Daring and the Duke (The Bareknuckle Bastards 3)

“The moment he died. He drew his last breath and I cursed him to hell and came to London. He’d told me for years he knew where you were, but he’d never told me, and I tore the city apart looking for you. But you were already gaining power here, tucked away from anyone who was not part of the Garden. And this place did well keeping you all safe—and I grew more and more wild as the years passed, searching for you.

“I am not good,” he repeated. “When I thought it was all for naught—when I thought you were dead . . . I, too, was a monster. I came for Devil, for Whit, for this place—wanting to lay them all low. To punish them for not keeping you safe.”

Her chest tightened at the confession.

“I am cut from the same cloth as my father.”

“No,” she said, sitting up at the words. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, though. Like him, I was willing to destroy for what I wanted. Like him, I am alone. And like him, I deserve it.”

“No.” The word was loud and furious. “You are nothing like him. You are nothing like him and I regret ever thinking you were. I regret believing that you manipulated and betrayed us. I regret believing that you were consumed with greed. I regret thinking you returned for revenge and not for something far more powerful.”

She looked down at him, consumed with her own frustration and deep sadness that she had spent a lifetime believing that the boy she’d loved had been her enemy. Consumed by something else, as well. “No masks,” she whispered.

His hand found hers where it pressed against his heart. “No masks.”

“I love you.”

The words hung between them for a long moment, and he went still as stone. But her hand was over his heart, and she felt the pounding there, instantly stronger. Instantly faster.

Her own heart in her throat, she elaborated. “And when I say that, I do not refer to the boy you once were, but the man you are now.”

And then he laughed, perfect and wonderful and like nothing in the wide world.

There was nothing in the wide world like his laugh.

He pulled her close. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” she whispered, the words at once strange and wildly familiar.

“You do?” he whispered back, that beautiful smile in his eyes now, like perfection. And she wanted him so much—she wanted that smile warming her and wooing her for a lifetime. For longer. He repeated himself, amazed laughter beneath it. “You do.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, too, suddenly light and free. “Yes,” she agreed. “Yes.”

And he was sitting up and kissing her and she was kissing him, and he rolled her onto her back and she gave herself up to him. To them. To a fresh start. A second chance, without names or titles or history between them.

To happiness, ever after.

A knock came on the outer door to her chambers.

His lips were in the crook of her neck, whispering nonsense, making her giggle with the pleasure. “Send them away.”

“It might be important,” she whispered.

“More likely it is Devil and Whit, come to put their fists into my face for despoiling their sister.”

“Pardon me, sir. If anyone did any despoiling tonight, it was me.”

“That much is true.”

A shout echoed up from Dominion, which remained in full celebration below, the sound punctuated by another knock, this one on the door to her private rooms. She stilled, and he lifted his head.

It was not a knock anymore. It was full-on pounding.

She was out of the bed immediately, heading to dress. Ewan just behind her, pulling on his trousers.

“Dahlia!” came Veronique’s voice through the door. “It’s a raid!”

Chapter Twenty-Four

“It’s fucking mayhem down there.”

Veronique spoke the moment Grace yanked open the door leading into her office, hastily dressed and heading for her desk. Veronique was flanked by two of the security detail, armed women whose job it was to keep the membership safe.

Grace looked from one to the other as she passed. “You two get back downstairs. We need to fight back and get the members out.” From beyond the door, she heard shouts and screams, and an enormous crash. “Now.”

“You need protection.”

Grace shot her a look as she collected a stack of ledgers and journals.

“She’s got it,” Ewan said from the doorway, surprising everyone with his presence and his impenetrable tone as he followed Grace across the room.

She shook her head. “You cannot stay.”

“Like hell I can’t,” he said, instantly.

“If you stay, you’ll be seen. You’ll be discovered.”

“So?”

She looked to the ceiling, frustration flaring. “You’re a duke, Ewan. All they want is to be able to turn your power against you.”

“No,” he said. “I’m a duke. I hold all the power.”

It was so arrogant. So arrogant and so wrong, here on the dark streets where a duke could be tossed into the river just as easily as he could find his way home to Mayfair, and she hated that he fell back on that title that had ruined so much.

But still, it mattered that he stood here with her.

She came back around the desk. She kicked the edge of the carpet spread wide across the office floor.

He didn’t have to be told more, immediately bending down to pull the heavy rug back. Grace counted the floorboards and set her toe to one, throwing a hidden latch and revealing a secret door. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. Instead, he leaned down and opened it, revealing piles and piles of paper within. He backed away, making room for Grace to crouch and set an armload of books inside.

“Accounts,” she explained, though he did not ask. “Membership rolls.”

“He’s on our side now?” Veronique asked.

Grace ignored the question and closed the door, throwing the latch once more. He extended a hand down to her, and she let him pull her to her feet.

Veronique raised her brows at the touch. “I hear the Garden boys nearly took you down a few days back, toff. And you expect to keep Dahlia safe?”

“I do.” He returned the carpet to its original seat.

Veronique must have seen something in him, because she released the women who flanked her. “Go. Don’t hesitate to do damage.”

“Good fight,” Grace said as they turned to leave, already turning for her desk, fetching her scarf and looping it around her waist.

Veronique reported the situation below as she watched. “We’re pushing everyone abovestairs to the roof, and everyone in Dominion to the tunnels.”

“And the intruders?”

“A dozen, maybe fifteen. Strong bruisers. Armed with clubs and fists, and looking like the kind of gang you don’t fuss with.”

“How’d they get in?” Ewan again.

Veronique cut him a look. “Same way you did, toff. Through the front door, as though they’d had a fucking invitation.”

Grace asked, “Who are they? Police?”

A shake of the head. “Not any police anyone’s talking about.”

But that didn’t mean they weren’t organized. And it didn’t mean they weren’t Crown. All it meant was that they were out for the kind of blood no one wanted proof of.