An eloping couple and two gentlemen had left on the North Road, headed for Scotland. But, even though apparently the female half of the elopers was quite attractive, the postmaster assured him that she was not auburn-haired, and her eyes were perfectly ordinary.

She was not Mara.

He should have been happy she was still here. But, instead, he was furious that she had so easily disappeared. There was no sign of her. It was as though she had vanished like smoke. If he didn’t know better, he might think she’d never been there in the first place.

Except she’d left her gloves. And her pig.

And a hole in his chest. His lips twisted wryly as his wound throbbed at the thought. Two holes, he supposed—one healing, and one life-threatening.

He rolled his bad shoulder under his coat, the pain from the wound radiating down his arm and stopping at the elbow. He worked his fingers in his sling. Nothing. Exhaustion did little to help the damage to the feeling there, he knew, but he could not rest. Not before he found her.

If he was crippled when it was over, so be it.

At least he’d have her.

Frustration flared at the thought. Where in the hell was she?

He looked up to the ceiling, his gaze falling on the great stained-glass window that marked the center of the main room of The Fallen Angel. Lucifer, falling from Heaven. In a stunning array of stained glass, the Prince of Darkness was depicted in free fall, halfway between paradise and inferno, a chain about his ankle, his scepter in one hand, and his wings wide and useless behind him as he tumbled into the pit of the casino.

Temple had never thought much about the window, except to appreciate its message to the members of the club—while the aristocracy might have banished him, Bourne, Cross, and Chase, the scoundrels who owned London’s most legendary gaming hell, would reign more fearful, more powerful, than ever before because of it.

Chase had a flare for the dramatic.

But now, as he considered the great stained glass, as he watched Lucifer fall, he realized how massive he was. How strong. Somehow, the window maker had captured the rise and fall of muscle and sinew in the mottled panes of glass. And Lucifer’s strength was useless in this moment. He could not catch himself. Could not stop himself from landing wherever it was that God had cast him.

And standing there with his weak arm and the utter sense of futility that washed over him as he realized that he could not find the woman he loved, Temple felt for the Prince of Darkness. All that beauty, all that power, all that strength. And still he landed himself in Hell.

Christ.

What had he done?

“You brought a pig into my casino.”

Temple looked to Chase. “Has anyone seen her?”

Chase’s gaze grew serious. “No.”

Temple wanted to shout his fury at the truth in the words to the rafters. He wanted to tip over the nearest hazard table and rip the curtains from the walls.

Instead, he said, “She disappeared.”

They stood, side by side, watching the floor of the casino. “We still have men looking. Perhaps she will turn up on her own.”

He cut the founder of The Fallen Angel a look, knowing that such a thing was virtually impossible. “Perhaps.”

“We shall find her.”

He nodded. “If it takes me the rest of my life.”

Chase nodded and glanced away, no doubt uncomfortable with the emotion in his words. Not that Temple cared. “But you did find a pig.”

He looked down at Lavender’s sleeping face. “Her pig.”

Chase’s blond brows rose. “The lady owns a pig?”

“It’s ridiculous.” It was even more ridiculous that he had come to care for the little creature. His only link to her.

“I think it’s charming. She’s an intriguing woman, your Miss Lowe.”

Except she wasn’t his. Temple handed Lavender to his friend. “She needs to eat. Take her to the kitchens and see if Didier can find her something to eat.” He was already turning back to the crowd, looking for someone who might know Mara. Perhaps she’d had a friend when she was a child—someone who might have offered her a bed.

But what if no one offered her a bed? What if she was on the streets even now, cold and without a place? He’d slept on the cold London streets once. The idea of her alone—freezing—

She didn’t even have gloves.

His heart pounded with panic and he shook his head to clear it. She was no fool. She would find somewhere to sleep.

But with whom?

Panic flared once more.

Chase was still talking, and Temple listened if only to have something else to think on. “Didier is French. The pig might end up in a stew.”

Temple looked back. “Don’t you dare let her cook my pig.”

“I thought it was Miss Lowe’s pig?” Temple was tempted to clear the smug smile from his friend’s face.

