Gerald Langley rose from the floor of the hallway of his club, his head aching. He coughed and brushed plaster dust off his body. The world around him was in a state of destruction. The dining room was littered with spilled trays of food, chairs were overturned, and the acrid smell of gunpowder still lingered in the air. The house was silent; not a single member of his club was still around. The cowards. He rose to his feet, stumbling a little as he called out for his butler. There was no answer. Even the servants had fled? He would fire each and every last one of them for their disloyalty.

“Clayton,” he bellowed. “Where the bloody hell are you?”

He stumbled down the hall into his private study. This house was the headquarters to his club, the Unholy Sinners of Hell, but he often stayed here when he didn’t wish to go to his townhouse in Mayfair. Lately he had spent more and more of his time here thanks to that bitch Lady Society. He’d been so close to ending that problem once and for all. But that damned Lord Pembroke and that other fellow, whoever he was… How had they even gotten in? He’d never had an issue with security before tonight.

He threw himself into the desk chair and reached for the bottle of brandy on his desk.

A voice came from the doorway. “Have a little trouble this evening?” Langley jerked up his head up to stare at the tall man in dark clothes. Gerald knew the man, but he wasn’t a member of his club.

“Trouble? Of course I had trouble. You said if I spoke to certain ladies, ones who frequented the club, that Lady Society would overhear my plans at that ball and try to switch places with one of them.”

“We know how she thinks, where she frequents,” the man said, “and what drives her. It seemed a certainty that she would take the bait.”

“Well she did, and she brought a second girl with her, but it didn’t go right at all. I was supposed to have her right where I wanted her.”

The man stepped forward. “And didn’t you? She was here with your group, yet the house is empty and you’re ready to drink yourself into defeat.”

“Sheffield, you said that it would be easy to deal with her. Yet she brought an army with her to rescue her.”

The man, Daniel Sheffield, glanced back into the hall. “An army? You exaggerate. Your men did more harm to each other in the confusion, I expect.”

“And so what if they did? I was almost killed.”

“How many were there, in truth?” Sheffield asked.

“I counted two, the Earl of Pembroke and some other man, but there could have been more. They ruined everything, shot up the place, shot me up!” He raised a slightly bloody arm. It was a graze in truth, but it stung almost as much as his wounded pride. “And Lady Society got away.”

Sheffield straightened his coat and walked closer to Langley.

“It is a pity the plan did not work out, but you were a fool to assume she would come unaided.”

“Yes, well, now what am I to do? I am not even sure of her identity. She was just a little chit wearing a mask. She looked like half the young debs who came out in London this year. The friend she brought with her was just as forgettable. How can I find her now? She’s like a bloody ghost, and yet everyone in the ton listens to her. She’s ruined me, do you understand? Banks have refused me credit, my sister and her husband aren’t invited anywhere anymore, and I can’t even walk around Mayfair without people avoiding me in the streets.”

Sheffield gave a cold smile, as if he somehow respected what the bitch had done. “Amazing, isn’t it? The power one woman can wield?”

“What must I do to avenge myself upon her?” Langley lifted the brandy bottle to his lips and drank deep.

“Nothing. The game is played out. I did my best to help you, but now we must end this in another manner.”

“I agree, let’s end this. I want her dead.” Langley took another swig from his bottle.

“I’m sure that will come to pass. Unfortunately, you will not be here to see it.”

Langley stared at Sheffield. The man held a pistol, aimed at his chest. Blood began to pound in his ears.

“Sheffield, now hold on a moment…”

“Take out a pen and paper and write exactly what I tell you.”

“I will not!” Langley snapped.

Sheffield took a slow, measured step forward. “Do it now or you won’t have a chance to set your affairs in order.”

Langley swallowed thickly. Sheffield was serious.

“So…this is it?”

“I’m afraid so. Do you need a minute?”

Langley swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat as he opened the drawer and removed a piece of paper and prepared a quill. “No. Let’s get on with it.”

Sheffield nodded. “Write this. ‘To my family, I have disappointed you with my shame and my disgrace. I cannot bear the weight of it anymore.’ After that, you may say what you must to see that your relations are looked after.”

Langley wrote the words, fear and horror almost paralyzing him. His mouth was dry, and he couldn’t speak. When he finished, Sheffield looked over his words carefully.

“Very good.” Sheffield handed the pistol over to Langley. A second one was already in his other hand.

“I will give you two minutes.” Sheffield exited the study but stopped a moment at the door. “Understand, if you try to run, it will be much worse for you. And your sister.”

Langley stared at the pistol in his hand, then the clock in his study. The steady tick counting down each remaining moment he had left.

Two minutes.

It was a fitting end, he acknowledged. He had started a hellfire club, and now, once he took his life, he would be in hell for the sins that he’d committed.

He opened his mouth and put the barrel inside.

Daniel Sheffield waited until the pistol went off, then opened the door to ensure the deed had been done. He put the second pistol back in his coat. He left the wreckage of the ridiculous house of the Unholy Sinners of Hell behind and stepped into a waiting coach outside.

“It’s done,” Daniel said.

“Good.” Hugo Waverly, Daniel’s employer, nodded. His eyes were impossibly dark, the sort of black that always left Daniel a little on edge.

