Sins of a Wicked Duke (The Penwich School for Virtuous Girls #1)(7)

Some rigidity seemed to lessen from her stance then. She studied the carriage a long moment. “Very well. A lift would be appreciated. I’m venturing to the Hotel Daventry.”

Dominic took her elbow and led her to the carriage, pausing to call up the destination to his driver. Only a short time to change her mind. The Hotel Daventry was but five minutes away.

He could not help noticing as he assisted her within his coach that she smelled spicy—a peppery blend of sweet and savory. As a boy, he spent a good deal of time in the kitchen, avoiding Mrs. Pearce in preference of the cook’s kind attentions. This woman evoked those long-ago memories, smelling of baking bread, savory stew, and chocolate tart all at once.

Once inside, she nodded a greeting to the other two women. He took the seat across from her and found himself quickly sandwiched on either side by feminine bodies soaked with familiar cheap perfume. His appreciation for the woman across from him only grew.

“Picking up strays, Damon?” the female to his right purred. “Two of us aren’t enough?”

He sent her a quelling look. Even in the dim coach, he detected the flood of color in the girl’s face. She held his gaze though, square chin set at a proud angle, watching him and his companions closely, and he was fired again with the need to have her, to possess her, to find his release in her body.

The other female snickered as her hand slid up his thigh. “I’d heard you had an enormous appetite.”

Angling his head, he watched his Amazon intently, rubbing a finger lightly over the top of his lip. “What’s your name?”

She did not reply for some moments, her gaze dropping to the woman’s hand inching up his thigh, higher and higher until she palmed his cock through his trousers. That wide, luscious mouth parted with a soft gasp of outrage, and her eyes snapped to his face. “Fallon,” she bit out. “Fallon O’Rourke.”

Wine, he decided suddenly, his mind racing over color pallets. He would paint those lips a deep ruby wine. After he tasted them, of course.

“Fallon,” he repeated, leaning back and smiling. He liked it. As different as the woman herself. A woman he vowed to have. In his bed and on his canvas.

He stretched his legs out before him, letting a booted foot slide between her feet. Lips set in a mutinous line, she tried to arrange her feet so that they did not touch. She shot a pointed look to the woman’s hand on his crotch. He merely stared at her, arching a brow.

She blinked and forced her gaze away from his lap, staring at the carriage wall as if a fresco of vast interest were painted there.

He scowled.A prig . He had hoped that an unaccompanied woman who felt free to prowl the streets alone at this hour of night might be a little more receptive. Unfortunate. He had little use forgood women.

The hand on his cock grew bolder. Insistent. Annoying, as she sought to free him from his trousers. He seized her wrist, in no mood. At least for her. “Enough.”

Fury glittered in Fallon’s gaze. “Let me out. Stop the coach,” she quietly commanded.

He laughed. The sound curled through the air, dark and low. “We’re almost there. Sit back. Relax.”

Justlooking at her sent his blood smoldering through his veins. Woke him, revitalized him as he craved.

Filled with a sudden desire to see those eyes widen even more, to see just how far he could scandalize her, he brought one of the tarts over his lap. Watching Fallon, he tugged down her gown. Plump breasts spilled over the top of her corset. Bending his head, he touched one large nipple with his tongue, tickling it until the dark tip was moist and engorged. The woman on his lap squirmed and panted out her pleasure.

Fallon made a small sound, part distress, part something else. She looked away, but only for a moment before her gaze dragged back again, watching the scene he played out in horrified interest.

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.