Except he couldn’t very well do that. For one thing, he needed to know where she was sleeping so that he could at least watch over her on his friend’s behalf. Her threat to go to Whit and tell him that Aubrey had been the one to initiate their scorching kisses was still echoing in his mind. He didn’t doubt the minx would be bold enough to do it, should sacrificing his friendship with her brother suit her purposes.
Whit was like a brother to him, as were Brandon, Riverdale, Camden, and Kingham. Hell, the five of them were all he had. He couldn’t afford to lose Whit’s friendship. And he damned well should have thought of that before putting his tongue in his friend’s sister’s mouth.
Blast.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, relieved that his whirling ruminations had at least served to wilt his cock. There was no hope for it. He was going to have to be the one to look after Rhiannon and make certain no harm came to her at this cursed house party. He owed that much, if not far more, to his friend.
Aubrey started after her. She’d had sufficient time to disappear whilst he’d been arguing with himself and willing hiscockstand to abate. Fortunately, the servants were the soul of discretion. He found a chambermaid and, after a circumspect inquiry, discovered that a masked woman meeting Rhiannon’s description had been headed in the direction of the wing of the manor house that wasn’t presently in use for most guests.
Wise girl. It was an excellent hiding place, as Whit had made certain to keep the revelers contained in the opposite wing.
Aubrey stalked after her, the benefit of his long legs not lost upon him. It didn’t take much time to discover which room she had claimed, catching sight of her pink skirts disappearing just as a door closed.
It happened to cleverly and helpfully possess the same locks Brandon had ordered installed on each room, both outside and inside the doors, the better for their guests to make use of the chambers as they saw fit. With a grin, Aubrey closed the distance to Rhiannon’s door. Slowly and taking care to avoid making any sound that would alert her to his presence, he settled the key she’d left in the door of the salon into the lock and turned the latch.
At least for this evening, he could be certain the minx would stay out of trouble.
The morning sunwas rising fast.
Rhiannon was starving and incredibly irritable as she cast a final glance in the looking glass. Unaccustomed to dressing herself without the aid of her efficient lady’s maid, she had struggled into her underpinnings and morning gown. She’d scarcely been able to sleep last night, restless in her bed as the memory of the sinful kisses she had shared with Richford had turned over and over in her mind, haunting her.
At least she had managed to plait her hair into a passable braid, which she had coiled on her crown with tendrils free to frame her face. All she had to do was continue avoiding her brother and the Duke of Richford, and today would hopefully prove more entertaining than the evening before had been.
That disaster had beenhisfault, of course.
He had hauled her from charades, locked her in a room, and proceeded to be an insufferable, arrogant arse. He wouldn’t have an opportunity to do so today. She vowed it. She would banish all the unwanted, pent-up feelings she had for him until there wasn’t so much as a crumb left.
Beginning today.
With a deep breath, Rhiannon turned and crossed the chamber she had commandeered for the house party. It was a pleasant room with windows that faced the gardens. But best of all, it was entirely removed from the wing that was housing most of the other guests, which had proven a boon for her ability to hide in plain sight.
Rhiannon’s hand landed on the latch.
But it didn’t budge.
She frowned.
Locked?
Surely not.
She tried again, but the latch was firm and immobile.
It was definitely, without a doubt, locked. But how? And most importantly,who?
“Richford,” she snarled, instantly knowing who would be behind such a thing.
He hadlocked herinside her bedchamber.
And it was time for breakfast.
Furious, she tried to open the door with greater strength. Then she threw her shoulder into it, attempting to force it openwith her body weight until pain radiated from her shoulder and down her spine. Nothing worked. She was trapped in this room.
There was a bellpull, of course.
Rhiannon spun from the door, intent upon ringing it. She was halfway across the Axminster when she heard a click of the latch, followed by the slight creak of the door swinging open.
“Good morning, my dear,” drawled a familiar voice.
