Sins of a Wicked Duke (18 page)

He burned to possess her, to take her. But he would not. Not because he was good or kind or, perish the thought, a gentleman. He was none of those things. Nor did he aspire to be.

“You’re welcome,” he snarled.

She shook her head, clearly confused.

“I’d say that just about nullifies your certainty thatall toffs abuse those beneath them. I’ve taken nothing from you. I’ve only given.” He raked her with a carefully neutral stare, trying to ignore her flushed skin and overly bright eyes…or the agony ripping through his unfulfilled body “And left you quite satisfied.”

Her mouth sagged, color suffusing her face. Her hands fluttered over her body, trying to shield herself.

Crossing her arms over her chest and pressing her thighs tight in a protective gesture, her square little chin lifted. “What now? What will you do with me?”

He knew what shethought he would do. What he likelyought to do. Certainly other men in his position would call the watch on her. Impersonating a man and passing himself off as a duke’s valet certainly bore penalty.

“What should I do with you?” He slid his gaze over her in slow perusal, suppressing the thoughts of what he’d like to do…all that his base impulses commanded he do.

“I’ll be gone in the morning.”

“Very well.” He nodded and moved toward the door.

Her leaving would be for the best. He didn’t need a fraud beneath his roof. No more than he needed a woman he ached to possess. A woman that wanted nothing to do with him.

Fallon started at the knock on her door. She had scarcely slept a wink all night, too anxious over the duke sleeping one room over, an unlocked door between them. Not that she feared ravishment. If he was bent on that, he could have had his way with her easily enough. Her cheeks burned as she recalled her ardent response to him. Her desire to run her fingers over that tattoo of his. Her willingness to give herself to him entirely.

Clutching her neatly folded nightshirt to her chest, she faced the door, half expecting it to swing open and the duke to storm inside the small room as he had done the night before.

Instead, his voice carried through the door, without the slightest inflection. “Five minutes. My study.”

Nothing more than that. She bristled at the tersely worded command. Turning, she stuffed her nightshirt in her valise, no longer caring at keeping it neatly folded.

He need not speak to her in that high-handed manner anymore. Hot air puffed through her lips. As of last night, she was no longer his servant.

Still, he had not kicked her out into the night the moment he uncovered her deception. Nor had he called the watch on her. She supposed that was something to accord a little gratitude. A gentleman in his position could—would—have done that very thing. It certainly matched every notion she ever harbored of overprivileged noblemen.

Shaking her head, she scanned the room, making sure she had not forgotten anything. She snorted. She scarcely need worry about leaving anything behind. Since the day she arrived at Penwich’s, she owned nothing more than the clothes on her back.

Wrapping her fingers around the handle of her valise, she departed her room with her chin high, prepared for the stares of any servant she might pass in the corridor.

She would leave after he said whatever he had to say. She doubted it would take long. After last night, what more was left to say?

Striding down the corridor, she smoothed a hand down her serviceable frock—the same blue dress she wore when she met Marguerite in the park, the only one she risked including among her things.

Moments later, she stood before the duke’s study, grateful she had not happened upon any of the other servants. With luck, she could avoid them altogether and avoid the potential awkwardness. They had all been so kind to her, far more accepting than the staff of any other household. Revealing her deception would give her no small shame.

Patting the hair she had managed to pin back—save the wisps falling at the back of her neck—she rapped her knuckles against the door.

“Come in.”

Posture stiff, she entered the room, her right hand clutched tightly about the handle of her valise. Strangely, she felt as if she were back at Penwich, called into Master Brocklehurst’s office for the beating the school mistress claimed she deserved for her impertinent tongue.

Sucking in a deep breath, she reminded herself that she wasn’t that girl anymore, that no man had the right to beat her. Not then. Not now.

He looked up from his desk, his face a perfect study in stone. Papers that he actually appeared to be reading were scattered before him. It was the first time she had seen him preoccupied in a task and not pursuing vice or leisure. The sight unsettled her further, challenging her opinion of him. Making him appear somehow decent and industrious, not the libertine she first judged him.

He did not speak for some moments. Those smoky blue eyes of his slid over her in slow appraisal. Her thoughts turned to last night, when she had stood before him naked. Heat scored her cheeks. How is it that dressed even in her shabby gown, she felt naked before him?

Because that was what he did.Scoundrel to the core, he knew how to unnerve a woman with a single look.

Duly reminded, she resisted the urge to fidget. Holding her spine straight, she ground out, “Yes?”

He leaned back in his chair. “A dress suits you. Now I recall what motivated me to try and seduce you that first night.”

The heat searing her cheeks intensified at his bluntness. “Was your lewd behavior that night your idea of a seduction?” She sniffed. “Then I have no fear that I shall ever succumb to you.”

Something glinted in his eyes, the gray lightening until his eyes gleamed like polished pewter. “I’ve evidence that you are not immune to me. Shall I prove it?”

A tremor skated her spine. “Of course not.”

The last thing she needed was a repeat of last night. Even before her humiliating surrender, time spent as his valet had taught her she was not immune to him.

With a blink, the cold duke was back. “Pity you cut your hair,” he remarked. “It was quite lovely.”

Her hand flew to her hair self-consciously. In spite of herself, her vanity smarted at the comment and she wished for her long hair again.Wished for him to still think it lovely .

His gaze moved then, dropping it to her valise. “Going somewhere?”

“I would think that obvious.” She had declared her intention to leave the night before, and he had seemed vastly agreeable at the time.

He shrugged. “Yes, well. Perhaps an unnecessary measure.”

