Taming of the Beast (Scandalous Affairs #2) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,15

just… own that sin?

Mr. Wylie dropped a shoulder against the wall. That relaxed gesture sent the muscles of his triceps and biceps tightening and rippling, and unbidden, her eyes drank in the godlike form before her. “Tell me, what lie has earned your upset, Lady X?”

Her belly flipped. Oh, dear. And here she’d been imagining his bare physique on the streets of the Rookeries, and now here he was, and nothing, absolutely nothing—not even that naughty book with pages having long frayed because of her study of them—could have prepared her for…

“Hmm?” he prodded, so matter-of-fact she whipped her gaze back to his.

What was he saying? Why was she angry?

“You lied to me about your address,” she shot back. Her awareness of him, however, made that charge slightly breathless. Had she not taken it upon herself to follow him even deeper into this seediest part of London, she would have lost him. And then where would she be? Her project would have ended faster than it began, and her mission would have been lost.

Faye stomped over and stopped so that the tips of her boots touched the tips of his bare toes. “And I expect your truthfulness in our dealings together, Mr. Wylie.” She jabbed a finger against his chest.

It proved a mistake, not for the discomfort done to that digit by the rock-hard wall it met. But because she’d made the mistake of touching him, feeling him. His chest proved hot, and Faye swiftly drew her arm back to her side.

“Even as I’ve no qualms with my reputation as a liar,” he drawled, “in this instance I must maintain my innocence.”

She cocked her head. “You…”

“I have several residences, Lady X.”

“You—”

“Do you always have difficulty finishing your sentences?” he asked. This time, there was a layer of coldness to that query that belied the earlier droll humor.

So she had offended him. If what he now said was, in fact, truth, then she’d wrongly called him out. Only…

“I don’t believe you,” Faye said on a rush.

Mr. Wylie chuckled, and much as he’d done outside, he stretched his fingers under her hood and ran his knuckle along her chin, lightly cuffing it. “Then our arrangement is going to prove exceedingly difficult, isn’t it, love?”

Catching her lower lip between her teeth, Faye worried at that flesh. He was, indeed, correct on that score. How did one balance dealing with the devil and trusting him at the same time?

Unnerved by his touch and that realization combined, Faye stepped back. “Perhaps we should speak now about our dealings together, Mr. Wylie.”

She tensed, anticipating him to gesture to the door and show her on her way.

Instead, the dark stranger swept an arm forward, indicating the narrow hall.

Faye lingered, hesitating. From the moment she’d concocted her plan, she’d carefully thought about all the risks she’d face. Not to her reputation—that she could care less about. After all, the moment society had learned of her family’s role in trying to do away with Lord Maxwell, so that they might have his title and lands, her name had been destroyed. Nay, she’d thought about the actual dangers she faced. She researched murders and knew the awful fates awaiting people anywhere, but particularly in this end of London she’d willingly gone, alone.

And she was never more alone than she was here, with this stranger. A criminal. And unlike when she had known precisely where Claire was going, absolutely no one knew Faye was here. Not even her dear friend Daria Kearsley. Not really.

Mr. Wylie brought his lips close to the place where her ear was. “Well?” he purred in silken tones. “Second thoughts, kitten?”

Second, third, and fourth.

None of them, however, would deter her.

Lifting her chin and bringing her shoulders back, Faye started onward.

As she made the march, she was aware of a half-naked, knife-wielding Mr. Wylie moving close at her heels, so close she felt the heat rolling off his person. It would be nothing for him to stick that knife in her back. Just as it would be nothing were he to decide he wished to ravish her, as he’d nearly done against that lamppost.

The shameful part of her let herself to those wicked musings that were surely a result of her Poplar origins.

“Here we are, my lady,” he murmured as he gestured to the door hanging open.

The… kitchen.

Faye tucked her head inside, peering about the unlikely place of their meeting before venturing in. A healthy fire blazed in the hearth, adding a toasty warmth to the room. An