Sarah MacLean - No Good Duke Goes Unpunished

Temple emptied his third glass of champagne, trading it for a full one from a passing footman’s tray, and ignored his unwelcome companion. Instead, he watched the throngs of revelers spinning and swirling across the ballroom floor, their excitement having risen to a fever pitch as wine flowed and time marched.

“You also seem to have lost your companion,” Chase added.

Temple drank again. “I know you are not here.”

“I’m afraid I am not a hallucination.”

“I told you to stay out of my affairs.”

Chase’s eyes went wide behind a black domino identical to Temple’s. “I was invited.”

“That’s never stopped you from avoiding events like this before. What the hell are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t very well miss your crowning moment.”

Temple turned away, returning his gaze to the room at large. “If you’re seen with me, people will ask questions.”

Chase shrugged one shoulder. “We are masked. And aside from that, in mere minutes, you shan’t be such a scandal. Tonight is the night, is it not? The return of the Duke of Lamont?”

It was supposed to have been. But somehow everything had gone sour, and he’d found himself in the gardens, staring down at the woman upon whom he’d placed twelve years of anger . . . no longer having the stomach for retribution.

If only that were all.

If only he hadn’t stared down at that woman and seen someone else entirely. Someone he cared for far too much. So much that he didn’t seem to mind that she’d sent her brother into the darkness, free.

All he minded was that she’d left as well.

Because he wanted her back.

He wanted her. Full stop.

Christ.

“I told you to leave me alone.”

“How very dramatic,” Chase said, the words dripping with sarcasm. “You cannot avoid me forever, you know.”

“I can try.”

“Would it help if I apologized?”

Surprise flared. Apologies from Chase were uncommon. “Do you plan to?”

“I’m not fond of the idea of it, I’ll tell you.”

“I don’t particularly care.”

Chase sighed. “All right. I apologize.”

“For what, precisely?”

Chase’s lips went flat. “Now you’re being an ass.”

“I find it is best to fight fire with fire.”

“I should have told you she was in London.”

“You’re damn right you should have. If I’d known—” He stopped. If he’d known, he would have fetched her.

He would have found her. Earlier.

It might have been different.

How?

“If I’d known, this mess might have been avoided.”

“If you’d known, this mess might have been worse.”

He cut Chase a look. “I thought you were apologizing.”

Chase grinned. “I am still learning the ins and outs of it.” The smile faded. “What of the girl?”

He imagined Mara was halfway returned to the orphanage, desperate to claim her freedom. Worse, he imagined he’d not have a reason to see her again. Which should not grate nearly as much as it did. “I let her go.”

There was no surprise in Chase’s gaze. “I see. West will be sorry, no doubt.”

Temple had forgotten the newspaperman. He’d forgotten everything once she’d looked up at him with her beautiful blue-green eyes and confessed the fear that had set this entire play in motion. “No one deserves the humiliation I had planned.”

Especially not Mara.

Not at his hands.

“So. The Killer Duke remains.”

He’d lived under the mantle of the name for twelve years. He’d proven himself stronger and more powerful than the rest of London. He’d built a fortune to rival that of the dukedom that he would not touch. And perhaps, now that he knew that she was alive, that he was not a killer, the name would sting less.

She was alive .

She should have come to him that night and told him the truth. He would have helped her. He would have kept her safe.

He would have taken her as his own.

The thought wracked him, along with the images that came with it. Mara in his arms, Mara in his bed, Mara at his table. A row of children with auburn hair and blue-green eyes. Hers.

Theirs.

Christ.

He thrust his good hand through his hair, trying to erase the wild thought. The impossible thought. He met Chase’s eyes. “The Killer Duke remains.”

With a barely-there nod, Chase’s gaze flickered over Temple’s shoulder, drawn by something across the ballroom. “Or does he?”

The words sent a thread of uncertainty through Temple, and he turned to follow his friend’s gaze.

She hadn’t left.

She stood at the far end of the ballroom, at the top of the stairs that led down into the revelers, his coat dangling from her fingers, tall and beautiful in that stunning concoction of a dress, several fat curls having escaped from her coif, now long and lovely against her pale skin. He wanted to lift those curls in his hand, run his lips across them.

But first—

He took a step toward her. “What in hell is she doing here?”

Chase stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Wait. She’s magnificent.”

She was that. She was more.

She was his.

Temple turned back. “What have you done?”

“I swear, this is not my doing. This is all the girl.” Chase’s attention returned to Mara, a surprised smile flashing. “I wish it were my doing, honestly. She’s going to change everything.”

“I don’t want her changing anything.”

“I don’t think you can stop her.”

The orchestra’s music came to a close, and Temple’s gaze flew to the enormous clock on one side of the ballroom. It was midnight. The Duchess of Leighton was making her way up the steps toward Mara, no doubt to lead the revelers in their raucous unmasking. Mara met her halfway, whispering in the duchess’s ear, giving her pause.

The Duchess of Leighton pulled back in surprise, and asked a question. Mara replied, and the duchess asked another, all seriousness and shock. And all of London watched the exchange. Finally, the hostess nodded, satisfied, and turned to face the crowd, a smile on her lips.

And Temple knew it was happening.

“She might just be the strongest woman I’ve ever known,” Chase said, all admiration.

“I told her I didn’t want her doing it. I told her I wasn’t going to do it,” Temple said, angry. Amazed.

“It seems that she does not listen well.”

Temple didn’t reply. He was too busy pulling off his own mask, already pushing through the crowd, knowing he was too far from her.

Knowing he couldn’t stop her.

“My lords and ladies!” The duchess was calling out to the world below as she took her husband’s hand, and began the proceedings. “As you know, I am a great fan of scandal!”

The room laughed, thrilled by the mysterious events, and Temple kept moving, desperate to get to Mara. To stop her from doing something reckless.

“To that end,” the duchess continued, “I’ve been assured there will be a truly scandalous announcement tonight! Before we unmask . . .” She paused, no doubt adoring the excitement, and waved a hand to Mara. “I present . . . a guest whose identity even I did not know!”

Temple attempted to increase his pace, but all of London seemed to be in the room with them, and no one wanted to give up a spot so close to promised scandal. He lifted a woman out of the way with his good arm, ignoring her squeak of surprise.

Her companion turned to him, all bluster, but Temple was already moving forward, whispers of The Killer Duke trailing behind him.

Good. Maybe people would get out of the goddamn way.

Mara came forward and spoke, her voice clear and strong. “For too long, I have hidden from you. For too long, I have allowed you to think that I was gone. For too long, I have allowed you to place blame on the innocent.”