Page 14 of A Deal with a Rake (Wicked Widows’ League #35)

T avish followed behind Florentia as they exited the carriage. An entire damn day of shopping. If he never saw another cravat or ribbon again, he’d be the happiest bastard in the world.

After spending nearly two hours at the modiste, they had gone to the haberdashery and the milliners, before stopping at Hatchards.

Tavish could honestly say that he’d never gone shopping for books in his entire life, but Florentia seemed to enjoy it.

He was surprised that she didn’t choose one of those famous books by that woman Austen.

Not his duchess, she was more practical than that.

She liked reading gothic novels. Something he’d learned as they had perused the shelves, him trailing dutifully behind.

He tried not to question his sudden need to protect and care for this woman he’d barely known twenty-four hours. Perhaps it was the way she didn’t expect anyone to care for her, or how her body tensed at the mention of her dead husband or her mother.

“That was a productive trip,” she said, walking in front of him toward the large mansion.

Anderson was holding the door open for them like they were royalty. It had only been one day, and yet Tavish already could sense the change in himself. Not only was he dressed like a king, but he was being treated like one.

“Is that your way of saying thank you?” he teased, knowing that being kind was difficult for her.

Entering Summerset House, he passed Anderson his newly acquired coat, hat, and cane. It all seemed unnecessary to him, who had always worn a shirt and trousers. He wore a jacket only for special occasions, and in bare-knuckle boxing, there were none.

“Tea, Anderson,” Florentia commanded as she glided into the drawing room.

“Thank you, Anderson.” Tavish added for her.

The butler stilled before quickly recovering. “You’re welcome, Your Grace.”

Florentia sat on the uncomfortable-looking chaise lounge in the corner of the large drawing room. “I find it comical that you’re correcting my behavior.” She stretched her long limbs out.

He realized in that moment that Summerset House was her home. She was comfortable there, relaxed, happy.

He was the visitor, not her.

Tavish walked to the sideboard, smiling when he noticed that all the vile brandy had been replaced with fine Irish whiskey from his da’s stock at O’Brien’s.

Needing something to quench the wild need beating through him, he poured a hefty glass, before walking to sit across from the alluring woman.

“I may be an Irish brute, but you’re rude.” He leaned back and unbuttoned his coat jacket. It was bloody hot. “I find that worse than being uncivilized.”

She laughed at him, the sound deep and sultry like her voice. “You’re ridiculous. It’s not being rude when addressing servants.”

“Aye it is,” he said, hearing a bit of his Irish accent filter through. “My ma always says, A good word never broke a tooth .”

It was something she’d often reminded him and his brothers of whenever they’d spit insults at each other.

“If I have to hear an Irish saying every time we’re together, I shall puncture my ears,” she said, taking one of the books she had purchased out of her reticule.

“It’ll be a shame to harm such pretty little ears.” He winked at her, before he took another gulp of whiskey.

The usually calming drink did nothing for Tavish. His body was taut with frustration, desperate for release. He’d have to use his hand on himself, something he didn’t do regularly. Why would he, when there was always a willing female to please him?

“Stop it,” she demanded, side-eyeing him suspiciously.

“Stop what?” he asked, knowing perfectly well what she wanted.

“Flirting with me. I’m not one of those eager ladies dying for a bit of rough.” She opened the book, her fingers caressing the pages like it was a lover, not an object.

He barked out a laugh. “I thought all ladies were in need of a bit of rough.” Placing his glass down on the table, he braced his arm on his knees. “I’ll wager your dalliance with the footman left you wanting.”

She began reading her book. “You’re a disgusting brute of a man.”

“Aye.” He agreed with her, noticing the tightening at her bosom, her nipples piercing the delicate fabric of her pale-yellow dress. “I want to make a deal with you.”

She stilled all movement, like he’d said something completely offensive to her. It was laughable considering all the flirtatious remarks he’d made.

“What type of deal?” she finally said, not taking her attention away from the book in her hand.

Damn him for wanting her, but from the moment he’d walked into that blasted bathing chamber, she was all he could think of. Even his visit with his family was clouded by the memory of her lithe little body dripping wet.

“Are you ready for me to leave?” her voice wavered, but there was no outward proof that she was distressed over the thought of leaving her home. “I believe your brother said you would give me a fortnight to find other accommodations.”

