Sins of a Wicked Duke (22 page)

“Working,” she bit out. “I work for a living, Lord Hunt. Just as my father before me. I am quite certain you remember him,” she charged, her voice scathing.

“I searched for you—”

“Why?” she bit out. “Your family washed their hands of me years ago, eased their guilt by putting me through Penwich.”

He started at the mention of the school. “Yes, Penwich! I went there.”

“Good for you.” She struggled against his hold. “You should visit again. Yorkshire is lovely this time of year. Now let me go.”

“No. You don’t understand. I went there looking for you. Only last year.”

“Ethan.”

The sound of Lord Hunt’s name fell hard as a stone dropping. She tensed, recognizing that voice at once, feeling it vibrate in her very bones. Dominic approached, his boots emitting softly dangerous clicks on the marble floor. “Care to remove your hands from my…” His voice faded.

Heat scalded her face at the“my” he left hanging in the air. They all three exchanged glances. Tension, palpable and pungent, began a slow churn on the air.

Lord Hunt answered at last. “I will. If she promises not to run away.”

“What business is it of yours what she does?” A muscle rippled in Dominic’s hard jaw, and she knew he issued no idle threat. “Now unhand her before I mop the floor with you.”

Hunt flushed, an occurrence she would have thought impossible in the scoundrel. Of all things, she would never have credited him with any sense of sobriety. He was all snideness and levity. Typical blue blood.

Even with Dominic’s threat hovering, he did not release her. Her arms began to hurt where he held her, but she hid her grimace.

“It doesn’t concern you, Dom. We have history, she and I.”

“History?” Dominic stalked forward. Grabbing her arm at the elbow, he yanked her free. He turned a blistering gaze on her—as ifshe had committed some great sin—before looking back at his friend. “Of what history do you speak—”

“This doesn’t concern—”

“Say that again and you’ll be picking your teeth up off the floor.” That muscle now jumped wildly in his jaw, and in that moment Dominic looked the utter savage, and quite capable of doing precisely such a barbaric thing. And more.

Lord Hunt inhaled, his chest swelling. “Fallon and I grew up together—”

“Hardly,” she inserted with a bitter laugh. “You were the master’s son. I was but the gardener’s daughter…too young for your perversions, so thankfully you never attended to me—”

Face ruddy, Hunt spit out, “I’m trying to explain something, damn it. My father made a provision for you in his will. He always felt somewhat responsible—”

“Somewhat?Only somewhat? He sent my father to the Seychelles Islands—the blasted ends of the earth! And why?” She felt her lips curl back from her teeth as she snarled, “To retrieve a flower for his blasted gardens!” Tears clogged her throat, but she could not stop herself. The floodgates opened. “Did he ever once think of the risk? The dangers to my father? The long year he would be gone from me?” She snorted and took a steadying breath. “Of course a year only turned into a lifetime.”

“I visited Penwich and spoke with a man named Brocklehurst,” Hunt went on as though she had not spoken. “He did not know where I could locate you.”

She scoffed. “Oh, he knew.” The headmaster at least knew he could ask Evie. “Brocklehurst would not relish good fortune falling my way. Would you like to know what hedid relish?” She advanced a step, Dominic’s warm grasp on her arm keeping her from charging forward in full pique. “Beatings. He enjoyed beating us. Teaching us God’s word with each swipe of his rod. He enjoyed watching us starve…and suffer through the cold of winter with poor shoes and threadbare blankets.”

“Fallon, don’t,” Dominic’s soft directive fluttered the tiny hairs near her ear. His fingers roved in small circles against her arm, and even in her anger, she felt a small, unwelcome thrill.

She ignored him, finishing. “Next time you stand overyour father’s grave, thank him for his generosity in sending me to such a place.”

