Ashton Lennox sat in a chair at Berkley’s club, an abandoned glass of brandy hanging precariously from his hand. His thoughts were miles away. He’d done his best to seek out the man he knew as Kilkenny, who Ashton was convinced was one of Hugo’s spies, but the man hadn’t shown.

Ashton had stalked the man like a master hunter would a prize buck for the last month, biding his time and convincing him to at least talk. But it had all led to nothing. Then word arrived of a carriage accident just a block away from the ball that night, and he had quickly deduced what had happened. He’d been played again, chasing phantoms in the dark, just as Hugo no doubt wished him to.

“There is something I’m not seeing. Some piece of a puzzle, a move upon the chessboard that I missed.”

He had agents of his own following Hugo and his agents. Spies spying on spies. He had learned much about Hugo and the way he schemed, but there were things that did not add up. He finally understood Hugo’s hatred for Charles, but there was more to it than that, he sensed it. Something that had nothing to do with Hugo or Charles directly…

He closed his eyes, remembering his own part in the events of that night.

He and Lucien had been returning from a night at a local pub, the Pickerel, when they had seen two people struggling at the edge of the river alongside Magdalene College. He and Lucien sprinted across the lawn, shouting once they realized that one man was trying to drown the other.

Then he’d seen Peter Maltby fly out of nowhere and dive into the river. Ashton and Lucien shouted more as the three splashed in the water, but they couldn’t understand what they were seeing. Then a young man’s gargling scream cut through the night, and Hugo crawled out of the river, gasping and smiling coldly. There was no sign of Peter or the third man. Ashton’s blood had roared in his ears as he feared what had happened to Peter. His friend wasn’t surfacing. Why wasn’t he coming back up?

“What did you do?” Ashton had demanded of Hugo, but the question had gone unanswered. By then it had been too late.

Godric and Cedric, two young lords he’d known in passing over the last few months, were wading into the river from the opposite side.

“Two men are in the water!” Lucien called out. “Peter and a second fellow.”

“It’s young Lonsdale,” Godric said as he dove into the water.

Ashton and Lucien quickly dove into the watery depths as well. Hugo would have to wait.

Ashton swam deep, finding Lonsdale in the murky depths with ropes and a heavy weight secured to his feet. Peter had a knife and was cutting the ropes. When he finished Charles scrambled for the surface but it was too far off. Peter struggled for breath. Ashton saw Peter’s body seize as he inhaled water and went still, his body carried away in the dark water, too far out of reach.

Ashton had been a swimmer all his life and was capable of holding his breath. He helped Charles to the surface, but by the time they broke the surface Ashton was exhausted and unable to hold on. Godric and Cedric finally reached them and took Charles to the opposite shore. He threw up a mouthful of water and lay gasping next to them.

Ashton looked back across the river. In the moonlight Hugo stared at them, furious and hateful, cursing them all. Peter was gone. He’d died trying to save young Lonsdale. A heavy cloak of despair settled over Ashton and the others as they all caught their breath.

All of them, even Hugo, had been changed that night. And yet, that could not be the whole story. Charles’s father had killed Hugo’s in a duel. Hugo had never sought Charles out after that. It was a chance encounter that led to his attempt at murder. But why wait so long to come after them after that? Years had passed since that day. Had he simply been biding his time?

No. There was something more to all this. Something that had occurred before Hugo’s renewed attempts at revenge. There had to be.

Ashton set his brandy on the table untouched as he rose from his chair. There was one person who might have answers, but would she even agree to see him?

He exited Berkley’s and hired a coach to take him to a quiet, respectable little street in Mayfair. He’d known for years who lived in this house, but until now he’d refrained from visiting. There were lines he still did not wish to cross, but the closer Hugo got to them all, the more desperate he became.

He glanced around as he walked up the steps of the townhouse. The fine hairs on his neck rose. The street was busy with people and coaches and a few brave souls still riding horses despite the winter chill. If he was being watched, it would be impossible to tell. Ashton rapped his knuckles on the door and waited. After a minute the butler allowed him in, and he removed his hat.

“Ashton Lennox to see Mrs. Waverly.”

The butler nodded and entered a room off the entryway. He returned a few minutes later.

“This way, my lord.”

Ashton was shown into a drawing room. A dark-haired woman in her fifties sat at a desk, writing a letter. She looked up as Ashton entered, and he was struck by Jane Waverly’s beauty.

