Dark Duke (9 page)

She turned and wrapped Edward in her arms. He tugged her
down onto the Aubusson carpet and they held each other.

Really, she wished the best for Aunt Agnes. Was it wrong to
hope she lingered for a long, long while?

“You really are quite talented,” Edward murmured, pulling
her closer and nibbling on her shoulder. She lounged between his legs with her
bottom pressed against his sated cock, sketching. They were both naked. In the
folly.

Damn, it was wonderful to not fear interruptions at every
turn.

“Humph.” She rubbed out a line and tried again. “For some
reason, I just can’t seem to get the landscapes right.”

“No one likes landscapes. You could make a living with your
portraits.”

“Ridiculous. People love landscapes. Why do you suppose
there are so many of them?”

“People have to have something to put on their walls other
than portraits of odious relations.”

She snickered. “Speaking from experience, Your Grace?”

He grunted a laugh. His relations were odious to be sure.

He wasn’t sure why he missed them.

Maybe it wasn’t them he missed, so much as the hubbub
surrounding them. Still—he kissed her nape—this was nice.

A pleasant silence, but for the scratch of her charcoal,
settled between them.

He broke it with a thought that had been weighing on his
mind. “So tell me. How does a woman come to be a companion?”

“Hmm. A common enough story.” She sketched as she spoke.
“When my father died and my brother came into a modest inheritance, he went
rather amok.”

“Amok?”

“Rather.” She paused in her work and sent him a smile, but
it wasn’t a happy thing. “He burned through everything Da left him, on
women…and gaming. And then—” She turned the charcoal and shaded a bit. He
peeped over her shoulder at her creation. It was quite good. For a landscape.

“And then?”

“Ah. And then he went through everything Da left me. And
then he went through more.”

“More than he had?”

“Yes. Much more than he had.”

“Where did he get it?”

She snorted, but he was unsure if she did so because of his
question, or because, just then, she made an error. She licked her finger and
erased the mark. Blurred it a bit, until she liked the effect.

“Where did he get it?”

She snorted again. Ah yes. It was the question, not the
error. “A brigand.”

He winced. “A brigand?”

She shrugged. “Brigand, marauder, thief. He has so many
appellations.”

“So your brother owes this man money?”

“A small fortune.” She nibbled her lip. “Perhaps not so
small. Anyway, there was no money to pay, so Callum—that’s my brother—decided
to sell the only thing he had left with any value.”

Edward did not like the way this story was unfolding. It put
a nasty gnarl in his gut. Still, he asked, “Which was?”

She met his gaze. The dejection lingering there scored him
deeply. “His sister.”

“He
sold
you?”

He’d kill him. He’d find this Callum and fucking
kill
him.

Her laugh was a warbling, incongruous trill. “He tried. The
merchandise was not cooperative. I went to Violet and she helped me escape. She
brought me here.”

Edward wasn’t sure she was any safer here. Not with the lust
howling through the desolate caverns of his soul every time he saw her. But he
was glad she was here. And he would do his damndest to protect her. From
anything.

She tipped her head and smiled at him. “Do you really think
I could make a living at this?”

“Definitely.”

She sighed.

He nuzzled her hairline. “What?”

“I’ve seen the like. Artists begging for ha’pennies…”

“Oh no. No ha’pennies for you, my sweet. Your work is…” His
heart stuttered. “What are you drawing now?” She’d given up on the bucolic
scene and was sketching what appeared to be— Holy hell. It was. “Is that a
cock?”

She giggled. “What do you think?”

“It looks like a cock. Kaitlin, I’m shocked.”

He was, but in a good way.

“Hmm. I’m sure you’re shocked. You’re the Dark Duke. You’ve
probably seen it all.”

He had. Or very nearly.

The erect cock gained a torso, shoulders, a face. He
chuckled. It was his face. “Shame on you, darling. I never beg.”

“You do so.” She added another character, a woman who looked
suspiciously like her, disheveled and tousled. Her lips hovered just over that
weeping member.

It was a drawing worthy of one of Lord Hedon’s books.

A prospect he’d thought of before, and discarded,
resurfaced. Dare he?

