Page 112 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

The room fell silent.

He pointed to Florence, his face stern but his eyes warm.

"My sister," he said, his voice carrying across the hall, "has devoted her life to protecting the vulnerable." He turned to face Carrick. "If that is a crime, then I stand with her as an accomplice."

He let that settle. Then continued.

"You, Lord Carrick, have devoted your life to destroying lives. And tonight, your reckoning has come."

He gestured towards the main entrance.

Constables entered. A stern-faced magistrate followed, someone unfamiliar.

"Lord Carrick." The magistrate announced. "You are under arrest for trafficking in persons, fraud, corruption, and conspiracy to cause grievous harm."

Carrick backed away. His hand went to his waist.

"My lord," the magistrate warned. "Do not—"

The knife appeared from nowhere.

Carrick reached for Florence, but he didn’t get a chance.

Matthew moved between them.

Matthew's hand closed around Carrick's wrist, wrenching the knife away. The blade clattered to the floor.

Carrick didn't run.

He should have. Any sensible man would have.

Carrick's fist connected with Matthew's jaw before Florence even saw him swing. Matthew's head snapped back, but he kept his feet.

"You think you can take everything from me?" Carrick snarled, circling. "You're nothing. You've always been nothing. Father's little bastard, good for muscle and nothing else."

Matthew wiped blood from his lip. Said nothing.

Carrick swung again. Matthew blocked it, countered with a blow to the ribs that made Carrick double over. But Carrick recovered quickly, came up swinging, catching Matthew across the temple.

The crowd scattered, screaming, pressing towards the walls. Someone knocked over a candelabra. Wax splattered across the marble floor.

Tam's hand closed around Florence's arm, pulling her back towards the entrance.

"Stay back." His grip was iron. "He'd never forgive me if you got hurt." Tam positioned himself in front of her. "Stay behind me."

The brothers fought like men who'd been waiting their whole lives for this moment. No rules. No restraint. Just fists and fury and years of hatred.

Carrick was skilled. Florence could see it in the way he moved, the way he anticipated Matthew's strikes. He'd trained. He'd prepared for this, perhaps.

But Matthew was a professional who had learned to channel pain into power, rage into precision.

Carrick landed a punch that split Matthew's eyebrow open. Blood poured down his face. He didn't slow.

He caught Carrick's next swing, twisted, and drove his elbow into his brother's nose. Cartilage crunched. Carrick howled.

"All my life," Matthew said with a murderous grin on his face, "I've waited for this."

He hit Carrick again. And again. Driving him backward across the blood slicked floor.