“On the contrary,” he lied, because she had once again spoken the truth. Damnation, the woman could dissect him. What was it about her, a mere slip of a girl, an innocent, a virgin, the daughter of a duke? “I am merely busy, tasked with a myriad of duties this evening related to the running of my club. You may consider yourself fortunate I have allowed your intrusion this evening at all, Lady Frederica.”
But she is also a lady who possesses more daring and bravado than anyone you know.The voice intruded upon his thoughts when he least expected it. And damnation, the voice was correct.
Her shoulders stiffened, her chin lifting. Here was her pride, coming into action. “Of course, Mr. Kirkwood. Thank you for your… generosity this evening. I could not have managed to conduct so much research without your assistance.”
He should tell her she could not return on the morrow. He already had what he wanted. There was no need to prolong this madness. No need at all.
Except that which burned inside him, a flame kindled into a raging fire.
“Until tomorrow,” he told her, because he could not bear to say farewell.
Chapter Eight
Although Frederica expectedMr. Kirkwood to be waiting for her in the carriage the next evening at the appointed time, she had been thoroughly dismayed to find it empty. The short ride to his club had seemed interminable, her mind whirling with explanations for his absence. None satisfied her.
His defection after the heated kisses they had shared yesterday, after his revelations over dinner—when the mask he wore slipped to reveal the man beneath—left her particularly cold. She had returned home the previous evening, and she had written until her candles sputtered out and her fingers were ink stained.
To her surprise, the story had taken an unforeseen turn, and she realized the baron must be the villain. It seemed undeniable to her now, and she could not understand why she had envisioned it any differently.The Silent Baronwas not the tale of a gentleman led astray, but of a flawed man struggling to find redemption.
As she made her way into his club, she reasoned their paths would necessarily cross here. Who else would hover over her like a mother hen at the nest? But she was likewise disappointed when she arrived at The Duke’s Bastard and his man of business, instead of Mr. Kirkwood himself, met her with a bow and a frown.
“Lord Blanden,” he greeted solemnly.
The man bore no expression, and yet he exuded an undeniable aura of disapproval. She could not help but wonder if he had suspected anything was amiss the day before when he had interrupted her interlude with Mr. Kirkwood. Heat scalded her cheeks and made her ears prickle.Interludewas such a tame, inappropriate word for what had occurred between herself and the gaming hell owner.
A man who mere days before had been a stranger. A man who now seemed hopelessly familiar. A man who was nowhere to be found. Who had brushed her off to the care of his staff members as if she were nothing more than a bothersome burden who must be shuffled from one person to another.
“Mr. Hazlitt,” she acknowledged stiffly, trying to hide her displeasure over Mr. Kirkwood’s glaring absence. Had she probed too deeply? Pushed him too far? He seemed a private man, a smoldering mystery wrapped in black.
She told herself she should be relieved. After all, he was also a wicked man, to be sure. His club was a haven for sin. He hosted and encouraged all manner of depravities, the likes of which she had never known existed. He ruined men to fill his own coffers.
Spending any more time in the man’s presence would be ruinous. She had already proven herself quite the hoyden, begging for his kiss. Her face went hotter, misery multiplying until it threatened to drown her.
“Mr. Kirkwood has directed me to bring you to his office,” Hazlitt said, intruding upon her thoughts. “Unfortunately, he is otherwise occupied at the moment. You may await him there, however. Will you follow me,my lord?”
Was it her wild imagination at work, or did Mr. Hazlitt just emphasize his form of address, as if to suggest he knew it was false? She swallowed the lump of disenchantment in her throat and nodded once. “Lead the way, Mr. Hazlitt.”
Through the antechamber they traveled, Mr. Hazlitt’s steps measured and brisk. Although her legs were long, her escort’s were longer, and she struggled to keep pace as he led her through the series of well-disguised halls that led to Mr. Kirkwood’s office. They entered in silence, and Frederica could not shake the sensation she was intruding. How strange it was to stand in a chamber that was so much Mr. Kirkwood—it even smelled of him, for heaven’s sake, and yet for him to not be in it.
“Will you require supper?” Mr. Hazlitt asked coolly.
She eyed him over the rim of her spectacles, rendering him crisp and forbidding rather than blurred and frowning. “Do you dislike me, Mr. Hazlitt?”
His lip curled. “I dislike trouble.”
He knew she was not a gentleman, then. The momentary thaw in his rigid expression was just the revelation she required.
She raised a brow, for the wallflower she was had been replaced with a different person entirely. In her disguise, she was free to do and say and act as she wished. If only it wasn’t fleeting, her precious liberty, slipping away far too quickly. “Trouble, sir? You would dare to refer to a peer of the realm as trouble?”
The disdain on his countenance only heightened. “You ain’t a peer of the realm, my lord. You’re a cockish wench if I ever saw one, and I’ve seen many in my day. You may have Mr. Kirkwood under your spell, but I’m not going to allow you to lead him or this club into bad bread.”
Bad bread?
She was not certain she understood Mr. Hazlitt’s rude manner of speech, and she wished in that moment to record it lest she forget. Such speech could lend an air of realism to her characters.
Oh, dear.There she went again, worrying aboutThe Silent Baron. Poor Mr. Hazlitt seemed to be anticipating a response. How easy it was to get caught up within her mind and story, rather akin to being trapped in a plethora of ivy vines.
What had he called her?Cockish wench?Dreadful. Her cheeks went hotter than ever.
