Sins of a Wicked Duke (21 page)

“What Ido around men?”

As if she did anything deliberate. As if she set out to get sacked and put her livelihood in jeopardy. As if she enjoyed living one step from the streets.

“And what is that?” she spit out.

“Twist them into knots…make them want you even when they know they should not.”

“Only an arrogant bastard born with the world bowed before him would say such a, a…stupid thing!” Her chest lifted on ragged breath, but she could not regret her outburst. Not even at the narrowing of his eyes or the deepening color in his cheeks. She jabbed him once in the chest. “Why not call me a whore?”

His hand closed over her hand, his grip hard, a warm pulsing manacle.

She wrenched her hand free and buried it in the fold of her skirts.

He was silent for some moments, tension emanating from him in waves as palpable as steam. When he at last spoke, his query gouged her, swiping at an already open wound. “I should be glad if you were, then we could stop these games and do what we really want to each other.”

She flinched, his words too crude, too rough…too stark and thrilling in their honesty. Her palm swung toward him—without thought or deliberation—a blurring arc on the air.

For the second time in one week, she struck a duke.

Or tried, at any rate.

He ducked aside and she missed entirely. Rot! A small sound of distress escaped her tightly compressed lips and she swung again.

This time, he caught her hand.

She gave a fierce tug, but he would not surrender her hand. Anger swept through her in a savage burn. She fought to be free. Beyond control now, she swung again. He caught her other hand, too. Fallon stood there, both hands caught, and felt an utter fool.

With both hands imprisoned, he forced her back until her body met the wall of shelves in a noisy rattle of jars and crockery.

She gasped at the sudden move. With the sharp bite of shelves at her back, the hard wall of his body at her front, she could scarcely draw breath.

Their eyes locked, collided, battled with unspoken words. Tension crackled on the air. Awareness throbbed between them. His eyes smoldered, nostrils flaring.

She opened her mouth, but no words fell. A mistake.

His gaze dropped to her lips. The blue ring around his pupils darkened to near black. Her throat tightened. His head moved slightly, dipping, then stopped with his lips a hairsbreadth from her own.

A shutter fell over his eyes—the fire once there gone, banked.

Her heart twisted even more fiercely as his fingers began to loosen their grip on her hands.

Now he would stop?

Her heart sank and squeezed.

She felt his withdrawal, felt his body ease away, saw it in the impassivity stealing over his face. That single realization fired her blood. Before she could stop herself, before she could allow herself tothink , her head shot forward, neck straining, lips seeking his with a desperation that bordered violence.

Shock rippled through her at the first brush of her lips on his. Warm and firm. Intoxicating. Sweeter, hotter, than even their last chocolate-laced kiss. She gasped against his mouth, taking his breath deep inside her.

One of his hands slid around her nape and hauled her closer yet. His lips stole over hers, moving, tasting, caressing, devouring. His tongue slipped inside her mouth and she knew heaven. On and on, they kissed. His hips shoved against hers. The prodding bulge of him very real, very large. The flat of his palm brushed down the front of her dress, between the vee of her breasts.

No!She tore her lips free with a gasp and wedged her hands between them, prepared to push him away…when the door to the pantry opened.

Fallon staggered free. Heaving serrated breaths, she covered her mouth with the back of her hand, horrified to have been caught by…

Her gaze turned to the door and her eyes settled on Nancy.Grand . The girl gaped from where she stood in the threshold, feasting large eyes on Fallon and the duke.

As mortification rolled over her, she considered the irony. She had found Nancy in a similar scenario with Lord Hunt. Heat scored her cheeks as she recalled her opinion of Nancy then. She judged her naïve. Easy prey.A fool . All the things Fallon prided herself too smart, toogood to be.

How little she knew herself. The woman she claimed to be, the woman shewanted to be, would never give any part of herself—especially her heart—to a blue-blooded devil who swam in vice and possessed a stone for a heart. Her throat thick with emotion, she averted her eyes from Nancy’s smirk.

With the duke’s intent stare burning on her, she lifted her skirts and fled the pantry, shoving past Nancy…her fingers pressed to lips that still tingled in a manner she vowed to forget.

“Whois that?”

Dominic followed Hunt’s gaze, spying Fallon gathering flowers in the garden with another maid. He grimaced, preferring not having to explain Fallon’s little deception.

With a shrug, he attempted to continue the conversation regarding Britain’s war with China. Only Hunt no longer participated. A rapt expression on his face, he rose to his feet and strode to the French doors, peering out at Fallon as she kneeled among bulbs of tulips.

Dominic scowled. “Ethan?”

“Hmm?”

“What are you doing?”

“Simply admiring the view.”

Dominic tapped a finger impatiently upon the boot crossed over his knee, clearing his throat a time or two in the hope of regaining Hunt’s attention. He wondered if it would be bad form to strike a friend of twenty-odd years for ogling a maid in his employ—a female whose existence should scarcely register upon his consciousness. And yet she did. Painfully so. She haunted his every moment, waking or asleep. As she had for some time. Even before he realized her identity.

“Something dashed familiar about her.”

If ever a moment arose to explain his valet’s disappearance and Fallon’s sudden appearance, Dominic supposed it was now. But for some reason he held his tongue, preferring to keep Fallon’s unseemly and fraudulent behavior his affair alone. “I am certain you have never seen her before.”

“Likely so.” He nodded. “How could one forget someone like her?” Hunt shot him a quick glance. “She must be new, eh.” Without waiting for an answer, he asked, “Is she as tall as she looks?”

His lips twisted.Tall enough to pass for a man.

“I suppose,” he returned, rising to stand beside Hunt at the doors overlooking the garden. “I have never made a study of her.” Surprisingly, he did not choke on the lie. If he closed his eyes, he could still taste her on his lips.

