But she did not miss a word. Her brows snapped together. “The sight of me, Mr. Kirkwood? Are you laughing at me?”
Yes. No. Also, yes.
He was laughing at her. At himself. At the silliness of this predicament in which he now found himself. He was laughing because there had not been cause for much levity in his life, and he was grateful for this rare moment of indulgence.
But he did not wish to reveal any of that to the feisty, daring duke’s daughter before him. Instead, he cocked his head, studying her. “I may be reconsidering your bargain, my lady. But first, you must answer another question. Precisely how have you managed to travel from your father’s residence to my club each evening?”
The thought of her flitting about, so ridiculously costumed, a plump pigeon for any villain with a discerning eye to pluck, nettled him. He did not like it, not one whit.
She blinked at him, the spectacles magnifying her crisp emerald gaze. “I hired a hack, sir. It was reasonably easy. Far easier than I had imagined. Once again, it has proven an invaluable boon for my research.”
A boon for her bloody research.
Did the foolish chit have no inkling of how much danger she was placing herself in with each of her rash actions? And it was not merely her reputation at stake but rather her innocence. Her body. How easily she could be broken. He had seen too many times the horrible consequences of a woman being taken against her will. His own mother had been one such victim, and he would never forget. It was one reason why he took such great care with the ladies he employed.
He stiffened, a protective surge overtaking him. “If I agree to allow you to return after this evening, my lady, it will be for one more occasion only. I will send a private carriage for you, and it will await you a discreet distance from your home. There will be no more hired hacks or wandering about the city unprotected.”
Fire sparked to life in her vivid eyes. “I will accept nothing less than four visits, as I have already established. If you continue to debate the matter with me, I shall raise the number to five.”
He barely held his laughter in check at her cheek. “Madam, I do believe you have no notion of the means by which a compromise is reached.”
“Nonsense,” she blustered. “Of course I do, else you would not be entertaining a compromise at all.”
Damnation, the lady had a point.
He inclined his head, a new respect for her blossoming in his chest. She was not just lovely and brave, but intelligent and unafraid of pursuing what she wanted. Admirable qualities in anyone, whether male or female, but particularly so in a lady of her station. She could have entertained herself with balls, routs, soirees, and suitors. Instead, she was writing a bloody novel and infiltrating the ranks of the most notorious club in London, strutting about garbed as a gentleman, in the name of research.
His attraction to her was growing by the moment, and not just to the physical beauty of her body or the undeniable lure of her unattainable status—the forbidden had ever appealed to him—but to her. She interested him. He wanted to learn her the same way he had learned gambling: calculating the odds, learning which games of chance reaped the greatest reward, understanding just how much a risk to take without the chance of losing all.
How dangerous. Here was all the more reason to send the troublesome Lady Frederica on her way.
“Two visits and my carriage,” he countered. “I will bar you from the door if you refuse to accept my means of conveyance.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Three, and I shall continue the use of the hired hack. It does give one such a delightful sense of independence and freedom, the sort which I daresay I shall never again enjoy.”
The sadness in her voice disturbed him. “Never again seems rather a hyperbole, my lady.”
“To you, perhaps.” Her chin lifted. “You are not the one whose father wishes to marry her off to any gentleman who will offer, regardless of how odious he may be.”
His father had not wished anything to do with him. His father would not even acknowledge him or look him in the eyes. She was fortunate hers only wished to see her settled. His had never given a good goddamn about him.
“Have you no suitors?” he asked, curious. He could not fathom that a woman like her would not have every gentleman in London at her feet. She was as lovely as she was original. What man could look upon her without envisioning the bounty of her dark hair on his pillow?
“Not any I would wish to spend the rest of my life with,” she said quietly. “I am approaching the age of spinsterhood. My father grows tired of waiting for me to make a match, and one of my suitors has been insistent. I am sure my future holds no interest to you. However, this may be my last opportunity to have such freedom of movement. The research I could conduct here at your club could last me for years. Or perhaps even a lifetime. That is why it is such a necessity.”
Something about her words and the luminous sheen in her eyes caused a lump to settle in his throat. A strange sensation unfurled within him, one entirely foreign. He swallowed. Took a step away from her, rolled his shoulders, which seemed suddenly constricted by his perfectly cut coat.
“Three additional visits and the use of my carriage,” he snapped, resenting her for the effect she had upon him. For the weakness she somehow created in him, a softening he had not suspected himself capable of possessing any longer. “That is my final offer, Lady Frederica. Accept it or leave it.”
She was silent, her expression contemplative, for far longer than he deemed necessary. But then at last she smiled, and damn her if that smile didn’t take his breath.
“I shall accept, Mr. Kirkwood.”
Why, in the name of all that was holy, did he find the pink mark on her upper lip so bloody adorable? And why did her triumphant tone make longing roll through him?
This was, quite possibly, the worst decision he had ever made in his life.
*
