“Rend my clothes?”

He tried a small smirk. “Perhaps.”

She cut him a look. “My clothes are far too expensive for rending.”

He gave a little huff of laughter at that. “Of course they are.”

“What, then?”

“Well, murder wasn’t an impossibility,” Devil replied. “And the last thing we need is a dead duke.”

Whit grunted. “It’s not like we haven’t had one of those before.”

Grace ignored them both. “I’m not here because he’s to be married. I’m here for you to explain why my girls tell me his fiancée is under the protection of the Bareknuckle Bastards.”

He froze at the words.

Grace noticed, as she noticed everything, one red brow rising.

“Did I not just finish pointing out that the last thing we need is a dead aristocrat? I had to protect the girl. She wants into the Garden as much as anyone here wants out of it.”

“What is the daughter of the Marquess of Bumble doing in the Garden, Dev?” his sister asked.

Whit made things worse. “Devil likes the girl.”

Grace did not look away from him. “Does he?”

I like her too much.

“This is the plain girl I met in your offices, correct?”

“She’s not plain.”

The words garnered both Whit and Grace’s attention. Whit grunted, and Grace said, thoughtfully, “No . . . I don’t suppose she is.”

Devil felt like an idiot, but did not reply.

Grace changed tack. “Why wouldn’t you tell me that you’re trying to manipulate him?”

“Because we agreed that you would never meet again. Because we agreed that nothing about him is safe for you.” Grace was too valuable. The duke could never know where she was. Grace was proof of a past that Ewan would do anything to keep secret.

If Grace were discovered, Ewan would hang.

A long silence followed the words, and she said, “We agreed that decades ago.”

“It’s no less true now, and you know it. He’s come for you. He remembers the deal. No heirs. And he wants a trade.”

Understanding flared in Grace’s blue eyes. “A trade? Or does he want both?”

“He gets neither,” Devil replied.

She looked from one of her brothers to the other. “We’re not children any longer.” Whit shoved his hands in the pockets of his greatcoat as she continued. “You don’t have to protect me any longer. I can go toe-to-toe with Ewan any day. Let him come for me and I shall show him the sharp end of my blade.”

It wasn’t true. Ewan was ever Grace’s weakness. Just as she was his.

And fate was a cruel bitch to make them each the demise of the other.

“Grace—” Devil began softly.

She waved off the rest. “And so, what? What game are you playing, Dev? You’re not planning on letting the girl marry him, are you?”

“No.” Christ. No.

“What, then? You planned to end the engagement and send him a message? No heirs?” She looked to Whit.

Whit spread his hands wide. “I wanted to beat him bloody and send him back to the country.”

Grace smirked. “That’s still idiotic, but less so. Christ, you two.” She grew serious. “I should have been in on the plan,” she said softly. “I should be in on it from here on out.”

“Why?”

“Because he didn’t steal my future.”

“That’s a fucking lie,” Whit said.

“He stole your future the moment he drew breath. Yours more than ours,” Devil agreed. And her past. And her heart—but they never discussed that. “You were the heir.”

Grace went still, every inch of her steeling at the words. She shook her head. “I was never heir.”

She’d been a girl. Not that it had mattered, as the Duke their father had already set his terrible plan in motion. Devil pressed on. “You were born of the Duchess, baptized the future Duke. And Ewan stole your future as keenly as our father did.”

Grace looked away, the wind from the Thames whipping the full fabric of her scarlet coat around her legs. “Your father hated me from the start,” she said, loud enough to be heard over the wind. “I expected his betrayal; I never counted for more than that with him.” She shook her head. “But Ewan . . .”

Devil hated the confusion in his sister’s voice. “He betrayed all of us. He stole future from all of us. But you are the only one from whom he stole past.”

She looked to him, her gaze tracking the scar on his cheek. “He nearly killed you.”

“He nearly killed us all,” Devil replied, the mark tight on his skin.

“He still might,” she said. “And here’s the other reason I should be in on the plan; I’m the one who knew him best.” That much was true. “And Ewan can’t be manipulated; he does the manipulating.”

“Not this time.”

“He’s no fool; he knows I’m the keeper of all his secrets,” she said. “My knowledge—my existence—sees him at the gallows. He won’t rest until he finds me. He hasn’t rested in twenty years.”