Certain she misunderstood, she gave her head a small shake. “Begging your pardon?”

“You’re educated,” he announced, seemingly off topic.

She blinked, a bit startled at the sudden proclamation. “Yes.” It was the one thing Master Brocklehurst saw to…perhaps the only thing for which she could accord him any gratitude. “My father died when I was thirteen. I was then sent to the Penwich School for Virtuous girls.”

“I see.” Nodding, he motioned to her person. “And now, correctly attired, you are a suitable addition to any household.”

She moistened her lips. “What are you saying?”

His mouth twisted. He steepled his fingers together and studied her for a long moment. “You may stay on here.”

She narrowed her gaze on him, instantly wary. “Why would you want me to?”

He arched a dark brow. “You question my motives? I would think you merely happy to keep your post.”

“Everything comes at a price.” She had learned that long ago.

“My, so jaded for one of such tender years.”

“Why would you let me remain here?” She tightened her palm around the handle of her valise.

Leaning back in his chair, he folded his hands behind his head, surveying her with hooded eyes. “You claim you only wish to earn a living, that you’ve been unfairly treated in the past.” He shrugged as though he were not convinced of that. Indignation swirled hotly in her belly. “I’ll give you your chance, then. You may stay on. As a woman. In whatever capacity Mr. Adams deems suitable. I shall leave that for him to decide.”

She stared at the face that had become so familiar…and longed to issue a refusal. Her pride wished to decline his offer and march from the room. But logic held her in check. And self-preservation. Always self-preservation reared its head, guiding her when pride would have her starving and sleeping in a gutter.

“Agreed?” he asked with that maddening lift of his brow.

She gave a small nod, uncertain that she had not just made a pact with the devil.

He nodded in turn. “You shall see that not all gentlemen are the dishonorable lot you believe them to be.”

“Oh?” she heard herself mutter before she could think better of it, her smart mouth running away with her. “You claim to possess honor now? I thought you eschewed such lofty ideals, relishing your role as a libertine.”

“Let it never be said Iabused a woman…especially one in my employ. You’ll be safe under my roof, have no fear on that account.” His eyes gleamed, lips twisting with mockery. “Last night should attest to that.” His fingers drifted to his mouth then, the blunt tips stroking his upper lip with indolence…and she remembered those marvelously wicked fingers on her.Inside her . Wretched beast of a man.

“Safe from you? How singular.” She shook her head, her short waves tickling the back of her heated neck. “I did not feel safe from you last night.” No. She had felt a myriad of emotions. Chiefly desire. But never safe.

“You’ve your virtue intact.”

“You”—embarrassment roasted her cheeks—“touched me.” Was she discussing this? With him?

“I did more than that.” His mocking smile faded, his lips forming a humorless line, a perfect match to the flat slate gray of his stare. “But it won’t happen again.”

“How can I be certain? How can I trust that your intentions—”

He rose in one swift motion, the action silencing her. His jaw hardened as he rounded his desk. Her heart hammered wildly as he leaned against its front, crossing his feet at the ankles. “You think a great deal of yourself. You’re not so irresistible, you know.” His gaze skimmed her. “And I’ve never been partial to Amazons.”

Heat scored her face. She bit back the slew of stinging retorts that rose on her tongue. All silly considering shewanted him to leave her be, to see her as merely another servant in his household. She should hope he found her unappealing.

“Excellent, then,” she said briskly. “I shall be happy to stay. Thank you, Your Grace. I will report to Mr. Adams.”

Turning, she strode from the room, wondering at the tightness in her chest that felt oddly like regret.

Last night, when he had put his hands on her, she had imagined he desired her. Imagined that he craved her more than any other woman. No matter how many scores preceded her, he made her feel special. Therein rested his power…his ability to seduce anything in skirts.

Not her.

Not me,by God.

No matter how irresistible she found him, resist him she would. She would not fall into his web. She had spent too many years avoiding the traps of men. She would not stumble now.

Fallon stopped abruptly at the top of the stoop, staring at the small form blocking her descent. With the afternoon free, she had intended to spend it with Marguerite, to apprise her of all that had happened—mostof what had happened, at any rate. Yet the sight of the slight, bone-thin shoulders shuddering with tears halted her in her tracks. Suddenly her wish to be free—to escape the indiscreet whispers and hot-eyed speculation of everyone in the house—withered to a swift death.

Bending from the waist, she surveyed the profile of a grimy-faced youth of no more than ten years. Tears left shiny tracts down cheeks that had not seen a good scrub in as many years. Clearly one of the duke’s urchins.

Descending another step, she settled herself beside him on the stoop, folding her hands carefully over the skirt of her dress.

She leaned her shoulder against the iron railing to her right. “Mind if I sit here a bit.”

He shot her a startled look and dragged his sleeve across his nose with a loud, wet sniff. For some moments they sat side, by side, saying nothing, the hawking calls of the vendors out in the square the only sound on the air.

The lad continued to send her several surreptitious looks, without quite turning his face to look at her person. “You’re the one they’re all talking about.”

She lifted a brow at his abrupt announcement, her fingers clenching tighter about her reticule. It was one thing to suspect yourself the subject of gossip, another to know. “Am I?”

He nodded. “I ’eard them. In the kitchens. You’re the one that thinks she’s a man.”

Fallon’s mouth turned a bit at that. “I don’tthink I’m a man.”

“You dressed like one, though?”

“I did.”

“And let everyone think you were one.”

She winced and gave a single nod.

“Why?”

Her fingers tightened around her bent knees. “I guess it seemed easier than being…well…me.”