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

by Sarah MacLean

Her favorite place was on the western edge of the land, far enough away from the manor house that it might be forgotten before it could be remembered. A magnificent copse of trees soaring into the sky, lined on one side with a small, bubbling stream, less stream than brook, if a body were honest, but one that had given her hours, days, weeks of chattering company when she’d been younger and conversation with the water had been all she could hope for.

Alone, in that room. Alone, with the man unconscious in that bed.

holy shit dude

He wasn’t intended to be awake. He was intended to have been dosed with enough laudanum to down a bear. Enough to keep him abed until his shoulder and leg were ready for strain. Until he was ready for the fight she planned to give him.

You should have tied him to the bed so he can’t get up.

Who had made her laugh? Why hadn’t it been he?

Cuz you fucked up real hard and betrayed everyone who loved you, that’s why.

“You think you can give me what I want? You think you can offer me my vengeance? Your own punishment? Your destruction?” She stalked him back across the ring. “What nonsense. You, who stole everything from me. My future. My past. My fucking name. Not to mention what you took from the people I love. “What, you think a night in the ring, accepting my blows, will win you forgiveness?” She kept at it, the spark of rage she had at his gift, flourishing into flame. Into inferno. “You think forgiveness a prize to which you have access?”

Yes, fucking hurt him

He stiffened, and she was there with a smart jab. “There’s one for what you did to Whit for threatening his lady.” Another. “And there’s one for the lady, who you’re lucky did not die, or I’d let ’im kill you.” A wicked punch to the gut, and he didn’t block it. Grace didn’t care. “And there’s one for Devil’s lady, whom you were ready to ruin.” And another two in quick succession, her breath coming faster, a sheen of perspiration at her brow. And hot fury to feed her. “Them’s for Devil. One for leaving him to die in the cold last year, and the other for the gash you put in his face twenty years back.” She paused. “I ought to put one on your face to match.”

“Why would I settle for duchess?” she asked, the night cloaking her in fury and vengeance. “I was born the duke.”

A laugh sounded, loud and authentic and decidedly more free than its Mayfair twin—Dahlia did not have to look to know it came from a widowed marchioness, laughing with the married baroness she’d loved since they were children. Later, they would take to an upstairs room and their mutual pleasure.

Yes, thank you Sarah. Now I just need a f/f romance to be at the center of one of your novels and I’ll be ecstatic.

The Duchess of Trevescan waved a hand in the air. “The whole world knows me a scandal—I should think they’d be disappointed if I didn’t frequent Shelton Street.” Dahlia’s smile became a grin. The duchess had not overstated her reputation—she was pure merry widow, but instead of a dead husband, she’d been gifted an absent one—a disappeared duke who had no taste for sparkling London life, and instead lived on a remote estate in the wilds of the Scilly Isles. “I am always surprised to see you on nights that are not for Dominion.”

hmm, I wonder if she’ll be one of the hell’s belles?

Lady S__, a notorious scandal who enjoyed Covent Garden more than Mayfair; Miss L__, a bluestocking who routinely said the wrong thing and landed herself in peril with the ton; Lady A__, a quiet, aging spinster whose keen eye was worth that of a half dozen of Dahlia’s rooftop spies; and finally, Lady N__, daughter of a very rich, very absent, very accommodating duke, and lady love to Dahlia’s brothers’ second-in-command.

He’d recreated their place. The copse of trees on the western edge of the Marwick estate that had been Grace’s favorite spot—their favorite spot. The ballroom was an echo of it.

And then he turned and met her eyes, and the damn man winked. He didn’t recognize her. He couldn’t. Nothing about his response to her indicated that he recognized her in the slightest. How could that be?

No, I absolutely refuse to believe this. There’s no way he doesn’t know who she is.

This was not fantasy. This was reconnaissance. She had a plan.

sure, keep telling yourself that

He’d known it was her from the moment she’d stepped into the ballroom, in a dress that fell in lush emerald waves to the floor, despite the mask covering everything but her beautiful kohled eyes and the dark wine color staining her lips, and the wig that stole her flame-colored curls from him. He presumed she was trying for disguise, as though he’d ever not sense her. Not feel her. As though there would ever come a time when she walked into a room and his whole body did not draw tight like a spring.

