.

Rhiannon couldn’t help but to envy her future sister-in-law, whom she had yet to meet.

Oh, to be loved as deeply as Rhys loved Lady Miranda.

Or to be cared for at all.

Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked furiously, determined not to allow them to fall. She had wept far too many times over the Duke of Richford.

“I will be happy to welcome Lady Miranda as my sister,” Rhiannon told Rhys firmly, trying to distract herself.

She meant the sentiment, of course, even if she had begun to worry that the woman she had encountered at the house party—the mysterious black-haired beauty she had presumed to be her brother’s mistress—and Lady Miranda were the same.

If so, it was entirely likely that Lady Miranda would recognize her.

Rhiannon could only hope that her future new sister-in-law would keep her secret.

Just as she hoped Lady Heathcote would, despite her vindictive call upon Lord Carnis. Fortunately, Lady Heathcote was not invited to Riverdale’s ball either. Rhiannon had made discreet inquiries and had been relieved to learn her nemesis would not be in attendance.

The evening promised to be a smooth one. Just as long as Rhiannon could maintain her composure and keep from either weeping or casting up her accounts, she thought miserably.

“Thank you, sister,” Rhys said. “You’ve been a boon to me.”

She had been there to urge her brother to follow his heart with Lady Miranda. Because her brother was beloved to her, and because she wanted him to find the contentment in life that he deserved.

She had to look away from the earnest gratitude in his eyes now, however, for she was keeping a secret from him, and upholding the falsehood was more difficult by the day. Particularly with Carnis forcing her hand and the realization that she was likely carrying Richford’s child.

She swallowed hard against a rush of emotion. “You need not thank me, brother. I only want what is best for you.”

“As do I,” Mater added, sounding a bit indignant.

“Of course, Mater,” Rhys added, not just a bit of sarcasm edging his voice.

Their relationship with their mother was a complicated one.

With Rhys’s impending marriage and Rhiannon’s as well, time would tell if they would be able to build on the tentative progress they had made in the last few weeks.

Rhiannon could only hope that her own union to Carnis didn’t prove a misery, but she supposed that at least she had her mother’s approval.

It was grim comfort.

The carriage at last swayed to a final halt.

“We have arrived,” Rhys announced.

Rhiannon took a deep breath. This was her first foray back into polite society since the house party. She prayed that no one would recognize her.

“Cease looking at me like that,” Aubrey grumbled at King.

“Looking at you like what?” his friend asked, raising a brow. “Looking at you as if I am both thrilled and relieved that you have bathed and no longer carry the scent of last week’s fish course? Or as if I am disappointed in the cut of your coat?”

Aubrey resisted the urge to tug at his sleeves. “What is wrong with this coat?”

“The cut is wrong when paired with that waistcoat,” King decreed, ever the arbiter of fashion.

“The cut is perfectly fine,” he argued. “Did you know Riverdale had a bloody duchess he was keeping a secret from us all?”

“Do keep your voice from traveling,” King drawled, brushing a speck of lint from his own immaculate sleeve. “Of course I did.”

“How do you know everything?” Aubrey couldn’t help asking, equal parts amazed and nettled.

King gave him a serene smile. “As I’ve said, I have my ways.”

“I hope you and your bloody ways are correct and that Lady Rhiannon will indeed be in attendance this evening,” he grumbled, feeling as if his white necktie were choking him and just narrowly resisting the urge to tug at it.

Before King could respond, Whit, Rhiannon, and their mother were announced.

His friend was no doubt giving him a smug look, but Aubrey didn’t bother sending so much as a glance in King’s direction.

He was looking at Rhiannon. She was pale, he thought, though elegant and beautiful as ever.

Her fair hair was plaited in a Grecian braid and secured at her crown, a few curls spilling free.

Her gown was fashioned of gold silk with a leaf pattern, and she resembled nothing so much as the goddess of dawn, bold and glorious.

She was so bloody beautiful, and seeing her again was like taking a fist to the gut. He thought he’d been prepared, but he wasn’t. He didn’t deserve this woman, but he intended to make her his anyway. Because King hadn’t been wrong.

Aubrey was in love with Lady Rhiannon Northwick.

He loved her, and that knowledge was terrifying.

Without the haze of the gin clouding his mind, he had been granted the clarity he’d done his utmost to avoid.

He should have damned well realized it that morning at the cottage before he’d left her like a coward, but he’d been too foolish to realize.

He had believed she would be better off without him in her life.

He still didn’t know what he could offer her aside from his hand in marriage.

The past remained as it was. He couldn’t change what had come to pass.

He was the son of a madman. His father had murdered his mother and left Aubrey to find her body.

He’d been sixteen, and he had done everything in his power to protect his mother’s memory and to keep the salacious whispers of what had happened out of the gossip’s mouths.

Fourteen years later, he was no better equipped to handle the wretched violence of that day than he had been then. But King had been right. Aubrey wasn’t like his father. He would never harm Rhiannon.

No, all he had done was break her heart.

And now, he had to do everything in his power to mend it.

“Godspeed, old chum,” King told him quietly.

Aubrey nodded, eyes on Rhiannon. “Thank you.”