Daring and the Duke (The Bareknuckle Bastards #3)(97)

His eyes snapped to hers.

“She was already gone,” she said. “Fever.”

“I know,” he replied. “She died while we were at Burghsey. He took pleasure in telling me that one night, not long after you’d left; I hadn’t taken his beating with enough contrition.”

She winced. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, waving away the words. “Why did you come after her?”

“I thought if only I could . . .” she started, then trailed off.

“Tell me.”

She could not have denied him anything in that moment. “I thought you might come back for her.”

He swallowed at the words. “I couldn’t.” The same thing he’d said earlier.

Grace refused to let him look away. “You couldn’t come with us. You couldn’t come back for her. Tell me.”

“You were all in danger,” he said, his chest tight with guilt. “And I was the reason why. He knew where you were.” The hate in the words was like ice, spreading cold through her. “At least, he told me he did, and I believed him. And he told me that if I ever left, he’d find you and do what I had failed to do.” He stopped. “What I would never have done.”

Understanding dawned. “He wanted me dead.”

“Yes.”

“And he wanted you to do it.”

“My final task,” he said. “To kill you.”

The placeholder. “To eliminate any possibility of anyone ever discovering that you weren’t the true heir,” she said.

“Not just that,” he said. “To make sure that I had no one left.”

Grace’s heart pounded at the words—confusion and anger and sadness warring within her, because that had been the result even though she lived. She and Devil and Whit had run, and what had happened to Ewan in the balance?

“Title first, last, and always,” he said. “Heir, first, last, and always.”

Her mind raced, playing over that moment, years earlier. Him coming for her, blade in hand. Whit on the floor, ribs broken. And then Devil, blocking him. Taking the blade.

Ewan had pulled the punch.

“Devil’s face.”

“I miscalculated,” he said, the words barely sound. “It was never intended to be so long. He came at a different angle than I expected.”

“Intended.” She met his eyes. “Expected.”

He did not look away. “I had to make it look real.”

“For your father to believe it.”

He shook his head. “For you to believe it.”

Confusion flared. “Why did that matter?”

“Because I knew that if you didn’t believe it, you’d never leave without me.” He watched her for a long moment, and then added, “I knew that if you didn’t believe it, you’d never stop trying to get back. And you would never be safe from him.”

It was the truth. “I would have fought for you, Ewan. We all would have.”

“I know. And he would have taken everything from you.” He paused, his hands coming to her hair, toying with it as he said, “And in that, he would have taken everything from me. I could not be the reason he punished another person I loved.”

His meaning flared, hot and angry and devastating. That monster of a duke had stolen his mother’s future. Because of Ewan. And then he’d threatened Grace’s.

“So you stayed.”

He nodded. “I stayed, and I lived the life he asked of me, and every few months he would trot out some new piece of information about you.”

She shook her head. “Why? Why not just kill us?”

“Because if you died, he lost his hold on me. Your safety was the only way he could keep me in line. To ensure that I understood that you survived by his will. And my own actions.”

“Because he knew what we all knew. That you were good.” How often had they said it, she and Devil and Whit, as they sat in the dark, dank streets of the Garden and wondered what had happened that had turned him against them.

“I am not good.”

He was, though. It had never occurred to them that he’d made a sacrifice.

“You came for me after he died.” Not to destroy her. To love her.

“The moment he died. He drew his last breath and I cursed him to hell and came to London. He’d told me for years he knew where you were, but he’d never told me, and I tore the city apart looking for you. But you were already gaining power here, tucked away from anyone who was not part of the Garden. And this place did well keeping you all safe—and I grew more and more wild as the years passed, searching for you.

“I am not good,” he repeated. “When I thought it was all for naught—when I thought you were dead . . . I, too, was a monster. I came for Devil, for Whit, for this place—wanting to lay them all low. To punish them for not keeping you safe.”

Her chest tightened at the confession.

“I am cut from the same cloth as my father.”

“No,” she said, sitting up at the words. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, though. Like him, I was willing to destroy for what I wanted. Like him, I am alone. And like him, I deserve it.”

“No.” The word was loud and furious. “You are nothing like him. You are nothing like him and I regret ever thinking you were. I regret believing that you manipulated and betrayed us. I regret believing that you were consumed with greed. I regret thinking you returned for revenge and not for something far more powerful.”