I mean, duh

Her wine red lips curved into a little, knowing smile. “Are you offering to ruin me, Your Grace?” He met the smile with one of his own. “Are you asking to be ruined?” Her smile did not waver. Still not Grace, but Grace’s mask, the kind that would not easily be moved. “Who says I’m the one who would be ruined?” He almost missed a step. “Are you offering to ruin me?” “Are you asking to be ruined?” Yes.

“Tonight only,” she said. He sucked in a breath. She offered him one night. Masked. Pure fantasy. It wasn’t enough. But it was a start. “Tonight only,” he lied.

Instead, he cast a quick, scalding look back at her before stopping at a door, set into the wall to their right. She hadn’t noticed there was a wall, let alone a door, until he threw the iron catch and pushed the heavy oak open to reveal a magnificent landscape—a small patch of green, surrounded on its edges by a stunning garden in what Grace was certain daylight would expose as vibrant flowerbeds. And at the center, a gazebo, beautifully designed and painted.

Very similar to the butterfly garden at stony cross park. I love it.

“You are a queen,” he whispered. She closed her eyes at the words. At the impossible promise in them. And then he added, “Tonight, I am your throne.”

oh, lord

Size didn’t make him better than Whit, though. It had been Whit who had stepped up to fight Ewan, knowing before everyone else what the monster had planned. Knowing, before everyone else, that Ewan would be the duke’s weapon in the end.

I love Whit, he’s a cinnamon roll that pretends to be a gruff, silent badass.

Robert Matthew Carrick, Earl Sumner, clasped the knife tighter, the bite of the steel hilt sharp in his palm, knowing he had one chance to make this right. Knowing what he had to do. She stood, seeing what was to come. “Ewan—no!” Devil moved at his feet, rolling to his knees. Save her, Robert thought, willing his brother up. They would, wouldn’t they?

I figured this was what happened but it still kind of pisses me off. I mean he could have tried to tell them his plan.

Devil rounded the desk and sat. “Was this the old man’s desk?” “Yes,” Ewan said, moving to pour more whisky. He sensed he was going to need it. “Good,” Devil said, the word punctuated with the thunk of his great heavy boots, muddy and full of whatever filth he’d brought in from Covent Garden.

I love them so much.

“What then, are you here for another round of Who Shall Kill the Duke?”

Another grunt in the silence. He shot a look at the door. “Do you have trouble speaking? Too many blows to the head?” “I think you might refrain from giving him too many ideas about blows to the head, Duke,” Devil said. “He’s itching to have a go at you.” Ewan narrowed his gaze on Beast. “That didn’t go so well for you last time.” “You fucking bastard,” Beast said, coming off the doorjamb. “You nearly killed my wife; I won’t pull the punch this time.”

“I’d never hurt her.” The words froze the other two men, and Ewan felt their surprise, looking quickly from one to the other before Devil shook his head. “My God.” “He doesn’t see it,” Whit said. “See what?” “That you’ve hurt her every day since we ran.”

Two sets of dark brows rose as his brothers shared a look—one Ewan could not read. The silent communication grated.

Well, you weren’t there for them, so...

“What, then? My head on a pike in Seven Dials? Are we back to who gets to kill the duke?” “It still ain’t the worst idea,” Whit said, looking very much like he was sizing up Ewan’s head for a strong stake.

Whit answered. “You broke her heart.” The words sent pain straight through him, sharp and ragged enough to have him raising a hand to his own chest. Whit watched him for a moment, seeing the truth. “We don’t have to wreck you,” his quiet brother, who’d suffered so much at his hands, said. “She’ll do the wrecking. And you won’t for a minute think you don’t deserve it.”

They love it,” Devil said. “A duke in the muck? It’s like watching a hound recite Shakespeare.”

Without thinking, she looked back at Ewan, letting her gaze track over the ridges and planes of his chest, down over his muscled thighs and then back up, slowly—slower than she should have been, over the beautiful planes of his face, more proof that the boy was gone. This was no boy. She met his eyes, not knowing what to expect. Definitely not expecting the knowing curve of his lips, the rise of one blond brow, as though he had witnessed every inch of her perusal. As though he’d liked it. He lifted his chin in her direction, as though to acknowledge her careful inspection, a knight in tourney, searching for his lady’s favor.

“Don’t Gracie me,” she snapped. “I’m not a child.” Whit looked to Devil. “I told you.” Her brows snapped together. “Told him what?” Devil sighed. “So you did.” “Told him what?”

