Page 9 of Duke with a Lie (Wicked Dukes Society #4)

“The lady has a mind of her own,” protested the man at her side—presumably Lord Chattingham—who was indeed a notorious Lothario. “I should think that if she wished to be with you, she would have been with you instead of you chasing after her like a mongrel nipping at her heels.”

Richford’s nostrils flared. “Insult me again, and I’ll see your arse thrown not just from this club but from this house. You’ll never again attend another house party at Wingfield Hall.”

Chattingham stepped away from Rhiannon, clearly not wanting to be banished from the pleasure soirees hosted by the club. It would seem his interest in her had easily waned in the face of Richford’s threats.

“Forgive me,” Chattingham said coolly. “I didn’t realize Lady Pink was yours.” He gave her a speculative look as he performed a dramatic bow. “If the two of you will excuse me, I’m off in search of other entertainments.”

Richford’s lip curled. “See that you are.”

When Chattingham had taken his leave and disappeared down the hall, Richford’s hand clamped firmly on Rhiannon’s upper arm.

“Unhand me,” she snapped instantly, struggling to free herself, to no avail.

“I think not. You’re coming with me, and you’re not leaving until we’re through having our talk, even if I have to tie you to a bloody chair.”

At his words, a frisson of something went through her. There were many whispers about the Duke of Richford, some of them more salacious than others. One of them concerned his preferences in the bedchamber. It was said he liked to tie his women up.

Rhiannon found the very thought horrifying and yet also strangely intriguing at the same time. Just as with the books she secreted filled with wicked scenes and sinful words, she was at once ashamed by her interest and disgusted with herself for it, yet unable to deny the way it made her feel.

She hadn’t given the rumors a thought during their heated arguments, however. Not until now.

Unbidden, thoughts of his lovers filled her mind. All the women he had kissed and taken to his bed, the ones who had spread those rumors.

“I suppose you are skilled with a knot and rope,” she said unkindly.

His bearded jaw hardened. “Don’t test me, little na?f.”

The air between them was suddenly simmering and heavy.

She was potently aware of him as a man in a way she hadn’t been of Chattingham or any other gentleman in her acquaintance.

Why, of all the gentlemen at this cursed house party, did she have to harbor a secret tendre for this one?

He had made his disdain for her lack of experience more than clear.

Had called her a girl. Had never spared her a second glance before yesterday.

He was intent upon sending her to London.

But was he also attracted to her?

She licked her lips, thinking of the kisses they had shared, of the taste of him, of his tongue wicked and slick and demanding in her mouth.

His gaze dipped to her lips. “I ought to turn you over my knee for what you did to me in that salon. You’re fortunate indeed that your aim is slightly off and I was able to recover.

Christ knows what that arse Chattingham had in store for you.

Tell me, how would you explain to your brother if you went home with a babe in your belly? ”

His words were tinged with anger.

They shocked her.

Richford bent his head toward hers. “You didn’t think about that, did you, brat? Nor, I’ll wager, did you think about what might happen if a man pressed you to do more than you wished.”

Her brow furrowed, the heat in her veins turning to ice. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that while we do our utmost to protect all the members who attend our house parties, anything can happen here. We are but a few pairs of eyes, and we cannot be everywhere at once. An innocent lamb like you would be no match for any of the jaded voluptuaries here.”

Someone else was approaching them now, two women and a man, all three of them singing a bawdy song. It appeared as if they were deep in their cups. The women’s arms were around each other’s waists, and the one of them had an arm around the gentleman’s hips, her hand on the fall of his trousers.

“Greedy wench,” the man growled loudly. “Can’t wait for my cock, can you?”

Richford muttered something unintelligible under his breath and began propelling her down the hall. “Don’t listen to a word they’re saying,” he cautioned, his voice low.

Too late. She had ears. Did Richford think she was a child? Rhiannon made a disagreeable face at the back of his golden head while he plowed on down the hall.

“Richford, is that you?” asked the man as they neared each other. “I say, would you like to join us? You can bring your luscious lady friend along.”

“Not a bloody chance,” the duke bit out, continuing on.

“Shy, is she? She can watch,” the man suggested.

“Go to the devil,” Richford snapped.

“Suit yourselves,” the man called after them.

Richford rushed her through the great hall next, forcing her to hasten after him and nearly trip over her hems in the process.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, breathless.

“To your bloody room where we won’t have an interruption every two minutes.”

“I’ll not be locked within again,” she warned him. “My aim won’t be so poor next time if you try it. I’ll render you a eunuch.”

“Christ,” he muttered. “You are the most maddening bit of baggage I’ve ever met. I ought to turn you over to your brother this second.”

“Why don’t you, then?” she taunted.

They both knew the answer. He didn’t want her to tell Rhys about the kisses they’d shared.

The remainder of her forced march back to her bedroom was conducted in a tense silence.

She was too aware of Richford at her side, her body painfully attentive to his.

By the time they were once more closeted in her bedroom, away from prying eyes and ears behind a closed door, she was all but breathless.

And not just from struggling to keep up with his long-limbed strides either.

Richford turned to face her, his expression a stern and impassive mask. “Now, then. First, you will apologize for your vicious attack upon my person.”

He was speaking about her knee in his groin.

She tipped up her chin, feeling defiant. “I’m only sorry you caught me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Wrong answer, minx. Try again, and the next place I’ll take you is directly to your brother.”

“So that I can tell him you kissed me?”

“If it comes to that, yes. He can hate me all he likes. I’m more than happy for you to go back to being his problem instead of mine.”

