Page 9 of My Dark Duke

"I hardly think that a fitting occupation for a lady of your gentle breeding," Thorncastle frowned, his mouth sulky.

"Oh?" Lillian resisted laughing, as she boldly met his gaze. "And what do you think is a fitting occupation for me, Your Grace?"

He held her gaze with his blue eyes and gave a slow, laconic raise of his eyebrow. Lillian felt a delicious pang of desire, as she allowed herself to imagine just exactly what the duke thought to be a suitable occupation for one such as she—his mistress.

A brief image flashed across her mind's eye, one of her and the duke, limbs entangled, lounging on velvet sheets. Her fiery red hair was spread across the pillowcase, whilst Thorncastle rained kisses down upon her exposed neck.

Lillian felt a stirring, deep within, so forceful she flushed and looked away.

"I always have need of staff," Thorncastle suggested lightly, though he gazed forcefully at Lillian as he spoke. "I am certain I could find a position for you somewhere, Miss Smith. It would be much preferable to you slaving away at the docks—don't you agree, Mrs Harrod?"

"Oh, yes, Your Grace," the Scotswoman nodded violently. "The West India docks are no place for a woman. How kind the duke is, Mary, don't you think?"

"His kindness is such that it is almost unbelievable," Lillian demurred, with a quick scowl at Thorncastle, who simply smirked.

Outside in the hallway, the gong sounded for supper, causing Mrs Harrod to jump to her feet in a flap.

"I shall have to oversee the scullery maids," she wailed, with an apologetic glance to Thorncastle, "or they might set the whole house aflame with their incompetence."

"Please," Thorncastle stood to his feet, the perfect gentleman, "I do not wish to keep you from whatever needs attending to, Mrs Harrod. Not when you have already shown me such courtesy. I will finish my tea, and Miss Smith may show me out?"

"Of course, Your Grace," Mrs Harrod beamed. "And thank you. Such a fine man you are. A good and upstanding man of the book. You are most welcome in my home, Your Grace, any time you wish."

Thorncastle preened under Mrs Harrod's effusive compliments, though his smug smile faltered a little when she closed the door behind her and Lillian rounded upon him.

"I told you I did not need your assistance," she hissed, mindful the house was busy and they might be overheard.

"And I decided you did." Thorncastle smiled lazily. "You cannot be vexed with me, Miss Smith. I merely wanted to be assured you have a roof over your head and would not end up cast out upon the streets. Though I am not entirely certain you are not already half-way there. What on earth were you thinking, taking up occupation at the docks?"

"You make it sound as though I am working in a bawdy-house," Lillian frowned.

"Perhaps it would be better if you were," Thorncastle retorted angrily, his handsome face wearing the expression of a man who was trying valiantly to suppress great anger. "At least then you would be paid when a man sets out to take your maidenhead, and not have it stolen by some nefarious oaf on your walk home."

A blush stained Lillian's cheeks at his words; no man had ever spoken so boldly to her about such matters. Then again, she reasoned, Thorncastle was not a man, but a devil.

"If I was to entrust the safety of my maidenhead to anyone, Your Grace, you would be at the bottom of the list," Lillian snapped, surprised at how the duke somehow managed to summon the tomcat hidden within. Usually she was a gentle soul, almost placid, but when Thorncastle was near, her claws came out.

"Perhaps you have some sense, after all," the duke replied, giving her a wicked smile which set her stomach fluttering with want. "I am indeed the last person you should entrust your virginity to, if you wish to keep it intact. But, unlike other men, Miss Smith, I would only take you if you agreed to it—I would not take you by force. If you come to my bed, it will be willingly."

"You shall be waiting a long time for that," Lillian bit back, though within her chest, her heart beat erratically with want and need.

"Patience is one of my many virtues," Thorncastle said lightly. "Along with generosity, compassion, and passion."

"And sticking your nose in where it's unwanted," Lillian added, with a snap.

Her temper was frayed by his presence; her whole body felt as though it were not her own, and it was most disconcerting. She had never had such a visceral response to a man in all her years. Her heart beat quickly, her breath caught in her chest, her stomach tightened, and she had an overwhelming urge to flee the room. An urge which was juxtaposed by a second want to throw herself into Thorncastle's arms.

"My interest in you might be unwanted," the duke shrugged, "but I feel it is necessary, if only to assure your safety. London is a cruel town, Miss Smith, and I worry it might eat you whole if you have no one to look out for you."

"How kind." Lillian was dry.

"I am capable of some kindness, despite what you may think."

Was it her imagination, or did a look of hurt flash across Thorncastle's eyes? As soon as she noted it, though, it disappeared, and the duke was as cold and hard as ever.

"Another of my attributes is that I am always keenly aware when I am not wanted," Thorncastle said evenly, standing to his feet and reaching for his ebony cane. "No need to see me out, Miss Smith. I bid you good evening."

Lillian was silent as the duke swept past her toward the door. A lurch of something in her stomach—perhaps guilt—propelled her to speak.

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