Wicked and the Wallflower (The Bareknuckle Bastards 1)

“Unhappy?” With lightning speed, Grace boxed Whit’s ear.

“Oi!” Whit danced backward, a hand at the offended body part. “Fucking hell!”

“You shouldn’t talk when you are so out of practice, Beast.” She stepped toward him, a finger raised at his nose. “You should have told me.”

“Told you what?” Whit asked in a frustrated near-whine.

She’d already turned her back on him, however, rounding on Devil, who held up his walking stick to keep her from getting too close. “And you . . . I ought to have you tossed into the river. You deserve to reek of it for days. You deserve whatever perverse creature would find its way into you from the muck.”

Devil lowered his stick, recoiling at the words. Grace had always been the best of them at verbal threats. Devil was better at making good on them. “Good God. That’s grim.”

“Do you know what day it is?”

“What?”

“Do you know. What day. It is.”

“It’s Monday.” Devil grew nervous.

“It is, indeed, Monday.” She reached into her coat and extracted a newspaper. “And do you know what is printed in Monday’s newspaper?”

“Shit.”

Whit let out a low whistle.

“Ah. And so we return to my original assessment.”

“Addlebrained hedgehogs,” Whit said.

Grace spun around and raised one black-gloved finger at him. “Hedgehog. Singular. One infinitesimal brain for both of you to share.” She turned back to Devil.

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” he said, brazening it through.

“Don’t you even try denying it. And don’t play the fool, though you obviously are one.” She paused and took a breath. And when she spoke, the words were softer than he expected. Full of more emotion than she expected. “Banns were posted yesterday at St. Paul’s. The announcement of the Duke of Marwick’s engagement is in today’s News.”

Devil reached for the paper. “Dahlia—”

She rapped his hand with the rolled up print, and he recoiled. “When were you going to tell me?”

“We didn’t think you would—” He looked to Whit, who offered no assistance. He returned his attention to Grace and cursed.

“What did you think I would do? Toss myself off the nearest bridge?”

Devil looked away. “No. Of course not.”

“Rend my clothes?”

He tried a small smirk. “Perhaps.”

She cut him a look. “My clothes are far too expensive for rending.”

He gave a little huff of laughter at that. “Of course they are.”

“What, then?”

“Well, murder wasn’t an impossibility,” Devil replied. “And the last thing we need is a dead duke.”

Whit grunted. “It’s not like we haven’t had one of those before.”

Grace ignored them both. “I’m not here because he’s to be married. I’m here for you to explain why my girls tell me his fiancée is under the protection of the Bareknuckle Bastards.”

He froze at the words.

Grace noticed, as she noticed everything, one red brow rising.

“Did I not just finish pointing out that the last thing we need is a dead aristocrat? I had to protect the girl. She wants into the Garden as much as anyone here wants out of it.”

“What is the daughter of the Marquess of Bumble doing in the Garden, Dev?” his sister asked.

Whit made things worse. “Devil likes the girl.”

Grace did not look away from him. “Does he?”

I like her too much.

“This is the plain girl I met in your offices, correct?”

“She’s not plain.”

The words garnered both Whit and Grace’s attention. Whit grunted, and Grace said, thoughtfully, “No . . . I don’t suppose she is.”

Devil felt like an idiot, but did not reply.

Grace changed tack. “Why wouldn’t you tell me that you’re trying to manipulate him?”

“Because we agreed that you would never meet again. Because we agreed that nothing about him is safe for you.” Grace was too valuable. The duke could never know where she was. Grace was proof of a past that Ewan would do anything to keep secret.

If Grace were discovered, Ewan would hang.

A long silence followed the words, and she said, “We agreed that decades ago.”

“It’s no less true now, and you know it. He’s come for you. He remembers the deal. No heirs. And he wants a trade.”

Understanding flared in Grace’s blue eyes. “A trade? Or does he want both?”

“He gets neither,” Devil replied.

She looked from one of her brothers to the other. “We’re not children any longer.” Whit shoved his hands in the pockets of his greatcoat as she continued. “You don’t have to protect me any longer. I can go toe-to-toe with Ewan any day. Let him come for me and I shall show him the sharp end of my blade.”

It wasn’t true. Ewan was ever Grace’s weakness. Just as she was his.

And fate was a cruel bitch to make them each the demise of the other.

“Grace—” Devil began softly.

She waved off the rest. “And so, what? What game are you playing, Dev? You’re not planning on letting the girl marry him, are you?”

“No.” Christ. No.

“What, then? You planned to end the engagement and send him a message? No heirs?” She looked to Whit.

Whit spread his hands wide. “I wanted to beat him bloody and send him back to the country.”

Grace smirked. “That’s still idiotic, bu

t less so. Christ, you two.” She grew serious. “I should have been in on the plan,” she said softly. “I should be in on it from here on out.”

“Why?”

“Because he didn’t steal my future.”

“That’s a fucking lie,” Whit said.

“He stole your future the moment he drew breath. Yours more than ours,” Devil agreed. And her past. And her heart—but they never discussed that. “You were the heir.”

Grace went still, every inch of her steeling at the words. She shook her head. “I was never heir.”

She’d been a girl. Not that it had mattered, as the Duke their father had already set his terrible plan in motion. Devil pressed on. “You were born of the Duchess, baptized the future Duke. And Ewan stole your future as keenly as our father did.”

Grace looked away, the wind from the Thames whipping the full fabric of her scarlet coat around her legs. “Your father hated me from the start,” she said, loud enough to be heard over the wind. “I expected his betrayal; I never counted for more than that with him.” She shook her head. “But Ewan . . .”

Devil hated the confusion in his sister’s voice. “He betrayed all of us. He stole future from all of us. But you are the only one from whom he stole past.”

She looked to him, her gaze tracking the scar on his cheek. “He nearly killed you.”

“He nearly killed us all,” Devil replied, the mark tight on his skin.

“He still might,” she said. “And here’s the other reason I should be in on the plan; I’m the one who knew him best.” That much was true. “And Ewan can’t be manipulated; he does the manipulating.”

“Not this time.”

“He’s no fool; he knows I’m the keeper of all his secrets,” she said. “My knowledge—my existence—sees him at the gallows. He won’t rest until he finds me. He hasn’t rested in twenty years.”

“We tell him you’re dead,” Whit said. “That was always the plan if he got close enough to scent you.”

She shook her head. “You don’t put me in the ground until I’m cold, boys. He’s too close not to find me.”

“We’ll never give you up.”

“And when I grow tired of hiding?” Whit growled, and she turned to him. “Poor Beast. Always looking to put your fist through something.” She looked to Devil, letting the Garden into her voice. “No worries, bruvs. He won’t be the first duke we’ve fought and won.” She paused, and then said, “Stop worrying about me, and worry about the deal. No heirs.”