Page 5 of Duke with a Lie (Wicked Dukes Society #4)

To her utter horror, she spied a pair of drawers draped over the arm of one of the chairs by the cold hearth.

Why had she not taken note of it before?

And why had she flung her garments about with complete disregard for who might later enter and spy them?

Not that she could have suspected Richford himself would come here.

Heat skated through her before she could tamp it down.

Rhiannon stalked across the room and snatched up her drawers, wadding them into a ball and holding them behind her back. “Why are you here, Richford?”

“To check on you, of course,” he said in a tone that suggested he was affronted she hadn’t already considered it. “Surely you didn’t think I would leave you here indefinitely to further plot my murder, did you?”

She glared at him. “Get out of my bedchamber.”

He pressed a hand to his heart. “Grant me a moment to collect myself, won’t you? This is the first time in my life that a lady has demanded I leave her bedroom.”

Rhiannon gritted her teeth, grinding her molars so hard they ached, and issued a low, infuriated sound. “Do you never cease?”

“Did you just growl at me, minx?” He looked intrigued.

“Of course not.”

“Hmm, I think you did.”

“I’m going to breakfast,” she announced, nettled beyond measure by his charm and his handsome face and his smug grin and his failure to react as she wanted him to.

Why was he so cursed entertained by all this? Why did she still want to kiss him? Why couldn’t her broken heart simply accept that he was a callous rake who would never, ever return her feelings?

But as she made her way past him, he caught her elbow, staying her. “Not yet, I don’t think. At least, not whilst carrying yesterday’s drawers behind your back. This is a house party for the depraved, but even I must caution you against bringing your soiled undergarments to the dining room.”

Drat the man. She was still holding her drawers behind her back. She’d been in such high dudgeon that she hadn’t realized it.

She surreptitiously tossed the garment beneath the bed. She would retrieve it later when she didn’t have an audience.

“You’re still not going to breakfast quite yet, even if you have just thrown your dirty knickers under your bed,” he cautioned, sounding like a governess who had just caught her charge doing something for which a punishment would be forthcoming.

Except that he was talking about her drawers . Whilst standing in her bedroom. And the Duke of Richford didn’t resemble the grim-looking Miss Sharp, who had served as her own governess. Not in any way.

“Do stop talking about my undergarments, if you please,” she snapped, annoyed with herself for the heat that prickled her cheeks.

Good heavens, he had seen them.

He had spoken about them.

And now she had as well.

Was that worse than his tongue having been in her mouth? Rhiannon wasn’t sure.

“As you wish, my dear,” he said, as politely as if they had been facing each other in a ballroom instead of her private chamber.

Where she slept and dressed and bathed.

How mortifying.

If anyone were to find him here…

“If you’re done enjoying your levity at my expense, then I will fetch my mask and excuse myself to the dining room. I find that I’m famished.”

“You don’t think I’m allowing you to go about this house party unescorted, do you?”

“Yes, I do. Because I haven’t gone to great lengths to secret myself within these walls so that you could hover over me like a mother hen watching her chicks. Did you forget that only last night, you agreed to let me carry on as I wish?”

He shook his head slowly, cocking his head as he considered her.

“Oh no, sweet girl. In this instance, I am afraid that I am rather the fox who has stolen into the proverbial henhouse, all the better to feast upon the chicks. And I only agreed because I had every intention of locking you in your room for the night.”

Heat slid down her spine.

She straightened, ignoring it. “I am no chick, so you shall have to have your feast elsewhere.”

His smug smile returned. “You needn’t fear on that account. I’m already quite sated at the moment.”

Was he speaking about the kisses they had shared? Or had he returned to naughty charades? Had he taken one of the ladies in attendance to his bed?

Rhiannon told herself she didn’t care if he had. It mattered not one whit to her. He had made it more than apparent that her unfortunate feelings for him were not returned.

“Good, then there is also no need for you to accompany me to breakfast,” she retorted, moving to skirt around him for the second time.

“On the contrary. There is every need.” He offered her his arm. “You have two choices. Accept my escort, or I’ll lock you in this room again and have a servant bring you a tray to break your fast.”

She eyed his elbow as if it were a snake poised to strike. “I daresay you’ll have a far more difficult time locking me in this room when I’m aware you are doing it. I’ll fight you every step of the way.”

