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“I was actually saving those fools. They clearly did not know who you are.”
Rhys said nothing to that pronouncement, strangely feeling empty he had been robbed of his outlet of violence. “Do you want to take it to the ring in the basement?”
Riordan arched a brow. “You must be more disturbed than I realized to want to go a few rounds with me.”
In the underworld, O’Malley had gained the sobriquet “the hammer” from the relentless way he fought. He had only been defeated once, by Rhys, and they had both been lads of sixteen, and Rhys had only defeated him because Lydia had thrown horse dung in Riordan’s face. The memory had a mirthless chuckle slipping from Rhys. His friend would probably pummel him, but perhaps he needed the blows to his body to keep the ache in his heart at bay.
“What happened?” Riordan demanded softly. “I could see you were distracted at the tables. You never play with such recklessness.”
Rhys grunted noncommittally.
“Is it your mysterious lady?”
He stiffened.
“I have eyes. She has not been to the hell in a couple weeks, and you have been uncommonly on edge,” Riordan drawled.
Rhys grabbed his coat and slung it over his shoulders and walked away. His friend kept pace, and Rhys knew the man would give him no peace.
“She is with child,” he confessed harshly.
Riordan jerked to a stop, and Rhys faced him. Mingled astonishment and wariness settled on his friend’s face.
“You damned fool, you asked her to marry you.”
“I did.” Rhys grimaced. “I wanted her by my side before I knew of her condition. I’d simply hoped the idea would have made ensnaring her easier.”
“She said no.”
“And may perhaps marry a gentleman to avoid society’s speculation.”
“Hell.” Riordan shot him a probing glance. “You are not without connections. Your uncle is the Viscount Westcott, and your wealth is considerable, certainly more than she has access to. Perhaps it is time you tried to leverage your background to her, you have the blood of the nobility running through your veins. Can she really do any better?”
“She is a duchess,” Rhys said flatly. “Above my meager connections.”
“Christ.” Riordan thrust his hand through his hair almost savagely. “A duchess, and you brought her to The Asylum?”
“There are people of her society who are members,” Rhys said tersely.
“The disreputable sorts, and powerful lords who need not be concerned with their reputations. It is a miracle she was not uncovered. There was much curiosity about this masked lady.”
Rhys had been very diligent in protecting her reputation and had even ensured they’d changed carriage, sometimes twice, three times whenever he’d delivered her home. She’d thought it a grand adventure, and he’d just been content to not see the lingering loneliness in her eyes.
“What are you going to do?”
“Forget her.”
“You willfully delude yourself. You are not the type of man who gives up when you want something. Or is she not that precious?”
He dealt Riordan a cool glance at his mocking tone. “I want her every moment of the day,” he admitted gruffly.
“Then fight for her. That is what we do. We are fighters—we do not wait for the things we need to be handed to us. We take them, war for them at all cost. It is how we have carved ourselves into the men we are today.”
“No,” Rhys said coldly. “There is no reward in fighting for a woman who views me…us…all we shared as nothing. That I will not do.”
“She is a goddamned duchess,” Riordan snapped with incredulity. “You did everything to protect her reputation before. Why would you abandon that desire now? And that is what she seeks to protect, yes? Her name?”
The words struck Rhys’s chest like sharpened barbs. Christ. Since their affair, he had done everything to protect her reputation from befalling harm. He had been thinking about his needs, not recognizing all she would be giving up if she had agreed to wed him. Though he would protect her using his wealth and resources, she would still be cut by many from her world and endure ridicule from a society she had belonged to all her life. A society she would have to continue to be a part of because her son was the Duke of Hardcastle. He sent his thoughts in several directions, calculating the odds and drifting through his arsenal of secrets. “I outmatch her in wealth.”
“You have been taking Lydia to high-society events, maybe you can take the opportunity to make yourself more charming and acceptable to the ladies of the ton,” Riordan said with a mocking glint in his eyes.
“I’ll not be unfaithful,” Rhys growled.
“Then woo the lords with your wealth and connections.”
“It still would not be enough.”
“The hell you say!”
“What I need is a title.”
Riordan stiffened, hunger flashing in his eyes before his lids shuttered. Like Rhys, Riordan possessed a similar ambition to penetrate the elite circles of the aristocracy, except his mission was coated with revenge, one Rhys had never been able to have him depart from.
“You’ve unlocked a secret to that?” he drawled, a dark edge to his tone.
“Wars are being fought. I know secrets…those that can topple governments and shift many favors to our shore.”
A calculating glint entered Riordan’s eyes. “It can be done.”
For the first time in weeks, he could breathe fully now that he had a plan of action. It will be done…and Rhys acknowledged, even if he was successful, it might never be enough.
Chapter Eighteen
It had been four weeks since Georgiana had seen Rhys, and her heart throbbed with one irrevocable truth. She wanted to be with him forever. It had been exhausting trying to figure out how to make everyone in her life happy with the decisions that had been blooming in her heart. She had accepted an invitation to Lady Chestnut’s house party and had traveled with her mother and Simon. She had also prevailed upon the countess to extend an invitation to Lydia and her family, and Georgiana dearly hoped they had accepted. Most of the guests had arrived the day before, but because of the gentle rebellion of her stomach, she had only just arrived.
There was croquet on the eastern lawns, charades and cards in the smaller sitting rooms. Taking a deep breath, she entered the drawing room, where a small gathering was underway. Lady Eliza Primose played a lively piece on the pianofote while laughter and chatter wafted on the air. To Georgiana’s delight, Lydia and her mother were also in attendance.
