Page 147 of Dukes Are Forever
"Thank you," Adele whispered, glancing upstairs, toward the study, as she finally realized what state of mind she'd find her husband in.
"I will not add your name to that list."
Oh, God.
It hadn't really hit her until then. If Malloryn thought she was dead, he'd be blaming himself.
* * *
Someone opened the door.
"Get out," Malloryn said flatly, one hand resting on the mantelpiece as he stared into the flickering flames. A half-empty glass of scotch dangled laxly from his fingers. He was barely aware of it. He felt nothing.
Nothing but hollowness.
There was a rushing roar in the distance, as ifsomethingthreatened to sweep over him and roll him under, but he'd kept it at bay so far. Or perhaps shock was protecting him from that screaming roar of darkness.
"I want to take every single thing you ever loved away from you."
"You already killed the woman I loved,"he'd taunted.
God, he'd been so blind.
The person behind him didn't leave. And suddenly Malloryn couldn't take it anymore. "Get out before I kill somebody—"
"Is that any way to speak to your wife?" demanded a very familiar, very not-dead voice.
Malloryn spun around, dropping the glass of scotch. Glass shattered, but he didn't even flinch.
Adele stood in the doorway.
Adele.
He barely had time to take in her bedraggled state and her wet skirts before his heart punched right into his ribs. Malloryn's jaw dropped open. No. There was no way she could have— But he could hear her breath and if Adele were going to haunt him, it wouldn't be wearing half the Thames, by the look of it.
"You're alive," he rasped, taking a step toward her.
"Well, of course I'm alive," she replied with a faint, hesitant smile. "You didn't think I was going to let Devoncourt do away with me so easily?"
"Devoncourt?"
"He's the one who kidnapped me. And then he tied me to a chair on the opera stage and left me there along with over a dozen barrels of Greek Fire, and—"
One stride. Two. Then he was in front of her, capturing her face in his hands.
His lips met hers, and they were real beneath his caress.
The heat of her skin filled his chilled hands, her tongue slick beneath his as he kissed her to hell and back, drowning in the realness of her warmth beneath his touch.
Alive.
Alive, and safe, and wet, and...
Perfect.
Adele reared back, meeting his gaze. She held on to his wrists, as though he'd almost knocked her over. "Auvry?"
"I thought you were dead," he somehow managed to say, and his voice was a mess of raw emotion that even he heard. "I thought—I thought you were gone, and he'd won, and I was never, ever going to be able to tell you...."
