Page 62 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
When she stood on her own two feet, she didn’t move, but continued to hold her palm against his cheek, her head tipped back to meet his eyes. “Who are you, then?”
“I’m a bastard.”I’m a bastard. The reminder helped. “YekenI’m a bastard, and ye still came to me to create another bastard.”
Her dark gaze flicked over his face, her lips softening into a confused frown. “I…did.”
The confession should’ve felt like a victory. Instead, all Fawkes felt inside was hollow.
He finished tucking himself away, then smoothed down the lines of his greatcoat and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, pulling her hand away from his cheek.
Christ Almighty, she looked like a woman who’d been well and truly claimed. Byhim.
“Ye used me, Ellie, to create a bastard.” Her eyes glittered as she stared up at him, but he refused to allow himself to consider what that meant. “And no’ once—no’ once—did ye stop to ask how that would make me feel, did ye?”
Her lips opened.
They closed again.
She dropped her gaze.
Nay.
He read her answer, without her having to say the words.
Gripping her wrist, he tugged her toward the mouth of the alleyway. “Is yer carriage nearby?” Without giving her time to respond, he began to stride toward the conveyance he’d spotted bearing his uncle’s coat of arms. “Here ye are,milady.”
He yanked open the door and stepped back, respectfully. Mockingly. Ellie pulled her hand from his grip and twisted her fingers together before her.
“Fawkes, I—”
He didn’t want to hear her excuses. She’d gotten what she wanted from him.
So Fawkes gave a clipped bow. “I hope all of yer dreams come true, Lady Cumnock.”
Something very much like guilt—or betrayal?—crossed her expression before she turned and climbed into the carriage.
Fawkes didn’t allow himself to think about it as he slammed the door shut, nodded to the coachman, and stepped back to allow them to trundle off into the darkness.
And long after they were gone, he stood there in the cold December night, and cursed himself for a fool.
Chapter 10
Ellie couldn’t seemto stop the tears.
They’d begun first thing that morning, before she was even fully awake, and she hadn’t been able to climb out of bed yet.
Last night Fawkes’s words had echoed in her mind as Matthews drove her back to her warm bedroom:Ye used me, Ellie.
Because he was right; shehadn’tstopped to think how her plan would make him feel, and the guilt was burning a hole in her stomach lining.
The only way she’d been able to fall asleep last night was by sneaking a glass of brandy from the study, and even then her stomach had cramped all night. This morning, before she’d even opened her eyes, the guilt had slammed into her, and she’d begun to sob.
Purcell had brought the breakfast tray,tskedat her tears, thrown open the curtains, then left Ellie to her misery.
The breakfast tray still sat untouched, except for the creamy hot chocolate, which Ellie had slurped down, amazed by how delicious it tasted today.
And now, head aching, stomach churning, lungs burning, she lay curled around her pillow, too exhausted to do more than allow the tears to leak from between her closed eyelids.
When the door opened again, she assumed it was the maid. But the footsteps were light, and then the mattress dipped. “Ellie? Good morning, Ellie! Look, my tooth is looser this morning, look.”
