But he sat, obliging his friend, who would no longer be his friend five minutes from now after he learned the sordid truth about what manner of man Aubrey truly was.
He was the sort of man who fucked his friend’s innocent sister.
Who took her virginity.
Who pushed her into the waiting arms of another man.
Who deserved a sound pummeling.
“Christ, old chum,” Whit said, his frown deepening. “You look like death.”
“How bloody apropos,” he said. “I feel like it.”
Perhaps he should have accepted Whit’s offer of brandy. He could have tossed the drink down his throat and numbed at least a hint of the pain.
Whit straightened in his chair, regarding him solemnly. “Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like what it is that you have to say?”
He held his friend’s stare, unflinching. “Because you won’t.”
“Go on.”
Aubrey took a deep breath, then exhaled. “The reason I paid this call on you was to discuss something of great import.”
He was about to continue, but a sudden disturbance in the hall distracted him. He would recognize that voice anywhere, even if he was a corpse six feet in the damned ground.
Rhiannon burst through the door, wild and breathless and so beautiful that his chest ached just from drinking her in. Aubrey shot to his feet, longing to go to her, unprepared forthe emotions that charged through him. For a moment, her eyes swept to him before she instantly averted her gaze.
He felt her reaction as keenly as if it had been a slap, and he could hardly blame her. He deserved her scorn and her violence both.
“Rhys, I wish to speak to you,” she announced, keeping her gaze trained solely on her brother.
Whitby stood, his countenance growing even more confused as his eyes flicked between Aubrey and Rhiannon, until comprehension slowly began to dawn, taking the place of the befuddlement.
“Can it not wait, Rhiannon?” he asked, a new sharpness entering his tone. “As you can see, I’m speaking with Richford.”
Still, she refused to so much as spare Aubrey a glance as she held her head high. “I’m afraid that it cannot.”
“My lady,” Aubrey began, taking care to keep his tone polite, “I was having a conversation with your brother that is private and personal in nature. One that I don’t imagine you would like to bear witness to.”
Nor to the drubbing which would inevitably follow, he thought grimly.
“Your Grace,” she said coldly, granting him a disdainful glance, “you must forgive me, but I do believe a family matter takes precedence over that of an acquaintance.”
“What is going on between the two of you?” Whit demanded, suspicion clouding his voice.
Aubrey stared at Rhiannon, waiting to see what her reaction would be.
“Nothing,” she said.
He turned back to Whit. “In truth, that is the reason for my call. I humbly beg Lady Rhiannon’s hand in marriage.”
Rhiannon’s gasp could be heard over his pounding heart.
“You humbly beg what?” Whit demanded, sounding furious now. “To marry my sister?You? Is this some manner of puerile joke? Surely you must know she’s already betrothed to the Earl of Carnis.”
“It’s not a joke,” Aubrey said grimly.
“I beg your pardon?” Rhiannon asked, eyes wide, stare fixed upon him.