She deposited her quill pen and stood. “Lord Lennox, how may I help you?”

“I’m afraid I need to speak with you on a delicate matter.” He never thought he would be in a drawing room with the mother of their tormenter.

Jane’s brows drew together. “I’m not sure I understand…”

“It’s about Hugo.”

At this she stiffened. “I have not spoken to my son in many years.”

That, Ashton hadn’t expected. “Oh?”

“Yes.” She walked toward one of the drawing room windows and gazed out into the frozen world of her garden. “After his father died, I went into mourning and he returned to school. I wrote to him weekly, but he never responded and never returned home. I eventually left my old home and moved here.”

“I see.” Ashton cleared his throat. “I assume you know of Lord Lonsdale. Charles, I mean.”

Jane nodded. “I do. I assume you know that I knew his father, Guy.”

“Yes. That is part of the matter I wish to speak with you about.”

“Oh?”

“Were you aware that Hugo tried to murder Charles when they were at university?”

The color drained from her face. “Murder?”

“Thankfully, he was unsuccessful. We had not heard from Hugo for ages, assumed he moved overseas. But this past year he began making moves against Charles and anyone associated with him. I would spare you the details, but the matter has become gravely serious.”

Even without the details, this news visibly shook Jane to her core. “Oh, my poor dear Hugo. What have you done?”

“Charles told me about the duel between the fathers, but these renewed attacks, after so long, tell me he has new reasons to seek Charles out and punish him. I can’t help but wonder if there was more to the story.”

Jane nodded at the chairs in the room. “Perhaps you’d better sit.”

Ashton took a seat upon the gold-and-cream brocade chair. Jane ran her hands over her skirts, nervous as to how to begin.

“I know why my son’s hatred has grown so strongly against Charles.” She paused, and Ashton had to prompt her with a nod before she would continue. “I grew up in the country, not far from the Lonsdale estate. I knew Guy Humphrey well, and over time an affection grew between us. But my parents did not approve of the match. It did not help that he was only the second son of the earl. They married me off instead to Baltus Waverly, who had just been knighted and was a favorite of the Crown. That was considered more valuable than anything Guy could offer. Guy married Charles’s mother, Violet. She was and still is a dear friend of mine.”

“I am following, madam.”

“However, I…” Jane cleared her throat. “I came to my marriage in the family way.”

The room seemed suddenly devoid of air. Neither of them spoke as Ashton came to grips with this news.

“You mean to say that Hugo and Charles are…”

“Brothers,” Jane said quietly. “Half brothers.”

“Charles doesn’t know?” Ashton’s question was more of a statement.

“No. After the duel, Guy told me Charles should never be told the truth, that the bitterness and resentment between Charles and my son would only drive the wedge between them deeper.”

Ashton felt as though he’d been struck in the chest. It was damnably hard to breathe. He added this to what he knew of Hugo, and how this knowledge would affect him. So much made sense now. Except, how did Hugo find out?

“When did Hugo find out?”

Jane paused and swallowed hard as she met Ashton’s gaze.

“Would you tell me what happened? How he discovered this?”

Jane nodded. “It was a little over three years ago…”

London, September 1819

Jane stood anxiously in the parlor, watching the clock on the mantel. A footman had brought tea in, and she kept wanting to pour herself a cup to calm her nerves. It had been so long since she’d seen her son. At last, her letters to him had finally received an answer. He was coming here to speak with her, to reconcile after his father’s death all those years ago.

The door to the parlor opened, and her butler escorted her son inside. Her heart leapt at the sight. He’d grown tall and handsome, like his father. But unlike Guy, he had her dark eyes and dark hair, which had pleased her husband Baltus since he’d been dark as well. Still, it hadn’t erased the pain in her marriage, knowing that she’d come into her union with Baltus while carrying the child of first love.

“Hugo,” Jane breathed, her lips trembling as she held out her hands. He approached her a little stiffly, but he took her hands in his as they sat down on the settee beside each other.

“Tea?” she offered hopefully.

“No, thank you. I…” Hugo cleared his throat.

“Oh…” She sniffed, fighting back the sting of tears. But Hugo squeezed her hands gently.

“I’m glad to be here, Mother. It’s been too long, and I’ve little excuse for staying away.” He sighed, meeting her gaze and allowing himself a smile. “Melanie and I are hoping to provide you with a grandson soon.”

