Rhiannon gasped. “Richford!”
As ifhewere the one who was sitting about sans shirt, waistcoat, and neckcloth, leering at her.
He turned back to her, extending his hand. “Come, my lady. You are needed elsewhere.”
“But I am currently here,” she said, her eyes snapping with stubborn fire.
“Richford, you’re quite ruining Questions and Commands,” complained the man who had been leading this little farce. “This is most unlike you.”
“I’d be more than happy to ruin your face instead,” he returned politely.
The man made a huff of annoyance but wisely said nothing else. Which was just as well, because Aubrey would have entirely crushed him in a physical challenge.
“Richford, you cannot sweep in here and begin threatening everyone,” Rhiannon chastised him in a low voice.
“You have five seconds to come with me before I toss you over my shoulder and carry you out of here,” he warned her calmly, meaning every word.
His already limited patience was gone. He needed to figure out a means of getting her back to London with her reputation intact and without Whit discovering she’d ever been here at this cursed house party. Christ, why had the meddlesome chit insisted upon sneaking into Wingfield Hall in the first place? And why had he been the one with the grave misfortune of discovering her deceit?
“I’m not finished playing just yet,” she informed him coolly. “I’ll speak with you later, after our game is complete.”
“Why don’t you stay and play with us?” Perdita asked coyly. “Come and have a seat by me.”
He didn’t miss the way Rhiannon’s gaze went to the viscountess, narrowing as she took in Perdita’s bountiful curves and lack of modesty, before flitting back to him.
“Yes, why don’t you stay and play?” Rhiannon asked, her tone mocking.
It was more than apparent she disapproved of Perdita. Perhaps the minx was even a bit jealous. She needn’t havebeen. There was only one woman in this library he longed to kiss breathless and spank until she was moaning and wet for him, and that wasn’t Viscountess Heathcote. Sadly, he couldn’t indulge in that particular fantasy.
“Would you have me make a scene?” he asked Rhiannon quietly, ignoring Perdita entirely.
“You have already made one,” Rhiannon gritted, pinning him with a pouty glare.
He met her glare with one of his own, warning her without words that he was utterly serious about his threat and intended to follow it through. He would haul her from the damned Grecian couch and cart her out of this library if she refused to accompany him. He had no intention of allowing her to remain here for more lewd rounds of Questions and Commands. He shuddered to think of what the forfeit required of her would be.
“Now, my lady,” was all he said.
She sighed, sulking some more, but reluctantly accepted his hand.
He pulled her to her feet before turning to address the occupants of the room, who were all watching their drama unfold as if it were a riveting comedy at the theater. “Carry on. Forgive me for the interruption.”
Sliding Rhiannon’s hand into the crook of his elbow, he escorted her from the library. When they had reached the hall and he’d closed the door behind them, she spun on him, eyes blazing with fury.
“How dare you embarrass me like that?”
“You were sitting next to a half-naked man,” he countered sharply. “What the devil did you think you were doing? In ten minutes, it’s likely to become an orgy.”
Damn. He shouldn’t have said something like that in front of Whit’s sister. Did she even know what an orgy was? He sure as bloody hell hoped not.
“What is an orgy?” she asked breathlessly as he all but dragged her down the hall, confirming his suspicions.
She didn’t know.
He wasn’t going to be the one to tell her either.
“Never mind,” he bit out. “Have you had your belongings packed?”
“Packed? Of course not. Whyever would I do that?”
