“How is he?” Charles asked the doctor.

Dr. Shreve shut the door to the bedchamber where Phillip had been settled and removed his spectacles, folding them carefully and tucking them away in a slender leather case before he met Charles’s gaze.

“He has several broken ribs, and his left leg is fractured in two places, but I’m most concerned about the injuries inflicted to his skull. I reset the leg and bound it, but the rest?” He shook his head. “If he survives the next week, he may well yet recover, but it is in God’s hands now.”

Charles released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Thank you, Doctor. I’m certain you’ve done everything you can.” He shook Shreve’s hand, and then Ramsey escorted him to the door.

“Phillip is a tough man,” Ashton said, placing a hand on Charles’s shoulder. “He may surprise us all.”

“I hope you’re right.” Charles leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. God, would this nightmare ever end? Was there no crevice Hugo’s tentacles could not reach? People were being hurt because of him, all because Charles been a foolish child playing adult games, thinking a duel would solve his problems. Instead, it had been the cause of all the misery that had followed him ever since. Because of that mistake, he would never know safety for himself or for the people he loved.

“I cannot do this any longer,” he said quietly.

Ashton said nothing, but he joined Charles in leaning against the wall.

“If Hugo wants me, maybe I should surrender. We can’t let things go on like this. What if he comes after Rosalind next? Or Lucien’s newborn? He is escalating his attacks.”

“Perhaps he is desperate,” Ashton said, though he didn’t sound convinced.

“Or he simply wishes to further tighten the screws until I beg for mercy.”

Ashton said nothing in reply at first, staring off into the distance. Then he looked to Charles. “I think it’s time.”

“To give up?”

“No. We’ve always known you had a past when we saved you. None of us regret that day. But we never pushed you to tell us more than you were prepared to. But now I think, prepared or otherwise, you must tell the League everything that happened between you and Hugo. Only then can we know for certain how to proceed.”

Charles often had nightmares of the night he’d almost drowned, when Peter died, but there was perhaps an even greater fear than that. To confess his sins, to explain why Hugo wanted him to suffer endless torment? Though he knew they would stand by him, part of him feared that they might in some small fashion side with Hugo and hold Charles to blame. Just as he held himself to blame.

And yet, Charles was tired of keeping his secrets. Of being a coward. Perhaps the only way to destroy the demons still haunting him was to face them.

Charles nodded slowly. “Summon them all here.”

Ashton smiled. “They’re already on their way. I sent the letters half an hour ago.”

“One step ahead of me again?”

Ashton shook his head. “Simply being prepared. We have much to discuss, regardless.”

Charles sighed. “I suppose we do.” He would tell the League everything, but he would not stop there. He would free them of their vows. He would not ask them to stand by him any longer. The danger was too great, and they all had too much to lose. They had been his shield long enough. It was time for him to be theirs.

Charles and Ash went to the billiard room. He poured himself a glass of port and offered one to his friend. Ashton politely refused and sat in a chair by the fire. A quarter of an hour passed before the others began to arrive. Godric came in first and joined Charles by the decanters. Cedric and Jonathan came in together, followed soon by Lucien.

“How is Phillip?” Lucien asked, breaking the silence.

“Alive…for now,” Ashton said. “He’s in a bad way. The doctor says if he lives out the week, there is hope he will survive.”

“What the devil happened?” Cedric asked, looking between Charles and Ashton.

“He was lured into Lewis Street by Hugo’s second-in-command,” Ashton explained. “Sheffield convinced Phillip to pay off the debt he owed to him in the ring. It wasn’t about money, of course.”

“Then what was it about?” Jonathan asked. “Why Lord Kent?”

“Because Charles’s brother, Graham, was with him. He’s sending a message, without laying a finger on Charles’s family directly,” Ashton explained.

Charles finally spoke. “He wants me.” He finished his port and stared at his closest friends. He felt he had let them down, let them get too close to him, and because of that they were all marked men.

Unless he gave himself over to Hugo.

“Well we know that,” said Godric. “But why do I get the impression that you summoned us here for a different reason? I assume this has something to do with your plans, Ash?”

Ashton had long been working secretly, learning everything he could about Hugo and how best to take the fight to him. Recently, he had tasked them all with an assignment, but as of yet none of them honestly knew what Ashton was planning.

