Chapter 18
“Frank?” he drawled, his mind grasping what his eyes already recognized…what perhaps he had known all along, buried somewhere deep inside him.
He stepped closer, bare feet sliding over the carpet as he contemplated why he had not faced the truth sooner. Why he had not _seen _ her? He assessed her. Even tall as she was, she was undeniably female.
Her mouth worked, but no sound came.
“Frank,” he repeated, his voice hard as ground glass.
She shook her head. Stubborn chit.
“But then I suppose that’s not really your name, is it?” He subjected her to another thorough, insulting examination, his stare lingering on her poorly hidden br**sts. Small but pert.
Her gaze darted left and right as though seeking escape. Moistening her lips, she finally found her tongue. “How dare you barge in here? Even a servant is entitled to a modicum of privacy.”
“Indeed.” He cocked his head as he advanced on her. “Especially a servant with something to hide.”
Her expression tightened as he came closer. She shook her head in desperate denial, her damp hair tossing, skimming smooth, well-rounded shoulders. Shoulders well toned with muscle. A testament to her working-class life. His gaze skimmed her body again, and he blinked, distracted.
None of the ladies of his acquaintance could boast such a fine, strong body. A woman built for pleasure ,for taking a man deep inside her.
He forced the thought away. Perhaps he had been so able to reject her as a woman because he had never met a woman like her before.
“That’s not it at all,” she denied hotly. “I—”
“Yes. It is.” He nodded slowly. “Cease your denials. You’re simply angry because you’ve been caught at your charade.”
Now he understood why he’d always felt slightly on edge around her. Especially curious when he scarcely noted the servants around him before. Certainly none had ever gotten beneath his skin before. None save her.
She stopped her retreat, her back against the wall. She held up one hand as if that alone could ward him off.
A savage smile twisted his lips. Anger burned in his blood. Dark and dangerous. He flattened both hands on the wall, one on either side of her head. Damp heat emanated from her body, drawing him in. Leaning closer, her palm rose up to flatten against his chest, clearly thinking to stop him.
Blistering heat sparked where they touched. Her gaze flared wide, almost directly on level with his. But she did not withdraw. Not as she should.
Something held her hand there, a will that matched his own, a determination to show control.
Dark desire flared within him. Primitive and fierce as any wild animal bred to take and conquer what he craved.
He studied the brown depths of her eyes, truly seeing them now. The amber hue glowed like fire.
He read the fury trapped there, as trapped as she was. And something else stirred there.
Awareness of her defeat.
His slow smile curved his mouth. He dipped his head, grazing her soft cheek with his own. Her indrawn breath hissed near his ear and deep satisfaction smoldered through him.
He breathed directly into her ear, “Game over. Time to pay the piper.”
She shoved hard at his chest, harder and stronger than he would have thought a woman capable.
He stumbled back. She darted past, fast as a hare.
He surged forward with a growl, a predator set loose. He caught her just before she reached the door. His fingers tangled in her hair. She cried out.
With a jerk, he hauled her to him, her back colliding with his chest. Releasing her hair, he folded his arms around her, sliding his fingers over the soft flesh of her throat, skimming the delicate line of her collarbone until he grasped her shoulder and spun her.
Instantly, he was aware that the towel had disappeared—a casualty of her foolish attempt to escape. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, and he was acutely conscious of the ni**les beading into hard points against him. Scarlet stained her cheeks. “Shall we finish where we left off the other night?”
Her eyes widened.
“Oh, yes,” he growled with a brutal nod of his head. “That was you. Don’t think I don’t know it.”
“My towel,” she bit out, looking to the side where the towel sat in a crumpled pile on the floor.
He shrugged. “A good place for it.”
Her eyes glittered with defiance, widening in outrage as he grew hard and insistent against her.
With a rocking motion of his hips, he nudged the warm juncture of her thighs.
“Wretch!” Her bare heel slammed down and ground into his foot.
“Bloody Amazon,” he cursed, hopping back, still holding on to one of her arms.
She struggled, straining to reach her towel on the floor.
With a quick twist, he snatched up the towel himself, never releasing her arm.
“Bastard,” she hissed. “Hand it over! Don’t you have a tart next door ready to prance n**ed for you? What do you need me for?”
“I sent her home.” His gaze dropped to her body. Quivering with rage, he had a fairly good idea how those br**sts would look perched above him, shuddering as he moved inside her. His mouth dried, and, suddenly, her punishment had become his. Those small perfect br**sts, the high-tipped nipples, pink as freshly picked raspberries, ensnared him. So much so that he didn’t see her tightly wound fist coming.
Pain exploded in his right eye.
Releasing her, he covered his eye. “You bloody hell _hit _ me!”
She didn’t answer, simply grunted as she fought to grab the towel back.
Dropping his hand from his stinging eye, he held the towel high above and wrapped an arm around her waist, crushing her to him. Still trying to reclaim her towel, she hopped on her feet, her ni**les chafing his chest.
He hauled her even closer.
Her eyes clashed with his. She ceased moving. Indeed, it seemed she stopped breathing.
His gaze roamed her face, taking it in, seeing her. For days, weeks, it had been Frank. His anger returned, flared anew at the reminder. “Did you have a good laugh?” He tightened his arm around her waist. Surprisingly small for a woman of her size.
