He nearly laughed. He’d never been so hungry in his life. “I am fine.”
“Are you still afraid I might poison you?”
He inclined his head, the excuse welcome. “A man cannot be too careful.”
She smiled. He enjoyed that smile. Too much.
He had to stop this.
And so he said the one thing that he knew would do just that. “Mara.”
She met his gaze, trying not to notice how handsome he was. How tempting. “Yes?”
“That night. Did we make love?”
Her eyes went wide. He’d shocked her. She’d been expecting a dozen things, but not that. Not the reminder of their past. Of their deal.
She recovered quickly—quick enough for him to admire her. “Have you decided to forgive my brother’s debt?”
Like that, they were on solid ground once more. Thankfully. “No.”
“Then I am afraid I cannot remember.”
“Well.” He turned for the door, fetching his greatcoat from its hook nearby. “I certainly understand that predicament.”
His hand was on the handle of the door when she said, “Another two pounds, either way.”
He looked back, a thread of ice spreading through him. “For what?”
She stood tall and proud in the foyer. “For the kiss.”
He hadn’t been thinking of their deal when he’d kissed her, and he’d wager everything he had that she hadn’t been thinking of it, either. The discussion of funds made the moment base and unpleasant, and he hated that she’d returned them to this place.
“Two pounds sounds fine.” She needn’t know that he’d pay two hundred for another moment like that. Two thousand. “I shall see you tonight.” He opened the door and added, “Wear what arrives from Hebert today.”
Chapter 9
“You shouldn’t fight him.”
Temple did not look up from lacing his boots. “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think? Half the club is already ringside.”
The Marquess of Bourne, Temple’s oldest friend and co-owner of The Fallen Angel, leaned against the wall to one side of the door to the boxing ring, watching as Temple prepared for the fight. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. Tonight, you are welcome to fight all you like—though if I were a betting man, I’d have twenty quid on Drake falling in the first minute.” He pointed to the low table at the center of the room. “You shouldn’t accept the challenge from Lowe.”
Temple looked to the list of names there. Christopher Lowe at the top, as it had been for weeks. Calling him. Tempting him. Daring him to accept. Evidently, Mara had not told her brother that she’d arranged a deal with the Killer Duke, and that she was earning back their money. Either that, or Lowe wanted to free his sister from ruin—but Temple couldn’t imagine his sister’s reputation had anything to do with the young man’s plans.
Damned if he didn’t want that fight more than anything. Lowe deserved a sound trouncing.
“It would be the fight of the year,” Temple said. “The Angel would make sinful amounts of money.”
“I don’t care if the King and his royal guard sat ringside, with the crown jewels on the match. You shouldn’t fight him.”
Temple stretched against the leather strap hanging from the ceiling of his office, letting his weight loosen his shoulders, preparing him for what was to come. In a half an hour, he would enter the ring and fight, and every man in the audience would fight with him. Some would fight on his side, seeing themselves in the fallen duke who, despite shame and ruin and loathing, could be king here. But most would fight as his opponent, David to Temple’s Goliath. They, too, knew what it was to lose to the Angel. And even as they paid their dues and basked in the glow of the tables above, a small part of them ached for the club’s ruin.
“It is the game,” he said, pretending not to care about the words. “It is what they come for. It is what we agree to give them.”
“Bollocks,” Bourne said. “We agree to take the bastards’ money and give them a fight to watch. We don’t agree to put ourselves on show. And that’s what you would be doing.” He came off the wall toward Temple, lifting Lowe’s file from the table. “It would not be a fight. It would be a hanging. They would think that Lowe is finally getting a chance at retribution for his sister’s death. If you’re even considering fighting him, at least wait until the bitch is revealed. Then the world will be for you.”
Temple’s jaw set at the description, unwelcome. “I don’t care who they are for.”
“What a lie that is.” Bourne huffed a humorless laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “I know better than anyone how you want them to think of you.”