He’d served Waverly for years, the two of them doing what had to be done to preserve and protect England’s interests. In those years, he’d grown as close to the man as anyone could, and he’d gained a measure of his trust. As a result, Waverly had requested his aid in side missions that often weren’t directly tied to king and country.

This was one of those nights where Daniel faced the darkness of Waverly’s heart and the demons that secretly drove him. But Waverly had saved him from a life of squalor as a boy and taught him to be a gentleman. He’d given Daniel an opportunity for adventure and advancement in society. For that, Daniel would brave the deadliest missions if Hugo gave the order.

“Back to our original plan, then?” Daniel asked.

“Yes, I think so. Why don’t we meet with Avery Russell this week and have him make contact with Miss Sheridan?” Daniel knew better than to assume that questions like this weren’t in fact orders.

“I’ll see to it,” Daniel replied.

“Good. I think if you provide Miss Sheridan with an opportunity to serve her country, she’ll be most anxious to join you and Russell in France. The mission has always required a diversion, something to rattle the cages of the English rebels in Calais as well as the feathers of those at the royal court.” Sheffield was well aware of the plan. Fingers from various factions would point at one another, each trying to accuse the other of complicity or conspiracy. It was under this disruptive cloud of suspicion that the reformists were expected to make their move—and their fatal mistake.

“Miss Sheridan’s capture will put the country into an uproar, and it will give you time to see to the mission. I want those names of the reformists at any costs. I’m certain they’re finding support from our shores.”

“You believe that allowing the Sheridan chit to die will work?” Sheffield asked.

“It will. We have our true mission to see to first. But hurting my enemies here at home in the process will be a delightful bonus.”

“And what of Avery Russell? I thought he showed promise?”

“It is a pity,” Hugo admitted. “He is a skilled asset. But he is Lucien’s brother, and it would only be a matter of time before he learned too much. Removing him was always inevitable.”

Daniel, if he’d been younger, would have shuddered at the cold look in Hugo’s eyes. “It’s not that I don’t admire the plan, but why not go at the League directly this time?” Daniel held his breath, afraid Waverly would be furious, but it had to be asked. If the League of Rogues were the threat Waverly believed them to be, he would not have waited as long to strike. He would have done it years ago.

“Their weaknesses grow each day. The more they marry and beget brats, the more they have to lose. It is not enough to simply remove them. I want to hurt them, piece by piece, until they all kneel at my feet, broken and battered. Only then will I take revenge. For Peter, and for myself.” The last had been whispered so quietly that Daniel might have imagined it.

When the carriage stopped outside Daniel’s residence, he nodded at his superior before stepping out into the street. He waited for the coach to turn the corner before he walked up the steps and entered his apartment.

His butler was waiting. “Sir, you have a visitor. She’s in the drawing room.”

Daniel’s demeanor changed, and his heart lifted. He let go of the dark, secretive part of himself that he had to be when he was with Hugo. Only one woman ever came to visit him.

He shrugged out of his coat and hat and handed them to a servant. Then he headed down the hall and entered the drawing room. The room was lit by firelight and candles, accenting the sparse furnishings, but the woman by the fire had never minded his meager bachelor residence. Her blonde hair was pulled up in an elegant coiffure, and the dark blue satin gown she wore hinted at the body he knew he would soon be taking to bed.

“Melanie,” he whispered, and she slowly turned to face him. Lord, she was beautiful. And for tonight, at any rate, she was his.

“You are late, Daniel. We agreed to meet at midnight.” She opened her arms to him, and he embraced her.

“Work, my darling. I was unavoidably delayed.”

“We don’t have many opportunities like this,” Melanie said. “Not without making Hugo suspicious.”

Daniel shut out the thoughts of Waverly. Melanie may have been Hugo’s wife, but she had stopped sharing his bed more than two years ago, just after she gave birth to her first child.

You may own her body, but I own her heart. Daniel kissed Melanie, letting go of the tension that was coiled tight inside him. For so long he’d been torn about his deception against the man who had taught him everything. But love defied logic, defied reason, defied even the strongest loyalties. He had bedded many women at Hugo’s insistence to gain information, but there had only ever been one woman who was in his heart and mind.

“You smell of gunpowder,” Melanie whispered as she curled her arms around his neck.

He chuckled as she bit his ear and pleasure shot through him. “Do I?”

“Yes, that’s what I love about you. You’re so unlike him. You’re real, not a shadow. I married Hugo thinking he was mysterious and charming. But I was never allowed to see behind his mask. Not like with you.” She tilted her face up to him, and he leaned down to kiss her again, losing himself in the building tension in his body, but this was a good tension.

“You’re the only woman who’s ever known the man I truly am,” he assured her. Many thought Melanie vain, and perhaps she had been, years ago. But time and a lonely marriage had led her down a different path, one he’d watched from afar until he could stand it no longer. From that time on, she had owned his heart. He’d done many things in the name of king and country. Horrible things. Things that had to be done. But if there was one thing in his life that he could say he did that was good, it was to love this woman, even if it was forbidden. She was his only hope for redemption.

“I need to be inside you, love,” he growled.

She smiled and pulled him toward the couch. There would be no more talking tonight, not until they had sated their hungers. He would worry tomorrow about Audrey Sheridan.