Sins of a Wicked Duke (The Penwich School for Virtuous Girls #1)(8)

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 afriend 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 nother , 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 offriendship ? 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 sheever 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 truehome ? 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.”