Rhiannon sighed, resisting the urge to throw something else at him. There was nothing sufficiently close at hand. Her hairbrush was too far away, on the dresser where he’d left it earlier.

“Fine. I’m sorry for attempting to escape from you in such a fashion. Are you happy?”

Richford cocked a golden brow. “I’ll also require your promise you won’t try anything like that again.”

“Then I’ll also have your promise that you’ll stop making disparaging comments about me,” she countered, still stung by his continued treatment of her.

It was difficult enough to accept that he would never see her as a woman. That despite the kisses they’d shared, he felt no more for her than he had for anyone else. Her pride wasn’t just wounded; it had been decimated, and her fragile heart along with it.

He chuckled darkly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I don’t think you’re in a position to be making demands of me, little na?f.

In case you failed to notice, I’m the one with the power to dismantle your foolish hope of remaining here.

All I have to do is say one word to Whit, and you’ll be gone. ”

That was the last thing she wanted.

“Don’t,” she pleaded.

He shook his head, his expression turning curious. “Why are you so desperate to remain here? It’s more than apparent that this is no place for an innocent like you.”

Heat crept back up her throat, and she was sure she was flushing redder than a ripe summer cherry. “If you must know, I came here because I am soon to be engaged, and this house party is my last hope for experience before I settle down with a husband.”

He stared at her, saying nothing, his gaze so sharp that it may as well have been a knife.

“Well?” she demanded into the uncomfortable silence that had descended. “Have you nothing to say?”

His jaw was clenched taut. He swallowed—she knew because she watched the prominent bulge of his Adam’s apple dip in his throat. And still, he said not a word.

“You’re soon to be engaged,” he said at last. “Who is he?”

“The Earl of Carnis.”

He choked. “Carnis? Forgive me, minx, I daresay I heard you wrong. I thought you said that you’re soon to be betrothed to the Earl of Carnis, a man who has the personality of a garden bench and the brains of a chicken.”

She winced at his description of the man she would one day wed. “His lordship is quite intelligent, if you must know, and he is perfectly kind and sweet to me in all ways. He would never, for instance, lock me in a room.”

“If he’s so bloody wonderful, then why are you seeking experience with others instead of your future husband?” Richford demanded, ignoring her jibe.

Warmth prickled her cheeks at his familiarity.

This discussion was wrong and wicked. But then, so was she, wasn’t she?

A good, honorable lady wouldn’t wish to experience anything romantic or carnal with a man other than the one she was marrying.

The kindly, perfectly polite, obsequious man she intended to wed.

“Because I…I admire Reginald,” she explained, struggling to find the words and make sense of her cumbersome emotions herself, “but I don’t desire him.

Nor, I think, does he desire me. Our union will be built on mutual respect and courtesy.

I wish for a husband who will treat me with kindness and give me children. Reginald will do that.”

“ Reginald wouldn’t know how to pleasure a woman if he took lessons from the world’s finest courtesan,” Richford said. “Why would you want to marry such a fool? Does Whit know of this? Please tell me he doesn’t countenance a match between you and that idiot.”

“Reginald is not an idiot,” she defended, feeling guilty enough for her plotting.

“He is exactly what any lady would want in a husband. And as to whether my brother knows, I’m not certain.

He’s so oft preoccupied with his own life that I think there is precious little time for him to fret over mine. ”

“Good God, you’re running wild beneath his very nose, and he hasn’t an inkling.” Richford shook his head. “Little wonder you were able to find your way here. You’re cunning enough to rout an army.”

She wasn’t certain if that was an insult or praise.

Rhiannon chose to consider it the latter.

“I’m hardly running wild,” she countered. “Did you not hear any of what I’ve just told you? I am planning to settle into a comfortable, staid marriage with a gentleman of great honor. One who has professed his deep and abiding love for me.”

“Oh, I’m certain he has,” Richford said with a bark of snide laughter. “And let me guess, you return his endless and profound love, yet you’re still here at a debauched house party.”

When he said it thus, it sounded inherently wrong. Because it was wrong. But he didn’t understand.

“Why should I not experience a bit of life before I wed?” she demanded, planting her hands on her waist. “Have you never stopped to consider how unfair it is that a man can run about doing whatever he likes, bedding whomever he wishes, and all polite society looks the other way? Yet if an unmarried woman should be curious about what she is to endure in the marriage bed, she ought to be scorned?”

“You may be curious all you like, but you cannot wait until you’ve married the poor bastard?”

She glared at him. “Did you wait until you were married?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “But I’m a man, and I’m not marrying anyone, not now, not ever.”

“Then perhaps I shall eschew the marriage altogether and simply take lovers as it pleases me,” she declared, frustrated with him.

“You’ll be cast from polite society. Your mother and your brother will no longer be able to acknowledge you. Surely that isn’t the life you’d want for yourself, Lady Rhiannon.”

“So you see? It is unfair for a woman. We are judged by a separate set of standards that are far more rigid and unforgiving. That is why I came to this house party. It is my one chance for the freedom that men enjoy. Why should I not seize it?”

Once again, silence fell between them. Richford stared at her. What had he expected? She couldn’t humiliate herself by confessing her feelings for him as well.

She raised a brow. “Can you not answer?”

His eyes grew shuttered, unreadable. “You came here to see what pleasure is all about, did you not?”

That same heaviness that filled the air in the hall earlier revisited them. She was furiously aware of him, his proximity, the way his gaze had flicked down her body for just a moment.

“Yes,” she answered simply.

“Then come with me, and I’ll show you.”