Taming of the Beast (Scandalous Affairs #2) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,8

however, on the cusp of losing him.

Gathering her heavy skirts high, she set off after the just-released criminal as he made his way down Lansing Street. One should think he’d be a good deal more appreciative. At the very least, he might have slowed his strides enough to allow her to keep up.

“Hullooooo, Mr. Wylie,” she called after him, slightly breathless.

“We’ve already done the introductions part, Mrs. X,” he returned, not even deigning to glance back. “And please don’t go bandying my name about,” he muttered, his annoyance-tinged words carrying back to her.

She narrowed her eyes. Why, the grumbling blighter not only hadn’t slowed his steps, he’d increased his pace. This was really enough. She’d not gone through all this trouble to deceive her family and break him out of Newgate to have him run off. Except, with every cobblestone he put between them, the dream she had slipped further and further from reach. For, at least when he’d been imprisoned, she’d known where to locate him. If she lost him now, there’d be no finding him.

“Would you slow your steps?” she demanded.

“No.”

Not only did he reject her offer outright, the beast continued walking and lengthened his strides.

Faye wrinkled her nose. Well, what did you expect? It was not as though she’d gone and connected herself with a polite, respectable gentleman. Rather, she’d aligned herself with a rude, ruthless, deceitful criminal.

Though, in order for one to align oneself, one needed to actually be beside the person.

Tightening the hold she had upon her skirts, Faye pushed herself forward, racing as she and Claire had once done as small girls about their family’s Dartmoor estates. The winter air slapped against her cheeks, a welcome cool upon her skin hot from her exertions.

Just like that, she overtook him and put herself directly in his path.

“Stop!” she cried.

Needlessly, as he’d already quit walking.

Which she found some comfort in. After all, he’d not gone and bowled her over.

Unlike the rest of the men staggering about who’d heard her shout and hadn’t so much as glanced Faye’s way. A reminder of the precarious position she’d put herself in.

“Just…” Faye held her palms aloft toward Mr. Wylie. “Stop.”

The former warden, also known as Beast of Newgate, stretched his arms like the dark angel spreading his wings. The tangled ink-black hair hanging loose about his shoulders, those strands in need of a trim, shimmered in the moonlight, adding to the wicked aura about him. “Does it appear as though I am moving, love?” he asked on a smooth, honeyed whisper that sent her heartbeat into a quickened rhythm.

Unnerved by her reaction to him, one that was decidedly not fear—when it should be—she angled her chin up. “You aren’t now, because I commanded you to halt,” she pointed out.

He chuckled, the sound rusty and mocking and absent of any real amusement. “You commanded me? You believe that is why I stopped?”

Refusing to be baited, Faye drew in a breath. “We need to speak, sir.”

“Sir?” He laughed another of those jeering, frosty sounds. “Should we also”—Mr. Wylie tipped his smallest finger out—“partake in a cup of tea?”

She wrinkled her brow. “Here? No… I… perhaps if we can find a different place to speak, we mi—” She caught the mocking glimmer in his cobalt-blue eyes. He was making light of her. Faye, however, had grown not only accustomed, but immune to Society’s derision. As such, it would take a good deal more than his sarcasm to wound. “We need to work out the terms of your release.”

He dropped a shoulder against a lamppost and stared down at her from beneath thick, hooded lashes. “And who is to say I agree to any terms?”

What he was saying sank in, giving her pause. “You’re suggesting you won’t honor my requests?”

“Your demands,” he corrected. “Aye, that’s what I’m saying.”

Her stomach fell. This was decidedly not how she’d foreseen this playing out. He was to be grateful and appreciative, readily agreeing to her terms. Surely he was just being difficult. “I don’t believe you,” she said.

“On what grounds have you formed such an opinion of my character? Hmm?” he taunted. He skimmed his mud-stained fingertip around the lining of her hood, and she stiffened at the familiarity of his almost touch.

Faye slapped his fingers and moved swiftly out of his reach, promptly putting herself into the path of a tall, drunken passerby.

“Wot’s this giiiift?” the man slurred. His whiskey-heavy breath slapped at her, the smell blending with the stench of sweat and urine upon his