“Where the devil is Richford?” he asked Riverdale and Kingham, irritated by their friend’s absence.
“Hopefully sleeping off his bloody terrible mood,” King commented lightly, brushing a speck of lint from his coat sleeve.
“I saw him chasing after a masked blonde last night,” Riverdale offered with a shrug. “I don’t recall if that was before or after naughty charades. Thanks to King’s latest potion, my recollection of the evening is delightfully imprecise.”
“Lovely,” Rhys muttered, annoyed. “We arrange a meeting of tremendous importance, and Richford is off bedding some wench.”
He was more than aware of his own hypocrisy, for he had spent the night with a woman as well. But Miranda was different. She wasn’t a mere drunken tryst at a Wicked Dukes Society house party.
“I do so hate to argue finer points,” King drawled, “but we haven’t arranged a meeting.Youhave. And I have yet to eat breakfast, so this better be damned good.”
“I ate an hour ago, and I’ve already gone for a ride.” Riverdale grinned cheekily. “Lazy bastards, the lot of you.”
Rhys wasn’t in the mood for lighthearted banter. He was in the mood to blacken Lord Roberts’s eye.
“We may as well proceed without Richford,” he decided. “The matter cannot wait until he has decided he’s finished emptying his ballocks.”
King made a gagging sound and shuddered. “If you don’t mind, I would prefer not to think about Richford’s ballocks before half past ten in the morning.”
“How about after half past ten?” Riverdale asked.
King pretended to contemplate the question, stroking his jaw. “No, I daresay not then either. Half past ten just seemed a proper sort of time.”
“Lord help me,” Rhys muttered. “Would the two of you cease nattering like a pair of dowager biddies at the edge of a ballroom? I have something serious I need to discuss with you.”
“Why didn’t you say so, old chap?” King asked, blinking innocently.
He glared at his friend. “I did say so. Curse your hides, and curse Richford’s too.”
“What about Brandon and Camden?” Riverdale wanted to know. “Should they not receive the same curse, given their absences as well?”
Rhys growled in frustration. “Yes, to the devil with them all. Now to the matter of import, and the reason I’ve convened this meeting. Last night, Lord Roberts threatened a woman in the gardens. If I hadn’t intervened when I did, there’s no telling what would have happened. Given his actions, I believe it’s clearhe needs to be expelled from both the Society and this house party.”
“He threatened someone?” King asked, frowning, his amused expression fleeing.
“Yes.” Fury roiled through Rhys anew as he thought of the scene he had come upon, the fear in Miranda’s voice last night when she had run into his arms in the moonlight. “She wasn’t masked, and Roberts threatened to reveal her presence here to polite society in an effort to hurt her reputation. He also suggested that he would hold his tongue if she bedded him.”
White-hot rage accompanied the last revelation. Roberts was bloody well fortunate that Rhys hadn’t simply thrashed him to death then and there.
“That is vile,” Riverdale agreed, “and decidedly against our rules. Who is the lady in question?”
Damn it, he didn’t want to reveal it was Miranda. Not because he didn’t trust his friends to keep the matter private and avoid causing a scandal for her. But because he wasn’t ready to examine what he felt for her or to admit it to King and Riverdale.
“Does it matter?” he asked. “Roberts was attempting to blackmail a woman and to coerce her into bed with him.”
“The woman in question wouldn’t happen to be the saucy bit of skirts you brought here to make the cream ice and cornets, would it?” King asked knowingly.
Rhys knew he shouldn’t be surprised that King was aware of Miranda being at Wingfield Hall. His friend had an uncanny knack for knowing everything about everyone.
He clenched his jaw. “She has a name, and I’ll thank you to refrain from referring to her as asaucy bit of skirts.”
King grinned. “But I do so enjoy watching how nettled you get over the mere mentioning of her, I must admit. What is she calling herself now? Lady Miranda, Miss Lenox, or Lady Ammondale?”
Bloody hell, either King was omniscient, or he had a spy in the ranks. Neither would surprise Rhys.
“It is Miss Lenox,” he ground out. “But the lady is rightfully protective of her reputation. Her presence here is not to become common knowledge. As far as the guests are to know, she has sent a pupil trained by her to delight us with her culinary confections. No one can know the lady herself is staying here at Wingfield Hall. Given the nature of the house party and her divorce being fodder for the gossips, she is concerned that further scandal should fall upon her.”
“You ought to have a sword, playing the knight as you are,” Riverdale said, shaking his head as if he despaired of Rhys.
