him.
“I am the very definition oflost . Empty. Soulless.” His eyes narrowed on her, and for a moment she feared he would step toward her. She held her ground. “Ask anyone.”
She shook her head. “Mr. Adams and the rest of the staff possess a great deal of loyalty—”
“Loyalty, yes,” he cut in, his voice rapier sharp. “Affection? No. Faith in me? No. Never. They know what I am.”
She nodded slowly, recalling the wicked man in the carriage with burning clarity, and the half-naked man standing on the landing, parleying with a woman of dubious morals before his entire household. During both outrageous episodes, he had never blinked an eye.
“If you wish to keep your position, you would do well to remember that.” He turned from her and strode back inside the conservatory, the click of his boots a jarring tap on the floor. Nearly as jarring as his words.
He would sack her if she liked him? If she thought him good and respectable?She shook her head. Absurd. She glanced down at the weeds and began attacking them with renewed vigor, ripping them from the earth with the same hostility she had seen in the duke’s gaze. A sweeping certainty swept over her. Not only did the greatest reprobate among theton employ her…but the man was stark mad.
Chapter 11
Ashrill scream pierced the early morning air. Fallon froze amid her chore of lowering an enormous framed portrait depicting one of the duke’s long-dead ancestors. The maid dusting the bared wall behind it shot her a startled look.
The heavy pounding of feet down a distant corridor shook the air. Arms quivering, Fallon eased the heavy portrait back on the wall just as Mrs. Davies’s voice vibrated over the morning. “Dear God in heaven!”
The maid cast her one more look, then, lifting her skirts, darted off, clearly intent on discovering what latest debacle plagued the duke’s household.
Fallon watched as other servants, forgetting their duties, emerged from various rooms and followed in the maid’s wake. Grunting, she returned the portrait to the wall and fell in with the others, locating Mrs. Davies at the top of the winding staircase.
Hands on her generous hips, the woman glared down into the foyer. “Jack! Jack, where are you?”
The brawny footman appeared below.
“Yes’m?” he called, looking up at the housekeeper.
“Fetch the watch! Before it’s too late!”
“Yes’m!” Jack darted away.
Mr. Adams arrived in the foyer, calling up at Mrs. Davies for an explanation.
She looked down at him as though he were a pesky child. “He’s gone and done it! Just like I always said he would.”
“Woman!” Mr. Adams snapped, his gaze skimming the gawking staff with annoyance. “I would appreciate a more specific—”
Another shriek punctuated the air. Fallon glanced over her shoulder, this time convinced the cries came from the duke’s bedchamber.
Mrs. Davies whirled around and flew down the hall with surprising speed for a woman of her size. The clumsy herd of servants followed, Mr. Adams pushing to the head.
“Never dull, is it?” Nancy asked from Fallon’s side, nudging her in the ribs. Fallon marveled at how the girl always materialized near her. “You never know what’s going to happen in this house from one day to the next.”
Fallon forced a smile, unable to feel the same enthusiasm. She wanted stability. Constancy in her life. Even boring would be acceptable. Ever since arriving at 15 Pottingham Place, her life had been upheaval. And yet curiosity drove her on to the duke’s bedchamber with the rest of them. Mrs. Davies was almost to the duke’s bedchamber when the doors burst open.
Diddlesworth barged out, shoving past servants. “Out of my way!”
“Mr. Diddlesworth! Where are you going? You can’t leave!” Mrs. Davies commanded.
“I’ve had enough. I’m done with this madhouse and that—that—” Diddlesworth jabbed a finger toward the bedchamber, “Caligula!”
Mrs. Davies and Mr. Adams
“I am the very definition oflost . Empty. Soulless.” His eyes narrowed on her, and for a moment she feared he would step toward her. She held her ground. “Ask anyone.”
She shook her head. “Mr. Adams and the rest of the staff possess a great deal of loyalty—”
“Loyalty, yes,” he cut in, his voice rapier sharp. “Affection? No. Faith in me? No. Never. They know what I am.”
She nodded slowly, recalling the wicked man in the carriage with burning clarity, and the half-naked man standing on the landing, parleying with a woman of dubious morals before his entire household. During both outrageous episodes, he had never blinked an eye.
“If you wish to keep your position, you would do well to remember that.” He turned from her and strode back inside the conservatory, the click of his boots a jarring tap on the floor. Nearly as jarring as his words.
He would sack her if she liked him? If she thought him good and respectable?She shook her head. Absurd. She glanced down at the weeds and began attacking them with renewed vigor, ripping them from the earth with the same hostility she had seen in the duke’s gaze. A sweeping certainty swept over her. Not only did the greatest reprobate among theton employ her…but the man was stark mad.
Chapter 11
Ashrill scream pierced the early morning air. Fallon froze amid her chore of lowering an enormous framed portrait depicting one of the duke’s long-dead ancestors. The maid dusting the bared wall behind it shot her a startled look.
The heavy pounding of feet down a distant corridor shook the air. Arms quivering, Fallon eased the heavy portrait back on the wall just as Mrs. Davies’s voice vibrated over the morning. “Dear God in heaven!”
The maid cast her one more look, then, lifting her skirts, darted off, clearly intent on discovering what latest debacle plagued the duke’s household.
Fallon watched as other servants, forgetting their duties, emerged from various rooms and followed in the maid’s wake. Grunting, she returned the portrait to the wall and fell in with the others, locating Mrs. Davies at the top of the winding staircase.
Hands on her generous hips, the woman glared down into the foyer. “Jack! Jack, where are you?”
The brawny footman appeared below.
“Yes’m?” he called, looking up at the housekeeper.
“Fetch the watch! Before it’s too late!”
“Yes’m!” Jack darted away.
Mr. Adams arrived in the foyer, calling up at Mrs. Davies for an explanation.
She looked down at him as though he were a pesky child. “He’s gone and done it! Just like I always said he would.”
“Woman!” Mr. Adams snapped, his gaze skimming the gawking staff with annoyance. “I would appreciate a more specific—”
Another shriek punctuated the air. Fallon glanced over her shoulder, this time convinced the cries came from the duke’s bedchamber.
Mrs. Davies whirled around and flew down the hall with surprising speed for a woman of her size. The clumsy herd of servants followed, Mr. Adams pushing to the head.
“Never dull, is it?” Nancy asked from Fallon’s side, nudging her in the ribs. Fallon marveled at how the girl always materialized near her. “You never know what’s going to happen in this house from one day to the next.”
Fallon forced a smile, unable to feel the same enthusiasm. She wanted stability. Constancy in her life. Even boring would be acceptable. Ever since arriving at 15 Pottingham Place, her life had been upheaval. And yet curiosity drove her on to the duke’s bedchamber with the rest of them. Mrs. Davies was almost to the duke’s bedchamber when the doors burst open.
Diddlesworth barged out, shoving past servants. “Out of my way!”
“Mr. Diddlesworth! Where are you going? You can’t leave!” Mrs. Davies commanded.
“I’ve had enough. I’m done with this madhouse and that—that—” Diddlesworth jabbed a finger toward the bedchamber, “Caligula!”
Mrs. Davies and Mr. Adams
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