A tear slid down her cheek at last. “You got your revenge, did you not? But in the end, I was denied my freedom. And you did not care. I saw you the day you came to see my father. You left with what you wanted most. If you had truly wanted me…if you had cared for me, as you now claim, you would have taken me with you then, when I was free.”
“Christ knows I should have,” he agreed. “I am so sorry I did not. I am sorry for every day, every hour, and every minute I have spent without you.”
She shook her head, another tear glittering as it fell. “You are too late now. The damage has been done. I am promised to the earl.”
Damn it.This was not what he wished to hear. One more step closer, and he was almost around the chair now. So near, he saw the clear delineation of the teardrops studding her dark lashes like spangles.
“Tell me something, Frederica,” he said, his voice raw. Hoarse. “Is Willingham the suitor you spoke of? Is he the one who forced his kisses upon you?”
“What do you care?” she lashed out angrily. “It is all settled now. Nothing will change it.”
“Because I know what manner of man he is,” he bit out, giving in to his instincts at last and closing the distance. Two more steps round the chair, and they stood face to face, chest to chest. He allowed himself the pleasure of touching her then, framing her face with his hands. An innocent gesture that belied all the emotion, want, and need warring within him. “He will hurt you, Frederica. He will cause you pain, and he will enjoy it, and there will be nothing you can do to stop him.”
She bit her lip, saying nothing, and ice-cold fear replaced all else.
“Has he already hurt you, angel?” he asked with soft menace.
“Not recently, no. With the preparations, he has not been alone with me,” she whispered.
Duncan’s mind was made. He was going to kill Willingham. He was going to hunt him down, and he was going to beat him until his knuckles split and he heard the sickening crunch of the other man’s bones. “What has he done?”
“Nothing.”
She was lying, and he knew it. “Tell me, Frederica.”
“He…has forced kisses upon me. He…grips me with so much force I bear bruises later.” A shuddering breath emerged from her. “He told me I would grow accustomed to it, that he would teach me.”
The hell he would.
“You cannot marry him,” he told her, inwardly furious. Furious at the cowardly fop who had been given everything his entire life and yet still needed to inflict pain upon those weaker than him. Furious that Willingham had touched his woman. Had forced unwanted advances upon her. Furious at her father for breaking his word to Duncan and promising Frederica not just to a man she did not wish to marry, but to a man who would crush her beneath his boot.
“I must.” Her gloved hands settled over his. “I am betrothed to him.”
His gut curdled at the word, at its meaning. No part of him could fathom that he was in love with Lady Frederica Isling, and she was going to marry his half-brother. Indeed, every part of him refused to consider her anything other thanhis.
“I have a plan,” he said, searching her eyes. “Do you trust me?”
“No,” she answered without hesitation.
Well, Beelzebub’s brimstone.At least she was honest.
Chapter Seventeen
He had aplan, he said.
He cared for her, he said.
He wanted to marry her, he said.
Frederica stared into Duncan Kirkwood’s impossibly blue gaze, and in those inscrutable depths, she found hope for the first time in six interminable weeks. She did not dare trust him. He preyed upon the weaknesses of men for his living. Indeed, he had made a fortune from it. He had intended to use her as a pawn to gain his revenge upon his erstwhile father from the moment he had first discovered who she was.
He was beautiful.
Debonair.
Dark and dangerous.
He was the man who had taken her innocence and then cast her off with nothing more than an apology and one last glance back at her from the street. He was the half-brother of the man who took pleasure in bruising her tender flesh. Everything about what he proposed was wrong.
