The woman on his lap threaded her hand through his hair and gave a violent tug. “Harder.”
His Amazon’s eyes flared wider.
His blood pumped faster.
Fallon’s slender hand drifted to her neck. She stroked the side of her throat with deceptive idleness.
He bit down, catching the nipple between his teeth. The female shuddered in his arms, her body in spasms against his mouth.
Fallon inhaled, the ragged sound a sharp rip in the close confines of the coach—almost as though the act had been done to her. Her hand slid down her neck, stopping at her cloak’s ties. Her fingers played with the frayed ribbons at her neck for a moment before her hand dropped, falling to her lap.
Satisfaction curled deep in his gut at the sight of that trembling hand. She was not unaffected. He watched her as her hand curled into a fist. Oh, she was angry. Outraged. Like any good woman ought to be. But she felt something, too. And it was that very thing he wished to explore. Both with his body and his painter’s brush.
Eyes feasting on her, he enjoyed the rise of color staining her cheeks as he bit down and sucked the beaded tip. The woman on his lap writhed. Fallon’s mouth parted. The coach jerked to an abrupt stop. Before he could move, Fallon was off her seat and flying from the coach. He dumped the woman from his lap to the seat across from him and flew after her. She made it only a few feet from the carriage before he caught her arm.
Swinging around, her eyes flashed fire. “Release me.”
The hotel loomed beyond her. A pair of footmen near the door watched them curiously.
He opened his mouth to apologize, then stopped himself. He wasn’t sorry. He had enjoyed every moment of her discomfort. To say otherwise would be a lie. Of all his faults, dishonesty did not rank among them.
He stepped close enough to murmur against her ear. “What I did to her—I would greatly enjoy doing to you.”
The sound of her sharply indrawn breath tickled his cheek. “You’re a libertine.”
“Indeed.” He released her. Fishing out his card, he offered it to her. “But I can bring you pleasure. You’re…curious. I see it in your eyes. Let me show you how it can be.”
“You see nothing.”
“I see a woman.” His finger descended to her bottom lip. She froze. He tested the fullness, stepping closer until their bodies brushed each other. He traced that plump bottom lip, pulling her mouth open a bit, stroking the moist inside just a fraction. Her breath rushed free and he grew hard, imagining that sweet breath wafting over him a moment before she took him into her mouth.
Gritting past his arousal, he stepped back and placed his card in her palm, folding her fingers closed over it. “In case you ever have need of a friend.”
She glanced down at her hand with a befuddled expression.
“My address,” he explained.
“Oh!” Comprehension settled on her shadowed features. “I don’t think so.” She began to crumple the card. “I don’t need a _friend _ like you.” Her glittering eyes shot a scathing glare toward his carriage where his companions waited.
He smiled. “One can never have too many friends.”
She snorted.
He brushed back a thick strand of fiery hair curling over her shoulder—soft as silk on his fingers.
She flinched. His smile slipped. “Perhaps if I had you, I wouldn’t require other such friends.”
The words were absurd. Untrue. He did not know what motivated him to utter them. He closed his hand over her hand. She gawked at him. He nodded to their clutched hands. His skin burned where he held her. Her eyes widened at the contact, proving she felt it, too. Unfortunate she would not act upon it.
“Keep the card.” Smiling grimly, he pivoted on his heel and returned to his coach…and to a night of carnal abandonment. Even if it was not her, his body would find the release it needed.
He always saw to that.
Fallon glared at the elaborate coat of arms on the carriage door as it closed with a decided click.
Chest tight and prickly with outrage—and other emotions she could not identify—she debated searching for a large rock to throw at the departing vehicle.
The image of the dark-haired devil with smoky blue eyes lingered in her head. Heat swept up her throat, scalding her cheeks as she recalled the things he had done. The things she had watched him do. Insufferable rogue. She glanced down at the card clutched in her trembling hands and read the first line of the fine elegant script.
Dominic Hale, the Duke of Damon.
She snorted. A duke. Of course. Bitterness flooded her mouth, thick enough to make her nearly gag. A bloody lord of the realm…and the most licentious man to ever cross her path. Of course.
She shook her head, her gaze scanning the Mayfair address. 15 Pottingham Place.
In case you ever have need of a friend.
Friend indeed! Did the cad think she would one day appear on his doorstep seeking his special brand of friendship? Did he think his blue-gray eyes so mesmerizing that she could not resist?
His tall lithe physique—so rare among men—impossible to deny?
The Duke of Damon. She tilted her head and stared thoughtfully at the departing carriage. It rang a familiar chord. Likely his reputation preceded him.
The image of his tongue circling that woman’s nipple flashed through her mind and she closed her eyes in one long blink, denying that her stomach dipped and twisted at the memory. Very well, he had been… intriguing. In a dangerous and totally uncouth manner.
Opening her eyes, she scanned the card again. 15 Pottingham Place. With a savage mutter, she crumpled the card in her hand and tossed it into a puddle. Strides swift and sure, she ascended the steps into the Hotel Daventry.
The world would stop turning before she _ever _ crossed the threshold of 15 Pottingham Place.
Chapter 3
“Fallon? What are you doing here?” Evelyn knotted the sash of her wrapper over her slim figure.
Reaching into the corridor, she pulled Fallon inside the room, sparing a quick glance up and down the hall’s length.
