Page 116 of Dukes Are Forever
Gemma eased the door open, protecting her mouth with her glove, and took in the room. Her eyebrows rose. "You killed her."
"Not me," Malloryn murmured, his attention all on Adele. "Are you all right?"
And suddenly it hit her.
How close she'd come to dying. That she'dkilledanother woman.
He must have seen it in her face, for his brows drew sharply together. Adele threw herself into his arms, burying her face against his chest.
There was a minute hesitation, and then Malloryn's arms closed around her. Palm spreading wide across the flat of her back, his voice roughening, he said, "You're safe. You're safe, Adele."
And she believed it.
The Duke of Malloryn was a force of nature. He'd helped drag the prince consort from power and ruined Lord Balfour's schemes. Every blue blood in the Echelon secretly feared him.
A hiccup escaped her.
"You're bleeding," he murmured, rubbing that hand up and down her spine. "I can smell it. Will you let me see?"
She wanted to stay right here in his arms, but her ear was a throbbing mess.
Malloryn captured her face in his hands, his pupils black with the craving as he turned her face from side to side. "Bloody hell. She's cut you a few times."
He tore his cravat free from his throat, wadded it into a bunch, and pressed it to her ear. Adele winced.
"N-no more earrings." Adele managed a weak smile as she touched the cravat. And then she remembered what had become of her grandmother's pearls. "Oh, no. My pearls. She broke them!"
Scattered all over the room inside like the pieces of her life.
She took a step toward the powder room, but Malloryn hauled her back. "Gemma will fetch them," he said. "You don't need to see that room again."
Tears wet her eyes as the loss finally hit her.
Her ruined earlobe could be hidden by a strategic curl. The scars on her cheek could be managed.
But those pearls were the only thing she had left of her grandmother—the only family member who'd ever given a damn about her as a little girl.
"That bitch," she said, trying to wipe the tears from her eyes.
"Here," Malloryn said, dragging her bloody gloves off and discarding them on the floor. "We need to get you home and out of that gown. Before people start talking."
* * *
Jelena was dead.
His heart wouldn't stop racing. The world around him flashed past in jerky vignettes as Malloryn sent for the carriage: Lady Haynes's face swam in front of him as he curtly made their goodbyes; he fought his way through flashes of garish color as every silk-clad aristocratic lady fought to say something to them; and then there was cool, blessed air washing over him.
Washing away the last cloying lungful's of Black Vein.
Sweeping the clinging tendrils of bergamot from his coat.
It couldn't remove the surreal sensation that he was finally free of those nightmares, or the worry that, even though she was gone, they would remain.
She was dead. Jelena was dead.
All these months of lying in bed, dreaming of what he'd do if he ever saw her again. Both fearing and hungering for that moment.... Craving the need to take back his power over her, and the way she'd broken him.
He felt cheated somehow.