“Charles, it’s time,” Ashton said. Once he told them about his past, they would have every right to be done with him. And if they didn’t, he would have to leave them. At least then they might be safe.

“Time for what?” Cedric asked.

“For me to tell you the truth about myself and Hugo Waverly. The reason he tried to drown me in the river Cam.”

Charles poured himself another glass as every eye in the room fixed on him. He took a long, burning gulp, avoiding their gaze. He didn’t want to face them, but he had to. For the sake of his soul if nothing else. Would they understand? Would they cast him out of their lives forever because of his foolishness? Fear took root in him like a blackened oak tree suffering from some disease that turned it rotten at its core. But he had to do this, had to face his friends and break the seal holding back the horrors of the past.

“It was the summer of 1807. I was seventeen, and my father had come home early from the bank. I knew right away something was wrong…”

London, April 1807

Charles glanced up from the essay he was writing for his entrance exams to Cambridge and saw his father rushing down the corridor into his study. He was home early.

“Father?” Charles abandoned his books and rushed to see his father. Guy Humphrey stood behind his desk, shoving pound notes into a small bag. When he saw Charles, he frowned.

“Father, what’s wrong?”

“Not now, dear boy.” He opened a drawer in in his desk and removed a pistol. He hastily primed it for a shot and tucked it inside his coat. He’d never seen his father touch the pistol in his desk before.

“Father, you’re frightening me. Please, tell me what is happening.”

Guy sighed heavily. “Someone I know is in trouble.” His tone made Charles tense. It was one of resignation and regret.

“Trouble? Let me come, Father. I can help.”

“No.” His father brushed past him. “You must stay here. You must take care of your mother, as well as Graham and Ella.”

“But—”

Guy turned to Charles as he reached the front door.

“For God’s sake, boy, do as I say just this once! Stay here. I will return as soon as I can.” His father rushed down to grab the reins of a horse held by a waiting groom.

Charles should have listened to his father, but he knew he needed help. He couldn’t let him go alone. He waved for a passing coach and pointed at his father in the distance.

“Follow that man.” Then he tossed a few coins to the driver and climbed inside. The coach rumbled on the cobblestone streets for half an hour before they finally stopped. Twilight had fallen, and Charles slipped out of the vehicle and handed the man another couple of shillings.

“He went into that house, two doors down,” the driver whispered.

“Thank you.” Charles walked calmly down the street, trying not to appear conspicuous. When he reached the townhouse the driver had pointed out, he heard shouting from inside. His father’s voice came clearly through one of the windows facing the street. Charles rushed up to the door and tried the handle. It turned, and he burst inside. The scene that met him was chaotic.

His father was at the foot of the stairs. A woman close to his mother’s age leaned against him, her face stained with tears. She held one hand against a reddening cheek. At the top of the stairs a tall, dark-haired man his father’s age glared down at them.

“Baltus, you bloody bastard!” Guy yelled.

Charles was baffled as to what he was witnessing. There was fury in his father’s eyes, a murderous rage that was reflected in the gaze of the man at the top of the stairs.

“You want the bitch? She’s yours. I’ll not have that whore under my roof anymore!”

Charles didn’t know who this woman was or what she was to his father, but whoever that man was, he had hit her. If there was one thing Charles knew as a law in his heart, one did not ever hit a woman.

“How dare you!” Charles shouted, stepping up beside his father at the foot of the stairs.

“Charles!” Guy hissed. “Go home. Now!”

The woman stared at Charles in terror.

“Ah, so you brought the boy,” Baltus sneered as he stomped down the stairs. “How fitting.”

Charles held his ground, not flinching under the man’s cruel inspection.

“You shouldn’t even be here, boy. Did your father ever tell you that?” Baltus snapped. “He never planned on marrying your mother. He was the second son, the spare. He wanted Jane here, you see, but couldn’t have her. Not when he wasn’t going to be an earl. But me? I was good enough to have her.” He pounded a fist against his chest as he continued. “And that burned him up inside. He still wants her. Even now.”

“You lie,” Charles growled.

“Your father married your mother and gave birth to you, the son he never wanted. And yet my wife…” His dark eyes pinned Jane in place. “She still pines for him like a dog. My son will never see you again, do you hear me, Jane? You can join Lonsdale’s bloody harem for all I care. You are dead to me.”

Before Charles realized what he was doing, he swung a balled fist at Baltus. When his fist connected, Baltus stumbled back a little, but recovered quickly.

