Page 48 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
If he feels so strongly about Georgia’s actions, he will never allow Merida to live with him, to sully the family name…
“Please believe me I want only what is best for the family,” he continued, patting her knee again. “Might I call on you again, Danielle?”
Her hands shook so much she had to clasp them in her lap. “I…” God in heaven, why was it so difficult to saynoto him? Because she’d never saidnoto her father, their likeness striking? Because she knew what he was capable of? “I am not certain you will find me here,” she finally admitted in a whisper.
Her uncle’s hand moved to cover hers. “Then let me find you at Bonkinbone, under my protection, where you belong. Where your father would have wanted you.”
This time Ellie couldn’t hide her shudder, but she thrust herself to her feet to try to disguise the reviled movement. “That is…” Her voice caught, and she was unable to meet her uncle’s eyes. “Thank you for your kind offer, Uncle William. I…I will think on it. Please excuse me, I am not feeling well.”
From the corner of her eye she saw him rise, the very picture of solicitousness, but she was already stumbling toward the door, tears in her eyes.
How could such an evil man pretend to be so kind?
Chapter 8
“Dinnae touch that,”snapped Fawkes, all his attention on the thick brown liquid dripping—glacier-slow—from the pipette in front of him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Thorne guiltily snatch his hand back.
“Why?” the other man asked. “Is it acid? Will it burn me?”
“Nay.” Fawkes made a minute adjustment to the apparatus before him, then nodded, satisfied, before stepping back. “It’s no’ harmful, but those beakers are hellaciously expensive,” he explained as he turned around, “and I cannae afford to buy new ones because a shaved monkey got loose in my lab.”
Thorne’s face split into a grin. “Shaved monkey?Oh, that’s delightful. I cannae wait to tell Demon that one. He’ll be calling everyone that.”
Remembering Demon’s particularly harsh tongue, Fawkes had to agree.
More relaxed now, Thorne propped his hip against the table, ignoring the rattle of glassware which made Fawkes wince. “Beakers cannae bethatexpensive,” he chided.
Remembering that Thorne had been born a viscount, and never had to worry about funds, Fawkes shook his head, managing tonotroll his eyes in disgust. Just. He stepped up beside the other man, nudged him out of the way, and began to return the beakers to their places on the shelves.
Carefully.
“Ye put a fancy waistcoat on a baboon, and he’s still a baboon,” he muttered.
Behind him, Thorne chuckled. “Itisfancy, is it no’? Bull picked it out—ye remember Bull? Calderbank’s stepson—Rourke’s brother?” It sounded as if Thorne was still admiring himself. “Bull said the material would bring out my eyes—as if the ladies needed help noticing. He ordered it from Milan, and I had to put it on myself, because my valet died. And a great effort it was.”
Fawkes froze and shot a glare at the other man. “A mandied, and ye’re moaning about having to dress yerself?”
“Well, hewaseighty-seven. And he died of a heart spasm when one of the upstairs maids kissed him, so I would say it’s a pleasant way to go.” Thorne said all this while admiring his own navel. “But I was quite proud I managed all the buttons.”
“Aye, ye’re a big boy now.” Fawkes twitched the last of the beakers into place. “Next ye’ll be wiping yer own arse after ye shite.”
Thorne gasped theatrically, clutching at his own heart. “What, like a peasant?”
Snorting, Fawkes grabbed the other man by the elbow and steered him from the room.
“Ye’ll inherit a new valet soon enough, when yer uncle kicks the bucket and ye become Duke of Stroken.”
Thorne groaned. “I thought ye were afriend. Why remind me of something so cruel? Ye think Iwantto be a duke?”
“I think ye want a new valet so ye dinnae have to strain yer fingers buttoning yer own waistcoat.” Fawkes locked the laboratory door behind them.
“That’s true.” Thorne wiggled his fingers with a smirk. “The ladies of London would be heartbroken if they heard my fingers were out of commission.”
Fawkes had no answer to that, and moreover, didn’t want to answer. Everyone knew Thorne was a charmer, spreading pleasure across the city. Ellie should’ve gone tohimfor implementation—
Och, dinnae think of it.
In the parlor, the pup bounced up from his cushion by the hearth and barreled over to tangle about Fawkes’s legs. “Aye, Tramp, I see ye, ye big idiot. Down—getdown. Och, I told ye ye’d trip over that. Cease, and I’ll fetch yer supper.”
