Not Wicked Enough by Carolyn Jewel Page A

of the discs. Except for the duke, who stood on the other side of the excavation, his arms crossed over his chest. Refusing to accept one.
     
    She walked the perimeter of the trench until she reached Mountjoy. There, she handed him the pot of coins. “Yousee? We succeeded. Look at your sister.” Ginny stood beside Lord Nigel, wearing a sky blue frock instead of a black one. “Do you see how happy she is? She ought to wear colors all the time.”
     
    “Yes,” he said. “She ought to.” Mountjoy turned away from the crowd, but she followed him, and they were soon in the library, quite alone. The coin-filled pot sat on the largest table. Each disc in the pot exactly resembled her medallion. She smoothed one of them between her fingers. They were heavy enough to be solid gold and therefore must be worth a fortune.
     
    Mountjoy stood beside her, silent. Brooding.
     
    “Are you angry, your grace?” she asked.
     
    “No.”
     
    She gave him a disc and this time, he accepted it.
     
    “Thank you, Lily.”
     
    In her dream, his voice sent a shiver down her spine. Yes, the man did have the loveliest voice, edged with smoke and silk. She touched his coat, poorly cut for a man whose shoulders were so broad. Mountjoy was an active man and his body reflected that. One heard things, if one paid even the least attention. On occasion, the duke worked alongside his tenants, and the plain truth was that with his advice, crop yields were up. He had a reputation as a horseman able to turn even the most bad-tempered mount into an obedient ride. He was not considered an approachable man, but his neighbors solicited his opinion about horses and farming. The Duke of Mountjoy was, if not well liked, then well respected.
     
    “You ought to hire me on as your valet.” She was perfectly serious, and Mountjoy took it as such.
     
    His eyes stayed on her face. Such a pure and intense green, framed by dark, thick lashes and a tilt at the edges that made her think of his kisses. Her pulse raced out of control so that she could scarcely breathe. “I won’t pay you more than twenty pounds per annum.”
     
    “So long as I have room and board, that is acceptable.”Since she would be working for the duke, she’d have to close Syton House, though the garden tours must continue. Syton House was famous for its gardens and that brought visitors who spent money at the local establishments. If enough of her staff agreed to stay on even though she no longer lived there, the public tours of the house could continue. The moment she had the chance, she’d write to her steward to put that into motion.
     
    “Then the position is yours,” the duke said just as if there was nothing unusual about hiring a woman as his valet. “You’ll start immediately.”
     
    “Excellent, your grace, since you require an entirely new wardrobe.”
     
    He picked up one of the discs and spun it on its edge. “Do I?”
     
    “Indeed, sir, you do. You won’t regret it. I’ll make you the envy of every man in England. Everyone will beg to know the name of your tailor.”
     
    “Make it so, Wellstone.”
     
    She laughed, tickled that he should have fallen immediately into calling her by her last name. Oh, yes, she would be the most excellent valet in the Empire and the Duke of Mountjoy would be her triumph.
     
    “Wellstone.” He caught the still spinning coin between his fingers.
     
    “Yes?”
     
    “There is one other duty you’ll have.”
     
    “Yes?”
     
    “This.”
     
    Then he kissed her, and she was not an inexperienced girl who could only guess at the passion possible between a man and a woman. He kissed her the way he had in the garden. Tenderly then passionately, holding nothing back, and beneath her fingers she felt the strength and warmth of his body, and she wanted more than anything to touch him when he was nude. To slide her fingers over his magnificentphysique, over the muscles that formed his body, to touch and taste and tell him how