“Why you little bastard. You call that a punch?”

“I call that a challenge,” Charles spat in Baltus’s face. “I demand satisfaction.”

Jane’s husband laughed darkly. “Very well. I accept. It will be a pleasure to kill you. I’ll even have your father watch.”

“No!” Guy released Jane and stepped between Charles and Baltus. “If it’s blood you want, you can try to take mine. It is my honor that needs satisfaction, not his.”

“Father—?” Charles started, but Guy glared at him.

“As you wish. I will kill you,” Baltus warned. “And then I’ll let the boy challenge me again, and I will kill him too.”

“You will do no such thing,” Guy said, his tone as hard as steel. “Jane, go with Charles. I trust there is a coach waiting outside?”

Charles nodded. “Yes, Father.”

“Good. Take Jane outside, now.”

Charles escorted the woman outside, but he was still afraid for his father.

“Th—thank you,” Jane whispered as they settled into the coach outside.

“Of course. I just wish I could do more, Madam…” He didn’t know what name to call her.

“Waverly, Jane Waverly. I’m a friend of your mother’s. Violet and I grew up together.”

“My mother?” Relief swept through him. No wonder his father wanted to protect her. She was a friend of his mother’s. He didn’t want to think about that nonsense Baltus had said about his father being in love with this woman. He had been trying to upset Charles, and unfortunately it had worked.

“Violet warned me to leave my husband years ago, but we both knew that wasn’t possible. A husband has his rights and a woman has none.” The words came in bitterness and sorrow. He’d never thought much about a woman’s place in society, or her lack of power, perhaps because his parents had always treated each other as equals.

“My father will protect you,” Charles promised her.

She gave was soft and melancholy smile. “I know he will, but I cannot ask him to. I lost that privilege long ago.” She touched Charles’s hand in a way that reminded him of his own mother.

A moment later his father climbed into the coach, and it jolted forward.

“Jane, are you all right?” Guy opened his arms, and Jane went into his embrace.

Charles’s jaw slowly fell. It was true. Jane and his father had been more than friends. His father had wanted to marry this woman? He gazed at them and the way they clung to each other. A sudden ache filled his heart, burning like fire.

“Does…does Mother know?” Charles asked when he finally found the strength to speak.

Guy stared at Jane, cupping her face in his hands, not speaking.

“Tell him, Guy. He deserves the truth. He’s no longer a child.” Jane gripped his wrists and closed her eyes.

Guy turned to Charles. “I was the second son in my family. My older brother, Stephen, died in a riding accident when I was twenty-five. You were only two years old then.”

Charles nodded. He remembered Uncle Stephen, or at least he thought he did. The man had the same gray eyes as Guy and Charles did. He swore he could remember Uncle Stephen smiling at him through the haze of dim childhood memories.

“Jane and I had been sweethearts since we were children. I loved her with all my heart, but she was the daughter of a duke and I was the spare. Jane’s parents wouldn’t consent to let me marry her, and she was betrothed instead to Baltus Waverly. He had curried much favor with the Crown, and Jane’s father preferred him over me.”

Guy’s face was edged with grief. “So Jane married Baltus, and I married your mother.”

“Do—do you even love my mother?” Charles didn’t want to know the answer, but he had to find a way to understand all this.

“Yes. Of course I do. I never once regretted marrying her and building a life with her, but…” Guy looked to Jane. “I will always love Jane as well.”

Jane’s eyes said what her lips would not, that she would always love Guy as well.

“Are you going to duel with him?” Charles asked his father.

“Please don’t,” said Jane. “I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“No, Jane. This is something I should’ve done long ago. He’s hurt you long enough.” Guy brushed a hand over the bruise on her cheek, and she leaned into his caress.

“Father, no. I challenged him. I will face him.”

“You will not.” The harsh edge of his father’s voice softened. “You are too young, Charles. And I owe him much for the pain he has caused Jane. To both of us.”

Charles fell back against the coach cushions, lost in thoughts and worries.

When they reached home, Guy escorted Jane inside, and Charles tried to listen at the door as Guy explained things to his mother. All he heard were murmurs. His mother escorted Jane to the spare bedroom, and Charles was told to go to his own room.

He was given dinner in his chamber that night, in punishment for disobeying his father. He stared glumly at the cold bowl of soup. The bedchamber door opened, and Graham slipped in. He scowled at his little brother. Graham, only twelve, was quick-witted and usually amusing to have around. But Charles wasn’t in a good mood tonight.