“A grandson?” Jane smiled widely. “What wonderful news.”

“Mother…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to treat you so poorly after Father died. I held you accountable, and that was not right. Now that I’m looking toward fatherhood myself, I find I regret my behavior. I’ve been angry for so long, after losing Father, and…I’ve done things I regret and I want to make amends.”

Jane shook her head, simply relieved to see and touch her son again after such an absence. But guilt dug deep within her. She had to tell him the truth she’d kept from him for so long.

“Please, tell me that you’ll start by forgiving Guy Humphrey’s son.” He had to. If he didn’t, Jane wouldn’t be able to bear it.

Hugo stiffened. “Forgive Lonsdale? Mother, you know that I—”

“You have to,” she said firmly, and her son’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Why?”

She paused, fortifying herself for what must be said. “Because he shares your blood.”

For a long moment, Hugo stared at her. His dark eyes, so like hers, seemed to puzzle over her words.

“Shares my blood?” There was an edge of warning in his tone, one she should have listened to. But it was too late; she had to confess the rest of the secret.

“Long before I ever met your father, I loved Guy Humphrey. He was the man I wished to marry but was forbidden to. When I married your father, I was already with child. You. You were my last gift from Guy before we parted ways as lovers and had to marry other people. But Baltus loved you like you were his own, especially when he found out he could not father a child of his own. He loved you”

Hugo jerked his hands free of hers as though she’d burned him.

“No.” He uttered the word in part desperation, part disbelief.

“Yes. You and Charles Humphrey are half brothers. Don’t you see? You must bury the past and forgive him. He’s your blood.”

Hugo leapt from the settee. “No!” He shouted the word this time, as if it would somehow banish the last few minutes from his mind like a nightmare.

“Hugo, please…” Jane stood, but it was too late. Her son shot her one last dark, cold, and furious gaze before he left, slamming the door behind him so hard it rattled against the frame.

Jane slumped back onto the settee, gazing down at her hands in her lap as the tea in the pot grew cold.

Jane Waverly cleared her throat as Ashton politely looked away while she wiped her eyes.

“Hugo never came back after that. Not even when Peter was born. I’ve never even held my grandson. My son never forgave me. It did not matter that Hugo was conceived in a moment of happiness, of love, with the man who will always have my heart. Hugo may have Guy’s blood in him, but he was raised by my husband to have hate fill his heart. I never should have told him the truth. It’s a decision that will haunt me forever.” Jane’s voice broke a little, and Ashton removed a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. She accepted with a watery smile.

“How I envy Violet, to have a noble son with such good friends. You will have mercy on him, won’t you? Do what you must to protect Charles, but please, please do not harm my son.” Her heartbreaking plea shattered Ashton’s heart. He was not certain he could make that promise.

“It is my fault. Mine,” she whispered. “His grief has turned to madness, and I could have prevented it.”

Ashton’s throat swelled tight as he felt compassion for this broken, lonely woman. “We have all sworn to do what is right, Mrs. Waverly. That I can promise you.” He couldn’t dare tell this dear woman that it might mean killing Hugo, but the man had to be stopped.

“Thank you,” Jane said, but he could see in her eyes that she knew the truth. Someone would not survive this battle.

“I’m afraid I must go. Thank you for all you have shared with me.” Ashton stood, and Jane followed suit, catching his sleeve before he could leave. Her eyes were dark with emotion.

“Violet knows about Hugo. If anyone must tell Charles the truth, it should come from her.”

With a nod, Ashton left Jane Waverly’s drawing room. He was not prepared for the icy chill that met him as he left her home; his mind was far away, in an even colder place.

Brothers. Like Cain and Abel. This was the final piece of the puzzle. It explained why Hugo hadn’t tried to hurt them after Cambridge. He’d been healing, in his own way. Trying to put the past behind him. But learning he and Charles were brothers had set him back on the path to darkness. He must have felt like a pawn in a great cosmic joke, and Hugo was not the sort of man who would ever allow himself to be a pawn in anything. He saw himself as the master of his own destiny. It all made sense now. With this, Ashton was beginning to understand what Hugo’s endgame was. And that meant he could finally prepare his counter.

But what of Charles? Should they tell him?

No. Ashton did not want Charles to know the truth, not unless he had to. It would be far too great a sorrow for Charles to bear, one that might put him in even greater danger.