Read Online Sins of a Wicked Duke by Sophie Jordan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sophie Jordan
Tags: Regency
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reverberated through her and she shivered, her hand trembling around the bucket’s handle. Never again indeed.
Chapter 7
Fallon rounded the lane, panting for breath and hoping she was not too late, that Marguerite still waited at their designated bench in the park. She patted her bonnet to make certain it was still in place, covering most of her head. She had managed to pin back the short tendrils of hair, even though it took every pin in her possession to tame the shorn waves.
Fortunately, Marguerite waited at their usual bench, poised primly and looking out at the pond. Her bonnet framed her face becomingly, dark wisps of hair edging her face. Her expression came alive when she spied Fallon.
“I was afraid you weren’t coming,” Marguerite said as Fallon plopped down beside her. She set her bag down near her feet. Inside were the garments she would change back into before entering the duke’s house.
“I had some trouble getting away.” In truth, it took longer than planned to find a water closet outside the duke’s residence for her to change clothing.
“Your note said you found a new position, but nothing more. I’ve been beside myself with worry for days.” Marguerite frowned. “What happened to your post with Mrs. Jamison?”
“The usual.”
“Oh, Fallon,” Marguerite muttered, her tone half pity half aggravation. Not so very different from Evie’s response.
Petite and pretty as a fragile China doll Fallon once admired in a shop window, Marguerite was undoubtedly the most delicate creature to ever emerge from Penwich. Yet she never faced the difficulties Fallon had when it came to keeping a post. With her flair at the healing arts, she was a coveted commodity. As a sick nurse, she moved from household to household about theton , her presence valued and respected. Employers treated her only with courtesy.
“Nothing to fret over,” Fallon quickly reassured. Although Marguerite and Evie had come to her rescue all those years ago at school, Fallon loathed to think that they still felt her some pathetic creature in need of saving. “I’ve handled things.”
“Have you now?” Marguerite arched a dark eyebrow, her whiskey brown eyes aglow.
“I’ve found a better position with the Duke of Damon.”
Marguerite’s gold-brown eyes widened. “You mean the demon duke? Surely you jest?”
Her stomach twisted at the designation. She smiled, her lips shaky. “You’ve heard of him, then?” It made sense. Marguerite moved in higher circles than Fallon.
“That he’s recently returned to Town, yes, and that he’s an utter bounder? Yes, I’ve heard that, too. I’ve also heard that his reputation rivals that of his father…” She leaned forward and lowered her voice, “shot dead in a duel by a jealous husband. It’s said no woman was safe from him, and he preferred married ladies—the greater conquest and all that. Are you sure you’re safe working for such a man?”
“You heardthat much?”
She shrugged. “Lady Danford has me read her the gossip pages before I administer her treatments. It appears to relax her.”
“I’ll be safe.”
Marguerite shook her head, ever the pragmatist. Always, at Penwich, she had been the careful one. The one least likely to get into trouble. “How can you be certain?”
Fallon dropped her attention to the frayed edge of her cloak, playing it between her fingers. Over the distant rise geese honked as children pelted them rather fiercely with bits of bread. Marguerite, she feared, would never understand or approve of her subterfuge.
Sucking in a breath, she confessed, “He doesn’t know I’m a female.”
“What?”
Fallon lifted her head. “He doesn’t know I’m a woman.”
Marguerite’s eyes flicked over her. “I don’t understand.”
“He sees what I present him.” She moistened her lips, bracing herself for Marguerite’s censure. “And what I’ve shown him thus far is a man.”
“A man?” Marguerite uttered the
Chapter 7
Fallon rounded the lane, panting for breath and hoping she was not too late, that Marguerite still waited at their designated bench in the park. She patted her bonnet to make certain it was still in place, covering most of her head. She had managed to pin back the short tendrils of hair, even though it took every pin in her possession to tame the shorn waves.
Fortunately, Marguerite waited at their usual bench, poised primly and looking out at the pond. Her bonnet framed her face becomingly, dark wisps of hair edging her face. Her expression came alive when she spied Fallon.
“I was afraid you weren’t coming,” Marguerite said as Fallon plopped down beside her. She set her bag down near her feet. Inside were the garments she would change back into before entering the duke’s house.
“I had some trouble getting away.” In truth, it took longer than planned to find a water closet outside the duke’s residence for her to change clothing.
“Your note said you found a new position, but nothing more. I’ve been beside myself with worry for days.” Marguerite frowned. “What happened to your post with Mrs. Jamison?”
“The usual.”
“Oh, Fallon,” Marguerite muttered, her tone half pity half aggravation. Not so very different from Evie’s response.
Petite and pretty as a fragile China doll Fallon once admired in a shop window, Marguerite was undoubtedly the most delicate creature to ever emerge from Penwich. Yet she never faced the difficulties Fallon had when it came to keeping a post. With her flair at the healing arts, she was a coveted commodity. As a sick nurse, she moved from household to household about theton , her presence valued and respected. Employers treated her only with courtesy.
“Nothing to fret over,” Fallon quickly reassured. Although Marguerite and Evie had come to her rescue all those years ago at school, Fallon loathed to think that they still felt her some pathetic creature in need of saving. “I’ve handled things.”
“Have you now?” Marguerite arched a dark eyebrow, her whiskey brown eyes aglow.
“I’ve found a better position with the Duke of Damon.”
Marguerite’s gold-brown eyes widened. “You mean the demon duke? Surely you jest?”
Her stomach twisted at the designation. She smiled, her lips shaky. “You’ve heard of him, then?” It made sense. Marguerite moved in higher circles than Fallon.
“That he’s recently returned to Town, yes, and that he’s an utter bounder? Yes, I’ve heard that, too. I’ve also heard that his reputation rivals that of his father…” She leaned forward and lowered her voice, “shot dead in a duel by a jealous husband. It’s said no woman was safe from him, and he preferred married ladies—the greater conquest and all that. Are you sure you’re safe working for such a man?”
“You heardthat much?”
She shrugged. “Lady Danford has me read her the gossip pages before I administer her treatments. It appears to relax her.”
“I’ll be safe.”
Marguerite shook her head, ever the pragmatist. Always, at Penwich, she had been the careful one. The one least likely to get into trouble. “How can you be certain?”
Fallon dropped her attention to the frayed edge of her cloak, playing it between her fingers. Over the distant rise geese honked as children pelted them rather fiercely with bits of bread. Marguerite, she feared, would never understand or approve of her subterfuge.
Sucking in a breath, she confessed, “He doesn’t know I’m a female.”
“What?”
Fallon lifted her head. “He doesn’t know I’m a woman.”
Marguerite’s eyes flicked over her. “I don’t understand.”
“He sees what I present him.” She moistened her lips, bracing herself for Marguerite’s censure. “And what I’ve shown him thus far is a man.”
“A man?” Marguerite uttered the
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