A muscle feathered along the viscount’s cheek. “I did not know. Nor did my father. I am sorry for that. He wanted to do right by you.” Hunt straightened and reached inside his jacket. With numb fingers, she accepted the card he extended. “In any case, keep this should you change your mind. On his deathbed he charged me with the task of finding you and seeing you secured. It is a task I do not take lightly.”

Dominic’s hand softened where he held her, becoming less a shackle on her arm. Without thinking, she leaned against him, suddenly needing the support and uncertain that she would not collapse in a boneless puddle.

Lord Hunt straightened, rigid as a tin soldier, his dark eyes flinty as he looked down at her.

The sudden fall of footsteps filled the charged silence. Mrs. Davies appeared, face etched in concern. “Your Grace?” Several maids hovered behind her.

“Go away,” Dominic barked.

The housekeeper and maids scurried away, leaving the three of them in the vast foyer.Grand . More rumors for the servants. Ever since Nancy found her in the pantry with Dominic, her life had been a torment. Nancy had wasted no time divulging all she had witnessed. Every time Fallon entered a room, indiscreet whispers floated to her ears. Words likeharlot andwhore were uttered loudly enough. Even Daniel and Mr. Adams no longer met her gaze.

“I am sorry for that,” Hunt intoned. “But my father did set you up at the Penwich School. He did not abandon you to the gutter or the wolves of the world following your father’s death.”

Suddenly Master Brocklehurst’s gaunt, pitiless face appeared in her mind…resembling very much a ravaging wolf.

Hunt continued, “And he has left you a stipend that should afford you some independence and comfort.”

As if that could substitute a father. Her head dipped to hide the angry tears brimming in her eyes. “I don’t even have a grave to visit. But you think money will make amends?” So like a blue blood. Throw money at a problem—atguilt —and expect it to disappear. Her head shot back up, spine straight. Not this time. “I don’t want your money. Stuff it.”

Lord Hunt’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t you understand? You can’t make it right.” She drew a ragged breath and twisted her arm free of Dominic.

“I am certain I can. Perhaps there is something else I can offer.” Hunt’s throat worked. “Is it marriage you want?”

“Marriage?” She jerked her head as though slapped.

“Marriage,”Dominic echoed.

“Does not every woman long for marriage? A good match, that is? Half the mamas in Town are hounding me for that very thing. I can sponsor you. Rather, my mother can. We can arrange a good match for you. Abeyond good match. With my connections, I can perhaps even land you a title. It’s likely more than you’ve ever aspired to achieve.” He flicked a disdainful glance over her starched gray uniform.

Of all the arrogance…

“You’ll sell her in marriage!” Dominic stared hard at Hunt and took a sudden step his way, dragging her with him. He stopped, his free hand closing at his side in a white-knuckled fist. The incredulity in his voice rankled and she tugged free.

Hunt blinked, clearly befuddled. “Itis done in our circles, Dom. Plenty of titled lords’ pockets run short. And she’s fetching enough.” His eyes roamed her in appreciation. “A sight more than last season’s crop of debs.”

“Her?Fallon? A maid?” Dominic shook his head.

“And why must you sound so astonished?” she demanded, even though she knew. She was nobody. A servant. The daughter of an Irish gardener.

Dominic stared at her, mouth parted on words that would not fall.

Hunt shrugged. “My family owes her a debt.”

“My father’s life is a mere debt to be paid, is that it?” She glared at the two men before her, staggering back several steps.

Both men loomed before her, everything she had come to loathe. Overprivileged blue bloods who could never understand where she came from…or what she hoped to achieve in this life. Because they already possessed what she most craved.

Freedom. Security. Freedom from the likes of them. Security in a home of her own where she need never answer to anyone.

Disgusted, she turned and fled.

“Hungry?”

Whirling around, the bread Fallon clutched slid from her fingers and hit the ground. It struck the stone floor with a thud and rolled several feet, bumping into the tip of one black shining Hessian boot. The bite she chewed turned to dust in her mouth. Her teeth worked faster, quickly chewing the remaining bread.

