That she would fight for him the way she fought for Tommy.

A long-buried memory came unbidden—young Penelope, hands outstretched at a garden party, playing blind man’s buff. Children were scattered everywhere, calling out to her, and she lurched and lunged, laughing at the silly game. He and Tommy had crept toward her and simultaneously whispered her name. She’d spun toward him, capturing him easily, her hands coming to settle on his cheeks, her smile wide and lovely. “Michael,” she’d said softly, “I’ve caught you.”

He ran his hands down his face and looked to his feet, covered in sawdust. “I think it’s best.”

Chase was the first to respond. “It might not be the best way to endear yourself to the lady, Bourne, having her followed.”

He came to his feet. “I am open to less villainous ideas.”

Temple smirked and said, “Why not leave the ring and go to her? Give her the words she’s looking for, take the girl to bed, and remind her why you’re better than Alles in all ways that count?” He bounced back into the ropes several times in a foul approximation of coitus. “A different fight, but far more pleasurable.”

Bourne scowled and came to his feet, shaking out his hands and testing his weight on tired legs.

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?” Chase asked.

“I sleep.” Not much.

He took a step toward the center of the ring, feeling the room sway just barely. Temple did not pull his punches. Ever. It was what made him such a stellar opponent on those days when one wanted nothing but oblivion.

“How long since you’ve slept more than an hour here and there?”

“I do not require a mother.”

Chase lifted a brow. “Perhaps a wife, then?”

Bourne wished Chase were in the damn ring, too.

The sound of Temple’s drawing a line in the wood shavings at the center of the ring echoed through the dark, cavernous room. “Come to scratch, old man. Let me give you the beating you richly deserve. We’ll send you home to your marchioness in desperate need of her care and concern.”

Bourne headed for the center of the ring, ignoring both the words and the unpleasantness that settled in his heart at the idea that his marchioness was no longer willing to provide him with either care or concern.

After another round of boxing, Bourne exited the ring, barely able to see out of his left eye. Temple remained in the box, stretching against the ropes, watching as Bourne accepted a side of raw beef from the icebox at Bruno’s feet and took the seat next to Chase, leaning back and placing the meat over his swelling eye.

Minutes went by—several of them—before Chase broke the silence. “Why did she leave without you?”

Bourne released a long breath. “She’s furious with me.”

“They always are,” Temple said, beginning to unwrap the length of linen he had wrapped around his knuckles before the fight.

“What did you do?” Chase asked.

There were a hundred reasons why she was furious. But only one mattered, and it came quick and clear, like a blow from one of Temple’s massive fists. “I’m an ass.”

Bourne expected instant agreement from his partners, so when no one spoke, he wondered if, perhaps, they’d left him alone in the room. He lifted the piece of beef from his eye and looked up, only to discover that Chase, Temple, and Bruno had all gone wide-eyed, watching him. “What?” he asked.

Chase found words first. “Only that in the five years I’ve known you—”

“Much longer for me,” Temple interjected.

“—I’ve never known you to admit that you were wrong.”

Bourne slid his gaze from Chase to Temple to Chase again. “Sod off.” He returned the steak to his eye and leaned back again. “I can’t give her what she wants.”

“Which is?”

It was easier to speak to them without having to look at them. “A normal marriage. A normal life.”

“Why not?” Chase prodded.

“All I succeed at is sin and vice. She is the opposite of those things. She will want more. She will want . . .” He trailed off.

Love.

The one thing he could not buy her. The one thing he could not risk giving her.

Chase’s papers rustled. “And therein, the fear of Alles.”

Bourne stiffened. “Not fear.”

“Of course not,” Chase revised in a tone laced with humor. “Following the lady, Bourne, is not the answer. It’s giving her the things she wants. It’s being the husband she deserves.”

Damn him, he wanted to be that husband. She was slowly destroying him with her strength and her spirit. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be easy and clean—a quick abduction, an easy marriage, and a tranquil parting of ways that served them both.

Except, nothing about his wife seemed easy or tranquil.

Michael flexed his fingers, feeling the ache in the knuckles from the fight. “It’s not that easy.”

“It never is, with women,” Chase continued. “You can say all you like that you’ll toss her away after your revenge is meted out, but you shan’t be able to. Not entirely. You’ll still be married.”

“Unless she goes with Alles,” Temple taunted from inside the ring.

Michael cursed him wickedly. “She doesn’t need Alles for the life she wants. I’ll give it to her. Everything she wants.”

“Everything?” Chase asked. Michael did not reply. “It’s no longer all for the land and the revenge, is it? You care for the lady.”