Sins of a Wicked Duke
Page 29

Fallon stared at her small valise, packed with all she possessed in the world. Paltry in sum. A sad testimony to her life, but an accurate reflection nonetheless.
She inhaled a deep breath, her chest expanding as she examined its contents a final time. But no more. She would begin living for herself. Soon her life would be impossible to stuff within one small valise. It would brim full and spill out over the edges. Even if it meant swallowing her pride and accepting the provision Lord Hunt offered.
It mollified her somewhat to know Da would want her to take the help. In fact, he would be annoyed if she did not. She could almost hear his voice now. Stubborn lass, take the money. I bloody well earned it for you.
Dominic’s face floated before her. She shook her head, absently brushing her lips with her fingertips. True, she wanted him more than she should. But she did not _need _ him. She would not have him. Not if it meant selling herself…cheapening herself and trading all her dreams and desires in exchange for an undefined number of nights in his bed.
She strode across her small room and lifted Lord Hunt’s card from the center of the desk.
Tomorrow she would call on him. Tomorrow she would accept his stipend.
Tomorrow her new life would begin.
She set the card down atop the table, smoothing her fingertips over the embossed lettering. And tonight…
Tonight she would say farewell to the duke.
Certainly, she could just slip away. Leave in the morning without saying good-bye, without explaining her departure. Or she could simply offer her resignation to Mr. Adams. No audience with the duke was required. She never had to clap eyes on him again.
Yet she couldn’t do that. It didn’t seem right. Not after…everything.
Wise or not, she could not leave without seeing him one last time.
Opening the door of her room, she slipped out into the silent hall.
Dominic sat in the drawing room, his booted feet stretched before the fire. Heat licked at the soles but he still did not move, preferring that the bottoms of his feet roast rather than suffer his other feelings. Feelings. Hell. Years of losing himself in women, drink, and painting in order to feel anything at all, and now he couldn’t stop the onslaught of emotions.
Frustration swam through him, commanding he rise and set off in search of Fallon. He should return to his room and his own bed, but Fallon’s scent still lingered there, tantalizing him. The drawing room was far safer. His eyelids drooped and he knew he risked falling asleep here for the servants to discover…which lent itself to the very real and unwelcome possibility of Fallon finding him in the morning. An unwelcome scenario. He could not trust himself around her.
Could not trust to keep his hands to himself. Or trust himself not to lash out at the woman who preferred a life of humble servitude to him.
“Dominic.”
Her soft voice sent all his nerve endings into singing awareness. It was as though he had called forth her presence.
He closed his eyes in a tight blink, forcing himself to rein in his surge of swirling-hot emotions.
She was nothing to him that should bring forth such feelings. Nothing. Just as she preferred.
He opened his eyes to find her there before him, attired in the loathsome uniform all the maids on his staff wore. His gaze crawled over her, stopping at her face. “Strayed a bit far from the servants’ wing, haven’t you? Go away.”
“I came—” she faltered, her gaze sweeping his unkempt appearance. Her nostrils flared, no doubt smelling the spirits on him. “What has happened?”
“Nothing.” His hand twitched on the arm of his chair. “Merely another night of debauchery.”
She stared at him some time before shaking her head, rejecting his words. “No. Something happened. I’ve never seen you like this.”
Irrational anger burned in his chest. “Ah, proof then that you don’t know me at all.” If you did, you would understand how very much in danger you are just by being here.
She cocked her head and looked down at him as if he were a wayward child. The look ignited his temper. “Come, let’s get you to your room.”
“Bugger off,” he snarled, despising her mothering tone and that she would dare adopt a motherly role with him. “You made it clear you were not interested in becoming my mistress. And as I have no need of a nursemaid, you are of no use to me. Leave.”
Fire snapped in her amber gaze. “You’re a miserable wretch.” Her head nodded as though satisfied with the qualification. “Kindness is lost on you. I came in here to tell you good-bye.”
She started to turn.
“Good riddance,” he snarled, surging to his feet even as his chest clenched at the prospect of never seeing her face again.
Scarlet stained her cheeks as she faced him again, nearly as vibrant as the hair peeking beneath her cap. “I can see the sentiment was wasted on you.”
“Since when does saying good-bye require sentiment?”
“It doesn’t,” she raged, chest lifting on a deep, ragged breath.
“Simply turn and walk out that door.” He whirled a finger in a little circle. “Easy. That is all.
Done.”
“Quite so.” Spinning on her heels, she stalked to the door.
He swiped his hand through his hair and gave a violent tug on the ends. Bloody hell. With a growl, he took off after her. His hand was almost on her shoulder when she stopped and jerked herself around.
They crashed into one another.
She gave a small yelp. He grabbed her when she would have stepped back and hauled her against him, his hands hard clamps on her arms. Their eyes collided and clung, their chests heaving against each other.
With a curse of defeat, he slammed his mouth over hers in a punishing kiss. He forced her lips open, plunging his tongue inside to tangle with hers, beyond gentleness. Beyond finesse. Savage need drove him.
Her arms circled his neck and she kissed him back. Molded together, they lowered to the drawing room carpet, mouths devouring each other, the pop and hiss of the fire the only sound on the air. He slid a hand around her to the small of her back, letting her feel the evidence of his desire. She made a small sound and deepened the kiss.