Her gaze lifted, settling on Dominic’s hard face. His eyes, relentless chips of ice, drilled into her through the room’s flickering shadows.

She rubbed a sweaty palm against her skirts and swallowed.

He approached, his steps tapping and echoing lightly in the cavernous room. As he moved, orange light from the flickering fire licked his features, lending him a demonic appearance. A dark angel from hell. Fitting, she supposed, for thedemon duke .

“Did you not eat dinner?” he asked, his voice flat and emotionless.

She chafed one hand against her arm. “I wasn’t hungry earlier.”

Too many speculative stares. Too many smirks. Even Daniel had muttered an unflattering remark beneath his breath loud enough for her to hear. No one needed to explain it to her. The sudden cold wind that blew through the servants’ quarters whenever she entered a room had everything to do with the duke’s unprecedented visit to the kitchens followed by the ugly scene in the foyer earlier today. She was mud in the eyes of the staff. Only another reason for her to look to the horizon, to end this and find a situation elsewhere. Somehow.

Dominic stopped before her, his booted feet sliding over the stone floor with a nerve-grating scrape.

She watched with growing dread as he crossed his arms and surveyed her with glittering eyes. “But you’re hungry now?”

A shiver coursed through her. Suddenly, she suspected he wasn’t talking about food and she could not find the words to answer him.

“I imagine if you accepted Viscount Hunt’s offer, you would have your own servants to call forth in the middle of the night to deliver you a veritable feast.” A faint sneer laced his voice.

She lifted her chin. “I imagine I would.”

His gaze slid over her, dark and unreadable. “Of course, as some lord’s wife, you would have to permit him a feast of his own in exchange for the honor of his name.” The way his head tilted back to scan her body, she did not mistake his meaning.

“Are you deliberately crude?” she snapped. Weariness swept over her. She tired of the fight. All her life, since Da left her, it seemed she only ever fought to survive.

“I speak only the truth. Of course you could simply take the stipend Hunt offers.” He nodded as though she very well should. “You could then raid your own kitchen in the middle of the night and need not share your bed with some fine lord.”

“A more appealing circumstance to be certain,” she agreed, a scenario she did, in fact, find rather tempting. She had thought of little else. Aside of Dominic’s blistering kiss in the pantry. She never thought a man could make her feel as he did. Hot and cold all at once.

She didn’t know how large the provision Hunt offered, but she would not require much to achieve her dream of independence. Hunt had promised her a life of comfort. Could it be possible? Could the home she always dreamed of be within her reach? Bitterness coated her mouth. If only she accepted the money. Blood money.

She lifted her chin, but said nothing, merely held Dominic’s stare, determined he not know how easily his presence rattled her. The silence in the kitchen was suffocating. He was suffocating, an encroaching wall closing in on her.

She had to get away. Now. Tonight.Forever .

“Perhaps this is a good opportunity to discuss a proposition.”

“A proposition?” He cocked his head to the side, those gray eyes lighting with interest. “Do tell.”

She squared her shoulders. “While I appreciate your letting me remain on your staff—” she broke off. “Truly, you’ve been more than—”

He held up a hand. “Spare me the platitudes. What do you want?”

“I would like a letter of reference.”

His features stormed over. “Why?”

“So that I may…move on. Leave.”

“Hmm. Should I detail your penchant for attiring yourself as a man and passing yourself off as footmen?”

Indignation swept through her. Would he forever hold that over her?

But of course he would. As long as she resided under this roof, it would forever be there between them. “Let’s do be honest, Your Grace. This situation is not working out.”

“For you,” he rejoined.

Her thoughts leapt to their kiss in the pantry. The kissshe initiated. Unlike the intimacies shared in the carriage. Or in her valet’s room following her bath. She had been the one to move her head that last inch and press her mouth to his. Shameless. And she feared her resistance may fail her again. He had warned her to leave. Warned her that he wanted her.

“For both of us,” she finally answered.