Sins of a Wicked Duke (The Penwich School for Virtuous Girls #1)(12)

Mr. Adams broke out in an easy grin. “Well, lad, I think you might be just the thing we’re looking for. You even appear the size of our last footman. His livery should fit you well enough.” The butler puffed out his chest. “Might be a bit antiquated to some, but this is a ducal household. All the footmen wear full livery.”

Fallon nodded, smiling, but strangely, she felt no relief. A properly enthusiastic response failed to slip past her lips. She had achieved precisely what she sought. Why did she suddenly feel as though a noose had settled about her neck? A flash of the duke’s dark head bent over the woman’s bare breast flashed through her mind, and she knew why. If she reflected long enough…she could almost imagine his hot mouth closing over her breast. Her belly clenched.

She swallowed back an unladylike snort of disgust—or rather, an ungentlemanly-like snort. She gave a small tug at the hair brushing the back of her neck. A little late for second thoughts now.

“Come, Francis, I’ll show you to your room and summarize your duties.

Mr. Adams shoved one more biscuit into his mouth and shoved to his feet. “Splendid biscuits, Martha. Send some up on his lordship’s tray when he wakes.”

Fallon glanced at the sunlight pouring through the kitchen window. Typical slothfull blue blood. Well past noon, and still asleep.

“Our lord has an incorrigible sweet tooth.” Mr. Adams’s lips twitched and he angled his graying head, giving Fallon a nudge in the ribs as they departed the kitchen. “In fact, incorrigible might be the best word to describe him.” He winked his one good eye. “A bit of the ladies’ man. And he enjoys his drink. And the card tables.”

Incorrigible. Fallon sniffed and thought back to the man in the carriage, a woman on either side of him. Incorrigible seemed to adequately sum him up—or better yet, insatiable. Of course, the butler failed to mention his master’s penchant for orgies among his list of vices.

Mr. Adams paused on the steps, his single eye narrowing. Too late, Fallon realized she perhaps sniffed too loud.



“A good servant holds his tongue and looks the other way, if you gather my meaning.”

Ah. That was the formula for agood servant, then? She fought down a wry smile. No wonder she kept getting sacked.

He continued. “His lordship is one with a taste for…indulgences. You’ve likely heard his moniker bandied about Town. Since his recent return, tongues have been wagging.”

At Fallon’s blank look, he elaborated, “The demon duke?”

The demon duke?She nodded. Apt.

The butler’s gaze grew shrewd. “I hope you won’t find any objection to working for such a man, lad.”

The question was posed. A test. She thought for a moment. Did she object to working for such an incorrigible toff? She stopped short of rolling her eyes. Had she known any other sort? Working in the guise of a man—no longer a female deemed easy pickings—it should not matter one whit to her how incorrigibly her employer lived his life. A footman, she would fall beneath notice. Safe in obscurity. As she preferred.

“Who am I to object?” Fallon waved a hand. “I’m but a humble servant.

“Indeed,” Mr. Adams murmured. Hesitation lurked in his eye. “We are all loyal to His Grace. It is our privilege to serve him.”

Privilege?

“I hope you will come to feel the same way.”

Loyal? To that libertine?She stared hard at Mr. Adams, failing to understand how such a wretch could inspire loyalty among his staff. Fallon knew firsthand that servants did not have tolike their employer to perform their duties. In her experience, that was rarely the case.

Perhaps his behavior had been truly singular. An uncommon incident that she had the misfortune to witness. Even as she thought this, she dismissed it. She knew his type. Her father had worked for such a man. A wicked, amoral man who got away with anything…even murder.

Mr. Adams halted on the stairs and faced Fallon, his one eye unblinking. “We’re both men here, Francis, so I’ll be blunt.”

Fallon squared her shoulders, nodding, trying to look manly and grim at the butler’s sobering tone.

“We look the other way over the master’s escapades and clean up after him in the morning. And we don’t prattle about it outside these walls.” Mr. Adams motioned a gnarled finger at the narrow walls of the stairwell. “Or to the women of the house. No use offending their delicate sensibilities.”

Delicate? Ha.

“His Grace’s reputation is sullied enough without us bandying about what goes on under this roof? Understand?”

Where had she landed herself? Sodom and Gomorrah?

Fallon gave a brisk nod. “Of course, Mr. Adams.”

As long as she had a warm meal and bed and funds enough to save for a place of her own—a genuine home—she could do near well anything. Mr. Adams turned and resumed his ascent. Fallon followed.





Chapter 5


Fallon smiled and stretched herself beneath crisp sheets. For a long moment, she listened, enjoying the sound of her hard-won silence.

Her gaze skimmed the four walls surrounding her. A table, dresser, wardrobe. All superior pieces of furniture for a servant’s room. And hers. All hers. For however long she resided here at any rate. A room of her own. Solitude. Not since Da died did she have a room of her own…or the blessed peace and silence that came with it. She would not fool herself into believing this was home. Home was permanent. Lasting. Something no one could take away. Something she vowed to one day claim for herself. Still…it was a marked improvement.