CHAPTER 8
Following a disastrous breakfast that may as well have been ash on her tongue, Rhiannon had suffered a deadly boring game of blind man’s bluff. She had escaped after a blindfolded gentleman had delivered a wet kiss to her ear under the guise of discovering who she was. Now, she was decamping to the haven of her bedroom, vexed with the entire affair.
Vexed with herself.
Vexed with Richford.
With everything, full stop.
Seeing Richford with the woman in the great hall that morning, so soon after he had left her own bedroom, had stung. In truth, it had more than stung. It had torn a great, gaping hole in her fragile heart. She had recognized his female companion from the game of Questions and Commands, when it had proven apparent that the woman had set her cap at Richford. Rhiannon had stopped, shocked at the sight of him standing so near to the woman, who was blatantly caressing his arm as if they were lovers.
His gaze had settled upon Rhiannon before flicking dismissively away, and then he had left with his companion. Shehadn’t spied him at breakfast, nor had she seen him later. For all she knew, he had withdrawn to his bedroom with the woman in the daringly low-cut dress.
And why should she be surprised if he had? He had made no promises to her. He was an unrepentant rake, a jaded sybarite.
“A bounder,” she muttered to herself. “An infuriating, arrogant, overbearing rogue.”
But she loved him anyway, the scoundrel. When would her foolish heart ever learn? Just when he had at last shown an interest in her, he had flitted away with someone else. Someone who was worldly and beautiful and everything she was not.
Rhiannon was so lost in her thoughts that she nearly collided with another woman as she neared her bedchamber. Startled, she drew up short, pressing a hand to her rapidly fluttering heart.
“Forgive me,” said the striking dark-haired woman who was, quite notably, not wearing a mask.
There was something familiar about her features and voice. Rhiannon studied her intently, trying to dredge up the reason from the murky recesses of her memory. Somehow, she knew this woman, but she couldn’t place where their paths had crossed.
Either way, she had no wish to cause the woman to grow suspicious about her presence here in the largely abandoned wing. She had learned from her chambermaid that only a few guests were in residence on this side of the manor house. One of them was her brother, and the other was a lady…
Perhaps this one.
Rhiannon offered her a warm smile. “Oh, I didn’t mean to suggest the fault was yours. I simply meant that I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in this wing of the manor house.”
“Nor was I,” the dark-haired woman offered. “I expect you are one of the houseguests?”
Oh dear. Decidedly not the sort of question she wished to answer.
“I…” Rhiannon faltered, uncertain of how to respond. “Not precisely. And you?”
The woman gave her an inquisitive look. “Not precisely either.”
What in heaven’s name did that mean? Was this woman her brother’s mistress? Rhiannon had heard rumors about Rhys’s conquests, for they were quite impossible to avoid. But she didn’t think she had ever met one of his women.
Rhiannon felt her smile slipping. “How interesting.”
“Indeed.”
They stared at each other for a tense moment, Rhiannon still trying to determine what was so dratted familiar about the interloper.
“I do hope you won’t mention seeing me here,” Rhiannon said hesitantly at last. “It wouldn’t do for anyone to know I am present at such a gathering, you see.”
The woman offered her a wry smile. “Once again, we find ourselves in similar circumstances. I would appreciate your secrecy as well.”
Relief washed over Rhiannon. It would seem that the other woman also required discretion.
“That is easily promised,” Rhiannon reassured her. “I haven’t any notion of who you are.”
“Nor I you.”
“Well, then.” Rhiannon forced a grin, still feeling awkward. “I shall forget our paths ever crossed, and you may do the same for me.”
