He kissed her throat, pressing his nose to her skin and inhaling as if he, too, was beset by the same painful musings. As if he was memorizing her scent for when she would be gone, nothing more than a ghost who had flitted into and then out of his life for one charmed sennight.
“Regrets?” he asked, his lips grazing her as he spoke.
That we can only ever be together once.
But she did not dare speak the thought. Did not dare to say the words aloud. She swallowed against a sudden, unwanted rush of tears. “None.”
Except giving you my heart.
For she understood as she stood there in the warm glow of his chamber, surrounded by him, his body a hard, protective wall at her back, her body still humming with his possession, his arms around her, his mouth on her skin, that she had fallen in love with him. She had fallen in love with Duncan Kirkwood, a man who was not just unsuitable for her in the eyes of society but one who should be shunned. He was a man she was never meant to know, and yet, having known him—trulyknownhim—she could see the sad hypocrisy of the world she inhabited for the first time.
She had begun her time at The Duke’s Bastard thinking to write a novel that would condemn men like Duncan Kirkwood, and she was ending it knowing there was no story she could write save the truth. The baron was not the hero at all but the villain. He was not the victim of a cruel gaming hell owner. He was a slave to his own greed. And, like Duncan’s father had done to him, the baron would turn his back on his duty to those he should have protected. The baron would earn his silence.
And Frederica…she would never forget the man who had changed her forever.
Duncan kissed her neck, then her cheek. After the wild passion and unimaginable intimacies they had shared, something about his lips on her in such a chaste kiss felt like a confession from him. Or at least the only sort of confession a man like Duncan could willingly give. It occurred to her then how little she knew of him. Just small fragments, tiny pieces, jagged shards to explain the man he had become.
“Thank you, my lady,” he said, his voice a low, beloved rumble. “You entrusted me with the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.”
She closed her eyes against the fresh sting of tears. No matter what happened after they left this chamber, they would always have this stolen time together. They would always have the remembrance of the night when she had been Frederica and he had been Duncan, and together, they had been perfect.
“It is yours. I am…a part of me shall always be yours, Duncan,” she returned when she was certain she could speak without a tremor in her voice to give her away.
“Do you promise?” There was something in his voice—a hardness, the gritty texture of desperation.
“Of course.”
She would have said more, but for the sudden, abrupt rapping on the door. She jumped, jarred from the intensity of the moment to cruel reality. Somehow, she had allowed herself to become so overwhelmed by their idyll that she had not expected the outside world to intrude so soon. But she supposed she ought not to be so surprised, for his club was akin to a living, breathing beast. It needed constant tending.
He stiffened, his arms tightening around her, almost protectively.
“Kirkwood!”
The voice burst through their insulated world, disturbing the last, fleeting moments of their time together. But it wasn’t the interruption itself that made Frederica’s heart thump with painful intensity in her breast. Rather, it was recognition.
She knew that voice.
Her brother’s voice.
“Kirkwood, you lowly miscreant, I demand you open this door at once.”
Duncan’s hold on her tightened. Behind her, his body too stiffened. “Damn it to hell,” he muttered.
Though her entire purpose in attending the masque this evening and in slipping away to Duncan’s private chamber with him, allowing him to take her to bed, had been nothing but intentional—a decision she had made the moment she had first laid eyes on those curst lilies from Willingham—shock still claimed her. She had not expected anyone to discover her actions. Indeed, she had relied upon the fact that she alone would hold all the answers when it came to the extent of her downfall. Her plan had been to confront her father with the suggestion she was ruined, to reveal to him the various occasions upon which she had infiltrated The Duke’s Bastard.
She had been hoping he might see reason at that point. That he would agree she had been compromised beyond all reason, and that she must necessarily withdraw from the marriage mart. She would not be forced to marry the earl, and she would decide where her lift would next take her.
But she understood, as her brother began pummeling the door separating herself and Duncan from the outside world, that her creative mind had perhaps taken liberties. That there would be no graceful means by which she could either extricate or redeem herself from this mess.
Perhaps there was a small chance he did not know she was within…
“What have you done with her, you cravenly bastard? I will break down this door if I must.” Her brother’s angry snarl, almost unrecognizable for the angry vehemence of his tone, dismissed that false hope instantly.
Somehow, Benedict knew she was there. He was deliberately avoiding calling her by name in an effort to salvage what remained of her reputation.
Duncan kissed her cheek once more. “I am sorry, angel. So very sorry.”
Then his arms slid away from her, his strength and solidity leaving. She was bereft. Alone. Impossibly cold. She turned to face him, hugging her middle, watching warily as he strode to the door. Why had he apologized?