“Graham, back to bed with you.”

His little brother ignored him. He climbed onto Charles’s bed and sat next to him. “Father’s upset.”

“He is.” Charles had never felt so dreadful in his life. The look his father had given him before he’d been sent off to bed haunted him. Guy was disappointed. All of his life, Charles had only ever wanted to be like his father, to make him proud. And tonight he’d failed. Not only that, but his father’s life was now in danger because of his impulsive temper.

“Why is he upset?” Graham eyed Charles’s tray, looking eagerly at the biscuits there.

Charles took a biscuit and gave it to Graham. “Because I did something foolish.”

“What did you do?” his little brother asked between bites.

“I challenged a bad man to a duel.”

His brother’s eyes widened. “You’re going to fight a duel?”

“No. I wanted to, but Father won’t let me. He is taking my place.”

“You’re not a very good shot,” Graham observed. “You’d probably get killed.”

“I am an excellent shot,” Charles snapped, unhappy at his brother’s lack of confidence.

“You are not. That’s why he’s mad, I bet. You’d probably get killed.”

“Stop saying that!”

“Do you think Father will win?” The concern in Graham’s voice made Charles uncomfortable. He’d been trying to avoid that same question all night.

“He will. He has to.”

Charles let Graham stay. He fell asleep around midnight. An hour before dawn, Charles crept out of his room and hid by the stairs to wait for his father. When Guy came down, dressed in black trousers and a white shirt, he didn’t seem to be surprised to find Charles there.

“Come on, then,” he said, and they headed to the door.

“I can come?”

“Yes. Because you caused this, Charles, you should see the consequences.” His father’s voice was cold and heavy. Charles looked down at his boots glumly as he followed his father to the horses.

They rode to a field at the edge of town, where Baltus was waiting for them. He wasn’t alone. A young man, perhaps three years older than Charles, was there with him.

“My son, Hugo, wanted to see me kill you, Lonsdale,” Baltus boasted.

Charles stared at the young man. His dark eyes were almost black as he looked upon his father with pride, smiling. The pair were like a dark mirrored reflection of how Charles felt about his own father, but where they were filled with confidence, Charles felt only fear and doubt.

Guy opened a box containing two pistols. “Choose your weapon.” Baltus took one and loaded it.

“Twenty paces?” Baltus growled.

“Agreed.” The two men turned back-to-back and paced away from each other. Charles moved out of the way. Baltus’s son did the same. Charles’s heart thudded against his ribs as he counted the paces with his father. He curled his hands into fists and prayed for it to be over.

Please let Father survive.

When his father stopped and turned, he looked to Charles, a calm confidence in his eyes.

“Be strong, Charles.”

Baltus and Guy lowered their weapons at each other. The air thundered with the sound of two gunshots. Charles blinked in a daze as he stared at his father as the smoke cleared.

“No!” But the cry didn’t come from Guy’s lips, but Baltus’s son. “Father!” Hugo rushed to Baltus as he sagged and crumpled to the ground.

Guy lowered his weapon and watched as Baltus took in a few ragged breaths, crimson blossoming on his lips as his lungs filled with blood. Charles couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene. He’d never seen a man die before, had never seen blood like this before. His vision swam, but he stayed rooted to the ground. Hugo dragged his father into his arms, tears streaking down his face. It made Charles feel like he was watching something he should not.

Hugo held him as he died, and the young man murmured soft, comforting words over and over long after the light had left his father’s eyes. Guy approached them and knelt down. He whispered something to Hugo, and when the young man violently shook his head, Guy pressed a bag of coins into his hand.

After a moment of hesitation, the young man took the coins and gripped the pouch so tightly Charles thought he’d squeeze the coins into solid metal. The young man looked directly at them. Pure hatred loomed there, so clear and black that it filled his face. But the rage was not directed at Guy. It was at Charles.

Because I started this. I challenged his father. Had I said nothing, none of this would have happened. I killed him…

When Guy reached Charles, he placed a hand on his shoulder. “Come home now.”

Charles didn’t look back. He couldn’t bear to see that young man cradling the body of his father, and he couldn’t look at his own father. Some part of the light inside Guy died the moment he killed Baltus.

Nothing would ever be the same again. And it was all his fault.