“We tell him you’re dead,” Whit said. “That was always the plan if he got close enough to scent you.”

She shook her head. “You don’t put me in the ground until I’m cold, boys. He’s too close not to find me.”

“We’ll never give you up.”

“And when I grow tired of hiding?” Whit growled, and she turned to him. “Poor Beast. Always looking to put your fist through something.” She looked to Devil, letting the Garden into her voice. “No worries, bruvs. He won’t be the first duke we’ve fought and won.” She paused, and then said, “Stop worrying about me, and worry about the deal. No heirs.”

Whit grunted, and Grace turned to him. “What?”

“Devil’s mucked the whole thing up.”

Devil gritted his teeth. “I haven’t mucked it up. I’ve a plan.”

Grace looked to him. “What kind of plan?”

“Yeah, bruv.” Whit looked to him. “What kind of plan? We know you shan’t hurt the girl.”

He should thrash them both. “I’m getting her out of it.”

“Of the marriage?” Grace replied. When he didn’t reply, she added, “How? If he leaves her, she’s damaged. If she leaves him, she’s damaged. There is no scenario where the girl isn’t destroyed and you knew that going in.”

“She was damaged goods before he ever got near her,” Whit said.

Devil turned on his brother. “She was not.”

A pause. Then Grace said, “I heard the same. Something about being found in a bedchamber that was not her own?”

“How do you know that?”

Grace raised one red brow in his direction. “Need I remind you that I am the one with the network of decent spies? Shall I tell you what I’ve heard about you and Finished Felicity Faircloth?”

He ignored the taunt. “The point is, she’s not damaged. She’s—”

Perfect.

Well. He couldn’t say that.

“Oh, dear,” Grace said.

Whit removed his hat and rubbed a hand over his head. “You see?”

“See what?” Devil asked.

“You care for the girl.”

“I don’t.”

“Then throw her to the wolf. Get her to the edge of the altar and ruin her. Prove to Ewan that he’ll never marry as long as you live. Or, if he does, he’ll be as cheated of real heirs as his own father was. That you will eliminate the possibility of any heir he might find. Make good on your vow.”

He looked away from his sister. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because she will be ruined in the balance. At my hands.”

“My girls on the ground tell me she’s ruined already, Devil. Half the Garden saw you kiss the girl on the night you told the world she was off-limits.”

He never should have touched her that night. Nor any of the nights since. But that wasn’t the kind of ruination he meant. Not the silly ruination that came with a clandestine kiss. A night of pleasure—stolen moments that meant nothing. For Devil’s plan to work, he would have had to have done it publicly. In front of all the world.

And Felicity would be exiled for it. She’d never be a jewel of the ton. She’d never return to a place of honor. Never be at the center of that world for which she longed.

Grace smirked at his lack of response. “Tell me again that you don’t care for the girl.”

“Fuck.” Of course he did. She was impossible not to care for. And he’d made a proper hash of it from the start, from the moment he saw her on the balcony. From the moment he veered from his plan to send his brother packing, and instead lingered with her . . . made promises to her he had no intention of keeping. Made promises he could not keep even if he wanted to.

“You’ve already thrown her to the wolves, Dev,” his sister said. “There’s only one way to save her.”

He turned on her, unable to keep the cold rage from his voice. “Ewan doesn’t get heirs. And he definitely doesn’t get them from Felicity Faircloth.”

She’s mine.

A red brow rose. “Not Ewan.”

His brow furrowed. “Who? Who do we know who is good enough for her?”

Grace smiled then, full and open and uncalculated. She looked to Whit. “Who, indeed.”

“Beast?” Devil thought he might lose his mind at the idea of his brother touching Felicity.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Whit growled. “You just might have the intelligence of a hedgehog. She means you, Dev. You marry the girl.”

For a heartbeat, emotion rioted through him, the force of it sending him back. Excitement and desire and something dangerously, impossibly close to hope.

Impossibly close, and impossible.

He closed out the emotions. “No.”

“Why not?”

“She doesn’t want me.” Lie.

Marwick isn’t my moth. You are.

“Do you want her?”

Yes. Of course. He couldn’t imagine how any man wouldn’t want her. His grasp tightened on the silver lion’s head in his palm.