But Temple had bigger plans than to marry his mistress.
It ends with the life I was bred for. He’d told her once. With a wife. A child. A legacy.
Proper ones. Perfect ones. The kind due a duke. No doubt a wife beautiful and young and able to make perfect children. Jealousy flared. She did not like the idea of such a woman bearing his children.
She did not like the idea of any woman bearing his children.
Except—
She ended the thought before it could finish. Kept the madness at bay. Protected herself.
“He is lucky to have such good friends,” she said.
Anna looked to her. “And you?”
“Me?”
“Who are your friends?”
Mara laughed, the sound lacking humor. “I have been in hiding for twelve years. Friends are a luxury I cannot afford.”
“What of your brother?”
Mara shook her head. Kit was family. Not friend. Now, he never would be. She released a long breath. “He nearly killed Temple. What kind of a friend is he?”
Anna turned away, setting her hand to a nearby door handle. Turning it. The door opened wide before she said, “You should make sure Temple understands.”
Mara did not have time to ask for clarification. Instead, she stepped into Temple’s rooms, the door closing on Anna’s cryptic statement, her gaze settling on the open door she now understood led to the ring.
She headed in that direction.
He stood at the center of the empty room, at the center of the ring itself. Strong and silent and ever so handsome, even in shirtsleeves and a white linen sling that held his arm firm against his chest. Perhaps because of those things. His black trousers were perfectly pressed, and Mara’s gaze followed their line to the sawdust-covered floor, where his bare feet peeped out from beneath the wool hem.
She was transfixed by those bare feet. By the strength of them. The curves and valleys of muscle and bone. The straight, perfect toes. The clean white nails.
The man even had handsome feet.
Her gaze snapped to his at the ridiculous thought, and she registered the curious smile there, wondering if he’d somehow read her mind.
She would not put it past him.
Empty of spectators, the room was cold, and Mara wrapped her arms about herself as she approached him, a foot above her and somehow so much farther. He watched her, making her keenly aware of each step, of the way she looked to him. She itched to smooth her hair. Her skirts. Resisted the temptation.
She reached the ring and faced him, looking down at her, expression guarded, as though he wasn’t sure what she would do. What came next.
She wasn’t sure, either.
But she knew he would wait an eternity for her to speak, so she spoke. “I am sorry.”
It was not the first time she had thought the words, but it was the first time she’d said them aloud. To him.
Dark brows lifted in surprise. “For?”
She reached out, taking one of the coarse ropes in her hand. “For all of it.” She looked up at him, his black eyes seeing everything but revealing nothing. “For my brother’s actions.” She paused. Took a breath. Confessed her sins. “For mine.”
He came to her then, reaching down and helping her through the ropes with one rough, callused hand, warm and strong against hers. Once she was inside the ring, he stepped back, and she mourned the loss of him.
“Do you regret it?” He’d asked her the same question a lifetime ago, on the night she’d approached him outside his town house.
“I regret that you were caught in the fray.” Her answer was the same, and somehow different. Somehow more true. She did not regret her escape. But she deeply regretted his part in her stupid, thoughtless play. “And I regret what my brother did more than you can ever know.” She paused. He waited. “Yes,” she told the truth. “I regret it. I regret your pain. I regret the way I took your life. Toyed with it. I would take it back if I could.”
He leaned back against the ropes on the far side of the ring. “Then you did not know his plan?”
Her eyes went wide with the shock of the question. “No!” How could he think she would—
How couldn’t he think it?
She shook her head. “I would not hurt you.”
His lips tilted in a half smile at that. “I called you a whore. You were quite angry.”
The words stung, even now. She did not look away. “I was, indeed. But I was handing the situation.”
He chuckled at that, the sound warm and welcoming. “So you were.”
He was quiet for a long moment, until she could not help but look at him again. He was watching her, those dark eyes somehow seeing everything. Perhaps it was because of those eyes that she said, “I am happy you are recovered, Your Grace.”
The truth.
Or perhaps a terrible lie. Because happy did not begin to describe the flood of emotions that coursed through her as she watched him, restored to his power and might. To his strength and health.
Relief. Gratitude.