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Chapter Six
Frederica thanked the marquess as he assisted her into the large and comfortable conveyance. He sat opposite her and drew the curtains closed across the carriage windows with a few swift, efficient motions, plunging the interior into intimate shadows. His hair seemed in want of a trim, for it curled above his forehead and at his nape in black waves.
He leaned out the window and said, “To the waterfront.”
Perhaps he feared if he took her home, he might throttle her. She studied him covertly, uncertain of his mood. “I can explain,” she whispered.
“Can you?” he asked dangerously. “Do I even want to hear it?”
She gripped the edges of the squabs. “Yes, but I do not want to.”
His aggrieved sigh filled the interiors of the carriage, and he stroked his fingers through his hair.
“Do you think any would have gone gray?”
His low growl had her heart leaping in her throat. She winced and turned her head toward the window. Perhaps it was unwise to tease him this early. “So,” she said after another minute of seething silence, “It is not really a salon but a secret ladies’ club.”
“Run and owned by this duchess?” he said flatly.
Freddie pondered her response very carefully. His cool disapproval had a decidedly lowering effect on her spirits. She did not want to lie to him. Ever. “Yes, by Theo…the Duchess of Hartford.”
He said nothing for a few moments, and she hated that her uncertainty grew. She had never seen him in such a mood in all the time she had known him, and Frederica did not know how to navigate it.
“How long have you been sneaking from home to go there?”
She made an exasperated little sound. “Well, sneaking is rather strong—”
He smiled coolly. “Do not test my patience, Freddie.”
She fell silent and folded her hands in her lap. “What has you so angry?” she whispered. “That you thought I might have been sneaking away to see a lover? Or that I dare to belong to a ladies’ club. We have been accused of pretending to act like gentlemen and not know our places.”
He cast a glance of outraged disbelief. “You have no inkling of my true character, it seems.”
That stung. “I—”
He inclined his head. “I am fucking furious you thought so little of my character you had to hide this from me. Am I a damned ogre who would have prevented you from joining?”
“That I need to ask permission at all for something so simple was—”
“I am your damn guardian,” he roared. “I am responsible for your health and welfare. What if you had been accosted one night when you went out unattended. What if you had been attacked by a villain with nefarious intentions or a footpad bent on stealing. What if you had been harmed and lying on the street, helpless, and I did not know it, and I did not protect you?”
“I..”
“I would have fucking burned London to the ground. That’s what would have happened, and where would that have left us. You would have still been hurt, and I would have failed to protect you.”
Something important was happening between them, she realized. “I understand,” Frederica whispered. Her heart swirled inside her chest, and she almost swooned at the wild look in his dark eyes. She had not thought they could have become any darker, but emotions seemed to take them to chips of onyx.
“Percy, I…” Her breath trembled on her lips, and Frederica did not know why, but she reached for him.
He tugged her into his arms, and she found herself sitting on the edge of his thighs. The shocking impropriety of it robbed her of breath, but also a touch of thrill chased down her spine. He stroked his thumb back and forth along her cheek. At his touch, the pulse at her throat fluttered, and a soft shudder went through her entire body. “My lord, I—”
“You will not put yourself at such risk again, promise me, Freddie. Take a footman with you and a servant. Always. Also, take a carriage.”
She was so aware of the heat of his body that she could scarcely draw breath. “I will.”
“No more secret outings,” he said gruffly.
“I promise it,” she whispered. “Are you aware that I am sitting on your lap?”
