Page 8 of Duke with a Lie (Wicked Dukes Society #4)

He wasn’t going to be the one to tell her either.

“Never mind,” he bit out. “Have you had your belongings packed?”

“Packed? Of course not. Whyever would I do that?”

“Because you’re leaving,” he growled. “You’re going back to London where you belong before you do something foolish and ruin your reputation beyond repair.”

The truth of it was, she had already ruined her reputation merely by being in attendance. But fortunately, no one else was the wiser, save him, and he would go to his grave keeping the secret if it meant protecting her.

“I’m not returning to London until this house party is over, Richford.” She yanked her arm away, her lips compressed at a mulish angle that told him she was ready to go to battle with him yet again.

His cock twitched to life.

Was it wrong that he liked sparring with her? Yes, it was. Did that stop his prick from stiffening the moment she started glaring at him with indignant fury? Not at all.

“This isn’t an argument to have here in the midst of the hall, minx,” he said. “Come with me.”

He would find an empty salon and attempt to reason with her, all whilst keeping his hands, lips, and unrepentant cockstand to himself. Aubrey could exercise restraint, even if the sorts of restraints he preferred were the kinds he applied to his lovers in bed.

“So that you can lock me inside a room again?” she demanded, sounding indignant. “Ha! I think not, Richford. Go find someone else to torment. Leave me alone.”

“Unfortunately for both of us, I’m obliged to look after your welfare,” he countered, annoyed with her as much as himself for the never-ceasing lust that prevailed whenever he was around her.

And when he wasn’t.

He had come twice with his own hand wrapped around his cock, once last night and once this morning, to thoughts of plundering her sweet mouth while he drove inside her wet heat and claimed her for himself.

He wasn’t proud of that, but he also was more than aware that he was likely to do it again until he could get the poison of wanting her out of his blood.

“I’m not your sister,” she snapped.

“Trust me, minx, I’m more than aware of that,” he drawled, unable to keep the irony from his voice.

“You have no obligations where I’m concerned,” she countered.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He took her arm in a gentle hold and pulled her to an empty salon. “Believe it or not, I have a conscience, and allowing my friend’s innocent sister to remain at a debauched house party is more than it can allow.”

He became aware of another couple at the far end of the hall. They were arm in arm, caught up in each other, but Rhiannon was hell-bent upon making a scene, and the last thing he wanted was for anyone to guess who she was.

“Damn you, someone is coming,” he muttered. “Get into the room.”

Rhiannon, however, was stubborn.

“I’ve already told you, I’ll go to my brother with what has happened,” she protested. “What do you think he will say when he learns you were kissing his?—”

Aubrey interrupted her by hauling her into his chest. He stopped her babbling the only way he knew how, with his mouth. As he kissed her, he backed her into the room, kicking the door closed behind them. She broke away from him at the sound of the thudding portal.

“You overbearing, arrogant, irritating, ridiculous scyrant. Toundrel!” She was spitting mad.

And she was making no sense.

It was actually quite adorable.

“Calm down, minx,” he urged with deliberate sangfroid. “You aren’t even using proper words.”

“Oh! You know what I mean. I was trying to say tyrant and scoundrel at the same time. You have me so furious that I can’t even speak.”

He grinned at her, vastly amused. “And yet, here you are. Speaking.”

She growled. “It’s a figure of speech, you…you…”

“Do go on,” he said. “I’m hoping you create yet another new word. The last two were so deuced entertaining.”

Rhiannon launched herself at him and began pummeling his chest with her fists. It was rather like watching a mouse taunt a lion. He almost took pity on her.

But not quite.

She was causing quite a bit of trouble for him and putting herself in danger. He’d intended to spend this house party lost in pleasure, and instead, he’d been fucking his hand like a green lad of eighteen who was too afraid to speak to the fairer sex.

Aubrey caught her flying fists in his hands. “Are you this much of a brat at all times? It’s a miracle Whit hasn’t married you off to the first unsuspecting bastard he could find by now.”

She stared at him, chest heaving, eyes glistening with outrage, fury emanating from her body in almost tangible waves.

He was being rather a bit cruel, and he knew it.

The fault was his—he was so damn drawn to her, and he had to push her away in any capacity possible.

One couldn’t shag one’s best friend’s virgin sister after all.

