Page 53 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
No, the last one definitely would not do.
She wasn’t falling inlovewith the man. She didn’tknowthe man. At best, this was lust. And wonder—amazement!—at how he easily brought her pleasure.
No answer. Ellie peeked over her shoulder and knocked again.
This time the knob turned, and the door cracked open enough for a dog’s nose to press through the opening.
“Oh, hello, puppy,” Ellie announced in delight, bending to pet the pup’s nose and scratch under his chin. “Is your papa at home?”
“No ‘e ain’t,” came the cheerful announcement.
Ellie glanced up to see a bright grin peeking out from under the lock chain. Far below where Fawkes would stand. “Hello,” she murmured hesitantly, slowly straightening. “I see. And…where is he?”
“The Duke of Death? Strange to call himpapa, but I guess now ‘e’s got a dog, that’s the truf.” Another cheeky grin. “’E had a delivery tonight at a tavern called The One Ball. Paying me to sit with Tramp, ‘ere, and make sure ‘e don’t shite on the rug.”
Ellie blinked at him.
Duke of Death?
Tramp?
Her gaze dropped to the dog, who was doing an admirable job of attempting to lick the door jamb to death.
“Erm…Mr. MacMillan—” she began, but the lad cut her off.
“Duke of Death, ma’am. That’s what we calls ‘im.”
“Why?” She hadn’t meant to ask out loud.
It was amazing how she could see the boy shrug, even though only a few inches of his face showed. “That’s just ‘is name. On account of ‘im poisoning people. ‘re, do ya need someone poisoned? Trot on down to The One Ball and ask for Auld Gus, ma’am. He’ll point ya to the Duke.”
The Duke of Death. Because he poisons people.
Frowning, Ellie found herself stumbling backward. “Thank you. I will—Please tell him… Goodbye,” she managed before she staggered down the stairs.
The Duke of Death.
But…Fawkes was a chemist, was he not? A well-placed chemist, certainly, thanks to his mother’s position as the sister of an Earl. But…a poisoner?
She shook her head, even as she reached the coach and noticed Merida curled up front with Matthews, bundled in the old man’s spare greatcoat. The sight distracted her, and the coachman was quick to explain.
“Wee mite said she was cold, milady. I think she might’ve been just lonely.”
“Are—is she safe? Should I take her back—”
The old man was quick to shake his head. “She’s snug as a bug, milady, and I can keep a better eye on her up here, if ye don’t mind me saying. I’d do the same for any of my grandbabies, aye?”
Still half-dazed from the casual encounter outside Fawkes’s flat, Ellie nodded and reached for the door. Merida was safe, and Fawkes…
Settling on the squabs, she forced herself to breathe.
It was a mistake—a misunderstanding. Fawkes MacMillan was achemist. A gruff man, certainly, but one who touched her so carefully and brought her such joy. She remembered the way he’d held Tramp, tucked against him to warm the half-frozen animal. The way his green eyes had sparkled when he watched Merida kick piles of snow.
You have met with him a grand total of thrice: two midnight assignations where neither of you did much talking, and one afternoon. It is not as if youknowthe man.
Well, yes, that was logical, but…shedid.
And then Ellie recalled the way he’d opened the door that first night. The distrustful eyes, strong hands holding a knife, the tattoos climbing his skin in the most intriguing way. She’d wondered why a chemist would carry so many scars, and she’d wanted to learn more.