Whit really is laying down a lot of “I told you so’s” in this book

And so it went for seconds, minutes, hours—time was lost with dodging blows and throwing his own, making sure they were soft enough when they landed that they didn’t do real damage. He knew why he’d been brought here—to take his knocks. And he would do just that.

Doing what he does best, making light blows look hard.

Whit watched with intense scrutiny, as though he was learning how to exploit any weakness in Ewan’s strategy for his own purposes, and Devil observed with a smirk that made Ewan wish he could scale buildings for the second time that afternoon—this time to wipe the smile off his arrogant brother’s face.

Not gonna lie, this just makes me want to reread the first two books. I think I might do that.

They were planets, drawn to each other. No. He was a planet. She was the sun.

“Honestly, pleasure is not something with which I have experience.” She turned back to him. “How very sad. What is the point of title and money and power and privilege if not to use it in nightly ducal bacchanal?” He laughed. “I’m afraid I have never received an invitation to a ducal bacchanal.”

how had he never noticed her ears were perfect?

umm, what?

She took the drink from Devil and looked into it. “Is it safe to drink?” He smirked, his scar pulling tight on his face. “I’m not the one with a history of trying to kill you, Gracie.” Devil had never in his life pulled a punch.

Would you listen to this one,” she scoffed. “As though he’s lived the life of a saint.” “I haven’t tried to seduce a woman I’ve nearly killed,” he said. “No,” Felicity retorted, “you only tried to seduce a woman in an attempt to ruin her life.”

savage

Devil turned to Whit. “Do you have anything to say?” Whit shrugged. “I told you.”

How many times is this going to happen in this book? I’m not mad, I just want to know.

“My point is, don’t listen to them.” “Hear, hear!” Hattie roundly agreed. “They haven’t any idea what they’re on about.” “It took them both near-death experiences to know what they wanted.” “That’s not true!” Devil said. “I knew what I wanted.”

I love this so much

Felicity was far better than you could ever dream of having.” He turned a smile on his sister-in-law. “You know that, don’t you, that you settled?” Felicity smiled happily. “In fact, I do.”

The duke left London the night he left Devil for dead. He’d known that he was being watched. If I hadn’t saved Devil, Whit would have—he would have come to tell Devil that Marwick was gone.” It wasn’t an impossibility, Grace thought. But it was a gamble. “I’ve never bought that argument,” Devil grumbled. “Never?” Grace’s brows rose. “Is this a discussion that is had often?” “It’s Hattie’s theory,” Whit grumbled. “I don’t like it”—he turned his attention to his wife—“as he exploded her.” “Again,” Hattie said quite happily, “I was only slightly exploded.”

😭

Instead, you serve up love without ties over on Shelton Street, and pretend nobody notices that at the end of the night, you’re alone.” She hated every word, for its truth, and hated that Whit, silent and stoic, always knew precisely the problem.

“You gave the Duke of Marwick work.” Hattie nodded. “I’m not a fool—I heard he’s a brute with a block of ice. Imagine what he can do with a hook.” Grace’s eyes went wide. “You gave him a job hefting boxes?” Hattie shot her a wry look. “He did try to explode me, Grace. I wasn’t about to be kind.”

She looked up at her brothers. “Perhaps I want hope, too.” “Goddammit.” “Fuck.” Felicity grinned at the men’s united response. “Well, then. Isn’t this exciting.”

Yes, it is.

He’d gone to Lady Henrietta the next day, having decided that if he could not win Grace, he could at least pay his Garden debts, beginning with her. With the ships she’d lost due to his anguish and grief. With the docks she’d had to rebuild, and the men who’d worked alongside her. He’d apologized, and miraculously, she had accepted.

Yeah, Hattie is pretty amazing

The Duke and Duchess of L__ and the Marquess and Marchioness of R__ were both in attendance, husbands happily doting on wives. Lady N__ was back, this time with her partner; apparently there were no ships to be unloaded into the Bastards’ warehouse that evening.

The name dropping is giving me life. I really hope I didn’t miss Callie in the previous scenes.

“I am not the girl you loved anymore.” You can never have her back. The words she’d hurled at him that night a year ago. The words that had broken him. The words that had reset him. “No,” he said. “You are not. You are more. You are the woman I love.”

That was very smooth.

“I do not want to be Your Grace ever again. All I want is for you to be my Grace.” He kissed her again. “It’s always been you. Every day. Every night. Every minute. Since the beginning. This is the sum of my ambition: To be worthy of you. Of your love. Of your world. To stand by your side and change it.”