Page 54 of Duke of Eccess (Seven Dukes of Sin #4)

Octavius chuckled. “I will take this into the greatest of considerations. But for now, please stay here and allow me to create a clear passage to your freedom.”

As men yelled and fists slapped against flesh, Temperance nodded and let him go before Octavius launched himself into the fight.

Modesty hugged Temperance’s shoulders from the right and the Duchess of Luhst wrapped her arm around her from the left. The Duchess of Rath was there as well, the four of them watching the brawl as the men they loved and his their best friends fought their way through the footmen.

Patience glanced over at the group of writers. “Aren’t they reporters for the newspapers?”

Temperance chuckled darkly. “My stepmother must have invited them to document how the ‘Mad Heiress’ would finally be taken to an asylum.”

The Duchess of Rath shook her head. “She should be the one taken to an asylum, I’m afraid.”

As the fists kept swinging and the dukes applied their hours of pugilism practice, Temperance’s gaze locked with Lady Auster’s across the street.

She was not afraid of her or Langston anymore.

They had no more power over her, not when she had an army of dukes and three fearless duchesses behind her. Not when her heart was full of love.

Her inheritance didn’t mean as much as she thought it would. Her fortune meant freedom and safety, yes, but she already felt free and safe and she hadn’t even signed the deed yet.

So what could Lady Auster or Bartholomew do?

Temperance gave the warmest smile to the three duchesses surrounding her. “Thank you for showing me what it’s like to be part of a sisterhood. I’d be honored to join the Misses with Microscopes.”

Patience clapped her gloved hands and the other two beamed at her warmly.

The fight was soon over; the footmen either didn’t want to or weren’t paid enough to fight dukes. The Duke of Rath was clearly an excellent pugilist, as well as Octavius, whose fists knocked several footmen to the ground as the remaining footmen ran away.

The way was almost clear. The only ones left standing between her and her future were her stepmother and Bartholomew.

Octavius strode back to Temperance’s side panting slightly, locks of his honey-blond hair falling on his forehead in a way that made her heart squeeze.

He was truly majestic in his long auburn greatcoat, tall and broad-shouldered, muscular and strong.

His high cheekbones were flushed with exercise and his cold, full lips stretched in a confident smile that made her knees go weak, his brown eyes glistening with love and focused entirely on her.

“The way is almost clear, Lady Agatha,” he said.

She beamed. “Temperance…I’m still your Temperance.”

He chuckled. “That you are.”

She was sinking in his eyes, aching for him to take her into his arms again, and kiss her—but there was still the final victory to be claimed.

“In a few minutes, I’m about to change my destiny,” she said, staring into his eyes. “And there’s no one else I’d rather have by my side than you. Would you stand with me while I claim what’s mine?”

Octavius grinned. “I would be honored.”

He offered her his arm, and she hooked her hand through his elbow before marching with him across the street towards her stepmother.

The reporters followed them, and this time Temperance didn’t hesitate.

She wanted them to hear every word. She’d turn Lady Auster’s weapon in her favor; clearing her name now would mean never needing to hide again, nor have Octavius, the children, or her new friends be tainted by association.

Her stepmother and Bartholomew stood in front of the door with pale faces.

“Agatha,” sniffed Lady Auster.

Temperance looked her straight in her pretty, long-lashed eyes. “It’s over, Lady Auster. Please step away. I am one and twenty, and you have no more power over me.”

“It’s not about power, Agatha,” snapped her stepmother. “You know you should be in an asylum. What you do brings danger to yourself and others. You don’t know what you’re doing. I’m only thinking about your well-being.”

Temperance hardened her heart. “It’s never been about my well-being for you, has it?

You’ve been afraid of me ever since you found out about my interest in science, because it meant I do things you don’t understand.

I didn’t to gossip with you like you wanted me to or support your lavish lifestyle.

You and your beloved nephew, who stole from my father and abused me both physically and emotionally—which, by the way, you knew about and never stopped. ”

Octavius’s arm stiffened under her fingers. “He—what? Wait…is he the distant relative you told me about?”

Temperance met his eyes, wild and dark with fury. She nodded and noticed with satisfaction the way her lover’s upper lip curled, revealing a dangerous snarl.

