She pushed him away from her. “You utter reprobate. You had the audacity to take me to task over an innocent game of charades?—”
“I can assure you there was nothing innocent about that game, madam,” he interrupted.
“And yet you’re hosting this lecherous revelry that is little better than a Roman Bacchanal,” she finished, ignoring him.
“Which begs the question what you’d been doing at this fête before you broke in to my room like a house cracksman and dumped a pitcher of water on my head,” he retorted.
“I might ask you the same thing.”
“I have been hosting the house party.”
“Pray do not pretend as if that is a virtuous endeavor. We both know what transpires at these wicked house parties of yours.”
They glared at each other. How she could have gone from passion to fury in such a short amount of time, she would neverknow. It seemed to be a unique effect that her husband had upon her.
A knock sounded at the door, interrupting them again.
“Children, are you finished arguing?”
Sybil recognized the bored masculine drawl this time. It belonged to the Duke of Kingham.
“No,” Riverdale snapped.
“Yes,” she answered simultaneously.
“Go to the devil, King,” Riverdale added.
“Are you both clothed?” Kingham returned, unperturbed. “I should so hate to have my tender sensibilities shocked.”
“Of course we are.” Riverdale jerked the door open to reveal the dapper duke dressed to painstaking perfection on the other side. “Are you spying on me now as well?”
Kingham brushed at his coat sleeve. “I wouldn’t dream of it, old chap. Your shouts were traveling down the hall. I thought that perhaps, in the interest of privacy, I ought to inform you.”
“Indebted,” Riverdale bit out. “Now kindly carry on with your day.”
“Of course.” King smiled slyly and extended his arm to Sybil. “Your Grace? I was just on my way to charades. Perhaps you would care to join me?”
Relief coursed through her as she stepped forward, accepting his offering as if it were a lifeline tossed to her at sea. “I would dearly love to do so. Thank you, Kingham.”
“My pleasure.”
She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow and didn’t bother so much as a backward glance for her husband as she sailed out of the salon on another man’s arm.
CHAPTER 6
Everett was going to pitch the Duke of Kingham out a window head over arse before this damnable house party was done. He had reached the conclusion earlier that morning, at the exact moment he’d watched his sometime friend escorting his wife out of the salon as if Kingham were a knight rescuing a damsel from a malicious woman-eating dragon.
And he had never been more persuaded of the veracity than now, as Kingham trounced him at billiards and made an unexpected pronouncement that was equally—if not more—maddening.
“You know, I like your wife, Riverdale.”
His eyes narrowed. They were alone, the two of them the only souls playing at billiards at this odd hour of the afternoon when most of the houseguests were busy dressing for dinner. Everett was surprised his friend wasn’t yet attending to his own preparations, given Kingham’s customarily extravagant evening attire.
“How nice for you,” he said. “I don’t.”
Kingham settled the end of his cue on the carpets and eyed Everett curiously. “Whyever not? Clearly, you held her in high enough esteem to marry her.”
Everett gripped his own cue so hard he feared it might snap in two. “Because I was an addlepated fool. She cozened me into thinking she would make me just the sort of duchess I wanted.”