He would love to turn her talent to darker purposes—to
his
darker purposes, although how he could accomplish this without revealing his
identity was a thorny issue. He would think on that later.

“Kaitlin?”

“Yes, Edward?”

“What would you say if I told you I was not joking? That you
could make a lot of money very quickly by drawing pictures just like this?”

She stilled. “A lot of money?”

“A lot.”

“How much?”

“Seventy guineas per sketch.” More than he’d paid Mabry, but
she was better.

She gasped. “Seventy?”

He nodded.

“Seventy is a year’s keep.”

He chortled. “If one lives modestly, perhaps.” There had
been a day, not too long ago, when he’d spent seventy guineas a week
on…companionship. It was a particular brand of companionship, but still.

He had little need for that now. Not with Kaitlin in his
arms. His brash, wanton innocent.

“I can’t see how that is possible.”

“You know the book I gave you?”

She flushed. “Of course.”

“Lord Hedon is looking for a new illustrator.”

“What happened to the old one?”

“He was an idiot.”

“Oh?”

“Thrown from a carriage.”

“Oh my.”

“At any rate, I am sure Lord Hedon would love your work.”

“Really, Edward. How can you know that?”

How could he? How could he indeed? He kissed her brow.
“Trust me. He would. Would you be interested in that kind of work?”

“For seventy guineas? How could I say no? Oh, I would be
able to repay— Oh. Yes, Edward. Heavens yes.”

“Then shall I set an interview with Lord Hedon?”

“I shall do up some sketches straightaway. Shall I draw
Asha’s story, or something else?

“Asha’s story?” He chuckled. “It is already illustrated.”

She snorted. “Yes, but as I was reading it, I realized there
were so many places they should have added a plate. It was rather annoying.”

He could only imagine. “Clever girl. Yes. Draw those—but add
some of your own creation too. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” She disentangled herself and began hunting
for her frock.

“Where are you going?”

“Surely you don’t expect me to work with you looking over my
shoulder?”

She laughed at his pout.

And, in the end, she did. Work with him looking over her
shoulder. And whispering naughty suggestions in her ear.

It wasn’t long before they were otherwise engaged
altogether.

* * * * *

Her appointment with Lord Hedon was scheduled at the
publisher’s office. The author valued his privacy, Edward explained, and would
prefer not to meet at his home. Kaitlin tried very hard not to shake as the
carriage rolled through the city. She clutched her sketches to her chest.

Oh, please
, she thought,
let him like them
.

The amount of money she could make would pay off Callum’s
debt to the McCloud and free her from fear. It would also keep her quite
nicely, should the work continue. She could afford some rooms in a decent part
of town, food and clothes. Everything she needed.

She would miss living with Violet, but she would marry some
day and Kaitlin could hardly tag along. And, of course, she would miss Edward.
But surely he would tire of her soon.

It was much better to be able to take care of herself. The
prospect of making a living by the dint of her own hand, and doing something
she enjoyed, was exciting.

Of course, as Lord Hedon’s illustrator, she would be
completely ruined, but she could see advantages to that as well.

Oh please let him like them.

She wished Edward could have come with her, but he’d had
another appointment. He’d kissed her and wished her luck and made her promise
to tell him all about it that evening at dinner.

The coach rolled to a stop. Kaitlin nearly bounded out, but
forced herself to wait for John Coachman to descend from the box, open the
door, let down the steps and hand her out. She sucked in a breath, steadying
her nerves, and tipped back her head, sailing into the Crescent Moon publishing
offices as though she owned the place.

Sometimes it paid to be fearless.

Or pretend to be.

A short, squat man with enormous protruding eyes and a pair
of spectacles perched on a bulbous nose leapt up as she entered. He scuttled
sideways around the desk like a crab, lapping at his thick lips as though they
tasted good. They shimmered with a glistening sheen.

What this he? Lord Hedon? He didn’t look so very lordly.

“Hullo,” she said. “I am Kaitlin MacAllister.”

“Mr. Dithers. William Dithers. Publisher.” His eyes flicked
to her and away and then everywhere but at her.

Ah. Not Lord Hedon. She didn’t know why relief trickled
through her.

