Page 53

Aubrey Villiers, seventh Duke of Richford, had committed an untold number of sins in his life, all of which would be responsible for one day sending him to Hades where he belonged.

It was glaringly apparent, given the most unfortunate and present state of his cock, that he was about to add one more to the ever-growing compendium—lusting after his close friend’s virginal younger sister.

Lady Rhiannon Northwick was a gorgeous, annoying hellion, and one day, some man would have the colossal fortune of bedding her.

But that man would not be—could not be—Aubrey.

There seemed no better occasion for reminding himself of that than as he dragged the troublesome minx from a game of naughty charades at a country house party where she decidedly had not been invited.

“What do you think you are doing, sirrah?” she growled at him sotto voce , tugging at her arm in an effort to escape.

She wasn’t going to escape him, however. He was stronger than she was. Wiser than she was. Far more jaded than she was. And he was more determined than she was, too.

Aubrey pulled her down the hall in search of an empty private salon. “Rescuing you, little naif.”

As much as the villain in him would have dearly loved to continue watching her parade her saucy curves about whilst she pretended to be a wanton shepherdess in desperate need of a sound shag, he knew better.

He very much doubted she even understood what the phrase in need of a shag meant. The urge to show her was strong, which was more proof of just how bloody evil he was. Depraved to his core.

Aubrey paused at a closed door and knocked loudly, issuing a stern rap of his knuckles on the paneled mahogany.

When no answer came, he turned the latch, only to find a couple within, the woman bent over a settee, skirts and petticoats up to her waist, whilst her gentleman friend rammed his cock into her with furious abandon from behind.

“Damn it,” he muttered, slamming the door and turning to scowl at his unwilling companion. “You didn’t see that, did you?”

“See what?” she asked, pouting. “This is outrageous. You must unhand me and allow me to return to the games at once. I demand it.”

“Oh, you demand it, do you?” Chuckling darkly, he found the next room blessedly empty and crossed the threshold, pulling her with him.

“Yes, I do.” She tossed her head in defiance, and her unbound golden curls shook with indignation, emphasizing the unparalleled beauty of her hair. “You are treating me as if I’m a piece of furniture, and I do not appreciate it.”

“A piece of furniture wouldn’t find a way of stealing into a house party for which she received no invite, my lady.” He snapped the door closed and locked it, pocketing the key before he turned back to her, releasing his hold on her arm at last.

Which was just as well, for he was far too tempted to jerk her luscious form into his chest and kiss that sulking mouth of hers.

“Of course I was invited,” she lied, blue eyes blazing from behind her mask. “Why else would I be here?”

“Because you are a wayward hoyden.” He crossed his arms over his chest, unimpressed.

The hellion had found herself in many scrapes over the years since she’d made her debut in society. But sneaking into an impending orgy was rather bold, even by her astounding standards.

“You do not even know me,” Rhiannon huffed. “I am masked.”

Of course he knew her. God, how well he knew her.

And how he wished he knew her better, but that was a damned stupid thought his puerile prick wanted him to entertain.

Aubrey’s half- cockstand didn’t know that touching Lady Rhiannon Northwick was the rough equivalent of consuming a platter of poisonous wild mushrooms. The rest of him, however, was too intelligent for such tomfoolery.

He cocked his head now, considering her, trying to keep his gaze from the lush breasts her scandalously cut gown put on proud display. “How charmingly innocent. You truly supposed that donning a scrap of silk would shield you well enough, didn’t you?”

A flush crept over her throat, giving her away. “Everyone else is masked as well.”

“The illusion of anonymity pleases some more than it does others,” he offered with a careless shrug.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that a mask cannot hide anyone. It means that the members of this club wear masks at gatherings such as this for titillation as much as preserving privacy.”

That much was true. Oh, he had no doubt some of the lords and ladies in attendance—all members of the highly secret Wicked Dukes Society, over which he presided with his five friends, the dukes of Brandon, Camden, Whitby, Riverdale, and Kingham—were either too obtuse or too deep in their cups to recognize each other.

But for anyone with a discerning eye or ear, a mask provided no barrier at all.

Aubrey was reasonably certain Rhiannon could walk about with a sack over her head and he would still know her.

She could hide in another room and the faintest strain of her husky voice would give her away.

Even her scent lingering after she had gone would be sufficient—rose and bergamot with a hint of ambergris.

He had taken note of everything where she was concerned.

Far too much.

But Aubrey didn’t dally with innocents. And he didn’t bed his good chum’s innocent sister. Not even a golden goddess who put Venus to shame and possessed a tendency to stare at him as if she wanted to devour him. Especially not her.

Wilt, cock, he inwardly urged that unruly appendage . Wilt.

“For…titillation,” she repeated, her eyes narrowing, as if she didn’t believe him.

Christ. He should not explain himself to Whit’s little sister. And Aubrey most assuredly should not allow his gaze to slip to her decolletage or to wonder if a hasty tug of her pink silk bodice would release her equally pink nipples.

He clenched his jaw, fighting for inner composure for a moment.

“Yes, titillation, my lady. You see, some prefer the pretense they do not know their lovers. For them, it heightens the pleasure. Others may fear repercussions with husbands, wives, or polite society should word of their transgressions reach the gossipmongers. They cling to their masks for fear of discovery. Either way, no one is fooling anyone else. Least of all, you.”

