Frederica was mindless. Breathless. She didn’t wish to think about his words, what they meant. All she wanted was more of him. More of his mouth, his tongue, his touch. The heat that had been building within her made her arch her back, seeking, urging him to continue. She wanted him to open her waistcoat, unbutton her shirt and lift it over her head. She wanted him to slice away her bindings. She wanted his hands on her bare skin without impediment.
She wanted…
A knock sounded. Quietly at first, and then more persistent.Rap. Rap. Rap.
Mr. Kirkwood stilled. For a beat, silence descended, and there was no sound save the muted din of the club and pleasure chambers beyond their private little viewing hall and the ragged sound of their breaths mingling until they became one. She fancied she could hear their hearts pounding in unison.
Rap-rap. Rap-rap. Rap-rap.
“Mr. Kirkwood?”
“Beelzebub’s ballocks.” Cursing, he tore away from her as if she were a live coal shot from the fire grate, and he had plucked her up from the floor with his bare fingers only to realize his folly and fling her as far and as fast from him as he could.
She swayed, wrapping her arms about herself as a sudden sense of loss hit her. Her lips felt swollen and tingly. Her body was alive as it had never been. Even the patch of skin on her throat he had sucked and nipped stung. Her mind seemed separate from her body. Mad thoughts rained through it.
Duncan Kirkwood kissed me. I kissed him back. He tastes like cocoa, and his hair is softer than a fine silk. His shoulders are every bit as hard as they appear. His hands on my breasts…
No.
She had to stay the wildness he had created within her. She watched as Mr. Kirkwood smoothed his coat and stalked toward the door, jerking it open without sparing her a backward glance. His words echoed in her mind, joining the tumult.Forbidden fruit always tastes best.
Was that what she presented to him? A challenge? The unobtainable? Perhaps he kissed every female of his acquaintance with such fiery dedication. After all, the man did employ harlots. He did have viewing slots dedicated for the pleasure of patrons who preferred to observe the depravities unfolding within his den of vice. He had created the perfect dwelling of sin at The Duke’s Bastard—gambling, drinking, and worse. What sort of man was he?
Precisely who was the man she had just asked for a kiss? The man who had left her shaken and confused, questioning herself and everything she knew to be true? Right from wrong, honor versus ruin, freedom or safety, recklessness and care.
The interior of Mr. Kirkwood’s office backlit the gentleman at the door, bathing his face in shadows. Frederica did her best to feign disinterest and act the part of a gentleman as she felt the fellow’s gaze settle upon her for the briefest of moments before discreetly flicking away.
“Didn’t realize you were otherwise engaged, sir,” the man murmured. “My apologies.”
Mr. Kirkwood flicked a glance at her over his shoulder, his brow furrowed, before turning back to his staff member. “His lordship is new to the viewing hall. I was merely providing him an introductory lesson in the art of pleasure.”
Dear Lord, the manner in which the wordpleasurerolled off his tongue, smoother than fresh cream, made her flush and wish for more such lessons at the same time. She ought to be appalled at herself, and part of her was.
But the other part of her—the part of her that longed for freedom and the pursuit of her own dreams—reveled in every second of what had occurred this evening. That part of her wanted more. And more. And then some more afterward.
“What the hell do you require, Hazlitt?” Mr. Kirkwood bit out, an edge of irritation blunting his tone.
He did not appreciate the disruption.
Good, then.Neither did she.
“Forgive me, sir. I would not ordinarily seek you out, but I am afraid there is a delicate matter underway. Lord Greaves has returned Monsieur Levoisier’s dinner on no less than three occasions, claiming it is unworthy. Tonight, Monsieur lost his patience and he is, er, offering Lord Greaves hisopinion. His distinct and unfetteredopinion.”
“I will attend the matter.” Mr. Kirkwood sighed, passing a hand through the thick golden strands atop his head. He cast her a meaningful glance over his shoulder. “Remain where you are, enjoying the view, if you please, my lord. I shall return forthwith.”
Naturally, since he did not wish her to accompany him, there was nothing she wanted to do more. How fascinating—the chef of a gentleman’s club verbally assaulting one of the patrons. As discomfited as she still felt after Mr. Kirkwood had kissed her, her mind was ever spinning stories.
Here was an opportunity to witness a club’s workings firsthand—its patrons, its staff, a conflict. Frederica could not ask for more. If she was not able to remain cloistered away in the hall, exchanging kisses with Mr. Kirkwood, she would happily accept the second-best fate in the name of her novel.
She cleared her throat. “I find I am famished, Mr. Kirkwood. I shall accompany you and have my supper whilst we are about it. Killing two birds with the proverbial stone, as it were?”
He glanced back at her, his expression startled for the briefest of instants before his mask of control once more settled into place. “Please, my lord. I insist you remain here until I return.”
He insisted, did he?
All the more reason for her to ignore him. She flattened a hand to her midsection and rocked back on her heels as she had seen her father do on numerous occasions. “I fear I find myself ravenous, Mr. Kirkwood. I require sustenance before aught else. Do you care to lead the way?”
Mr. Kirkwood’s gaze narrowed upon her. “Be that as it may, my lord, I am afraid I must suggest you remain here whilst I arrange a tray to be sent to you. That way, you can assuage any hunger you are currently suffering from.”