“Hullo, Mr. Dithers. I have an appointment with—”

“Lord Hedon. You have an appointment with Lord Hedon.” His
hands fluttered at his side as though they could not be kept still. “He’s
waiting in my office. But—”

“But?”

He drew in a wheezing breath. “Please, miss. Before I take
you in, I must prepare you.”

My. That was ominous.

“Prepare me?”

He smoothed his hair. Rubbed his chin. “Lord Hedon is
somewhat…
eccentric
. Brilliant writer. Brilliant. Sells lots of books.
Loads of them really. But very eccentric.”

Kaitlin did not care how peculiar Lord Hedon was. She wanted
this job. “I understand.”

“He values his privacy above all else.”

She nodded. Edward had told her as much.

“He must guard his true identity.”

“Naturally.”

“When you meet with him, he will be wearing a disguise.”
This last bit, he whispered in a lurid fashion. “I did mention he was
eccentric?”

“You did.”

“I do not want you to be alarmed.”

“I appreciate that.”

“He can be…ominous.”

“Thank you.”

Mr. Dithers glanced around the room, blinking several times
in succession.

She cleared her throat. “May I see him now?”

“What? Yes. Yes. Yes. Of course. This way.”

He led her down a narrow hall flanked on both sides with
bookcases stacked high with various tomes to a door marked Mr. William Dithers,
Publisher. He opened it and ushered her in. “Lord Hedon,” he said, “Miss
MacAllister.” And then he promptly shut her in.

With him.

Lord Hedon. The man whose creations had created a storm in
her soul. Whose words had brought her to completion at her own hand time and
time and time again.

She shivered.

The room was wreathed in shadows. A man—a tall, dark,
looming man—in a cloak and half-mask stood by the windows. He turned as she
entered. And though he was wearing the mean clothes of a pauper who would know
no better, he bowed.

Heavens, he was handsome. She could tell, even with a good
portion of his face obscured by the mask, his chin was that defined. And he was
large, well-muscled and imposing.

Ominous, indeed.

He was also, quite obviously, Edward Wyeth, the Duke of
Moncrieff.

Why he presumed a cloak and a scrap of silk would befuddle
her senses was beyond her.

She stared at him in silence as her mind spun. Was he truly
Lord Hedon? If he was, she should be surprised. But she wasn’t. Edward had a
way about him, a charm, a facility with words, certainly a creative sexual
side, that would put him at ease writing such books.

Or was he merely pretending to be the author of those books?
Was all this some clever ploy to make her think she was earning the money she
required? Or better yet, one of his games?

Either way, she didn’t care. This opportunity to make pots
of money, as he had promised, this opportunity to pay off her brother’s debt
and free her from McCloud’s shadow—and maybe even create a life for herself—was
intriguing.

And, truth be told, he was a bit intriguing as well.

So she decided to let this travesty play out.

“Lord Hedon.” She dipped her head.

“Miss MacAllister.” He pitched his voice low, invested it
with some indefinable accent.

She tried very hard not to smile.

“Thank you for seeing me.”

“Thank you for coming. You have some sketches?”

“Yes.” She set her book on the desk and he sat, gesturing
that she do the same. Then he flicked through the pages.

“These are quite nice,” he said as he came to the last
sketch. “A touch naive, perhaps.”

She tried not to bristle. “Perhaps you can…instruct me.”

She fancied he flinched at her words. His features
definitely tightened. Oh. This would be fun.

“Indeed. How long did they take you to do?”

“An afternoon.”

His brow rose. “Mabry took much longer.”

“Perhaps Mabry had other pursuits.”

“And you have no other…pursuits?”

Other than fucking a duke?

“My lord?”

“No husband?”

“No.”

“Children?”

“No.”

“Lovers?”

My, he was laying it on thick. She didn’t respond.

He surveyed her for a long moment. “This is rather
scandalous work for an unmarried woman.”

She folded her hands in her lap. “I need the money.”

“Do you?” He knew she did.

“Do you like the sketches?”

“Very much. I am just trying to get a sense of whether or
not we can work together.”

She glared at him. She didn’t mean to, but this was becoming
annoying. “Are you really Lord Hedon?”