“As we are to be married, I prefer to think of her as our pig.”

Chase grinned. “Excellent. I shall do my best to help.”

“Don’t help. I’m through with you meddling. Feed the pig. That’s all.”

“But—”

“Feed the pig.”

For a moment, Temple thought Chase might ignore the instructions and meddle anyway, but the club’s majordomo appeared at their shoulders. “We’ve a visitor.”

For a moment, Temple thought it might be Mara. “Who?”

“Christopher Lowe. Here to fight Temple.”

Chase’s gaze narrowed. “Bring him to my offices. And fetch Asriel and Bruno. He’ll get his fight. But it won’t be with Temple. And it won’t be fair.”

“No.” Temple said.

Chase looked to him. “Your arm isn’t healed.”

“Bring him to me,” Temple said, ignoring his partner’s words. “Now.”

Within minutes, Lowe was on the floor of the club, flanked by Bruno and Asriel. “You made a mistake in coming here.”

“You turned my sister into a whore.”

Temple’s good hand fisted, and he desperately wanted to destroy this boy. “Your sister is going to be my duchess.”

“I don’t care what she will be. I’ve no use for her.” The words were slurred and angry. Lowe had been drinking, possibly since he’d left his sister the night before. “You ruined her. Probably did twelve years ago. Probably took all the valuable bits before you passed out.”

Fury flared. “You should not be allowed to breathe the same air she breathes.”

Lowe’s gaze narrowed. “She sent me away, you know. With a few shillings. Barely enough to get me from the city.”

“And you lost it.”

Lowe did not have to admit it. Temple could see it in the boy’s face before he whined, “What was I to do? Head off to make my fortune with three shillings? She wanted me to wager it. She wished me to lose.” His eyes turned hateful. “Because of you. Because you turned her into your whore.”

Temple’s desire to destroy Lowe grew with every word. “Call her a whore again, and I shall make your poverty the least of your concerns.”

Drink and desperation made Lowe stupid enough to smile at that. “Then you will fight me? I get my chance at my debt, you get your chance to protect my sister’s honor?” He stilled. “Where is the bitch, anyway?”

Fury came hot and instant, and Temple grabbed Lowe’s wilted cravat in his good hand, lifting him clear off the floor before saying, “You should have taken the chance she gave you. You should have run. I promise you, whatever you face out there is nothing compared to what I shall do to you in the ring.”

Temple dropped the other man in a heap to the ground, ignoring the coughing and sputtering from below as he followed him down, crouching, taking Lowe’s chin in hand and tilting him up to face him. “Get yourself a second. I’ll meet you in the ring in a half an hour.” If he couldn’t have her, he could have his fight. Temple stood, adding, “You’re lucky I don’t lay you out here and now. It will teach you to speak ill of the woman I love.”

“Cor! Listen to that! You love her,” Lowe sneered. “What utter shite.”

Temple did not look back, instead stalking away, heading for his rooms, already removing his cravat. The casino was silent as a grave, all the gamers having stopped their bets to watch Temple go mad.

Because of that, he heard it when Chase said quietly, “Well.”

He did not turn back, instead calling over his shoulder, “Feed the damn pig.”


When Mara arrived at The Fallen Angel, it was to a street virtually empty of people and noise, the opposite of how she imagined the exterior of one of London’s most exclusive gaming hells would be.

She wondered, fleetingly, if she was too late. If Temple had closed the club and left. If he’d decided to end this underground life of his and return to the light. Return to his dukedom. Return to his right.

That’s when panic set in.

Because in the damp, dark day, while she’d had nothing to do but walk and think, she’d realized that she loved this man beyond measure. And that she would do everything she could, for as long as she could, to make his life better than it ever would have been without her.

Of course, the moment she realized that, she realized that she was very very far away from the Angel.

But she was here now, and when she arrived, she knocked on the door, thrilled when a little slot opened in the steel. She stepped up to the space and said, “Hello. I am—”

The slot slid shut.

She hesitated, considering her next move. Knocked again. The slot opened. “I am here—”

The slot closed once more.

Honestly. Was every person having to do with this club obstinate? She knocked again. The slot opened. “Password.”