Taming of the Beast (Scandalous Affairs #2) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,24

would do—she’d sent ’round a note to, her only friend in the world, Miss Daria Kearsley, and invited the young woman to join her.

Possessed of an even more macabre fascination with death and dying and dark crimes than Faye herself, Daria had arrived promptly that morn, while the sky was still dark.

And it appeared all the lengths they’d gone, sneaking out from their family’s households at the early hour they had, were for naught.

Faye seethed. He’d lied to her. Again.

“It does appear he’s not coming,” Daria murmured as they did yet another pass down the street. The younger woman’s pronouncement contained a wealth of disappointment to match Faye’s own.

Reaching the end of the block, they turned, and made their way back the other way. “Yes, it certainly appears that way,” Faye muttered under her breath.

“That is ever so disappointing, as I had hoped to see him,” her friend remarked in hauntingly forlorn tones. “What is he like?”

What was he like? “He is…”

Dark.

Mysterious.

Captivating.

Her friend gave her a look. “Faye?”

Faye searched her mind. “Far too clever for his”—or her—“own good.”

“You don’t believe he intends to help you?”

They reached the end of the pavement and came to a stop.

Faye swept her gaze over the modest townhouses. Just then, the front door of one of the residences opened, and her friend’s question was forgotten. Hope sprang to life in her breast as a tall, dark-haired gentleman came bounding down the steps. That hope, however, was promptly dashed.

This man was entirely too refined and properly groomed.

It was a lie. She gritted her teeth. She’d known as much, but to have it confirmed… “No,” she said tightly. “I am confident he has no such intention.”

She, however, had even less intention of letting him off this easy.

Why… why… the bounder had stolen her damned money. Money that she’d held on to, and preserved, and intended to keep for her future. A future that, as she’d been born female, had always been precarious, but that had become even more so, after her family’s involvement in the disappearance of the rightful Earl of Maxwell, all those years ago.

Faye did another sweep of the fashionable street. Quiet, empty. He wasn’t coming. She’d asked her friend along at this ungodly hour for absolutely nothing. “We should leave,” she finally conceded.

“So disappointing,” Daria murmured, and together, they headed back to the carriage belonging to Daria Kearsley’s brother, the Viscount St. John.

Yes, it was. As the driver shut the door behind them, Faye peeled back the curtain and looked out at the passing London landscape. The rotter. He’d not shown. But then, what had she expected?

You can count on me, he’d professed.

She’d been hesitant to trust, and yet, trust him she had. Yet again, she’d made a misstep with Tynan. She’d proven naïve. Well, she wouldn’t make that same mistake again. Nay, she’d no intention of letting him slip through her fingers.

The carriage rolled to a halt outside her family’s household, and she froze.

“You have an idea,” Daria remarked, almost conversationally.

A slow smile formed on Faye’s lips. “I have an idea.”

As it was, she and Daria made yet another carriage ride that day, this one to the less fashionable side of London. “Oh, this is grand,” the other woman whispered as they made their way from the carriage and up the chipped stone steps of Tynan’s house.

Raising her hand, Faye rapped hard. With every passing moment, her outrage grew. How dare he?

Knock, knock, knock.

How dare he steal from her?

Knock.

And lie to her?

Knock, knock.

And make her look like a fool for trusting him?

Faye gritted her teeth. Nay, not make her look. She had proven to be a fool. Naïve and innocent and gullible enough to expect that he’d be where he’d said when he’d said.

Knock, knock, knock.

The panel was yanked open, and Faye’s fist hovered in the air. She puzzled her brow.

What in blazes?

“Wot’s yer problem knocking loike that?”

She and Daria glanced down.

A tiny boy, achingly thin with heavily freckled cheeks and wildly overgrown dark hair, glared back. That glare was harsh, hard, and cold. The same as the one she’d had turned her way just last evening when she’d paid a visit to this very residence.

And then it hit her. Faye widened her eyes. Mr. Wylie had a son. Which also meant one of two things. One, he’d an illegitimate child. Or two, he was… married.

As soon as the possibility crept forward, Faye balked, her mind coming to a screeching halt that refused to allow her to consider that the man who’d kissed