Rhiannon blinked, her full lips parting, the lower caught by white, even teeth.

“Me? Forgive me if I fail to believe your bluster, sir. You claim to know who I am, and yet you have yet to say my name. Perhaps you’ve mistaken me for another.

Either way, I can assure you that you haven’t the right to pull me bodily from the drawing room and lock me up inside this room with you. ”

She had the audacity to punctuate her diatribe by holding out her hand, palm up. “The key, if you please.”

Aubrey reached up to his own mask, untying it and pulling it away from his face.

“On that, I fear we must disagree, Lady Rhiannon. I have every right to keep you here, safe, in this room. Your brother would expect no less from me, and when I inform him of your presence here, I have no doubt he’ll send you back to London and your mama where you belong.

The reckoning for you will be harsh, I’m sure. ”

Her shoulders sagged, and the defeat in her jaw and eyes made something within him clench. “How did you know?”

I would know you anywhere , he thought before tamping down all such ridiculous notions.

Aubrey shrugged again, one shoulder only this time. “As I said, brat. Masks mean nothing. Did you not recognize me?”

“Of course I did.”

He raised an imperious brow. “Well, then. Why should the reverse be any different?”

“Because you don’t notice me. You never have. You don’t even know I’m alive , and now you have seized my one and only adventure and seek to ruin it utterly.”

How wrong she was. He did notice her. From the moment she’d become a woman, making her curtsy, flitting about ballrooms, he had been irritatingly aware of her. Not just her beauty, but her stubborn nature, her ludicrous bravado, her laughter, her smile.

Fucking hell. He had to stop this maudlin nonsense at once.

“I notice what happens here, within these walls,” he said smoothly, because lying was far more comfortable than speaking plain truth.

“As one of the founding members of the club, doing so is my duty. And as your brother’s close and enduring friend, it is also my obligation to take note when his na?ve, wayward sister somehow manages to all but ruin herself. To step in before it’s too late.”

She scowled, the pink mask she wore which matched her gown so perfectly still in place and obstructing his view of her lovely face.

Which was for the best, really.

The mask was silly.

Lady Rhiannon Northwick was anything but. Therein lay the danger. To him, to her, to everyone who mattered.

“I am not your obligation or anyone else’s,” she snapped at him, planting her hands on her nipped waist. “And nor am I na?ve or wayward. I am simply in search of a future of my own, to experience life as I choose.”

A bitter laugh tore from him. “My dear little naif, there is no future at all to be found at these fêtes. Not for you. Nor for anyone else. These house parties are intended for sin the likes of which a virginal miss such as yourself cannot possibly fathom.”

It was the wrong thing to say to a stubborn hoyden, as it turned out. Lady Rhiannon Northwick couldn’t resist a challenge. He recognized that in her—so much of himself when he had been younger, before darkness had consumed him.

Her irresistible, dented chin went up. “I can fathom a great deal, Your Grace.”

“Not what happens within these walls, I can assure you of that.”

“I’ve read books.”

“No book could aptly describe pleasure. Not truly.”

Renewed color appeared over her pale throat and chest, almost reaching the tempting swells of her breasts. “I do know about it.”

He moved toward her, some impulse he could neither define nor deny rising. “You know about what, little naif?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“It’s what you are, is it not?”

“No!”

He stopped before her, and dear God, the headiness of her scent and nearness was an intoxicating combination that not even opium could rival. “Then tell me. What do you read about in your books?”

It was a question he shouldn’t ask.

Just as lingering here with her was a foolish risk he should not take.

And yet Aubrey stayed, awaiting her response. Needing it more than his next breath.

“About…about lovemaking and what happens between a man and a woman,” she said breathlessly.

And his stupid cock, which had begun to settle, twitched back to life.

Such words alone were paltry. They meant nothing. Issued in her sultry voice, however? They meant everything.

Aubrey cleared his throat. “You’ve been reading vulgar books?”

“ Books , yes,” she corrected with a prim air that had no place coupled with what she had just said. “ Not vulgar, however.”

Damn it all, why ? Why did she have to make such an inappropriate admission, and why did it have to affect him so?

He had to get her out of this bloody house party.

Out of this room.

Out of his reach.

“Ah, yes. Not vulgar at all. Would you care to repeat what you just explained to your brother?” he asked cruelly.

“It is none of Rhys’s concern what I read,” she snapped.

“Because you know he wouldn’t approve.”

Her nostrils flared. “Because I am a woman grown.”

He raised a brow and raked her over with a wilting gaze. “Are you? Because I do confess, you look rather like a girl playing at being a woman just now.”

For a moment, he thought she might slap him.

But instead, she did the opposite.

Lady Rhiannon Northwick took one step forward, her pink evening gown slamming into his trousers, billowing outward, and then she grabbed his necktie and tugged him toward her. In the next second, her lips were on his.

And Aubrey?

He was bloody lost .

Lost in her hot, silken lips. Lost in her curves melding into his hard frame, lost in her scent, in her breasts crushing into his chest, in the way she fit against him, as perfectly as if she’d been made to do so. Aubrey had no choice but to kiss her back with all the suppressed desire within him…

Fuck.

This wasn’t going to end well.