Page 3 of My Dark Duke

"You, Sir," Lillian drew herself up to her full height, "are a swine. I wonder what your master would think, if he knew that you were using your position to try and find a body to warm your bed."

"I think he would heartily approve."

In all her life, Lillian had struck only one man, and, as she struggled against the urge to lash out at the abominable Mr Danvers, Lillian bid herself remembering how badlythatparticular scenario had ended.

"It would be best if you moved out of my way, Sir," Lillian finally said, amazed that her voice sounded so contained.

Inside she was reeling from insult and something else—a strange, delicious churning in her stomach, as she briefly imagined herself entangled in bed with the dashing man before her.

"Best for whom?" Danvers raised an eyebrow, his expression now dangerous and lupine.

"For you, Sir." Lillian tilted her chin defiantly, taking courage from the memory that, if necessary, she was capable of defending herself against any man who might think to use violence against her.

Mercifully, Mr Danvers—though quite despicable—was not that type of man, and with a flourishing bow—more mocking than courteous—he took a step back to allow Lillian to pass.

"We will meet again soon, Miss Smith," he called, as she reached the door.

"I doubt that very much, Sir, for I have no immediate plans to visit the belly of hell," Lillian replied, without missing a beat.

Her hand touched the door knob and she twisted it, relief flooding over her as she opened the door to her escape. No longer caring for social niceties, Lillian slammed from the room, only to come face to face—or rather face to chest—with another gentleman.

"Miss Smith, I presume?" the man said brightly, his face wearing a congenial smile. "Do forgive my lateness, I was waylaid below stairs...were you leaving?"

Lillian blinked in confusion; who on earth was this?

"Yes," she answered with a sniff, hoping her rigid posture would convey her displeasure at having been delayed. "My meeting with Mr Danvers has come to an end."

"Meeting with—" the gentleman took a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his brow. "ButIam Mr Danvers, my dear."

Lillian met his announcement with silence, as she tried to work out just whom it was that she had been speaking to moments before, if this was Mr Danvers. Who on earth had been confident enough—no, mad enough—to think they might get away with impersonating the under-butler in his own office?

Lillian heard the door open behind her and the sound of someone taking a noisy, deliberate step out into the hallway.

"Your Grace." Mr Danvers was not looking at Lillian now, but over her shoulder. "Perhaps you might be kind enough to clear up all the confusion."

Your Grace...

Lillian felt all the blood drain from her face, as she realised who it was that the real Mr Danvers was addressing. She turned her head slightly to find the Duke of Thorncastle watching her closely, his expression one of thorough amusement.

"I should be happy to clear up any confusion," he stated, as his sensual lips quirked at their corners.

Lillian felt a strange jolt of desire course through her whole body, as this powerful man watched her, in the way a cat might watch a mouse it had trapped between its claws.

Thorncastle was a predator, and he wanted her for his prey. He had offered her acarte blanche;a chance to earn her keep through pleasure, rather than hard work. For a moment, Lillian allowed herself to be tempted.

A man like Thorncastle would, no doubt, be most skilled at pleasuring a woman. Lillian, despite her innocence, knew instinctively that the cock-sure, arrogant duke would make a most attentive lover.

But he would never be her lover, she vowed, as anger replaced desire in her veins.

"I have no need for you to do anything, your Grace," she snapped, leveling a cool glance Thorncastle's way. "The only thing I require is to leave this house at once. Your reputation, your Grace, does not do you service—you are twice the devil you are reported to be."

With all the dignity she could muster, Lillian took her leave, pushing past a rather confused Mr Danvers and racing down the corridor as fast as her feet could take her.

She should never have come to Thorncastle House, she thought, as she escaped through the front door, back into the frigid air of St. James' Square. She had known of the duke's sordid reputation; what on earth had made her think that he was suited to offer her employment?

Desperation.

Lillian, whose funds were rapidly dwindling, had needed the position far more than she cared to admit. She had already pawned all the jewels she owned, and the monies she had received for them were disappearing at an astonishing rate.

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