Sins of a Wicked Duke (The Penwich School for Virtuous Girls #1)(6)

He straightened against the squabs at the glimpse of a female, her dark cloak whipping in the night as she fought a man. He caught sight of a pale face with impossibly wide eyes. Dominic shoved the woman’s head from his lap, turning on his seat for a better look. Unfortunately he could see no more. The carriage had passed the pair.

Hastily rearranging his clothing, he rapped on the carriage roof. “Halt!”

The women squealed in dismay as they jerked to a stop. The one on the floor rolled onto her back in a flurry of fuchsia skirts, her tiny slippers kicking in the air in a desperate attempt to gain leverage.

Dominic had never aspired to be a gentleman. Quite the opposite. Still, he found himself seized with an impulse to act, to do something that could only be deemedgentlemanly . Amid his travels, he had saved others—all urchins. Helpless souls, innocent victims. As he once had been. Before he grew to manhood. Before Mrs. Pearce broke him. Before a life of depravity became second nature.

Lurching from the carriage, he hastened down the sidewalk, jerking to an abrupt stop at the sight before him.

Hands propped on her hips, the female—a towering Amazon—stood over her attacker. Or perhaps more appropriately, her victim. In the brief time the carriage had passed the pair, she had turned the tables on her attacker. Scratching his jaw, he eyed the hapless young man writhing at her feet, clutching himself between the legs. His flushed face contorted, and Dominic winced.

“Do you need any assistance?” he asked rather lamely. Clearly she did notrequire help.

Her head snapped up, bright eyes focusing on him. Beneath the gaslights, he couldn’t be certain their color, only that they glittered boldly, her gaze direct in a way he had not seen before. On a woman, at any rate.

She looked him up and down as if he were little better than the wretch sprawled at her feet. Her nostrils flared as though she did not like what she smelled. Likely the cheap perfume of his companions. “I have the situation well in hand, thank you, sir.”

He nodded, eyeing the mass of her hair, gilded fire beneath the gaslamps. He hungrily drank the sight, memorizing the color, envisioning it on canvas, trying to imagine what mix of his oils might best recapture it. “I see that.”

Her gaze fixed distrustfully on him. Granting him wide berth, she stepped around her erstwhile attacker and continued down the sidewalk, her steps bold, confidant.Extraordinary . Nothing like the dainty steps of most women.

Tossing one last glance at the groaning young man, he moved to catch up with her. “Perhaps I can offer a lift?” He motioned to his carriage.

She paused beneath a street lamp and he was allowed a moment to fully appreciate the glory of hair. He could scarcely take note of her face for all that hair, beckoning his eyes. The mélange of red, gold, and brown tumbled past her shoulders, the pins sticking out oddly. He imagined with all the pins removed it would reach her waist. A sudden image of her astride him, his hands sliding over her long legs as she rode him, her head tilted back so that the incredible mass of her hair tickled his thighs, speared him in a blinding flash of heat.

Her eyes narrowed beneath brows several shades darker than the rest of her hair. “You stopped for me?”

“You appeared in need of help.” He cocked his head. “I trust you are unharmed.”

She sent a glare over her shoulder. “It would take more than that boy to gain the upper hand with me.”

“Ah.” He nodded gravely while he marveled at her mettle. “Then he is the one in need. Should I tend to him?”

Her lips twitched, but she did not smile at his jest. Indeed, he wondered if she ever smiled. There was something hard about her. Something unyielding, as if she never allowed herself to relax.

He spoke again into the hovering silence. “I fear you’ve made me feel quite useless. You must allow me to convey you to your destination safely.”



Her gaze drifted to his carriage, and he could tell she was debating the matter. He found himself staring at her shadowed profile, the high brow, the strong line of her nose, the full, wide mouth. She was no beauty, to be sure. But there was something about her. Something untamed and earthy. No doubt many a man yearned to part those long legs of hers and sample such an uncommon woman.

His cock stirred, straining against his breeches. Excitement zinged through him. The excitement eluding him earlier. He dragged his gaze away from her, his mind quickly working…determining how best to seduce her into his bed for the night. That’s what he did best, after all. When he wasn’t bedding a woman whose morals were as equally flawed as his own, he corrupted innocent and well-heeled ladies. That was his life’s vocation. And painting. When he lost himself in a canvas, he felt alive. Plowing a woman’s thighs and creating a new world on canvas…it was all he knew. All he did. All that ever penetrated the numbness dwelling inside him.

“The hour’s late.” He glanced up and down the street. A hack passed the silent store fronts, its dark curtains drawn. The driver’s eyes narrowed on Fallon with insolent speculation. Hardly a safe setting for a lone woman. “The next man you come across may not be so easy to dissuade as that boy.” He motioned to the lad who now staggered away at the far end of the street.

Eyes as cagey as a cornered animal, she assessed him. No doubt wondering whether he was one suchnext man.

He’d nearly forgotten his companions, but remembering, and hoping their presence might reassure her, he murmured, “I’m not alone. I have companions. Ladies.” Of a sort.