She swallowed.Yes, that had been wrong of her. Her cheeks flamed with color. She had known it then and she knew it now, but she had enjoyed the shocking act of watching. “All of it, Mr. Kirkwood. I wish to continue my observations so that my story might be bolstered by both accuracy and attention to detail. If anyone is to become swept away in the world ofThe Silent Baron, I must be as realistic in my presentation as possible. The creative workings of my imagination alone will not suffice.”
His fingers tightened on hers, and he stepped forward, into her body, crowding her. He was all darkness, all black, the embodiment of wickedness except for his golden hair and blue gaze. “Do tell what thecreative workingsof your imagination might have conjured, Lady Frederica. I admit, you have roused my curiosity, among other things.”
Even her ears burned beneath the combination of his scrutiny and the subtle implications of his words. “Nothing as scandalous as the truth, Mr. Kirkwood.”
“And did you enjoy watching yesterday, my lady?” he asked slyly. “Surely you must not have been disgusted, else you would not have returned today.”
“My return here this evening was caused by my dedication, Mr. Kirkwood,” she lied. “I wish for more information. I require the full picture of The Duke’s Bastard.”
And she did, she told herself. Even if once had been enough to provide her the bones for fleshing out the gaming hell in which her baron would lose his fortune, succumbing to the devils of vice. After all, there was no way she could capture the shocking, flagrant depravity she had witnessed here yesterday. No one would dare publish such an account.
“Ah, but I am not so inclined to allow such a thing.” His thumb caressed her wrist. Just a simple movement—one slow, unending circle—and yet it made her knees nearly give out. “You see, Lady Frederica, this club is how I earn my supper. It is my reputation. My mistress. It is the livelihood of dozens of men and women. I will not have it destroyed by the whims of one spoiled, selfish duke’s daughter who fancies herself an authoress.”
He thought her spoiled and selfish? Why, he did not even know her. She tugged her wrist from his grasp, severing the connection and—she hoped—the ridiculous sensations careening unchecked through her traitorous body. He was toying with her, like a cat batting at a mouse he would eventually make his meal, and she did not like it.
“I am creating a fictional account, sir,” she reminded him, keeping her tone frosty. “Your club will not be named. No one who readsThe Silent Baron—should I be fortunate enough to find a publisher—would ever be the wiser. The repulsive acts you countenance within your walls shall remain your secret.”
“Repulsive?” His eyes glinted. “I beg your pardon, my lady. Only yesterday, you did not appear repulsed.”
Because she had not been, much to her everlasting shame. Nor was she now. Her father and mother would be horrified if they were to discover what she was doing in her father’s absence. To know she had fallen prey to such wickedness. That even a lady who had been born and raised to a life of gentility, purity, and ease could become corrupted by vice.
Instantly, an idea forThe Silent Baronentered her mind. The baron could fall in love with one of the courtesans in the gaming hell, intrigued by the disparity of their lives. It would be an ill-fated match, of course, with no future. Why had she not thought of it before?
She tipped up her chin, trying to hide the quiver of excitement running through her now. How she itched to flee home and put her pen to paper. But first, she needed to conclude her battle of wits. “Nevertheless, I was quite repulsed. How can you claim to know my inner thoughts and feelings? You do not know me, Mr. Kirkwood, and neither should I know you.”
His sensual lips twitched. “More’s the pity.”
He was a bad man, Mr. Duncan Kirkwood.
A bad man who made her feel wicked things. Things she did not wish to feel. Her breath caught. She thought of his thumb on her skin, how his merest caress could still make her weak. What power did he wield?
She ought to go now. Run from him while her virtue and her dignity both remained intact. She could writeThe Silent Baronwith the handful of details she had gleaned from her brief time in the gaming rooms the day before. It would be far safer. Far wiser to do so.
Frederica swallowed, banishing the feelings he spurred in her. She had far too many matters of import facing her. But then her mind prodded her that a lady of the evening was precisely the character she required to heighten the tension of the baron’s fall from grace. She knew nothing about such females, having been raised to live her life as though the creatures did not exist.
If she was to write a harlot, she really ought to meet such a person. Speak to her. Understand her motivations. Her speech. Her aspirations. She could not leave. She had to convince Mr. Kirkwood to grant her more time at The Duke’s Bastard.
She forced her countenance to soften, offering him a smile and taking care to remove every, last hint of ice from her voice when she spoke again. “Please Mr. Kirkwood, how can I persuade you of the necessity of my research here?”
Chapter Five
Duncan could thinkof at least five bloody excellent ways Lady Frederica could persuade him to allow her to remain within his club, conducting herresearch, as she phrased it. One of them involved her pretty mouth. One involved her hands. Two her virginal cunny, and yet another her…
Damnation.
No need to torture himself.
This little game of theirs was at an end. Of necessity, it had to be.
“You cannot persuade me, my lady.” He shook his head slowly, unable to keep his gaze from dipping once more to her loose coat, wishing he could see the true swell of her breasts. Just once. How tightly had she bound them? And why did the notion of her bound breasts make his cock rise hard and full in his breeches? Thinking of her in nothing but breeches, boots, and her bound breasts robbed him of the power of speech.
Those luscious midnight curls unleashed from their pins, trailing down her back. His hands cupping her arse. He would direct her to unravel the bindings as he watched. And then, when her bubbies sprang forth, he would suck an erect nipple into his mouth. His fingers would make short work of the fall on her breeches. The breathy sounds of her need would fill the air as he moved to her other nipple, nipping this time with his teeth. He would part her folds, find her wet and hot…
Blast. Blast. Beelzebub. Hades.
A trail of epithets unleashed themselves in his mind. He had to stop this nonsense.
“Mr. Kirkwood, I beg of you,” she pressed, those eyes, brilliant and glorious, wide upon his. “All I require is some additional research this evening, and then three evenings more at the most. A few hours of your time. You shall not even know I am here.”
