Her smiled deepened. “Where are you going? I’ll accompany you.”
Perdita was an enticing woman. On any other day, he would have been more than happy to accept the invitation she was so blatantly giving. But he was too caught up in thoughts of Rhiannon. His cock didn’t even stir. And while he told himself that was because he was recovering from his overindulgence in King’s poison, his rational mind knew that for the lie it was.
Aubrey had been sporting a morning cockstand from the moment he had awoken in Rhiannon’s bed, the alluring scent of jasmine filling him with a different sort of fire entirely. It hadn’t helped when she had thrown back the coverlets to reveal her thin nightgown that scarcely shielded her bountiful breasts from view. And when she had made a show of stretching and the hem of her gown had risen perilously near to her pussy, he hadn’t been sure which part of him had been throbbing more, his head or his prick.
He shook his head slowly, taking care not to move with too much haste on account of the pain in his skull. “I fear I’m no mood for company at present, Lady Heathcote, though I do thank you for the offer.”
She pouted, making no move to leave him in peace, her finger still on his sleeve. “I do wish you would call me Perdita.”
“Perdita, then,” he repeated, trying to soothe her ruffled feathers.
The last thing he wanted was to rouse her suspicions and have her asking questions about Rhiannon. Besides, he could call the viscountess whatever she requested, and it wouldn’t change a bloody thing. She’d never end up in his bed. Not at this house party. He was too damned preoccupied with thoughts of Rhiannon.
Her words were still echoing in his mind, a taunt he couldn’t seem to banish, regardless of how hard he tried.
I have no intention of leaving this house party a virgin.
If he had a modicum of honor, he would go straight to Whit before he even changed his damned trousers. He would immediately confess everything he had done, beg his friend’s forgiveness, and tell him exactly where to find his minx of a sister, along with informing him of her wildly scandalous, wholly unacceptable plans.
But it would seem he was a completely soulless bastard where she was concerned. A selfish arsehole. Because he couldn’t do it, and he didn’t even want to begin to contemplate why.
“What do I have to do for a night in your bed?” the viscountess asked coyly.
Her forthright query took him by surprise.
“I’m afraid there is already someone else presently warming it, my dear,” he told her smoothly, thinking it the best way to deflect her interest without wounding her pride.
Her blue eyes narrowed. “Pity. I don’t like to share. Who is she?”
Rhiannon rose in his mind, her wheat-gold hair cascading down her back and her hard nipples puckered beneath her prim nightgown, the hem pulled nearly to her waist. The woman before him was a beauty in her own right, but she could never compare.
She wasn’t Rhiannon.
“A gentleman doesn’t reveal such private matters,” he countered, growing irritated at her persistence.
“Come now, Richford, we both know all too well that you’re no gentleman,” the viscountess said, caressing his forearm slowly. “I’ve heard the rumors about your proclivities in bed, and I can assure you that I wouldn’t be hesitant. Indeed, I think you would find mequitereceptive.”
He was familiar with the rumors and scandalous gossip that traveled around society. Not all of them were true, but some of them were.
“I’m gratified to hear it, but again, I fear that I must decline.” He withdrew from her caress just as the fall of footsteps and the swishing of silken skirts heralded the arrival of another in the great hall.
The viscountess stiffened, her gaze narrowing upon the newcomer before flicking back to him. “Her?”
Lady Heathcote’s voice was sharper than a blade, strident with vexation. His already upended stomach clenched uncomfortably. Aubrey knew in his gut without looking just who had joined them in the great hall.
A glance over his shoulder confirmed it. Rhiannon had stopped midstride, lips parted beneath her half mask. Her gaze slipped from Aubrey to Lady Heathcote as he felt the viscountess’s hand return to his arm and her skirts swish against his trousers, as if she were staking her claim.
There was no misconstruing the hurt in Rhiannon’s eyes.
He wanted to jerk his arm from the viscountess’s grasp and go to Rhiannon instead, but he also knew Perdita was a viper who wouldn’t hesitate to ruin Rhiannon if she discovered the truth. The last thing he wanted was for any harm to befall her because of him. This protective surge within him was as new as it was troubling, but he couldn’t dwell on it now.
So he covered Lady Heathcote’s hand with his and turned away from Rhiannon. “Of course not,” he told the viscountess. “I haven’t the slightest inkling who she is.”
Perdita laughed delightedly. “I ought to have known better. That one has the wide eyes of a neophyte if ever I’ve seen one. Surely no match for a man of your voracious appetites.”
“None at all,” he said mildly, tucking her arm into the crook of his elbow. “Come along, my dear.”
As he led Perdita from the great hall, he was painfully aware of Rhiannon’s gaze burning his back with every step he took.
