Sins of a Wicked Duke
Page 25
“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—at guilt —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. A _beyond _ 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. “It _is _ 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.
Chapter 23
“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 the demon 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.
He rocked back on his heels, pinning her with his silvery stare. “Ah, you’re concerned for me, then? How altruistic.”
“A letter would be vastly appreciated.”
“Why not ask Hunt? He would be glad to assist you. His family is beholden to you, after all. For that matter, why not take his offer—”
“I want nothing from him.”
“Ah.” He nodded, as if understanding, as if _seeing _ her. “I never took you for the spiteful, stubborn sort.”
“I’m not spiteful! Nor stubborn.”
“No? Seems to me that you are. You’re punishing Hunt for the sins of his father. Even if it means hurting yourself. Spiteful _and _ stubborn.”
She ground her teeth together, not liking his words…especially as they might have struck upon the truth. “May I have a reference or not?”
He angled his head as though considering her request, then bit out a single, emphatic, “No.”
“No?”
“No,” he repeated in the most affable of tones. “You claim difficulty in maintaining a position, and yet here you have one you’re prepared to toss aside. Not very sensible.”
She shook her head, his refusal making her feel very much like a caged animal—robbed of choices and any hope for escape. Her desperate thoughts tripped back over those moments in her room, n**ed with the duke. His mouth on her. His hands. The intimate press of his fingers on her thighs, sliding _inside _ her…
She could not shake free of the memory. She could not trust herself. Since discovering her a woman, he had kissed her, touched her, melted her with a look. Upon every single occasion. And she had let him. At this rate, she would be in his bed before the week’s end.
She glanced around the empty kitchen, acutely aware of their aloneness. Her heartbeat accelerated to a heavy drumming in her ears. You remain at your own peril.
The driving impulse to flee, to escape, seized her. She tried to step past him. His arms came up, hands bracing the edge of the table, hemming her in.
“Let me go,” she ground out, punctuating each word for emphasis.
His gaze scanned her face. A muscle ticked madly in his jaw. “You’re not leaving.” His words fell hard, savagely. The pulse at her neck jumped, a wild beast looking to escape her body…just as she needed to escape him.
“You don’t own me. You can’t keep me here.” She dragged fortifying air into her too tight chest.
“I don’t need your letter of reference,” she tossed out the last bit with more bravado than wisdom, thrusting her chin higher. Without a reference, she had little hope of gaining another respectable position. Which only left the _disreputable _ ones.
Better than surrendering to him. To losing your pride. Losing yourself.
“Stubborn wench,” he growled. “Can you not _try _ to make your life easier? Must you forever take the most difficult path? You won’t take the stipend old Hunt left you? Fine. But you have security here, you little fool.” He jerked his head hard in the direction of the doorway. “Out there, you don’t know what waits you.”
“Security?” she snorted, thinking of how unsettled he made her feel…and how the other servants treated her as a pariah. She scarcely felt secure.
“Yes, security,” he shot back. “And you could have more, if you so wished.”
“More?” Skepticism laced her voice. “Like what?”
Something flickered in his gaze beneath the fringe of dark lashes. The barest hint of emotion.
Vulnerability. Sentiment entirely unexpected from him. Then it was gone, like smoldering embers banked with a splash of cold water. He gazed at her with unreadable eyes.
His lips parted. “You could have me.”
Her heart clenched at the stark invitation. Elation swelled in her chest. Dangerously sweet.
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—at guilt —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. A _beyond _ 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. “It _is _ 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.
Chapter 23
“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 the demon 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.
He rocked back on his heels, pinning her with his silvery stare. “Ah, you’re concerned for me, then? How altruistic.”
“A letter would be vastly appreciated.”
“Why not ask Hunt? He would be glad to assist you. His family is beholden to you, after all. For that matter, why not take his offer—”
“I want nothing from him.”
“Ah.” He nodded, as if understanding, as if _seeing _ her. “I never took you for the spiteful, stubborn sort.”
“I’m not spiteful! Nor stubborn.”
“No? Seems to me that you are. You’re punishing Hunt for the sins of his father. Even if it means hurting yourself. Spiteful _and _ stubborn.”
She ground her teeth together, not liking his words…especially as they might have struck upon the truth. “May I have a reference or not?”
He angled his head as though considering her request, then bit out a single, emphatic, “No.”
“No?”
“No,” he repeated in the most affable of tones. “You claim difficulty in maintaining a position, and yet here you have one you’re prepared to toss aside. Not very sensible.”
She shook her head, his refusal making her feel very much like a caged animal—robbed of choices and any hope for escape. Her desperate thoughts tripped back over those moments in her room, n**ed with the duke. His mouth on her. His hands. The intimate press of his fingers on her thighs, sliding _inside _ her…
She could not shake free of the memory. She could not trust herself. Since discovering her a woman, he had kissed her, touched her, melted her with a look. Upon every single occasion. And she had let him. At this rate, she would be in his bed before the week’s end.
She glanced around the empty kitchen, acutely aware of their aloneness. Her heartbeat accelerated to a heavy drumming in her ears. You remain at your own peril.
The driving impulse to flee, to escape, seized her. She tried to step past him. His arms came up, hands bracing the edge of the table, hemming her in.
“Let me go,” she ground out, punctuating each word for emphasis.
His gaze scanned her face. A muscle ticked madly in his jaw. “You’re not leaving.” His words fell hard, savagely. The pulse at her neck jumped, a wild beast looking to escape her body…just as she needed to escape him.
“You don’t own me. You can’t keep me here.” She dragged fortifying air into her too tight chest.
“I don’t need your letter of reference,” she tossed out the last bit with more bravado than wisdom, thrusting her chin higher. Without a reference, she had little hope of gaining another respectable position. Which only left the _disreputable _ ones.
Better than surrendering to him. To losing your pride. Losing yourself.
“Stubborn wench,” he growled. “Can you not _try _ to make your life easier? Must you forever take the most difficult path? You won’t take the stipend old Hunt left you? Fine. But you have security here, you little fool.” He jerked his head hard in the direction of the doorway. “Out there, you don’t know what waits you.”
“Security?” she snorted, thinking of how unsettled he made her feel…and how the other servants treated her as a pariah. She scarcely felt secure.
“Yes, security,” he shot back. “And you could have more, if you so wished.”
“More?” Skepticism laced her voice. “Like what?”
Something flickered in his gaze beneath the fringe of dark lashes. The barest hint of emotion.
Vulnerability. Sentiment entirely unexpected from him. Then it was gone, like smoldering embers banked with a splash of cold water. He gazed at her with unreadable eyes.
His lips parted. “You could have me.”
Her heart clenched at the stark invitation. Elation swelled in her chest. Dangerously sweet.