Fecking Declan.

Tavish shook his head. “Feck what my brother said. I want you to stay at Summerset House.”

“Stay?” She dropped the book into her lap and sat up. “Here with you…alone?” Her deep sultry voice was filled with trepidation.

He could understand her reluctance to trust him. It had only been a day after all, yet Tavish felt like he’d known her his entire life.

It was madness.

Pure fecking madness for him to want the widow of his father’s bastard of a cousin. But here they were, and he wasn’t going to let either one of them walk away.

He wasn’t poetic enough to believe in love at first sight. No, he wanted to sink inside of her and stay there. He wouldn’t whisper sweet words in her ear. They’d be filthy and raw, just like him.

“We’re alone now. Are you suddenly worried about your reputation?” He stood and removed the sweltering jacket.

Her eyes followed his every move, tracking him like she was a predator and he her last meal.

Fecking hell, he liked the way she looked at him.

“I have no reputation to consider,” she said, folding her arms. “What will you get out of it?”

He shrugged his shoulder. “I’ll get you.” He waved his hand to her, not missing the way her breathing increased at his words.

“I won’t be your mistress,” she said, avoiding eye contact with him.

It was the first time he’d actually seen her vulnerable. It only lasted a second, before the mask of indifference was back in place.

“I don’t need a mistress. Never liked the idea of paying a woman for her attention.” He spread his arm against the back of the sofa. “Besides, if you were to be mine, I’d let the world know, Princess.”

She turned her head, hiding her delectable blush from him. “And you and I will be what exactly?”

God help him, he wanted them to be something together, but the truth was Tavish had a life to return to. He was so close to finally getting revenge for Hammer’s death.

“Once I return to fighting, the house will be yours?—”

“Return to fighting?” she gasped, in shock. “You can’t return to bare-knuckle boxing. You’re a duke, Tavish.”

His name on her lips, in that deep husky voice of hers, had him wanting to rush over to her and take her on that uncomfortable chaise lounge.

“I’m a fighter and I’ve got unfinished business.” The Butcher was going to pay for brutally murdering Hammer. Tavish didn’t care how long it took him to get another fight with the bastard, but he’d get one. And then The Butcher would pay.

“And what about the dukedom?” she asked, turning her body toward him. “Society will never accept a duke that’s a bare-knuckle fighter.”

“I don’t care about all of this shite.” He gestured at his new clothes.

She giggled, shaking her head at him. “This shite? Is that what we’re calling well-tailored clothing, a dukedom, and a fortune?”

“Aye, what else would you call it?” he challenged, enjoying how easy it was to talk with her.

Usually, his conversation with the opposite sex was limited to what they could do for each other, unless it was one of his relatives.

But sitting there with Florentia made Tavish feel like he could tell her anything and she wouldn’t blanche or judge him. A rarity for him, as he’d often felt judged, especially in a house full of brothers and a da who often demanded perfection.

It was easy for Flynn O’Brien to demand perfection in others, because he expected it in himself. Looking back on the last words he’d said to his da, Tavish now understood why his father had pushed him so hard in life.

A knock on the door interrupted the brief silence that had descended.

“Enter,” they both said at the same time.

A maid entered with a tea service and placed it down on the small table.

“Thank you, Helen,” Florentia said, shocking both Tavish and the young maid, who’d kept stealing suggestive looks at him at breakfast.

He waited for Helen to leave before he sent a questioning look Florentia’s way.

“What?” she asked, standing to pour herself some tea. “If you can change, perhaps I can too.”

Once her tea was poured, milk and an obscene amount of sugar added, she took her seat. “So…” she began, stirring her tea, “you want me to believe that you want me to stay and run the household. And I am to believe that you want nothing in return?” She took a sip.

Tavish stood, walked back to the sideboard, and poured himself another drink.

It was like speaking to a scared child. She combated him on every level, not believing that someone could ever be kind to her.

“Has no one ever done anything nice for you?” he asked, wandering back to the sofa and throwing himself down on it, careful not to spill.

“Never,” she whispered so quietly that he almost didn’t hear the admission. “Not even my parents. At times, my father tried, but my mother always thwarted his attempts.”