![]() ![]() “Have you ever had a challenge from one of my sex?” Temple resisted the urge to kick the man’s teeth in. He released her and turned toward the words to find Oliver Densmore, the biggest ass in London, hanging on the ropes, tongue fairly hanging out of his mouth. “A hundred only? I’ve got five for a chit like that! I’d wager she’s glorious in the sheets!” “I’ll give you a hundred pounds to let me accept the challenge for you, Temple!” ![]() “She’s got a point, Temple!” someone in the assembly cried out. “And tell me, Your Grace, have any of them ever challenged you here? In the ring?” She curled one of the hands on his chest into a fist. “I don’t fight women.” Remembering the first time he’d said it to her. He shook his head slowly, playing to the crowd even as he spoke to her, quiet and serious. The men chortled, and she stiffened in his arms, her words carrying across the room. But perhaps we can find another place to. The crowd erupted in guffaws and a chorus of oh-hos, and Temple realized what she was doing. “But what of my challenge? Are we not evenly matched now that you’ve taken my blade?” She smiled at him, bright and brilliant, and he wished they were anywhere but here. “A woman cannot be too careful, Your Grace.” It was her turn to raise her voice. ![]()
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