Aubrey opened his mouth, intending to offer an apology, but Rhiannon acted first. She moved swiftly, bringing her knee into his groin with an unexpected and impressive amount of force.

Pain radiated through him, the breath leaving him as black stars speckled his vision.

With a groan, he released her, doubling over, the agony almost unbearable.

Rhiannon didn’t waste a moment, of course. She fled the room, leaving him there trying to catch his breath, pain searing him as he vowed he would find the minx and have his revenge.

Rhiannon tamped down the guilt that assailed her as she rushed from the salon where she’d left Richford, bent at the waist and howling in pain. Perhaps she had used a bit too much force when she had kneed him in that particularly vulnerable place.

But the fault was his as much as hers. She wouldn’t have kneed him if he hadn’t yet again hunted her down and dragged her into a salon to deliver a withering assessment of her maturity and character.

All Richford had to do was keep his distance, and there would be no problem.

Why, oh why, did he insist that she must return to London?

What did it matter to him if she remained here? It wasn’t as if she was his betrothed.

For now, where to hide that he wouldn’t find her?

She couldn’t flee to her bedchamber.

Nor could she return to the library to finish the edifying game of Questions and Commands she had been in the midst of playing when Richford had unceremoniously shown up and made a spectacle of them. Perhaps she could go for a nice, long ride.

Rhiannon changed direction and made her way to the doors leading to the stables.

“Where are you running off to so soon, my darling Lady Pink?”

The question brought her to a surprised halt as she turned to see the half-dressed man who had been seated on the couch with her in the library approaching.

He had shrugged back into his shirt, but the twain ends remained scandalously apart, revealing a solid swath of his muscled chest. Earlier, she had been aghast when he had been commanded to remove the upper portion of his garments after a failed response to a question.

It had been the first bare male chest she had seen, and she had to admit, she’d been fascinated.

Beneath the cut of his half mask, he appeared quite handsome.

Pity that her heart didn’t leap when she saw him, and when he had used his low, pleasant-enough voice to whisper naughty things to her during the game, she hadn’t even felt so much as a flicker of interest.

“I was…” Her words trailed off as she sought an explanation that would suffice.

“Waiting for me?” he asked swiftly, offering her his arm. “I was hoping you would say so. How did you manage to slip away from that hound, Richford?”

Rhiannon wasn’t certain she should accept his offer of escort.

The man was likely every bit as much of a rakehell as Richford was.

The only advantage was that this particular rake didn’t know who she was, nor was he bothered by any so-called obligation or fits of conscience.

Then again, perhaps she ought to go with him.

He might be just the gentleman with whom she could seize a bit of adventure and distraction from Richford’s rejection of her.

And a kiss.

Even if the only man she currently longed to kiss was the same one she had just left sputtering in pain over his high-handedness.

With a smile, Rhiannon settled her hand on his proffered arm. “He’s not a hound, sir. You are his guest, are you not?”

It seemed wrong to allow the man to insult Richford, despite how frustrated and angry with him she was.

“Forgive me,” the man said smoothly. “Tell me, where shall we go so the two of us can have a tête-à-tête in private? Would you care to join me in my bedchamber?”

Her eyebrows rose. My heavens, she hadn’t expected such a forward invitation.

“Perhaps a salon instead,” she hedged, not wanting to be alone in a bedroom with someone she had only just met.

It seemed a dangerous plan indeed.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Rhiannon stiffened at the duke’s familiar voice at her back. Curse the man! How had he found her already? She hadn’t made good on her escape, thanks to the gentleman at her side.

She and her escort turned to face Richford, who looked a trifle pale but none the worse for wear as he stalked toward them in menacing fashion. His emerald gaze was locked upon the man at her side, and there was no denying the quiet fury emanating from him.

“This one is mine,” he told the man. “Find another lady to your liking.”

For a stupid moment, her heart rejoiced at the notion of the Duke of Richford calling her his. But then she recalled why he was chasing after her. He was angry with her and likely intent on punishment, before he chased her from the house party.

He wanted nothing to do with her. This was all about his pride and sense of duty to her brother.

Outrage shot through Rhiannon. “I am not?—”

The look Richford suddenly gave her had her words dying in her throat.

“Mine,” he repeated. “And I’m not sharing, Chattingham.”