Bloodied his other knuckles for a start.
He knew he shouldn’t have answered Whit’s summons, leaving Rhiannon alone at the breakfast table. She was a bloodymenace, capable of anything. Christ knew what manner of mischief she was making. But answering his friend’s note had proven a necessity, an obligation thanks to his duty as one of the founding members of the Wicked Dukes Society.
The ladies in attendance had to be protected at all costs. The men and women of their club paid hefty fees to ensure not just silence but the protection that their little coterie would bring them. Instead of finding their pleasure in brothels, they came here to Wingfield Hall. It was imperative that no man attempt to force unwanted attentions upon a lady, which had been Roberts’s sin.
The beating he’d received at the hands of Aubrey, Whitby, Riverdale, and Kingham had been well deserved. They had also turned the bastard out on his arse, sending him back to London.
One piece of rubbish gone.
One crafty minx left to be discovered.
Right.
Perhaps it was time to make a few inquiries with the servants, he decided. This wasn’t how he had intended to spend the house party, chasing after a vexing female whom he couldn’t even bed. But so be it.
His friendship with Whit was too important to allow Rhiannon to go flitting about unsupervised. God only knew what manner of trouble she would find herself in. A sharp stab of guilt pierced him as he thought about the kisses he had shared with her yesterday. Whit would bloody well murder him if he knew, and Aubrey wouldn’t blame him in the slightest. He hated himself for giving in to her soft, lush lips on his. For kissing her back instead of pushing her away.
It wouldn’t happen again.
Aubrey strode toward the library, lured by the sound of raucous masculine and feminine laughter. He hadn’t thought to check that room yet. Perhaps the minx was within. He stopped atthe threshold to quietly observe. No fewer than a dozen men and women occupied the room, most of the players masked.
“It’s my turn for a question next,” said a familiar voice.
His gaze swung to her at once. Rhiannon was seated primly on a Grecian couch next to a man who had stripped down to the waist. Aubrey was going to kill the bastard.
“On what part of the body do you prefer to be kissed?” asked another man who appeared to be at the helm of the festivities, seated on a makeshift dais, also masked.
Aubrey had played such games before. It was a version of Questions and Commands that had been corrupted so that all the queries were carnal in nature, as were the resulting commands if the Commander issuing the questions wasn’t satisfied by the answer.
“The lips, I should think,” Rhiannon was answering. “Although I daresay I haven’t tried many other places just yet.”
Her innocent response made his groin tighten. There were so many other places and ways he might kiss her. So many sensual delights he could show her. If only she weren’t his closest chum’s sister.
“Allow me to be the first to volunteer for research,” said the man at her side, who Aubrey now recognized as Lord Chattingham.
The company tittered.
“What a selfless offer,” drawled the chap who had asked the ribald question.
And something inside Aubrey broke.
He stalked into the room, scarcely aware of his surroundings. If that half-dressed arsehole had even thought about touching Rhiannon, Aubrey would thrash him senseless. He was dimly aware of eyes on him as he moved toward Rhiannon. Even a shocked exclamation.
“Well, if it isn’t Richford, come to join us,” purred a feminine voice he recognized as belonging to Viscountess Heathcote.
Perdita had been trying to get into his bed for the last month. She was a beauty—voluptuous, golden-haired, big-breasted, and notoriously adventurous in the bedchamber, with dark appetites to rival his own. But he hadn’t yet accepted her offer. He glanced in her direction now with disinterest despite the remarkable display of her breasts bursting forth from her immodest décolletage. Christ, if she sneezed, her nipples would spring free.
“I’m not joining you,” he bit out, stopping before Rhiannon. “You. Come with me. Now.”
“I’m afraid you aren’t the Commander, Richford,” Perdita said, a hard edge to her voice. “You cannot waltz in here and spoil our fun.”
Aubrey didn’t bother to glance in the viscountess’s direction. All his attention was upon the minx before him. Rhiannon stared up at him, her blue eyes wide behind her silken mask. No doubt she hadn’t expected him to find her and demand that she leave her sordid game.
Chattingham puffed up his chest. “I say, Richford. You’re being a bit too heavy-handed. Lady Pink and I were just beginning to become better acquainted.”
Lady Pink, was she now? At least she wasn’t going about telling everyone that she was Lady Rhiannon Northwick. Small mercies and all that bloody folderol.
Aubrey pinned the irksome man with a warning glare. “If you don’t leave the lady alone, the only thing you’ll become better acquainted with is my fist.”
