Sins of a Wicked Duke by Sophie Jordan Page B

burning as they had not done in years. Not since she departed Viscount Hunt’s estate and began her life at Penwich.
     
    She would perform her duty. She would venture forth. She must. And, most importantly, she would know if the past had truly collided with her—here, of all places.
    Her legs moved up the steps of the servants’ stairs numbly, her soft tread matching the heavy beat of her heart as she advanced toward the study. Once again, thrusting herself beneath the duke’s nose. The very place she had vowed to avoid, yet where she continued to find herself. But for once, she didn’t care.She had to go .Had to know.
    The duke bade enter at her single swift rap.
    “Ah, here we are. I’d begun to fear they forgot us.”
    Fallon’s heart stilled upon hearing the voice of the duke’s guest. Years had passed since the afternoon she had been called before his desk. But his voice had not changed so much. Not enough for her to forget. Always full of relentless demands. Demands Da had been unable to refuse…even if it meant leaving her alone in the world. Indeed, she remembered the voice. Remembered the fateful words that had so dramatically altered her life with a single declaration.
    Your father is dead,girl. Buried somewhere in the Seychelles. Take heart, though—he died righteously ,performing his duties. Fret not. I’ll see to your welfare.
     
    Bitterness twisted her heart. For once her gaze skipped over the handsome visage of the duke, instead crawling over the carpet, skimming its elaborate swirl pattern until stopping at the booted feet of Lord Hunt. Her gaze traveled up, sliding over dark trousers, to the waiting man.
    Holding open the cigar box, she inhaled, readying for her first glimpse of the man responsible for her father’s death. The man who sent him to the far corners of the world to retrieve…flowers, of all things. The very man who sentenced her to life at Penwich. Her gaze locked on his face, and her breath froze in her lungs.
    It wasn’t him.
    And yet she saw him. Recognized the high brow, the deeply set eyes. The cleft in his square chin. Oh, she knew him. Saw the boy where the man now sat. As big a bastard as his father. Lord Ethan, the Viscount’s son. The old man must have died if Ethan now bore the title. Strange that the thought did not gratify her. He likely died in his own bed, surrounded by family and friends. Not struck dead of disease in a faraway land with only strangers for comfort.
    Her attention settled on him with unwavering intensity. The little lordling’s boyish handsomeness had matured into hard-edged virility. Not so unlike the duke. They both wore a look of dissolution. From the too-long hair to the sinful curve of their lips. A perfect pair. No wonder they were friends. She should have guessed Lord Hunt’s spoiled son would gravitate to someone like Damon.
    And perhaps not such a coincidence, after all. She vaguely recalled that a duke lived in the vicinity of Lord Hunt’s estate. On the other side of Little Saums. She had thought the name Damon familiar the first time she read it on his card. Until now it did not click.
    Lord Hunt’s hazel eyes, set deeply beneath thick dark brows, peered out at the world with an air of derision. As if he alone was privy to some grand jest on all of mankind.
    Her stillness drew their notice. Both men fixed her with questioning stares.
    “Well, are you going to gawk all day, man? I haven’t been ogled so much since I was forced into Almack’s for my sister’s debut.” Lord Hunt shuddered.
    “Perhaps it’s that ugly mug of yours he can’t take his eyes off,” Damon suggested.
    Hunt shrugged, as if the notion wouldn’t bother him even if it were true.
    Fallon’s cheeks burned. She forced herself to approach the duke. Holding the box open for him, he made his selection. Closing the box, she moved to the door.
    “Have we met?”
    She stopped at Hunt’s question. Good heavens. Did he recognize her? After all these