That much was true, for her father’s rare absence and her mother’s obsession with shopping meant Frederica was left alone most evenings. Westlake House was blessedly easy to escape from, and she had returned without anyone—neither servant nor her mother—having an inkling she’d been gone. But the convenience and occasion were not her sole motivating factors, it was true.
Duncan Kirkwood made her body perform strange, disturbing feats. His wickedness intrigued her. His darkness lured her. His masculine beauty took her breath. He made her wish for stolen kisses, sin, and freedom.
None of which she had ever experienced.
None of which she was likely to experience.
All of which she wanted to.
“It is dangerous, Freddy,” Leonora warned her unnecessarily. “Was not one visit enough?”
No.
Something she had not even known existed—some improper need deep within her—would not accept one visit to The Duke’s Bastard. One exchange with its enigmatic, black-clad owner. One opportunity to witness the secret side of life she had always suspected existed without knowing for certain.
She had seen it.
Yesterday. Surreal as it seemed now as she was dressed in a demure gown, paying calls as a proper lady should, a scant handful of hours ago, she had dressed as a gentleman, hired a hack, and known the terrifying, utterly freeing experience of attending a club, matching wits with Duncan Kirkwood, and witnessing the most depraved acts she could have imagined possible. She ought to be thankful she had not been discovered, that she had gone quietly and safely home with her innocence and her reputation intact.
Instead, she wanted more.
She wanted to know everything, to see Mr. Kirkwood again, to bask in his compelling presence.
“I need to conduct more research,” she told her friend at length, but the words lacked conviction even to her own ears.
“You cannot do it,” Leonora declared. Her white-blonde hair had, as was its wont, worked free of her coiffure to send a few stray tendrils of curls framing her lovely, heart-shaped face.
She was kindhearted, intelligent, and soft spoken. A deformity in her ankle from birth had left her bearing the cruel sobriquet Limping Leonora. Yet, she bore all with a singular grace and unparalleled sense of humor, always finding the laughter and lightness in every situation. No better friend, nobler spirit, or lovelier woman existed.
But that did not mean Frederica was going to allow her to dictate what she ought to do in this instance. Even if her friend was right.
“I must do it, Leonora,” she told her softly. “I wantThe Silent Baronto be as accurate as possible. It has to resonate with readers. How can I accomplish such a feat if I do not complete my research because I am too cautious to do so?”
Again, a partial truth, her conscience nettled her. She did want her novel to be accurate. Because the baron lost his fortune in a gaming hell much like The Duke’s Bastard, it would behoove her to return and conduct additional research. She had just barely scratched the surface.
But her motivations were not entirely pure, and she knew it. She wanted to see Duncan Kirkwood once more. He frightened her. He intrigued her. He inspired all manner of feelings inside her. Some of them were quite wicked indeed.
Leonora’s gaze was shrewd upon hers, unflinching. “What more could you require for accuracy? You have successfully infiltrated a gentleman’s club, and without discovery. You now know how the inside of one looks, sounds, and smells. Gads, I imagine it smells truly terrible. Does it?”
“Not terrible at all,” she said, smiling.
And then she realized she was recallinghisscent. Duncan Kirkwood’s. Yes, indeed, he had smelled delightful. But she could not recall what the club itself smelled like, and that realization was rather vexing.
“At least,” she continued, correcting herself, “not the chamber I occupied. I was not long in the public rooms, and that is yet another reason why I ought to return and take additional notes.”
“You were not long in the public rooms?” Leonora’s eyes narrowed. “Where were you then, Freddy?”
Frederica swallowed.Oh, dear.She had withheld a lengthy portion of the history of her visit. Intentionally. But her friend’s clever gaze was probing hers, seeking more information now she had been teased with a glimmer.Blast her loose tongue.
“Just in the public rooms for a bit, and then I lost my courage and fled to a waiting hack,” she lied.
But Leonora knew her. And she knew Frederica was an abysmal liar. “Where did you go?” she demanded.
“His office,” Frederica admitted at last, once more checking on the preoccupation and distance of their ladies’ maids. “He took me to his office.”
Her friend’s eyes went wide. “Good heavens, Frederica. He did not…did he…”
“No,” she hastened to reassure her. Though she privately wished he had taken liberties. Any liberties he wished.Allthe liberties he wished. “He was a gentleman. He did not recognize me, and he initially suspected I was not a member of the club. But when I told him I was the Marquess of Blanden, he relented.”
