Daring and the Duke: The Bareknuckle Bastards Book III

Devil’s cane tapped against the roof in an even, pensive rhythm. “Fuck,” he finally whispered, awe in his tone. “He gave you up. Into our keeping. No wonder he was ready to blow up half of London when he thought we’d let you die.”

She narrowed her gaze, unmoved. “You tried to kill him.” “He told me you were dead!” Did she not understand? “You nearly killed Beast’s love.” “I thought they’d let you die!” He’d nearly gone mad with the knowledge of it. Not nearly.

They were planets, drawn to each other. No. He was a planet. She was the sun.

“We don’t have to wreck you,” his quiet brother, who’d suffered so much at his hands, said. “She’ll do the wrecking. And you won’t for a minute think you don’t deserve it.”

“Are you interested in the position?” He forced teasing flirt into the words, when he wanted to rip their masks off, pack her into a carriage, and take her directly to a vicar. To make her duchess, as he’d promised all those years ago.

He lifted his face to her, acknowledging her attention. Wondering what she would do if he scaled the damn wall to get to her.

Grace was gone instantly, as though drawn by a string, and the loss of her touch made him wild. Ewan turned toward the sound, a low growl in his throat, like a dog who’d been promised a meal and had it snatched away at the last second.

She stared deep into his eyes, her gaze holding him in thrall. “How you look at me,” she said softly, the sound barely there and filled with disbelief.

And then, the bastard smirked. “Like what you see?” She narrowed her gaze. “No.” “Liar.”