Rescued By a Lady's Love (Lords of Honor, #3) by Christi Caldwell Page A

into her throat as she braced to be tossed bodily from his office. What will you do now, you stupid chit...? But the duke limped past her. The thump-thump-thump of his cane marked his progress over to his desk chair. He slid his powerful frame within the folds and after he’d rested his cane against the mahogany and brass side table, he spread his arms wide. “You stormed my home and my office; get on with whatever is of such importance to you.”
    Lily sidled over to the desk, all the while keeping a close eye on the volatile duke, as she took the seat opposite him. She fished around her reticule and withdrew her false references. “I am here seeking employ—”
    “I didn’t give you leave to sit.” He wrapped those words in a lethal edge.
    Arm frozen mid-movement with the documents clenched between her fingers, she lowered the pages to her lap. Her mind ran. Hadn’t he? She wrinkled her brow. Well, no. She rather supposed he hadn’t. She searched his face for any hint of warmth; some slight penetrable crack that indicated he was not solely the harsh monster who’d scared the butler into a near run. Of their own volition, her eyes lingered on the planes of his cheeks. Regret struck her. He’d truly been a remarkable man, the manner of man a vicar’s young daughter would toss her virtue away for.
    The duke rested his elbows on the desktop and leaned closer. “Do I meet with your approval, madam?” He peeled his lip back in a sneer.
    Then, an unexpected twinge of compassion pulled at her heart. For a moment, she forgot the subterfuge that brought her into his home. This man’s surly bid to terrify was merely a means of protecting himself from cruelties he’d, no doubt, encountered. As one who’d sought to protect herself from hurt through the years, she recognized that attempt in another.
    A hard, knowing glint lit his eye and he sat swiftly back in his chair. “I do not need your pity.”
    She snorted. Just then, it was hard to feel anything but annoyance at a foul fiend like the duke. “Well, that is all well and fine. You don’t have it.” Terror, however, was an altogether different matter. That she knew plenty of around the Duke of Blackthorne.
    He sat forward in his seat once again. “For even scarred as I am, Miss Benedict, I’d still not put my co...”
    A shocked gasp escaped her and ate into the remainder of his crude words. Lily flew from her seat and slapped him into silence. The echo of her vicious blow blared like the firing of a pistol in the quiet. No doubt he sought to be rid of her with his vile innuendos and crude words. Even in her role as gentleman’s plaything, she’d not been spoken to in such a manner.
    His Grace froze. Then, as if he delighted in that crack in her veneer, a jeering grin marred his lips.
    Her chest heaved and she shook, partly from fear of crossing such a black-hearted soul, partly with shame for having put her hands to his face, partly with embarrassment for the vile words she’d cut short with her well-timed slap. Still, she’d not look away and give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d shaken her. She tossed her tresses and made a show of studying him.
    “You do like what you see, then,” he said on a jeering whisper.
    She narrowed her eyes. “Hardly.” The great lummox was a beast, but such had nothing to do with the marks upon his skin and everything to do with the words on his lips.
    He stiffened and then came slowly to his feet.
    Lily swallowed hard and inched her gaze up his towering frame. Goodness, the man was a veritable mountain. Weren’t there rules on the frame and form of these pompous dukes? Weren’t they supposed to sport monocles and stuff their garments with padding the way Sir Henry had? Or douse themselves in fragrant cologne and oil their hair like George? The hint of sandalwood that clung to this duke was potent, and masculine, and muddled her senses.
    “Oh?” he whispered.
    Do not say anything. There was the whole matter of the