It was their last evening together.
The final hours in each other’s presence.
If only that hard truth did not make her want to weep.
She continued her exploration of the chamber, but the thrill of discovering that which should forever remain a secret from her had abated. In its place was a morose combination of jealousy and futility.
“My lady.”
His voice was near. Too near. She spun about, clenching her pencil and notebook. “Mr. Kirkwood?” She raised a questioning brow, aware of the awkward formality that had fallen between them.
She wished she had never asked to come to this chamber, for now that she was within, she felt as if she had opened Pandora’s box.I will never see him again, she thought,and I have ruined our final kisses. If only she had fled on that memory, something to which she could cling.
“I have never made use of this chamber, my lady,” he told her quietly.
Her heavy heart lightened instantly at the revelation. But she was embarrassed he had sensed her question. She had no claim on him. She had not yet known him for a full sennight, and this was to be the end of their association. “It is not my concern whether or not you have, sir.”
“I tell you freely.” Still watching her intently, he brushed her chin with his fingers. Just a glancing touch, and yet she felt it everywhere. “This chamber is for the entertainment of my patrons.”
Relief slid through her. The thought of him with Tabitha or some other beautiful goddess in this chamber had been enough to make her ill. “Have I seen the worst or is there more?”
“There is more.” His jaw clenched. “Though I feel confident you have already seen more than enough. What is the meaning of this research, my lady? I do not believe you can use it inThe Silent Baron.”
She allowed her eyes to linger upon the finely hewn features of his face, the blade of a nose, full lips, the dimple in his chin. He was so beautiful, like a god among mortals, dressed all in black and come to rule the land of the living with his call to sin. She would gladly heed his call if she were free to. In that moment, she cursed the fate that would have her married to Duncan Kirkwood’s brother instead of him.
“Curiosity,” she answered honestly. “When my freedom has been taken from me, and when I must become a proper wife, I want something to remember. Some small promise of daring and passion and yes, even sin. I find myself fascinated by your world, Mr. Kirkwood.”
And fascinated by you, she added inwardly, for it would be far too much of a confession. Her pride would not allow it.
“You astound me.” He plucked her hat from her head suddenly, finding the pins in her hair and setting them free one by one. “And confound me.”
She knew she should stay him. Each thud of a hairpin on the rug was akin to a bell that, once rung, could not be undone. Her thick dark hair began to fall in heavy waves to her shoulders. His hands moved in reverent strokes, smoothing it around her face.
No one had ever touched her with such delicate care before. Her lady’s maid was deft in her ministrations but jerky, with a tendency to pull at the roots of Frederica’s hair as she ran the comb through it. It seemed at once odd and breathtaking to be touched with such tenderness, and by the infamous Duncan Kirkwood.
“You are ruining my disguise,” she protested without heat, for she could not summon even a drop of outrage. She wanted his touch. Welcomed it. Longed for it.
“Your hair is too glorious to be bound and hidden beneath that monstrosity of a hat.” More pins fell to the floor until none were left, and still, he stared as if memorizing the sight of her, his hands stroking slowly over her locks. “Damnation, you are the loveliest woman I have ever seen.”
His flattery made her cheeks go hot and started a queer fluttering in her belly. “Flattery,” she dismissed softly.
“Nay.” He stilled, staring down at her with the gravest expression she had ever seen him sport. “Truth.”
She fell into his brilliant gaze, headlong. Wishing this was not goodbye. Wishing she could see him one more time. Did it truly have to be? “May I come again tomorrow?”
“I am afraid not.” His expression turned rueful, but his denial smarted nonetheless. “I am holding a masque tomorrow, and I shall be distracted by my duties as host. The guests will be unsuitable company for you, and these affairs tend to get rather…ribald.”
“Oh,” was all she could manage to say, hurt bubbling up at the reminder he was not her suitor, and prolonging their interactions would only prove fruitless and reckless should she continue on this path.
When she would have extricated herself from him, he held firm, forcing her to remain. His eyes glittered. “I will not be the man who ruins you, Lady Frederica. We are dancing perilously close to your fall from grace, and I will not be the one who forces you over the edge.”
His hands were warm and large on either side of her head, caressing her hair in soft, soothing strokes that did nothing to take away the sting of his rejection. He was being honorable, the last thing anyone would have expected of the infamous Duncan Kirkwood. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and fuse their mouths. Wanted him to take her innocence so she would not have to surrender it to the Earl of Willingham.
His half-brother.
A man who was nothing like him.
“What if I wish to be ruined?” she asked boldly. Desperately.
