She and her friend entered the dining room then, putting an end to their chatter. As if she had conjured him with her thoughts, Rhiannon spied the duke at the far end of the table. Her pulse leapt at the sight of him, a low tingle taking up steadfast residence in her stomach. There he was, drat the man, dressed to perfection in evening black with a white necktie and matching waistcoat, his honey-gold hair glinting beneath the light of the chandelier. He was so handsome it hurt to look at him.
And of course, all Rhiannon could think about was his sinful kisses and his wicked touch. His hand beneath her skirts, his fingers on her pearl, stroking and sending pleasure skating through her. His mouth, his words, his heated stare.
Across the sea of revelers between them, their gazes met and held. Rhiannon was gratified when his eyes dipped to her bodice, taking in the swells of her breasts, pushed scandalously high by her corset and immodest décolletage. His brows snapped together, and his expression turned thunderous.
“It would seem a certain someone has spied you, my dear,” Lady Blue said in an aside.
Rhiannon smiled serenely in Richford’s direction, as if she hadn’t a care.
His glower deepened.
Dinner was going to be an interesting diversion, she thought as she seated herself beside her new friend. Richford was on the opposite side of the table, which meant she could still see him quite well if she tilted her head to the left and shifted in her chair accordingly.
Doing so meant she was unintentionally giving the gentleman at her side an unimpeded view straight down her bodice. Rhiannon only realized it when she caught the masked fellow leering at her with unabashed interest.
She straightened, flicking a glance back in Richford’s direction. He looked furious.
“Brava, my dear girl,” Lady Blue said at her side. “Make him jealous.”
Rhiannon didn’t think she had such a hold on him. But there was no denying the irritation she saw flashing in his eyes.
“I’m not certain I am capable of it,” she told Lady Blue quietly. “I seem more of an irritation to him than anything.”
The company tittered around them, awaiting the first course, oblivious to their conversation, which was just as well to Rhiannon. Lady Blue was her sole acquaintance here at Wingfield Hall aside from Richford and her brother, and she could hardly seek out Rhys. Her brother would scold her and send her directly home in shame. In matters of the heart, shehad always found it best to seek the counsel of her female friends.
“You are far more than an irritation if the way he looks at you is any indication,” her friend said. “There was a time when I would have given anything for my husband to gaze at me like that.”
There was sadness in Lady Blue’s voice that tugged at Rhiannon’s heart.
“And now?”
“Now, I simply don’t care. But enough of my woes, Lady Pink. Let us enjoy the sumptuous dinner, shall we?”
Her friend’s words held a grim resignation. Rhiannon wondered if Lady Blue had ever loved her husband. Was he a rake like the Duke of Richford? What had happened between them to make her new friend so jaded, so desperate to escape her marriage?
As the questions rolled through her mind, Rhiannon couldn’t resist another glance Richford’s way. However, this time, he was distracted, speaking to a brunette near his end of the table. Her stomach curdled. No doubt the other woman was the sort who appealed to him. Someone who was experienced and bold. Someone he didn’t think of as a naïve girl.
Perhaps it was for the best.
She had the earl to consider after all. Her feelings for Richford would likely never be returned. Even if she captured his attention momentarily, he was the sort of man who would inevitably stray. She had no wish for a marriage like Lady Blue’s. That was why she had agreed to wed Carnis.
Rhiannon turned her attention to the soup course with dour resolve, vowing that she wouldn’t spare the duke another glance for the duration of the meal.
CHAPTER 6
“You’re scowling again.”
Aubrey turned to Kingham—King, as he was better known to friends and foes alike—who was annoyingly observant, particularly when Aubrey didn’t want the arsehole to be. “Scowling suits me.”
They were seated in the dining room after the ladies had withdrawn, the table a sea of strewn, emptied glasses, the epergne still resplendent with bursts of sweetly scented flowers. He had watched Rhiannon go, annoyed that the minx hadn’t even so much as looked in his direction for the whole of dinner.
“Your expression is somewhere between someone-pissed-in-my-brandy and I-just-stepped-in-dog-shit,” King continued, unperturbed by his nettled reaction.
“No one has ever pissed in my brandy, nor have I stepped in dog shit,” he growled. “So I fail to understand how you would have the slightest inkling of what such expressions would look like upon me.”
“An educated guess,” King drawled, lighting a cheroot.
“What he’s trying to say is that you look like you want to bloody well throttle someone,” Riverdale offered quite unhelpfully.