“Don’t be tedious, minx. I would so hate to have to tell your brother about your propensity for kissing gentlemen.”

“Then I shall have to tell him about your propensity for kissing me .”

“It only happened the once, my dear, and quite against my will if you will but recall.”

Fresh shame washed over her. That had been badly done of her, she knew.

She had been so desperate to get the key from him that she hadn’t given a thought to whether he had wanted her lips on his.

And, well, she couldn’t lie. She had dreamed of kissing the Duke of Richford for years. In the end, it had simply happened.

“You needn’t fear that particular folly shall be repeated,” she told him curtly.

“Excellent,” he purred. “I do believe we’re at a stalemate, which means I’ll accompany you to the breakfast table.”

She glared at him, thoroughly vexed. How had he managed to back her into this corner? All she wanted was to fill her stomach and to investigate the house party now that everyone had settled in, and yet here he was, attempting to thwart her at every turn.

“Do hurry and make up your mind,” he prodded when she hesitated. “I haven’t all day.”

“Very well,” she grumbled, settling her hand in the crook of his elbow. “You may escort me to breakfast.”

“As I thought.” He placed a large hand over hers. “Come along, minx. I should like to eat before luncheon.”

Grudgingly, she allowed him to guide her from the room.

Breakfast was an informal affair, with the guests coming and going as they pleased. The sideboard was laden with eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and Bayonne ham. Rhiannon had eaten little thus far, despite her hunger. She had been too preoccupied with finding a way she might escape Richford’s clutches.

Fortunately, she had been saved from having to implement her plan of leaving the breakfast table under the guise of going to the withdrawing room.

She had been determined to slip away into the gardens where he would have a difficult time indeed finding her.

But a servant suddenly arrived at his side with a note on a salver.

Rhiannon recognized her brother’s penmanship instantly.

Her heart leapt as Richford took the missive and read it, keeping it carefully averted from her gaze.

“Is something amiss?” she asked him quietly, fearful she had been discovered.

“I’ve been summoned,” he said, his expression and voice carefully neutral.

“By my—by Whitby?” she guessed, correcting herself before she revealed too much information in front of the other revelers who were moving about the large dining room, breaking their fasts.

“Indeed.” Richford nodded toward her plate, which was still mostly filled with food.

His, in turn, was empty. The duke had eaten with the unrepentant gusto of a man who hadn’t partaken of a meal in days.

She had watched him with fascination as he had made short work of rashers of bacon, two poached eggs, and a mountain of hothouse pineapple, thinking it a miracle he was as trim and lean as he was, given his appetite.

More than once, she had given in to the urge to look at his lips.

What a mistake that had been, for each time, a spark of longing had burst into undeniable flame.

She shook her head, reminding herself she must forget all about the Duke of Richford’s mouth on hers and the sinful joy it had brought her. To say nothing of his wicked tongue.

“I must take my leave,” Richford added to her in an aside, keeping his voice low so that it wouldn’t travel to the others. “But I will return for you. Pray see that you don’t get yourself into any trouble whilst I’m gone.”

He was leaving her.

Disappointment sliced through Rhiannon despite herself.

“Trouble?” she repeated, batting her lashes at him, feeling like an entirely different woman beneath the shelter of her silk mask. “Me? Never, Your Grace.”

“No naughty charades.”

“Of course not.” She took a sip of her tea, trying not to smile.

Did he truly care, or was he watching over her solely for her brother’s benefit? Rhiannon knew it was foolish indeed, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. When would she ever learn?

“No wandering off with gentlemen,” he added sternly.

“Yes, Father,” she mocked.

He bared his teeth. “Someone ought to swat you on your misbehaving rump.”

She lifted her fork toward him as if it were a weapon, tines pointing evilly in his direction. “ En garde .”

“Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I must take my leave before I go mad.”

“I shall miss your company most dreadfully,” she said with a dramatic flair. “Perhaps you might grant me a lock of your hair to hold on to in your absence, o fair knight.”

“Minx.” He rose and offered her a mocking bow. “I meant what I said.”

She smiled. “As did I.”

As she watched him stride from the room, she couldn’t help but to admire his long legs and broad shoulders. He moved with the self-assured gait of a man who knew how attractive he was and wasn’t ashamed to flaunt his looks. It seemed criminal that he was so beautiful.