Page 15 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
Fawkes’s hold had dropped from her as soon as she’d mentioned Rufus, fast enough that a bystander might think he’d been burned. Of course, any bystander—who, by this point, would’ve received a hell of an eyeful, and plenty of memories to frig his own hand later—likely didn’t want to see Fawkes vomit all over her.
And that’s exactly what he was afraid might happen.
Rufus.
Christ Jesus, he’d just fooked his cousin’s wife.Widow.
Of course, he might’ve known that if his mother’s family had ever acknowledged him. Invited him for Easter supper, or the occasional tea, or even nodded politely when they came face-to-face at the rare social event.
But Fawkes hadn’t attended Rufus’s wedding. Or his funeral.
Had never met his young bride, married less than a year.
“Ye’re Rufus’s widow,” he rasped, stumbling away, hands closing into fists at his side. “Yer father’s…an earl.”
Notanearl.
Theearl.
Either she didn’t notice his distress, or didn’t care. Or simply didn’t understand.
Ellie nodded. “My father was George Stoughton, the Earl of Bonkinbone.Hedied in October, after a similarly long illness. The doctors say it was his heart, which finally gave out. Without a home to return to, you can understand my desperation.”
But Fawkes was already shaking his head, refusing to believe the coincidence.Lady Danielle Stoughton, Viscountess Cumnock, the gem of Society, is planning on raising yer bastard child as yer cousin’s heir.
It was impossible.
“I—we need a drink.”
Danielle—Ellie?—cocked her head and studied him. “Yes.” She exhaled, and it sounded…shaky. Not nearly as in-control as she pretended. “I think I would like some wine, please.”
He hadn’t meant wine, but he was enough of a gentleman—thanks to his mother, his friends, and his schooling—to know what was expected. His footsteps were loud as he stalked into the back room to fetch her a glass.
But when he returned to the front room, it was to find the sofa empty. When he flung open the door, the corridor was empty as well.
She’d left.
She’d taken his seed and left him.
The thought was maudlin, and stupid. “Och, ye dobber,” he muttered, before lifting the glass and guzzling the water himself. He needed whisky, so he stomped to the decanter.
There was no use peering out the window. Her driver would have scooped her up and returned her to Cumnock House, where she’d revert to the grieving widow while no doubt praying his seed took.
So that she could continue to live the pampered lifestyle her arsehole of a father had spoiled her with.
Och, Rufus hadn’t been a bad sort, but George Stoughton, the Earl of Bonkinbone…Fawkes cursed again as he poured the whisky.
Fooking hell.
Bonkinbone had been the very definition of an arsehole and had deserved the horrible end he’d received. Gasping for breath as the poison slowly rotted his heart, knowing the devil would be coming to collect him for his sins.
“Shite,” Fawkes muttered, lifting the glass and nodding in admiration for a skilled opponent. Because she’d most definitely beaten him, hadn’t she?
Fawkes had just fooked the daughter of the last man he’d murdered.
Chapter 3
In Ellie’s world,the lady of the house was expected to rule with grace, gentility, and an iron fist around the household purse strings, working in tandem with the housekeeper to ensure the entire place ran smoothly.
