Taming of the Beast (Scandalous Affairs #2) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,101

to. After they’d made love and he’d rejected her, it couldn’t have been clearer.

Giving her cheeks a discreet pinch so as to focus on the sting of pain and not the sheen glazing her eyes, Faye gave her head another slight shake. This wasn’t the time to mourn the impending loss of Tynan from her life. This moment was entirely about gathering the information that she’d been so determined to bring to light for the rest of the world, a noble task that was long overdue.

Forcing all her focus on her meeting with the duchess, Faye lifted the knocker and brought it down hard.

As she waited, Faye shivered. The howling wind played havoc with the hem of her dress, whipping the skirts of the black garment against the elaborate paneled doors.

Perhaps Her Grace wouldn’t see her. Perhaps she’d turn Faye away, and then Faye would be returned to square one and reliant upon Tynan in these final days to—

A big, burly, heavily bearded servant suddenly opened the door. “Wit ye be wanting, lass?” He spoke in a long, rolling Scottish brogue.

Faye immediately scrambled to fish a calling card from her bag. “I have come to request a meeting with the d-duchess,” she explained through the chattering of her teeth as she handed him the small scrap.

Taking the article, he studied it a moment, and as he did, Faye’s toes automatically curled within the soles of her boots. No doubt he knew her surname. Everyone of every station did now. Perhaps he’d turn her away for that reason alone. And—

“Come along,” he said in that husky, musical voice as he stepped aside.

Faye hesitated a moment, casting a glance back to where Tynan waited with the hack; he conversed freely with the driver. The man’s bellowing laugh indicated the impostor servant beside him had managed to charm him, as he had Faye. And yet, as Tynan and the driver spoke of whatever topic so amused and fascinated, Tynan’s gaze remained squarely on Faye over the top of the smaller man’s head.

That gaze pierced her even with the length between them.

As she followed the Scottish butler inside, she felt Tynan’s gaze like a touch until the panel was closed on them.

The moment she entered the foyer, another servant came forward to collect Faye’s things. Holding on to her sack, she murmured a polite declination.

The staff the duke and duchess kept, all seeming as tall and broad as the butler, were as unconventional as that powerful couple were rumored to be. Faye glanced about the spacious foyer, craning her neck back to assess the expansive mural overhead.

A couple had been painted as the focal point of that rendering, and they were surrounded in a field of—Faye squinted, peering at the bright, purple detailing—cabbage?

“This way, miss,” the butler murmured, and Faye jerked her attention back from that oddest of paintings as she fell into step beside the young man.

As they waked in silence, Faye continued her study of the duchess’ household. The opulence of the outside managed to be eclipsed by that of the inside. With sweeping, soaring ceilings, the residence shimmered from the gold walls and sconces and filigree detailing. The click, click of her boots upon the black-and-white marquetry marble floor was amplified by the spaciousness of the imposing residence. It was a palace enough to be designed for a king.

“Here we are,” the butler announced. Opening a door, he motioned for Faye to enter. “Her Grace will be along to join ye shortly.” With that announcement, he clicked his heels, bowed, and left, leaving Faye alone.

Faye moved deeper into the room. Lowering her bag beside a pale blue velvet sofa, she looked about the parlor. A bright, healthy fire blazed in the hearth, casting such warmth that, coupled with the bright winter sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling crystal windowpanes, one might believe one was enjoying the warm months of summer rather than the coldest, snowiest winter Faye could recall in all her years on this earth.

All of Society well knew the other woman’s origins. The Duchess of Somerset had been born to a life of struggle, and it proved only fitting that she’d risen up to a place of power.

Faye’s gaze snagged upon a painting that hung within an ornate gold frame of a street scene of five children of varying ages, each attired in tattered garments, all wearing expressions with different degrees of cynicism upon their faces. They huddled close together and projected world-weariness better suited to life-hardened adults. Except… Faye