The afternoon they were alone here. The afternoon he’d driven her away the first time. The afternoon when he should have collected her in his arms and taken her to his bed and never released her.
He looked up at Lowe and said, “You may win today, but I will ruin you if you ever speak ill of her again.”
Lowe danced back from him and taunted. “That’s if I leave you alive.”
Temple came to his feet for what he knew would be the final portion of the bout, assuming Lowe had the stomach for it. But before any further blows could land, the room exploded.
The mirror hiding the ladies’ viewing room shattered in massive, ear-splitting perfection, every inch of it collapsing to the floor of the main room, like spun sugar. The sound was like nothing he’d ever heard, and he and Lowe—and the rest of the room—turned to watch as the window slid away, and the women inside went screeching and running for cover of darkness, not wanting to be seen or identified.
The men crowded around the fight stilled, hands in the air, clutching bets and markers, mouths frozen open in their perverse cheers, but Temple cared for none of that.
He cared only for the woman who had caused the devastation.
The woman standing alone at the center of that broken mirror, proud and tall and strong like a queen, the chair she’d used to shatter the window still in her hands.
Mara.
His love.
She was here. Finally.
She set the chair on the ground and used it to climb over the ledge and into the ring, caring not a bit about the men around her. Looking only at him.
He was moving toward her even as the last of the glass tinkled to the ground, caring only for her. Wanting to reach her. To hold her. To believe that she was there. She reached up and removed her mask, letting all of London see her for the second time in as many days.
A murmur of recognition moved like a wave through the room.
“I grew tired of waiting for you to come find me, Your Grace,” she said, loud enough for those near to hear her. But the words were for him. Only him.
He smiled. “I would have found you.”
“I’m not so certain,” she replied. “You seemed somewhat occupied.”
He looked over his shoulder. “What, him?”
Her gaze tracked his bleeding face, and he saw the worry in her eyes. Saw the way her hand lifted to touch. To soothe. “I thought I might help.”
His brows rose as she climbed into the ring and faced her brother. “You, Christopher, are an ass, and still the child you were when I left you twelve years ago.”
Kit’s gaze grew dark and foreboding. “Well, this child would have destroyed your duke if you hadn’t distracted us.”
She ignored the words and the glee in them. “How unfortunate, then, that I did distract you.” She looked around the room, taking in the hundreds of men who had come for the fight. Who had taken pleasure in watching Temple fall. “Let’s make it easy, shall we?”
Kit smirked. “Please.”
“One final blow. Whoever lands it wins.”
Her brother’s gaze flickered to Temple, battered and bloody. “I think that’s fair. If I win, I go free. And I should have my money.”
She turned to him, something warm and wonderful in her eyes, and he wanted this fight over more than anything he’d ever wanted. Because he wanted her. Now. Forever. “Temple?”
He no longer cared what happened to Lowe as long as Mara was his. He nodded. “I’ve always said you were an excellent negotiator.”
She smiled at that. “Excellent.”
And then damned if the woman he loved didn’t turn back to her brother and lay him flat. With one punch.
She was an excellent student.
Kit dropped to his knees, wailing from the pain. “You broke my nose!”
“You deserved it.” She stared down at him. “And you lose.” Asriel and Bruno were already entering the ring to ensure that Lowe did not leave the club. “Now I name my terms. You will stand trial. For the attempted murder of a duke.” She looked to Temple. “My duke.”
Her duke.
He was that.
He was whatever she wished.
Temple covered his shock with feigned disinterest. “It was almost over, anyway.”
She nodded, approaching him, not seeming to care that he was bruised and bloody. “I’ve no doubt you would have won. But I grew tired of waiting for that as well.”
“You are impatient today.”
“Twelve years is a long time to wait.”
He stilled. “To wait for what?”
“For love.”
Christ. She loved him. He came at her, caught her in his arms. “Say that again.”
And she did, in his ring. In front of the entire membership of The Fallen Angel. “I love you, William Harrow, Duke of Lamont.”
His unashamed, avenging queen. He stole her lips in a long, lush kiss, wanting her to understand now, and forever, just how much he loved her and she poured her love for him into the caress.
When he lifted his head, it was to press his forehead to hers. “Tell me again.”
She did not misunderstand. “I love you.” Her brow furrowed as she looked up at him, reaching up to touch the place where his eye swelled shut. “He hurt you terribly.”
“It will heal.” He captured her fingers, pressed a kiss to them. “All things heal. Tell me again.”
She blushed. “I love you.”
He rewarded the honesty with another deep, soul-stealing kiss. And when he pulled away, he said, “Good.”
She put her hands to his chest, gently, her words matching the touch. “I couldn’t leave you. I thought I could. I thought it was for the best, that it would give you the life you wanted. Your wife. Your children. Your—”
He stopped the words with his kiss. “No. You are my legacy.”
She shook her head. “I thought that it would wipe the slate clean. That you could once again be the Duke of Lamont, and I could fade away—and never bother you again. But I couldn’t do it.” She shook her head. “I wanted you too much.”
His heart pounded at the thought of her fading away, and he tilted her face up to his. “Hear me, Mara Lowe. There is only one place for you. Here. In my arms. In my life. In my home. In my bed. If you were to leave, you would not give me the life I wanted. You would leave my life with an enormous, empty chasm at the center of it.”
He kissed her again, and said, softly, “I love you. I think I’ve loved you from the moment you attacked me on a dark London street. I love your strength and your beauty and your way with children and piglets.” She smiled, tears welling in her eyes. “You left your gloves at the home.”
“My gloves?”
He lifted her hands in his, pressing kisses to each set of bare knuckles. “The fact that you don’t wear them makes me at once mad with frustration and mad with desire.”
She looked down at her hands. “My bare hands make you mad with desire?”
“Everything about you makes me mad with desire,” he said. “Chase has Lavender, by the way.”
Confusion flashed in her beautiful eyes. “Why does Chase have Lavender?”
“It’s a bit of a tale, but the short version is that I couldn’t bear to be without her. Without some part of you.”
She laughed, and he realized he would carry that pig for the rest of his life if it would keep her laughing. “I love your laugh. I want to hear it every day. I want to be through all this darkness and devastation. I want happiness now. I want our due. I want what we’ve deserved from the beginning.” He paused and stared deep into her eyes, willing her to understand how much he loved her. “I want you.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He smiled. “Yes?”
“Yes! Yes to all of it. To happiness and life and love.” She hesitated, and he saw the dark thought spread through her. Saw it in her eyes when she looked up at him. “I’ve done so much to ruin you. To hurt you.”