CHAPTER 1
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 to which she decidedly hadnotbeen invited.
“What do you think you are doing, sirrah?” she growled at himsotto 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 naïf.”
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 phrasein need of a sound shagmeant. 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 from behind with furious abandon.
“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, youdemandit, 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 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 tilted 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 up 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, andKingham—were either too obtuse or too deep in their cups to recognize one another. 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—jasmine and bergamot with a hint of rose. 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 virgin 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.Especiallynot her.
Wilt, cock,he inwardly urged that unruly appendage. Wilt.
