He made certain the marquess was meeting his gaze. “Apologize to your sister, my lord. As it is, I have precious little patience for you, given you are nothing more than a means to a desired end. Test me once more, and I cannot promise you will leave here with all your teeth.”
“Duncan, please!” Lady Frederica’s soft admonishment roused him from the bloodlust that had begun consuming him. For a moment, he had been thrown back to the days where he had fought and bled for his survival. When it had been an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. “Do not hurt him, I beg you.”
What could he do in the face of her gentle pleading on her brother’s behalf? She knew he would decimate the marquess just as well as he did. Grinding his jaw, Duncan took a step in retreat, putting some space between himself, Frederica, and Lord Blanden. He had to calm himself, focus on the old prize he sought rather than the new, forbidden one he longed for.
“As you wish, my lady,” he conceded. But his eyes remained trained upon her brother. This was not over.
“What do you want, Kirkwood?” Blanden snarled. “You’re the greediest bastard in all London, and everyone knows it. What is it you are after? More coin for your purse?”
Ah, here it was. The moment of truth.
He looked back at Frederica’s pale face, taking in her pinched lips, betrayed eyes, and undeniable beauty. One last time, to remember her. How could he forget? And then, he flicked his gaze back to her brother before the urge to grovel at her feet and forego all chances of revenge overcame him.
“Your father has something I want very much,” he said. “Being a magnanimous man, I am willing to trade him for it—he gives me all the Duke of Amberley’s vowels, and in return, I will keep silent about all the nights I spent alone with Lady Frederica, thoroughly debauching her whilst you and the duke and duchess were blissfully unaware.” He paused, self-loathing threatening to consume him, before he forced himself to say one last, devastating thing. “I will also promise never to reveal to anyone that I took her innocence this evening in this chamber.”
He did not want to look at Frederica after the final word. But how could he not? Silent tears of betrayal ran down her cheeks. Her gaze was riveted upon him. Shocked. Accusatory. Hurt. He told himself he was doing what he must. Men like him had nothing to offer the sheltered daughter of a duke. And what her father held in his possession was priceless. She had gotten what she wished—her night of passion—and he would gain the Duke of Amberley on his knees.
The tradeoff was bitter, but it was all he had. All he could have.
“You are a true bastard,” Blanden snarled.
Frederica made a sound, as if a sob were trapped in her throat. A knife in his belly, gutting him, would not have hurt more.
Duncan forced a cool smile to his lips, keeping his eyes trained upon the marquess now, lest he falter. “By natureanddefinition both, my lord. I shall call upon His Grace tomorrow at three o’clock. I trust you will make certain he is prepared to receive me?”
“Go to hell, Kirkwood,” the marquess bit out.
“I will interpret that as acquiescence. There is a discreet rear exit. I will see that Hazlitt escorts you and her ladyship to it, and that your carriage will await you there. Leave this chamber in precisely five minutes and not a moment sooner.” Duncan bowed. “Good evening, my lord. My lady.”
He fled the chamber to the remembrance of her earlier words, echoing in his mind, mocking him. Haunting him.
You could never hurt me, Duncan.
How wrong she had been. How wrong they had both been.
Chapter Fourteen
“What have youdone, Frederica?”
She had given herself to a man who had not truly wanted her. That was what she had done. She had fallen in love with a chimera. She had given her heart and her body to him. To a god among men.
And then the god had turned to stone, proving he was a mere mortal after all. Proving he was not at all who she had thought him to be, but that he was instead a heartless sinner.
Had everything between them been a lie? Every word, every touch, every tenderness he had shown her? The pleasure? The things he had done to her…had he even enjoyed it, or had he been so determined to gain the Duke of Amberley’s vowels from her father that he had been willing to endure anything?
Even the shameful attentions of a wanton wallflower.
How mortifying. Her heart was broken, and her pride was more battered than a bonnet lost in the street, trampled by dozens of carriages and horses before it was retrieved. The muscle in question gave a great, painful pang. More like one thousand carriages, she acknowledged.
Her pride would heal. Even a trodden bonnet could be restored to rights by a deft hand. But a broken heart? Those were not mended. She had no doubt hers would never be. He had betrayed her, and it was the most painful wound she had ever received. As a girl, she had broken her finger, and that pain had been nothing like this, the awful knowledge he had manipulated and used her to gain what he wanted.
“How did you know where to find me?” she could not resist asking, even if she feared the response.
“Hazlitt found me and informed me.” Benedict scowled. “It was all plotted beforehand, of that I have nary a doubt.”
Was it?
Duncan had stopped on their way to his chamber, going to Mr. Hazlitt for a hasty, private word. Was that when he had given his instructions? It had to have been. Her heart fell to her feet, and then it fell to the bottom of the deepest pit buried beneath the sea immediately thereafter. It was so far gone, so removed from her body, she would never again be plagued by its disturbing capacity to feel. She was certain of it.
