“I know well enough.” Her bright gaze burned into him, unflinching. “I do not want the life that has been chosen for me. Tonight may be my last opportunity to be truly free, and if it is, I choose you.”
I choose you.
His heart thundered, her words reverberating with each life’s pulse. The undeniable pull he had felt for her—right from the moment he had first seen her arse at his hazard table—increased, mingling with the fierce, primitive need to make her his. He needed to be inside her.
She made him greedy. Made him weak. In that moment, their skins touching, bodies pressed together, two hundred revelers on the opposite side of the plaster, he knew he had made his choice as well. An air of finality mingled with rightness.
Another thought jolted through him like lightning. Frederica’s brother, the real Lord Blanden, was in attendance this evening. How easy it would be to arrange for Blanden to accidentally discover Duncan and Lady Frederica in a compromising position? What better means of proving, beyond a doubt, he had compromised her?
He would never have taken her innocence, but if she offered it to him, would it not be the irrefutable, indisputable argument he needed to force Westlake’s hand? More so than threat and innuendo, the knowledge his daughter had been ruined would surely move Westlake to relinquish Amberley’s vowels.
Could he be so ruthless? She had asked him to bed her, not to ruin her. Could he hurt her to gain what he wanted? He searched inside himself and felt only the darkness blossoming and spreading, a nothingness where emotions should dwell. He could have everything he wanted, all at once. Frederica and his revenge. Both would be fleeting.
Duncan pressed a quick, hard kiss to her lips before withdrawing, taking her hand. “Come with me.”
And both would be worth the black marks upon his soul. Of that, he had no doubt.
Chapter Twelve
Their fingers lacedtogether, Duncan led her through the labyrinth of secret halls and up a flight of stairs to a chamber she had never seen before. He released her hand to light a lamp. A warm glow spilled over polished dark wood. On a separate floor from the main gaming and pleasure rooms, it was nevertheless luxuriously appointed. A large bed dominated the wall.
A burst of warmth unfurled in her belly, leaving her tingling and terrified.
The door had scarcely closed behind them before he turned, crowding her with his large body. He framed her face in his wide palms, his handsome countenance inscrutable as he looked down upon her. He searched her gaze, it seemed, for the answer to a question that had never been posed.
“It is not too late, Frederica,” he said softly, and her name in his deep, dark voice sent a thrill through her. “One word from you, and I shall bundle you into my carriage.”
Guilt struck her then, an emotion she had done her best to suppress with champagne upon her arrival at his forbidden masque. Who would have thought Duncan Kirkwood, purveyor of vice and sin, would have possessed such a tender heart? Before she had met him, Frederica would not have believed it. But he was so much more than his reputation. It did not surprise her he was not simply taking what she’d offered. He was giving her every opportunity to change her mind, should she wish it.
She would not. Lord Willingham’s visit had made it clear to her what she must do. She regretted the necessity of involving Duncan, for deceiving him after all they had shared felt horridly wrong, but there was no other man she would have ruin her. And ruined she must be. It was her only hope of escaping the grim future of life as Lady Willingham, recipient of forced kisses, brutal touches, condescension, and heavens knew what else.
She did not want to know, and that was why she was here, body pressed indecently to Duncan Kirkwood’s, on her way to ruination. His scent, like his heat, invaded her senses. He was all she could think, see, breathe. She could be honest with herself; her decision to facilitate her ruination had not been selfless. It had been greedy, shameless, and wanton. She longed for Duncan, his mouth, his touch, his body.
For a brief, mad moment, she wondered if she ought to confess her plan to him, but fear he would not wish to aid her spurred her on. She told herself she had no other option.
“My lady,” he pressed, taking her hand in his once more and squeezing it. “Your final decision must be made.”
Ah, but hers had already been made before she had even entered his establishment earlier that evening. Everything was in motion, leading her inexorably to the next chapter of her life.
Onward, she promised herself. When her father was presented with irrefutable proof of her fall from grace, she felt certain he would have no choice but to forego any hopes of a match with Lord Willingham. And then, perhaps Frederica could at last convince her father to grant her freedom.
She shook her head. “I shall not change my mind.”
His jaw tightened as his gaze searched hers. “Good.”
His lips took hers. Hot, hungry, insistent. Devouring. She opened for him, tasting him, savoring the silken heat of his tongue in her mouth. Willingham’s hard, forced kiss had been as bleak as a winter day, cold and harsh. But Duncan was the voluptuous warmth of a summer day. In his arms, she forgot about her plans. Forgot about the need to be ruined. In his arms, she came to life.
He kissed her breathless, raising his head to gaze down at her. His eyes glistened with possessive fire, his expression fierce. “I have wanted you since the moment I first saw you, dressed as a man, scribbling notes on your ivory pad.”
Her mind whirled at his revelation. Duncan’s kisses and his heady masculine scent had wrapped her in a fog. Facts and reality intruded, like cold little pinpricks. She was misleading him. Using him for her own gain. But if she managed to conduct her plan properly, he would never be affected. Indeed, he would never even know.
“How did you know I was a female?” she asked softly amidst a fresh twinge of guilt.Tell him, said the voice inside her. But the rational part of her knew she must not. If he knew what she meant to do, he would not be here with her now, looking down upon her with such tenderness and need.
And now that she was here, so close to him, their bodies pressed together, his lips near enough to kiss, his hands coasting up and down her spine in a slow, steady caress, she could not stop. She was a carriage, hurtling forward, propelled by her own selfish need for him. Propelled by the promise of the forbidden, the chance to know what it was like to be Duncan Kirkwood’s, even if just for one night.
Not even for a whole night.
Hours. It was all they had. Perhaps this was the last time she would ever see him, and that knowledge made an ache bloom inside her.