Hunt smiled. “No? You never imagined those legs wrapped around you?”

His throat tightened at the immediate image. Fallon’s long legs wrapped around his hips as he drove into her had become a favorite fantasy. “I’d appreciate it if you quit ogling the girl.”

“Look at her.” Ethan waved a hand. “She’s a woman that demands a second look.” His lips twitched. “And a third.”

Wasn’t that the problem Fallon had alluded to when defending her charade? The very thing that had prompted her to don a pair of trousers and pretend to be a man? She was just too damn noticeable.

He cleared his throat. “Ethan, I’m aware you’ve made free with some of the other maids—”

Ethan blinked in a mocking display of guilelessness. “Me?”

“I would appreciate it if you leave Fallon alone. Leave all of them alone, for that matter.”

“Fallon, is it?”

He grimaced, regretting using her Christian name.

“I can’t help it if the women on your staff find me charming.”

He nodded in Fallon’s direction through the glass. “I can assure you that she is one female disinclined to the persuasions of a nobleman.” She had made clear her aversion toblue bloods .

“Already tried, have you?”

A flash of Fallon as he’d seen her emerging from her bath, a wet towel plastered to her body made his blood burn. To say nothing of how she hadfelt . If he had wanted, she could have been his. He shook his head. Fine time for him to grow a sense of honor.

“No,” he murmured. “Believe it or not, I don’t dally with the women in my employ.”

“How noble of you. Fortunately, I am not held to such restrictions.” He fairly rubbed his palms together as he gazed out the window.

“Oh, but you are, my friend,” he warned, not caring whether he sounded possessive or not.

With an eyebrow cocked, Hunt cut him a sharp glance. “Am I?”

Dominic held his gaze a moment before looking out the window again, his gaze traveling along the elegant line of Fallon’s neck as she bent over flowers. She brushed her face with her hand, swiping ineffectually at the russet strands curling against her cheek. “Leave this one alone.”

Almost as if she heard him…or felt him, Fallon looked up. Their eyes collided across the distance. Her gaze flicked to Hunt beside him. Some of the color bled from her cheeks. She murmured something to the other maid and rose, hastily weaving a path from the garden.

Ethan’s voice dragged his attention from her retreating form. “You sound jealous. Certain you aren’t staking a claim for yourself? Just say so. No need to play at the honorable gentleman. We both know you are not.” Hunt snorted. “Neither one of us are. That is why we get on so well. Always have.”

Indeed. A statement he could not deny for its veracity.

“Claim?” he scoffed and forced himself to move away from the window. “She’s not a country to be conquered. Merely a woman. And one of no special interest to me.” It was a wonder the words did not choke him.

“On the contrary. I find that a perfect metaphor.” Hunt lowered himself back down into a wingchair. “A woman is to be conquered like any parcel of land.”

Dominic’s hands curled around the arms of his chair. “Remind me why I choose to associate with you?”

Hunt laughed. “We’re a pair, you and I. Why else?”

“Hmm.” Suddenly being as iniquitous as Hunt did not sit well with him. He flicked a hand in the direction of the garden. “Just keep your paws to yourself.”

“Of course.” A wicked grin curved Hunt’s mouth that did not engender a great deal of faith. “What are friends for?”

Dominic shook his head, disgusted and wondering if he and Hunt were truly alike. And, he realized with a start, when had he cared at the distinction?

“Well. Well. Good afternoon.”

Fallon’s gaze snapped up, her fingers nearly losing their grip on the pitcher of water she held. Hugging the carafe to her chest, she bobbed a quick curtsey as Lord Hunt approached, his boots clicking lightly upon the foyer floor. Darting a quick glance to her left and right, she tried to judge the quickest escape route. Then it occurred to her that running away might appear a bit odd and attract the close scrutiny she precisely wished to avoid from him. Grinding her teeth, she rose from her curtsey.

He stopped before her and dipped a sharp bow. A bow one might present to a lady and not a lowly maid in a duke’s household. Unable to stop herself, she felt her brow wing high.

“Allow me to introduce myself, Ethan Waverly, Viscount Hunt.”

Ah, a formal introduction, too. Did he think her like simpering Nancy? Easily impressed and ready to lift her skirts at the slightest acknowledgment from him?

With a deferential nod, she tried to step past, careful to keep her face averted. No longer disguised, she hoped he did not recognize her. Although he certainly never paid much mind to the gardener’s daughter. Too occupied chasing after the skirts of older girls. Still, she would prefer not risking him reaching the realization that they once shared a home.

Never a home, she quickly amended. For however safe she had felt there with Da to look after her, it had never been her home. Only Hunt’s.

He settled a hand on her arm, pulling her close with the boldness of man accustomed to having whatever he wanted.Whomever he wanted. Staring at him, his face blurred and became his father’s the day he called her into his study to impart the news of Da’s death—so punctilious as he informed her that she would never see her father again.

“Come now, is Damon such a slave driver you cannot…” his voice faded. Dread curled in her belly as his dark gaze scanned her face intently, missing nothing it seemed, skimming her features, drifting over her hair until recognition lit his gaze.

“Where do I know you from?”

What could she say?

I’m the daughter of the man your father killed?

I’m the duke’s valet you disliked so much?

Before she had time to formulate a response, his voice escaped in a croak, “Fallon.” Shock washed over the chiseled lines of his face, echoing the astonishment rippling through her. “Fallon O’Rourke.”

The sound of her name on his lips fed panic to her heart. He should not know her. Shouldnot remember her.

Wrenching her arm free, she managed two steps before he forced her around again, his hands clamping down on each arm.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded…almost as though she should be someplace else. Almost as if it mattered one way or another to himwhere she happened to be.