“Astonishing as it may seem, not everything is about you.” She fell still as stone in his arms. And yet she was as soft and warm as any woman, her ni**les burning into his chest. Heat radiated from the apex of her legs, almost in perfect line with his throbbing cock.
He stared hard into her face, his gaze skimming over the strong angles, the strong nose, the full mouth. No beauty to be sure. She failed to possess the petite features and delicate bones that marked a woman as truly beautiful—at least by the _ton’s _ standards—but she was no less striking.
“Then why did you do it?”
Her lips pressed together in silent mutiny.
“Tell me,” he demanded, determined to have the truth. “Speak—” he broke off, about to say
“Frank.” The near slip only made his blood churn hotter.
Air escaped her in a hot rush. “It’s about me. About keeping a bloody position for longer than a fortnight.”
“And you need to live as a man in order to do that?”
“Apparently,” she snapped, renewing her struggles. “Otherwise I risk being molested.” Her fiery gaze snapped to his, the accusation hot as smoldering coals. “As now.”
“I don’t molest the women in my employ.”
“You are now! As a woman in your employ, I would be at the mercy of your desires.”
“Are you female? I can’t be sure,” he snarled even as his blood thickened at the feel of her pressed so intimately near. Definitely a woman.
Fire lit her cheeks and her eyes glowed an even brighter amber, like flame trapped in polished glass, fighting to escape. And, God help him, he wanted it to.
“You bloody well know I’m a woman. Now unhand me.”
Even in his fury, something stirred in his gut. A quiet thrill at her boldness, at her audacity to dare such a deception, to talk to him in such a manner—as no man did— to strike him in the face.
“And what should I do with you, fraud that you are?”
“Send for the watch. I’m certain that is what you will do.”
He arched a brow. “And why are you so certain?”
“Because that is what toffs do, Your Grace.” His title, she sneered like an epithet. “Suppress and abuse all beneath them.”
Dominic jerked as though he had been struck. Again. “You are the one who committed the offense here.”
She shook her head as though she did not hear him. “What are you waiting for? Get it over with.”
An idiot could not miss the bitterness in her voice. “What happened to you?” His gaze skimmed her shorn hair. “Some fine lord cross a line he should not have?” Even as he posed the question, an odd tightness gripped his throat at the prospect, and he knew with absolute certainty, that if that were the case, he would find the man and kill him.
Splotchy patches of color broke out over her face. “No!” The word shot from her lips as if such a thing were utterly impossible. “Do I look like I would let a man take advantage of me? I’m no one’s plaything. I resisted the allure of your web, did I not?”
He blinked and gave a small shake of his head. “I thought you a man. I never propositioned you—”
“Oh, we’ve met before.” Her words cut into him. She arched a brow, waiting, it seemed, for him to remember.
He stared at her for a long moment, absorbing the features of her face, the aquiline nose, the full mouth, the proud, high arching brows. And the hair. The bloody hair. While still mostly wet, several dry wisps floated around her face. The color of a Spanish sunset. Even in the room’s muted glow, the strands glinted fire—a myriad of red and gold. The memory of a carriage ride with Fallon O’Rourke slammed into him. A portrait sat two doors over of this very woman. And she had been beneath his nose for weeks!
“You,” he breathed. “I took you to the Daventry Hotel.” Instead of feeling pleasure at seeing her again, his sense of betrayal only intensified. At least you can flesh out the face now.
“Indeed,” she replied in a clipped manner that reminded him of Frank.
Bile burned at the back of his throat. “Did I offend you so much that you decided to make a fool of me with this little charade?”
“The agency referred me. I needed the work. It wasn’t personal.”
“No?” He palmed her waist, sliding down to cup one smooth cheek, round and firm. “It feels quite personal to me.”
Air hissed from between her tightly clamped teeth. “Stop.”
The dark pupils of her eyes dilated as he fondled the warm flesh. He knew desire when he saw it.
Recognized when a woman slipped to that place where she scarcely remembered her own name.
He released her derrière to trail his fingers around her hip, his touch feather soft, sliding inward, seeking her heat. Her flesh quivered beneath his hand. Gently, he teased the tender skin of her inner thighs. She grew heavy in his arms and he tightened one arm around her waist to keep her from falling.
Her thighs parted for him.
“That’s it,” he murmured, sifting through springy-soft curls. He groaned as his fingers met moist warmth. Never had a woman felt more ready. More willing.
Her eyes drifted shut and he jostled her in his arms, passing his fingers over the core of her.
“Watch me,” he commanded.
Eyes wide, she held his stare as he toyed with her, finding that tiny little nub, rubbing and squeezing it until she panted hotly in his ear. He eased a finger inside her. Her slick channel closed tightly around him. He pressed a thumb against her nub, rolling it as he stroked in and out of her in deep penetrating glides that left his c**k aching to be free, aching to feel her clinging warmth surround him. To put his stamp on her.
Fallon shuddered and cried out, her thighs clenching around his hand. Eager to join her in her cl**ax, he moved a hand to the front of his trousers, confident that he would have her on her back beneath him in moments. He could think of no more fitting punishment than hearing her cry out his name in pleasure.