He pulled up, breaking their lips apart with an abruptness that jarred. Aching and furious from the heavy wanting coursing through him, tightening every nerve in his body, he bit out, “Go. Go now, or God help me, I won’t stop.”
She wiggled from him, steady resolve entering her eyes. Warm amber. Red in the firelight. With a small nod, she clambered to her feet and turned, striding toward the drawing room door. Pained breath sawed from his lips as he watched her go, but he still did not move from the floor. If he moved, it would be to go after her.
Her hand closed on the latch. He watched, forcing himself to rise to his feet and watch her walk out of his life. He fought the urge to haul her back and flip up her skirts and fulfill every savage impulse pumping through him.
The grinding lock of the door clicked on the air.
He blinked.
She turned, her body falling back against the door. She had not left. She stayed. Despite his warning. Palms pressed flat against the wood, she studied him with a steadfast gaze. And yet even in that unflinching stare, a fire gleamed—a fire he had put there. And one he intended to stoke even higher.
She was staying. For now. For tonight. He intended to make every moment count. She could leave him in the morning, in the shroud of dawn, but he vowed to make her remember, vowed that she would never forget him. Of that, he was certain. Memories of him would haunt whatever bloody dwelling she called home and dared to value above him.
Chapter 27
Fallon had not intended for this to happen. Not again. But she could not desert him when he looked as he did. When he looked at _her _ as he did. So full of savage need and hunger. Gray eyes dark with a thirst her own body felt, echoing deep in her bones.
He appeared so grim and alone when she first entered the room. Flames from the dying fire cast him in sinister shadow. It should have sent her fleeing. And yet she remained.
She knew what turning that lock signified. But as her hands moved over the tiny buttons lining the front of her gown, she decided she did not care. She would be here for him tonight.
And tomorrow she would be gone.
“Fallon,” he breathed her name but said nothing more as she undressed, strangely immodest before him. Naked, she stepped out from the puddle of her clothes at her feet and strode toward him. Pressing her palm against his chest, she backed him into a chaise, a heady euphoria filling her at her boldness, making her dizzy with power and desire.
She came over him, hands curling on his muscled shoulders as she straddled him and bent to take his lips again. They kissed until both were panting and moaning, straining toward each other.
The sensation of his broad palms sliding over her, sweeping her bare back, her hips, her thighs, drove her mad. She ground down against him, the hard ridge of his manhood burning into her moist heat.
His hands spanned her waist and slid up, brushing her belly and ribs until he reached her br**sts.
He played and toyed with them, pulling, tweaking, and rolling the ni**les until she arched and cried out, ripples of sensation sizzling through her.
Quivering, she worked to free him of his shirt, her hands shaking as they roamed over his broad chest, delighting in the feel of his warm flesh, the undulation of his muscle beneath skin. She traced his tattoo, nails scoring the coiling serpent. Lowering her head, she kissed it, using her tongue to trace its form.
“Did it hurt?” she whispered, her mouth hovering over the serpent’s coiling shape.
“Yes.”
She winced, imagining that he must have had to sit for hours, enduring the discomfort. “Then why did you do it?”
“It’s just pain.”
She smiled dryly. “People usually try to avoid pain.”
She felt his voice rumble from his chest. “Pain is good sometimes. It reminds you you’re alive.”
 He needed reminding of that?
She peered down at him, staring into his shadowed eyes, and realized that he did. For all his outrageous ways and life of excess, he couldn’t— didn’t—feel much of anything.
She slid down his body, loosening his trousers, hot determination feeding her. You’ll feel alive.
 You’ll feel more alive than you’ve ever felt.
He watched her, his eyes a hot gleam beneath heavy lids, his hands relaxed at his sides.
Her eager hands shoved his breeches down. She took him in her hands, stroking the hard length of him, squeezing him, satin on steel in her grasp. She watched his face, studying the tight muscle flinching in his jaw, the dark want smoldering in his eyes.
Wrapping her fingers around the base of him, she took the tip of him into her mouth, sucking softly at first then harder, her tongue circling slowly, languorously, savoring him. He shuddered beneath her and wedged a hand between them, cupping her breast even as she eased more of him into her mouth.
Long fingers found her nipple and squeezed. White-hot sparks shot from her breast to the throbbing core of her. She cried out with him thick in her mouth. Determined to illicit his pleasure, to savor and taste, to know she brought him the deepest of pleasures, she slid her mouth over him, taking him deep, tongue gliding, caressing his hard length.
His h*ps surged and he groaned, the fingers of his other hand sifting through her hair. “God, Fallon. Now. Now.”
Gratified in his response, her blood burned, pushing her to the breaking point. Desperate and aching, she guided him inside her, easing down on the hard length of him with a moan, sinking until he was buried to the hilt.
Hands curling around his neck, she brought his mouth to hers again, her br**sts flattening against his chest. She worked her h*ps as their lips fused, pumping over him. Feeling somewhat clumsy in her wild need, she tried to move slower, to control the frenzied pace. But her passion burned too hot, and she moved faster, her muscles clenching around him, tightening. Something elusive loomed ahead, just out of her reach, and she felt she would die if she did not reach it soon.