Taming of the Beast (Scandalous Affairs #2) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,69

and warm.”

He snorted.

“You have not said, however, how you know my brother,” Sara remarked, stirring a small silver spoon into her delicate porcelain teacup.

That managed to shake the unflappable-until-now Faye Poplar. She froze, the glass at her lips, her tea going unsipped. “Your brother,” she blurted. Her eyebrows went shooting up, and her gaze flew from Sara to Tynan and then back again. “You are his sister!”

Did Tynan imagine the relief there in that exclamation and in her eyes?

“I am!” His sister took Faye’s statement as confirmation that he’d somehow spoken about her existence to Faye, or anyone for that matter. “How do you know one another?” Sara asked again.

“Uh…” Faye cast a hopeful look his way.

He clasped his hands behind him and lifted his chin, giving only silence. She was on her own with this one.

“I… we…”

Tynan took mercy on her.

“Will you see to refreshments, Sara?”

“Not on my behalf,” Faye was quick to say.

So she was afraid to be alone with him. Good. She should be. Very afraid.

“Oh, but I shall very much enjoy them,” he said, finding a gleeful relish in the scowl Faye turned on him.

“Of course.” Sara lowered her voice to a not-so-conspiratorial whisper. “My brother has quite the weakness for chocolate biscuits.”

He winced as, just like that, his sister’s revelation freed him of his upper hand.

Faye sat up straighter. “Does he?” she asked with entirely too much curiosity.

“Sara,” he said in pained tones, his neck heating at the deepening intensity in Faye’s eyes as she took in their exchange.

“All treats, really.” And then, Lord save him, his sister ran on with an enumeration, ticking off each item on her finger. “Sugar biscuits, lemon cheesecakes, ratafia cakes, sponge cake.”

“The refreshments, please, Sara,” he gently urged.

His sister lifted a finger. “I’ll return shortly.” With that, she pecked him on the cheek, whirled on her heel, and left.

The moment he and Faye were alone, the minx faced him.

“Why it does sound as though you enjoy your sweets, Mr. Wy…” Her words trailed off as he drew the door shut and locked it. She dampened her lips, that pink slice of flesh darting out, tempting him even through his fury, and then, like the Eve she was, Faye trailed her tongue along her lush mouth. “I… really don’t think that is n-necessary.”

From the quiver of that cupid’s bow flesh, to the tremble of her breathless words, the lady was uneasy. Good, she should be.

Faye brightened. “Though, given your adoration of pastries, Mr. Wylie, I think you’d be best served opening the door for your sister, who is due to return.” She paused. “Any moment.”

“How did you find your way here?” he demanded, stalking over to her.

She beamed. “By hack.”

He caught her by the wrist and drew her closer, wringing a gasp from her.

“Do you think to make light of this?” he whispered angrily.

Her lips quivered, slipping into a frown. “I wasn’t making light.” She stared pointedly at his hand upon her.

A pained laugh escaped him. He released her. She was just really that direct.

“She is the reason you sought funds from me,” she murmured, entirely too astute, having learned more about him than any of his greatest adversaries. “You needed the money to see her cared for.”

“I have money,” he said bluntly. It was simply that he’d always need more. Because one of his station didn’t have the security afforded the peerage, people like this woman before him. Pinning a narrow-eyed gaze on her, Tynan started a path around her. “Faye. Poplar,” he murmured. “Faye. Poplar,” he repeated.

The lady stiffened her already regal posture as her spine grew even more erect. A queen’s carriage, she had. And something in that only added to his ire, a reminder of who she was and what he was. “Faye Poplar…”

“You’ve said that, Tynan Wylie.” With that bold retort, she made a show of yawning and patting that expression of her boredom with ink-marred fingertips. “Several times now.”

He stopped before her. “This is not a game, Faye,” he whispered.

“I don’t presume to believe it is one,” she shot back, lifting her chin.

Close as she was, the scent of her filled his nostrils and invaded his senses, an orange-citrusy aroma. And suddenly, even in his fury, he had a yearning for that sweet fruit. He lowered his mouth to claim that coveted taste.

Faye angled her head away, and his kiss grazed her cheek. “You have a sister,” she said, an accusatory quality to that breathy whisper.

With that reminder, she effectively shattered the maddening haze