“They once caused me to hallucinate an elephant,” he pointed out wryly.
King chortled. “Ah, yes. So good of you to remind me. I’ll never forget the sight of you cowering in the corner of my drawing room, nearly about to piss yourself.”
Everett hadn’t found the episode nearly as amusing.
“Did you seek me out just to harass me and ruin what remained of any goodwill I had where you’re concerned?” he asked, unable to keep the sharpness from his voice.
King was like a brother to him, but the man was also damned peculiar. He adored playing games of wits almost as much as he loved criticizing waistcoats and trousers and buttons.
“You ought to have rather a lot of goodwill for me,” King said archly.” After all, I’m keeping your secret.”
“No one asked you to.”
“Then you won’t take issue if I announce your recent nuptials at dinner this evening?”
Everett winced. “There’s no need to do so.”
“Indeed.” King raised a brow. “You wish me to keep the news to myself.”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“So you agree that your duchess is indeed a secret, then?”
“Damn your hide,” he snarled.
“Why are you vexed with me? I’m not the one with the secret. In fact, I ought to be insulted that I had to learn you had a wife when I was accidentally seated next to her at dinner and noticed all the arrows she was casting in your direction via her stare.”
Unless he was mistaken, King was enjoying Everett’s discomfiture.
“The lady in question has no reason to be glaring at me. Her ire ought to be directed at herself for her own wayward actions.”
“Ah,” drawled King. “We get to the heart of the discontent between the two of you. I do so enjoy a good tragedy. Carry on, old chap.”
Everett’s mount pawed at the grass restlessly, reminding him that they had been still for far too long. Moreover, the last thing he wanted to do was confess the sordid details of Sybil’s duplicity to his friend. It was all best left forgotten and ignored. In the past where it belonged.
“I’m afraid your entertainment shall have to wait for another day,” he said. “My mount is weary of exercising his patience whilst we converse.”
“A convenient excuse, but I’ll allow it.” King grinned at him. “I’ll race you to the tree line on the count of three.”
Everett nodded, relieved to have escaped further discussion of Sybil and what had passed between them. “Excellent plan.”
King counted off, and they spurred their horses into matching gallops. But try as he might, Everett couldn’t outrun the desire simmering in his veins for the woman who had betrayed him. He was inwardly counting the seconds until he could return to her bed.
Sybil was preparingto join in a silly parlor game for distraction when a masculine hand clamped on her elbow and steered her into a private salon. It all happened so quickly, she didn’t even know who had taken ahold of her arm. Not until the door had closed behind them with an ominous click and she turned to realize that it was Riverdale who had ushered her into the room, his handsome face a stony mask of icy disapproval.
But then, when didn’t he look at her thus? His countenance had only slipped and softened when he’d bedded her the night before.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded now. “Unhand me.”
“I might ask the same of you,” he said grimly.
She hadn’t seen him since the night before, which had suited her perfectly well. Seeing him by day sent a frisson of somethingdangerous and unwanted through her. His anger was preferable. Far better to face his rage than his desire.
“I am about to join a game of naughty charades,” she informed him.
It was a common enough parlor game that the revelers at the wicked house party had turned into something far more sinful. Although Sybil didn’t participate, she would privately admit to a boundless enjoyment of watching other ladies and gentlemen disgrace themselves.
“No, you’re damned well not,” he snapped.
