She laughed bitterly. “I feel nothing concerning you, sir.”
“Is that so?” His hands settled on her waist, drawing her into him. “I find that difficult to believe, minx, because I feel everything where you are concerned.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, thinking about the last time she’d heard him refer to her thus.
Lady Heathcote had been in his lap.
You will thank me later, minx.
She tried to remove herself from his hold, but he remained firm and determined, keeping her there, the heat of his muscled form burning into her like a taunt.
“Rhiannon, please,” he rasped. “I know you’re furious with me, and you have every right to be so, but I need to speak with you.”
She stared up at him, thinking he sounded sincere. But he was too late. She was being forced into a marriage she didn’t want with Carnis. She had spent the last weeks in utter misery. Aubrey had destroyed her.
“Indeed,” she forced out stiffly. “I cannot fathom what you would have need to speak with me about. If you will excuse me, I really must be returning to the ball.”
At last, she extricated herself, but as she made to move past him on the terrace, he took her arm in a gentle hold, staying her.
“Please, Rhiannon. Don’t go just yet.”
She hated herself for the reaction her body had to his touch. Everything within her wanted to throw herself into his arms and forget what had happened. But she couldn’t do that.
“Why would you not call on me if you wish for an audience?” she demanded.
“Would you have received me?”
“No,” she admitted.
“There is your answer.” He stared down at her, his countenance determined. “Norshouldyou receive me. I don’t deserve your time or your attention.”
“Then why are you demanding both now?” she asked, her voice trembling with the force of her emotions.
“Because I cannot lose you.”
She shook off his hold. “You’ve already lost me, Richford.”
Without risking a backward glance, she fled from the terrace, biting her lip to keep from bursting into tears.
Three daysafter the ball Riverdale had held in honor of the wife no one knew he’d had, Aubrey found himself being led to the Duke of Whitby’s study. For each of those days, he had attempted an audience with Rhiannon, and on every occasion, he had failed miserably. She had run from him at the ball, and before he’d managed to find her again, she had pled illness and left early. Each time he had called upon her since, he had been told that Lady Rhiannon was not at home.
The time had come for a change of tactics, much as he dreaded it.
Aubrey took a deep breath as he crossed the threshold of his friend’s study. This was going to be one of the most difficult interviews he’d ever had in his bloody life.
“Richford,” Whit greeted him with a congenial smile. “Come in and have a seat. Would you care for a brandy and soda water? Perhaps something else? Coffee or tea?”
His heart was thudding hard. So hard that he swore his ears were ringing with the sound.
“Nothing,” he managed. “Thank you.”
“It isn’t like you to turn your nose up at a drink.” Whit considered him with a curious regard, frowning. “But then, it isn’t like you to pay calls upon me in my study at this time of day either. Is it something serious? You’ve pissed in your bed, have you? No? Perhaps you’ve been thrown over by your lady of the moment.”
Ordinarily, Aubrey would have grinned at his friend’s good-natured mockery, but the news he had come to divulge was burning a hole through his conscience. “Unfortunately, the reason for my call is none that you have just mentioned.”
Whitby’s teasing air faded along with his smile, his expression clouding and growing perplexed. “Sit then, won’t you? Do cease hovering.”
Aubrey didn’t want to sit. He would inevitably have to stand anyway when Whit learned his true reason for visiting him. And he would also have to accept the punch he deserved.
