Sins of a Wicked Duke (The Penwich School for Virtuous Girls #1)(14)

“Would you please tell this beast of a woman to stop beating me?” she snapped in exasperation, swiping a hand at Mrs. Davies’s ever persistent broom and trying to grab it.



“I caught her stealing the silver, Your Grace.” The housekeeper delved into her apron pocket and waved the evidence before setting each item on a step—a candlestick, creamer, and caster.

“Celeste.” The duke clucked his tongue, gray eyes dancing with devilry. “And I thought my company was reward enough for you.”

“Darling, dearest, I would never steal from you.” Celeste implored with her eyes.

“Lying whore,” one of the maids at Fallon’s side snickered.

A sudden pounding tread filled the air. “Your Grace! Your Grace!”

An aggrieved-looking man joined the duke on the landing, flushed and breathless, his face reddening even further at the duke’s state of undress. His gaze darted around like a wild bird, widening, she presumed, at the sight of so many people gathered to witness the sordid spectacle. With a deep breath, he lifted his chin high above his severely starched cravat and smoothed two hands down his dark plum-colored jacket, as if the single motion composed him.

“Who is that?” Fallon whispered to the maid beside her.

The pretty maid slid her gaze to Fallon, her brown eyes warm with interest as she answered, “That popinjay is the valet, Mr. Diddlesworth.”

“Please, Your Grace.” The valet waved his hand in a small, elegant circle and executed a deep bow. “Let me assist you back to your chamber. I’ve laid out a lovely Pashmina jacket with a silk vest—”

“Good God, man,” the duke broke in with a swift shake of his head, dark hair rippling. “You’re not discussing clothes with me again, are you?”

Diddlesworth motioned to the duke’s bare chest, sputtering, “B—but you are not dressed, Your Grace. I only thought to assist—”

“Don’t be a bore, Diddleswart,” Damon chided, eyes hard. “Nothing interests me less than one of your diatribes on wardrobe.”

The valet’s cheeks glowed red. “Diddlesworth, Your Grace,worth .”

Servants tittered. And Fallon was absolutely convinced she had entered a madhouse. Bedlam. Utter Bedlam.

“Very well.” The valet’s nostrils quivered. “I shall attend to your wardrobe myself, then. And rest easy, Your Grace, the Pashmina is stunning, and that genius of a tailor just sent over some checked trousers that will flatter—”

“Diddleswart!” the duke ground out.“Go.”

“Of course.” The valet hastened away, muttering the proper pronunciation of his name several times beneath his breath.

“Damon, love,” the woman on the stairs whined, making her way up toward him, rocking her hips side-to-side in her rumpled silk gown, full lips pulled into a pout.

“Celeste,” he returned with a cheerful evenness of voice, looping an arm around the newel post. Fallon’s lungs constricted at the appealing flex of bicep looped around that white marble. Even the dark hair beneath his arm looked manly and enticing. Absurd.

The duke watched Celeste’s progress with a remote expression, his gray eyes flat…little resemblance to the pools of glowing pewter from the night in his coach. And still, his smile remained fixed. Frozen on a face of carved stone.

“Give her the silver, Mrs. Davies.” His grin twisted, became a wicked, lopsided smile that would lure any woman to the dark side. “It was well worth the pleasure of last night.”

The servants on each side of Fallon stirred, tittering.

Celeste straightened as if a poker prodded her backside. Color spotted her cheeks. “I’m no whore, Damon.”

“Just a thief,” Mrs. Davies inserted.



The duke held up a hand to silence the housekeeper. His grin remained in place, but it altered…became something tight, stiff and uncomfortable-looking on his face. The tiny hairs at her nape prickled. Something else lurked in the bend of those well-carved lips. Something guarded. Dangerous. In that moment, she realized he was no fool jackanapes to be taken lightly, however much of a libertine he may be.

Her stomach clenched and she wondered, again, if she should not have waited for another position to become available.And what would you have done in the interim? Slept on the streets?

The innocuous calm of his voice vanished, and Fallon was granted insight into just how malicious he could be as he sneered, “If we ever should do this again, let me save you some trouble. Just ask for a sum upfront.”

Celeste gasped as if struck.

“For now, take the silver. You want it so badly.” Shoving off the post, all levity had vanished from him. “Off with you now.”

Cheeks red, Celeste grabbed at the silver in Mrs. Davie’s hands.

The housekeeper clung for a moment. “But—”

“Mrs. Davies,” the duke bit.

“Yes, Your Grace.” With an aggrieved sigh, she released the silver.

Clutching the silver close to her sizeable bosom, Celeste thundered down the steps, tossing several quick glances over her shoulder as if she expected the duke himself to come after her.

The servants grumbled unflattering remarks beneath their breaths, clearly disapproving.

“Harpy,” the little brown-eyed maid beside Fallon muttered.