Page 122 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
The master bedroom was easy to find, thank Christ. It had the largest set of doors and a pair of maids clustered in front of it, whispering as they traded stacks of cloths.
And a roar from inside: “Mendacious jizz-potato, woman,do something!”
The maids burst into giggles as Fawkes jogged to a stop behind them.
“The Duke’s no’ drunk enough for this, eh?” When they whirled about, shocked, he shrugged and added, “I hope Demon’s no’ talking to Georgia like that.”
“The—the midwife, milord,” one of them offered. “He doesnae think she’s doing enough for the duchess’s labor.”
He nudged them aside. “Perhaps she’s no’. And I’m nae lord.”
His brisk knock on the door was followed by a low, keening sort of sound, and another roar from Demon. “Pusillanimous spunk-muffin! That had better be the whisky for Georgia!”
And another voice—one Fawkes’s heart rejoiced to hear—replied, “I told you, I do not think whisky is a wise—”
Whatever Ellie had been about to say cut short in a gasp when she pulled open the door and saw him standing there.
She was still wearing that yellow dress.
It was rumpled and stained with something he’d rather not think about. Her hair was a mess, plastered to her temples by sweat—or possibly tears. And there was fear in her dark eyes.
“Fawkes?” she whispered.
There was no need to agree with her—that was his name, after all, they both knew it—but he stepped closer anyway, desperate to pull her into his arms.
“I’m sorry, Ellie. Christ Almighty, I’m sorry.”
Her eyes had widened and now her gaze skipped over his face, as if she didn’t quite believe he was there. “You are still wearing your hat.”
It was the hatshe’dmade him. He hadn’t wanted to take it off. Ever.
“I should have said something sooner, love. I should have explained. I should have explained earlier, at Hangcok Hill, but I couldnae, no’ where my mother—” He bit off the words, not wanting to announce ithere, either. Instead, his voice dropped to a rasp. “Ellie, I lied to ye, I hurt ye, and I’ll never forgive myself for it.”
“Yes, you did,” she said simply, and when his chin jerked up to meet her gaze once more in panic, her eyes were serious. “But I hurt you as well, and you forgave me.”
“No’ for something this serious.”I killed yer father, and lied about it.“Life or death.”
Ellie swallowed, glancing over her shoulder as her hand dropped to her stomach. Behind her, hidden by the half-opened door, her sister’s moans grew into keening pants.
He knew Ellie was thinking of her own scheme to become pregnant.
“My sin was life or death, as well,” she whispered, finally meeting his eyes once more.
Life. New life.
They weren’t equal, not in any way, but his mind was too jumbled now to say anything more than, “I’m sorry, Ellie. Please ken that. Please…believe…”
It was what he should’ve said hours ago, standing in the foyer of Hangcok Hill. It wouldn’t erase what he’d done, but it needed to be said.
There was something else which needed to be said.
“I love ye.” Behind him, the maids—why were they still here?—sighed in unison as Ellie’s brows shot to her hairline. “Ellie, love, I ken ye dinnae need to hear this—perhaps no’ ever, but Ihadto say it. I love ye, and I hope one day—”
“Where in the cock-throbbing spunk-muffins is that whisky?”
Fawkes’s embarrassingly poorly-received declaration was cut short when the door swung open to reveal Demon.
Now, there’d been a time when Demon was considered handsome, by the ladies of Society and a few of the men. That opinion had gone to shite when Rourke Lindsay—now the Duke of Exingham and one of Blackrose’s agents—had tried to assassinate him; the firebomb had ruined Demon’s face.
