“Riverdale said something about you and a blonde,” Whit countered without answering his question. “Are you dallying with one of the club members?”
Blast it, what was Riverdale doing, wagging his tongue? And since when did Whit give a damn if Aubrey was bedding one of the club members? He wouldn’t have been the first to have done so, and neither would he be the last, he was sure. Granted, it had been Rhiannon he’d been dallying with, and if Whit had theslightest inkling of his sins, he’d be drowning him in the garden fountain by now.
“I don’t dally either,” Aubrey snapped, doing his best to summon outrage and cloak his guilty conscience as he scowled. “Is Riverdale your spy now?”
“Do I have need of one?” Whit asked archly.
“Of course not,” he said quickly.
Their conversation couldn’t have possibly been going worse.
“Something is afoot,” Whit insisted. “Tell me what it is.”
“Nothing is afoot,” he fibbed, telling himself that he wouldn’t think about how Rhiannon had pulled her nightgown hem up over her gorgeous legs that morning and failing utterly.
“You never did have a face for cards. I can tell when you’re guilty, old chap.”
With great care, he banished the memory from his mind and forced himself to begin counting backward from one hundred in Latin.
“Nothing is afoot,” he lied again. “I am merely here in my capacity as one of the leaders of the club, given that two of our members were not able to attend because of women and weddings and other such bloody rot.”
He could still scarcely believe that Brandon and Camden had married. Aubrey had disavowed love long ago. He had witnessed what it had done to his father, and he had no wish to have the same hell visited upon himself or anyone he cared about.
“Christ, don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with someone,” Whit said suddenly, a strange expression on his face as he searched Aubrey’s gaze.
“In love?” Aubrey sputtered. Again, Rhiannon drifted into his mind, but this time, he was thinking about how he had lifted her skirts, how wet she had been, how much she had enjoyed watching another couple through the viewing windows. His face went hot.
“Of course not,” he added, choking out the denial. “Don’t be daft.”
Whit’s expression turned wry. “You don’t dally, you’ve been chasing about a blonde, and you’re acting damned odd. But I’m to believe that nothing is amiss?”
Good God. Aubrey could only hope that his friend didn’t think too closely about his own words. The only bloody fortunate thing about these ridiculous circumstances was that Whit believed his sister was safely ensconced back in London with their mother where she belonged. But if he began to suspect otherwise, the ruse would be over.
Along with his friendship, should Whit discover the depths of depravity to which Aubrey had sunk.
“Yes,” he ground out, “that is what you are to believe, Whit. Because that is what I bloody well told you.”
But Whit was no fool, and he knew better; his expression said so. “I know that is what you told me, but I also happen to know it’s a lie. What I don’t know is why you’re so intent upon deceiving me.”
There it was again, the guilt, stabbing between his ribs, making his chest go tight. Whit and the rest of the Wicked Dukes Society were like brothers to him. They were the closest thing to a family he’d known since…
No, he wouldn’t think of the hellacious past now. He couldn’t bear for his mind to return to that dark place, just as he could never see those evils repeated. Unbidden, the images he had witnessed returned to him. The still, lifeless figure. The blood. So much of it, soaking fine silk, pooling on the carpets, seeping away and wasted. Spilled by the hand that should have protected.
Aubrey scowled, summoning the rage he felt for his past to replace the guilt. “You’re not my goddamned mother, Whit. Leave well enough alone.”
“That rather stings,” Whit said, looking hurt. “Fair enough. If you don’t want to tell me?—”
“I don’t,” Aubrey interrupted, steeling himself against the urge to confide in his friend.
Because despite his sense of honor and his loyalty to Whit and his threats to Rhiannon, he couldn’t bring himself to tell Whit she was here. He didn’t want to consider why.
“—then I shall simply have to bide my time and discover what is going on myself,” Whit finished with a triumphant air.
Damn it. Aubrey sensed the determination in his friend, and he knew why. Whit couldn’t abide by secrets or lies, and it all but killed Aubrey to be the one deceiving him.
“Don’t pry where you aren’t wanted,” Aubrey felt compelled to warn him. “You may not like what you find.”
Whit frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”
