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Wind brushed against Richard’s heated face—the scent of roses and the distant reek of horse manure, no doubt from all the carriages that had been parked along the streets and behind Carlton House.

He had known it was all too good to be true.

“It’s not a no,” she had just said as he held her, precious and beautiful, in his arms, filling him with happiness and light. He had felt the cracks in his heart grow back together, had felt his heart growing stronger and beating with hope.

A lifetime of happiness with his Jane had been at his fingertips.

And now it was slipping away once again.

As people stared at him and talked with curious, judging faces, Thorne Blackmore came closer to him with every step, his eyes dark and furious. The gravel crunched under his boots like bones. His men followed him a few steps behind, loyal and cautious. He recognized Reuben and Atticus and other men who he’d seen with them and in Elysium.

Jane’s gorgeous gown flapped in the wind as she ran after her brother. She caught Thorne by the arm. “Thorne, please, leave it alone!”

Janie was so pretty. Still his. At this moment, still his. Richard didn’t move a digit, trying to stretch out the moment forever.

The prince regent had, apparently, gotten over his unconscious guards and now stood among the crowd of well-dressed guests, staring at Richard with wide, inquiring eyes, a smile of enjoyment on his face. No doubt the man loved a juicy scandal, watching two lives being shattered right in front of him.

This would certainly be in all the society papers tomorrow.

Thorne stepped up close to Richard, the man’s cologne sharp and spicy, and softly spoke right next to his ear so that no one else heard. “Sir, you dishonored my sister. I know what you did in her bedchamber last night.”

Richard swallowed. “How did you find out?”

“Does not matter how, Lord Richard. What matters is,” Thorne said through gritted teeth, his words at the edge of a feral growl, “you are the snake I let into my house with my own words. You took my sister’s honor. My only sister. The only family that I have left.”

Richard opened his mouth to say she was as dear to him as to Thorne, but Thorne’s black gaze glinted in the darkness with the reflection of the garden torches as he grabbed Richard by his lapels.

A combined gasp carried through the crowd around them.

“Shut up, you scoundrel,” spat Thorne. “I trusted the most precious person in my dark, miserable life to you. I knew you were a rake, but I thought you cared enough about your brother’s fate to be a gentleman with my sister. It was my fault more than yours, and more than hers.”

“Blackmore—”

“She was the purest, most beautiful creature that ever walked this earth, and I was given the honor of protecting her and caring for her. And I failed.” Thorne’s face distorted in pain. He shook Richard so violently, his teeth chattered. “You took her and desecrated her with your vile, dirty fingers.”

“But I want to marry her—”

Pure venom seeped through Thorne’s gaze. “Do you think I would trust her to a man like you? You do not deserve to breathe the same air. You do not get to throw another glance at her.”

Richard’s eyes darted to Jane, who stood a few steps away from them and couldn’t have heard anything. Good. However, her face was a mask of worry, her large eyes behind her glasses darting between him and Thorne. The last thing he wanted was to worry her.

“Thorne!” she cried, and gravel whispered under her feet as she hurried towards them. “Thorne, let him go!”

“The one last thing you’re worthy of is to pay for what you did,” Thorne growled quietly into Richard’s face.

A drop of cold, icy sweat rolled down Richard’s spine.

Jane was now three steps away, her arm outstretched towards her brother, her eyes wide with horror. “Thorne!”

“Expect my man tomorrow morning with the time and the place,” finished Thorne very, very quietly.

“Thorne!” cried Jane, who was now right next to them.

The very moment she laid her hand on his shoulder, Thorne released Richard, and he staggered backward.

A duel.

Richard could feel a lump in his throat, and as Thorne let go of his lapels and stepped away, the dark eyes of his adversary fixed on him like the muzzles of two pistols.