The journeyback to London from Villiers House in a hired carriage was the most miserable one of Rhiannon’s life. She had spent it alternately sobbing and in a state of abject shock. Each time she closed her eyes, it was to the picture of Viscountess Heathcote seated in Aubrey’s lap as if it were where she belonged, her arms around him, his hand on her breast as it spilled from her bodice.
Her heart was shattered.
Her hopes were shattered.
Shewas shattered.
Irreparable. That was what she was.
When Aubrey had left the cottage yesterday morning before she had awoken, she had been convinced that he had merely returned to the house party. She had told herself that likely, a pressing matter had arisen he needed to attend to as one of the hosts.
The ride back to Wingfield Hall on her lone bicycle had been demoralizing. She had been desperately sore in all manner of intimate places, and the seat of the cycle had been wretchedly uncomfortable. Her bloomer suit had no longer seemed quite as dashing as it had when she had set off on her adventure, and neither had the rest of her.
There had been no sign of Aubrey. No missive left for her from him. She’d had to go to the servants and make discreet inquiries to learn he had left earlier that morning, returning to his country seat. The revelation had been like being dealt a physical blow.
It had taken her a night of fitful sleep and misery to realize she needed to go to him at Villiers House. She had allotted herself a full week for the house party, and even that was drawing to an end at Wingfield Hall. The time had come to return to London. But she had told herself she needed to see Aubrey first.
A terrible mistake, as it happened.
A mistake, just like giving herself to him had been. Just like loving him was.
And now, she was almost back where she had started her journey, at her brother’s London town house. She had no doubt that Rhys was awaiting her there, along with Mater. She would be required to explain where she had been, and although she had a plan in place and intended to claim she had spent the last week visiting Great-Aunt Bitsy, orchestrating it convincingly seemed far less plausible by the afternoon’s grim light.
Her brother wasn’t stupid. He would have questions. Questions to which she didn’t have suitable answers.
But who could she blame for the straits in which she found herself? Not Aubrey. He had warned her, had he not? He was every bit the villain he had claimed to be, and she was every bit the fool.
If only she could forget the burning memory of his kisses. His hands on her. His searing eyes that had seemed to see a part of her she hadn’t known existed…
No, she chastised herself inwardly. She must be strong. She must not allow her girlish infatuation with a handsome, conscienceless rake to weaken her resolve. He had made his feelings about her more than abundantly clear, dashing her heart to pieces in the process.
She had set off with such hope in her heart, so hopelessly naïve. How horridly wrong her plans had gone.
He had left without warning, without a word. Had disappeared. And then she had found him, much to her everlasting regret. Rhiannon squeezed her eyes tightly shut against a painful rush of heartache and betrayal.
His words still echoed in her mind.
You will thank me later, minx.
Minx, he had called her, daring to use the pet name for her that she had once found so endearing. Now, it felt like a dagger plunging into her flesh, glancing off sinew and bone, making her bleed.
Her hired carriage came to a halt before her brother’s town house. Rhiannon didn’t know what awaited her within, nor how she would brazen her way through her explanation. If she even could.
But there was one matter of which Rhiannon was deadly certain.
She would never, as long as she lived, forgive the Duke of Richford for what he had done to her.
CHAPTER 17
ONE MONTH LATER
“You’re quiet this morning, my dear.”
Rhiannon blinked and looked up from the book she had been reading to find Mater smiling brightly at her in the drawing room of her brother’s town house. In the month since her return, Mater had been shockingly attentive. Rhiannon could only deduce it was because her unexplained absence had sent the household—particularly her brother Rhys—into turmoil.
Mater was now making amends in the only way she knew how, by hovering.
“I am reading,” she pointed out politely, hardly in the mood to converse.