“This is nonsense!” mumbled Bartholomew, paling. “Your Grace, she—she doesn’t know what she’s talking about!”

“Of course you don’t have the courage to admit what you’ve done,” said Temperance sadly.

“You’re a coward, only brave enough to bully and harm those weaker than you.

Over eight thousand pounds in debts to gambling clubs and moneylenders, your crumbling estate that brings in barely two hundred pounds a year when it needs at least two thousand just for basic repairs.

” She lifted her chin. “You needed my inheritance to save yourself from debtors’ prison. ”

“You self-righteous little bitch!” Bartholomew stomped his foot, his voice shrill, the helpless whine of a furious, spoiled toddler. “You whore! It’s all your fault!”

One moment Octavius stood next to her, his arm under her palm…the next, he had lunged towards Langston, swallowing the distance with his huge body. Bartholomew staggered back but Octavius was too fast for him, grasping him by the collar of his greatcoat.

“This is going to sell so many papers…” Temperance heard one of the reporters mumble.

Bartholomew looked pasty, eyes as wide as saucers as he shrank into himself.

“This is for calling her nasty words.” With one hand holding him by the coat, Octavius drove his other fist straight into the man’s nose, and Temperance flinched as a loud crack reverberated around the street.

“This is for your cruelty.” Octavius punched the man in the gut, and Langston doubled up with a whimper.

“And for ever laying your dirty hands on her!” He slammed Langston against the wall of Mr. Barton’s office.

“For ever causing her a moment of distress, you worthless piece of human scum.”

Lady Auster shrieked. “Stop him, Agatha! Please! He’s going to kill him.”

As much as part of Temperance enjoyed seeing Bartholomew suffer, she knew her stepmother was right. She hardly wanted a murder charge against the man she loved. “Your Grace, let him go! Please!”

Octavius halted, his broad back moving quickly as he panted.

Then he released Bartholomew, who staggered to his feet, swaying as he backed away from Octavius with fear.

As Octavius returned to Temperance, his face was dark, his gaze full of primal anger.

He had the air of someone who’d completed a job well done.

“You will never have my father’s money, Lady Auster,” stated Temperance as her lover took his place by her side.

“I am sorry you’ll have to lead a less lavish lifestyle, but my papa left you enough to have a comfortable life.

Perhaps you should adjust to your new circumstances.

And you, Bartholomew…you will be hearing from Mr. Barton.

So you had best step aside now. That will give you enough time to leave the country and run. ”

“That is wise advice,” growled Octavius. “You better run because next time I see you, I won’t stop—even for Lady Agatha.”

Bartholomew paled to the color of snow, looked around himself, and quite pathetically staggered into a run, skidding on the ice.

Lady Auster watched him go with an expression of shrinking hope. Her neck was drawing into her shoulders, her pretty face losing its polite social mask, and she looked quite ugly now—afraid and malignant.

“You’re implicated, too, Lady Auster,” said Temperance, joy rising as she could bring justice to her father’s estate. “You knew of his theft and you did nothing.”

“You have no proof,” she hissed, looking like a cornered snake.

Temperance thanked God that she’d taken precautions.

“You destroyed the original proof, indeed, but Mr. Barton has a copy and there must be still notes in the pawnbroker’s logbook.

I still have the loyalty of my servants who will give evidence in my support.

You will face more expenses for legal proceedings and will be the subject of rumors and humiliation. Can your reputation withstand that?”

Lady Auster’s face jerked back as if from a physical blow. She straightened her neck, her mouth twisting into a bitter expression. “Very well,” she spat out, stepping closer. “You win. But please, Agatha, we have been family for several years. Don’t do this to me.”

Temperance felt a jolt of pity for the woman. She nodded curtly. “I will spare you if you publicly acknowledge you were wrong to call me mad and arrange a fake doctor’s report to commit me to the asylum.”

Lady Auster nodded. “I—I will.” She looked at the journalists, her lips pressed painfully together. “I’d like to say a few words,” she called out to them.

As Lady Auster walked away, Temperance looked at Octavius with a feeling of triumph that rose in her chest like bubbles. He smiled at her.

“Come with me,” she said as she and Octavius climbed the stairs. “It’s time to step into the independence I’ve been waiting for.”