Fallon stumbled into the elegant bedchamber where she, Evie, and Marguerite had taken tea earlier. “I hope you don’t mind my coming.”
Evie’s forehead creased with concern as she turned from the door. “Of course not.”
“I won’t get you in trouble?” Fallon demanded, careful to keep her voice low, knowing one of the rooms on either side of Evie’s belonged to her young charge.
Evie fluttered a hand in dismissal. “What are you doing here? Did you forget something this evening?” she asked, glancing about the room.
“Not quite,” she hedged. “I met with some trouble upon returning home.” Home. She twisted her fingers, wincing. The word sadly rang wrong. Had she ever possessed a true home? A place of her very own that no one could take away?
“Oh, no.” Evie sighed, shaking her head.
Fallon nodded. “I’ve been sacked.”
Evie’s hand flew to her mouth.
“I’ll return tomorrow to collect all my things. As things stand, I don’t think it wise to return tonight.”
Evie wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her to a striped chintz sofa. “Of course not.
But what happened? You said the new post was going well.”
Biting her lip, Fallon sank down beside Evie and reluctantly confessed the night’s deeds.
Well…all save the last bit. No need to describe her encounter with the wretched Duke of Damon.
“I’m sorry to prevail upon you like this. I’ve no wish to jeopardize your new position.” She lifted one shoulder in a weak shrug. “I have nowhere else to go.”
Evie cut her off with a swift shake of her head. “You will stay here for the night. And after that…” Her voice faded. Uncertainty flickered in her soft blue eyes. She squeezed Fallon’s hand.
Fallon nodded, understanding. In the morning, Evie sailed for Barbados to deposit Miss Pratt into the hands of her waiting groom.
Untying the strings at her throat, she removed her cloak. “I’ll find something tomorrow. A new post. A better one.” She gave a small, brittle laugh. “I always do.” Well, perhaps not better. But she did not want Evie to fret.
“Perhaps you can explain what happened to Mrs. Jamison. Surely she cannot fault you for her son’s—”
“She can,” Fallon interrupted again. “She will.” She shrugged with a lightness she did not feel.
“Family tends to stick together, I’ve learned. Mrs. Jamison won’t take the word of a maid over her precious son.”
“Oh, Fallon, you’ve the worst luck.”
Luck. Fallon supposed she could believe that. Believe that luck alone—or lack thereof—was responsible for all the events of her life. But to believe that, she must accept that she bore no responsibility, no control over her own life. And that, she refused to accept.
“Oh, Fallon.” Evie glanced around her well-appointed room, biting her lip when her gaze landed on her large trunk. Fallon imagined she was contemplating a way to smuggle her into her luggage and stow her aboard ship.
Fallon’s gaze drifted, appreciating the fine rosewood furniture, the four-poster bed, the counterpane that looked plump and inviting, definitely down-stuffed. A marked improvement from the cots they slept on at Penwich.
As though reading Fallon’s mind, Evie muttered, “You deserve all this, too. You’re just as qualified as I to hold such a position.”
Would she have had this? If she had stuck it out and taught a few years at Penwich as Evie had done—earning the experience and letters of reference needed to land such a coveted post?
And seen Brocklehurst’s face one day more than necessary? Fallon shivered. He never had it in for Evie and Marguerite as with her.
“I land on my feet.” She would not have Evie depart for Barbados worrying for her. Not when she was about to embark on her long-waited adventure. “I’ll find a new situation tomorrow.”
“You’re welcome to stay here until we depart in the afternoon. Hettie never ventures into my room.” Her smooth brow creased. “Are you certain you will be able to find another post in so short a time?”
“Of course.” And if not, Fallon vowed it would not be Evie’s cross to bear.
Evie shook her head, her plait of honey brown hair tossing on her shoulder. “I don’t know,” she began, but stopped at the sharp screech erupting one room over.
Fallon jumped where she sat, her hand flying to her heart. “What on earth—”
“Eve! Eve! I need you! Get in here at once!”
“Good Lord. Is that your charge?”
Evie closed her eyes in a weary blink.
The screech came again. “Eve!”
Fallon arched a brow. “Eve?”
“She insists on calling me Eve.”
Master Brocklehurst had called her that, and Fallon knew how much her friend hated the designation. “Sounds like a lovely girl.” She gave a shaky smile.
“I haven’t all night, Eve!”
“Weeks aboard a ship’s cabin together.” Evie shuddered. “I’m starting to wonder…this might not be the adventure I planned.” Rising to her feet, she strode to the adjoining door, rolling her eyes. “You’ll have to excuse me. The royal highness beckons. It’s only the fifth time she’s called upon me tonight.”
Facing the door, Evie squared her shoulders. “She probably needs me to stoke the coals in the grate. Again.” She motioned to the wardrobe against the far wall. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable. I have a night rail that should fit well enough.” She gave a quick apologetic smile.
“If a bit short, though.”
Lifting the latch to the adjoining room, she quickly entered and closed the door behind her.
Taking advantage of Evie’s offer, Fallon rummaged through her things until she located a spare nightgown. Closing the wardrobe, she passed the grate, the warmth from the coals a comforting stroke on her bare calves. For a moment, she allowed herself to forget tonight…to forget the duke with the mesmerizing blue-gray eyes and wicked smile and all the sinful things he had done within the shadows of that coach. And without.