“Forgive my tongue, sir. I did not wish to offer you insult. I merely meant to speak plainly. You are correct, and I am acting in stark opposite to propriety’s rigid strictures. My only defense is as a female, half the world’s doors are closed to me. I cannot learn anything if I gad about as Lady Frederica Isling.”
He leaned toward her, his stare piercing, seeing through to the heart of her, it seemed. Or attempting to, at the very least. “Fair enough, Lady Frederica. You and your tongue are all too easily forgiven. In exchange for my absolution, perhaps you might enlighten me. Precisely what is it you wish to learn?”
Her cheeks went hot. There was much she wanted to learn, most of which she could not tell him. Her gaze strayed back to her lap. A far safer, less tempting place for them to land. She cleared her throat. “The inner working of your club so I may understand why men are drawn to it and how they can go about losing everything they have in the name of one more game of chance.”
He made a chiding sound, as though she were a child to be reprimanded. “Come now, my lady. I have already told you, I’ll not have my club’s existence put in jeopardy to satisfy your missish sense of fairness. I will happily explain to you the rules to the games. But if you think to make trouble, I shall have the carriage turned around and you can return to your sheltered world and your closed doors.”
What manner of trouble did he truly think she could affect? She had not even finished her book, let alone found a publisher willing to print it. Perhaps none ever would. Her gaze flitted back to him, finding him regarding her with an intensity and warmth that filled her with an odd combination of excitement and foreboding. Why had this powerful man capitulated to her demands?
“I do not wish to make any difficulties for you, Mr. Kirkwood,” she told him softly, for it was true. She intended to be as unobtrusive as possible. “As I said, I merely wish to conduct my research.”
“Hmm.” He made another noncommittal sound, seemingly devouring her with his eyes. “Where is your mustache this evening, my lady?”
She pursed her lips, reminded of his two small thefts from her. “The disreputable proprietor of the wickedest club in London stole it from me.”
His lips quirked again. “Do tell.”
“Indeed.” She nodded, as if imparting a great font of wisdom. “I am currently en route to his club, with every intention of causing a great deal of uproar.”
This time, his mouth rippled, two dimples in his cheeks making an appearance for just a flash, gone so quickly she may have imagined them altogether. “I cannot say I find fault with the mustache’s absence, but I do not approve of this uproar you speak of. What shall it involve?”
She found herself grinning back at him, the knowledge she was capable of making his grim countenance soften with amusement—however brief—swelling her with pride. “I am afraid if I confide in you now, it shall spoil the surprise. You shall simply have to wait and see.”
“Well played, Lady Frederica,” he drawled, tipping his hat to her. “Well played, indeed.”
Chapter Six
The lady hada sense of humor.
Duncan would not have supposed it, looking upon her. For she seemed an odd little bundle of nervousness and propriety, of rebelliousness and caution. She was a dichotomy, Lady Frederica Isling. More intriguing than he could have supposed just yesterday.
For in addition to her daring and penchant for the absurd, along with her bewitching mouth, vibrant eyes, lush hair, and the loveliest arse in all Christendom, she was also intelligent. He discovered, as he allowed her the run of his private corridors and office, she was a true observer. She watched everyone. Studied everything, even the smallest nuances of someone’s facial features.
“That fellow over there appears to be up to no good,” she warned him now, her eye pressed to the viewing slot overlooking one of his faro tables. “His gaze is darting about, and I do believe he has been palming some of his cards up his coat sleeve. I have been watching him for nigh on to ten minutes, Mr. Kirkwood.”
She spoke of Viscount Weston. Duncan did not even need to press his eye to another viewing slot to be certain. He had been wary of Weston, a young dandy who had squandered some thirty thousand pounds in the last fortnight at The Duke’s Bastard only to have his fortunes suddenly turned. Neither Duncan nor his men had yet been able to prove the whelp’s treachery.
As he watched her viewing his patrons, dressed in her ridiculous coat and breeches, he could not help but think not of Weston and the cards up his sleeve but rather of the curves hidden beneath Lady Frederica’s disguise. Her finely shaped bottom was all he could discern.
“Mr. Kirkwood?” she cast a glance back toward him.
Their gazes clashed, and an unwanted rush of desire washed over him. He was aware of her in a way he had never before experienced.Bloody hell, he needed to regain control of himself. Two days after first spotting her within his club, and he was already giving in to her ludicrous demands to conduct research and following her about like a puppy at its master’s heels. Why had he felt the need to linger here in the dimly lit corridor with her, anyway?
It was locked for the evening, access to it restricted to just himself and Lady Frederica. There was no need to protect her or to watch over her. He ought to go about the business of running his club as usual. The Duke’s Bastard was a machine, it was true, but it was a machine that required him to keep all the parts moving in unison. Lingering here with her was doing nothing but inviting folly.
His cock hardened when she licked her lips, her eyes settling upon his mouth.
All manner of folly, some of it more dangerous than others.
He wanted her, and he could not have her, and it was making him churlish. The need to lash out rose within him, a desperate urge to undercut the heaviness of the moment, the false sense of intimacy that had fallen betwixt them. She was quality. An innocent lady. Not for him.
“Leave the management of my club to me, if you please, Lady Frederica,” he ordered with more harshness than necessary. “I have run The Duke’s Bastard without the interference of an overindulged duke’s daughter for years now, and miraculously, it continues to flourish.
Her thick lashes lowered, hiding the brilliance of her gaze from him, and he found himself hoping she would meet him with the reckless daring he so admired. But instead, her cheeks went pink. “Yes, of course.”
Her meek response, along with the undercurrent of hurt in her tone, cut through him. He instantly regretted his impulse. For all that she was foolish and brave, she was also young and pure. He was jaded. Older. He had raised himself up from the meanest streets, from nothing, to where he was now. He ought to have known better than to allow her to return.
He gritted his teeth. “I do believe the carriage shall be ready for you within the half hour, my lady. Prepare yourself to return.”
