There was a brief tearing sound, and Lily’s undergarments were conveniently out of the way. She eased back from him, allowing him to unfasten his trousers. She lifted herself up against him and moaned softly as he entered her. The now familiar sensation of fullness was all that she asked for.

Charles panted against her neck as they began to move as one. She set the pace, riding him slowly, relishing the feel of their bodies rubbing together and the way he clutched her tight to his chest as though she were precious to him. They were a single being, composed of hunger, need, and love. Without words they spoke of what they meant to each other. She wet her lips with her tongue and dug her fingers into his shoulders, the ache between her thighs sharp with her need.

Lily would always be a slave to this desire for him, would do anything to have more of it. Heat pooled within her as he began to thrust deeper, harder, with almost savage lust. Yet she was the one in control. She was with Charles, the man she trusted more than anyone, even herself, and with him nothing frightened her anymore. His shaft seared her, plunging deep, so much that she thought she might perish from the overwhelming sensations of that almost violent friction where they were joined. She pressed down harder, faster, moving her hips as they both sucked in ragged breaths.

His possession of her was relentless, and she fell headlong into the dark passion of her own animalistic needs. Waves of pleasure exploded inside her. She felt scorched inside, and yet she didn’t wish to feel any other way.

At last she collapsed on top of him, and he thrust deep once more before he hissed out a breath and fell back against the couch. Charles stroked her hair and watched her with sleepy, leonine eyes. She envied him and how at ease he was with his own sensuality. Perhaps someday she would feel as comfortable as he did.

“Now that is how one should spend their time at a wedding breakfast.” His soft, rich laugh flooded her with butterflies and she sighed, only to suddenly stiffen.

“Oh Lord, the guests!”

“Easy, love. I locked the library door when I came in here. No one will disturb us.”

“But aren’t we expected to be there?”

“I’ve been to enough of these to know that by now everyone is content with interacting with one another in their own little groups. We will hardly be missed. Besides, anyone who knows me even a little would be shocked to discover I stayed so long. Mother will see that the guests are shown home.”

She climbed off him and took a moment to sigh over her ruined undergarments as he put his own clothes to rights. Then he opened his arms for her to return to him, and they both stretched out on the couch. She lay against his side, an easy peace settling upon them. She wasn’t afraid, wasn’t cold, wasn’t unloved. Charles had given her the world when he’d married her today, and he would never know how much she loved him for that. There simply weren’t enough words in the world to tell him.

“Lily, now that we are married, perhaps you should tell me about yourself,” Charles said with a half grin, but he was also serious. “There should be no more secrets between us.”

She agreed. There was no more need to keep anything from him now. “What do you wish to know?”

“Where were you born? Who are your parents? What was your childhood like? Tell me everything.” He stroked her hair, the sensation both soothing and hypnotic.

“I was born in a town called Rose Heath in Cornwall. My father’s name was Alan. He was a gentleman and my mother a lady.”

“Truly now?” Charles was taken aback. “How did you end up in service?”

“My father died when I was twelve. Mother and I had no means to support ourselves, and what money we had after Papa died was transferred to a distant cousin who wanted nothing to do with us. My mother was able to secure work as a lady’s maid in London for a friend who was a countess. She was wonderful to my mother and me. She even let me go to school with her children, as they were about my age. But the countess fell ill and died, and my mother, who was ill herself, passed on only a month later. I was eighteen by then and had, I thought at the time, the good fortune to acquire a reference to work for Sir Hugo Waverly’s wife.”

She paused, steeling herself. “I believe I was the only one he ever…hurt. None of the other maids seemed skittish or anxious around him.” She gritted her teeth. “But the day it…happened, he was hiding a black mood, though I was the only one who saw it.”

“What do mean, you were the only one?”

“He had come back from a visit with his mother. He was cold, but in a formal way few would have noticed. But beneath that he hid a deeper pain he didn’t want to talk about. He was so sad and angry… I just wanted to help him, but when I showed him sympathy, he…” She shook her head, holding back her tears. She couldn’t relive that moment. Not now.

“I wish I could do something, anything to take that moment back for you,” Charles whispered.

“No, don’t say that. I have Katherine. She is my gift, my miracle. I will not let the past define me, Charles. Not anymore. And had none of that happened, I never would have met you.”

“I suppose you are right.” He curled his fingers under her chin, lifting her head so he could kiss her. “We should stay here all day. What do you think?”

“I think I would prefer your bed.”

“Our bed,” he corrected. “I shall make few proclamations in our marriage, but this shall be one. I insist we share a bed. None of that sleeping apart nonsense. That’s one of the privileges of being married—I can debauch you whenever I like.” His eyes twinkled with amorous mischief layered with a deeper lust that made her flush all over.

“You certainly may.” Lily giggled, feeling girlish and delightfully silly for the first time in years. She’d never dreamed she would feel joy like this, yet here she was.

“I thought Kat might stay another night or two at Godric’s, if you are amenable to that?” His eyes twinkled hopefully. “We could have a few days together, just us, if you like. Emily thinks the time with Kat will be good practice for Godric. He’s always been terribly awkward around children.”

Lily thought it over. It really would be nice to have Charles all to herself for a few days, and if Emily and Godric didn’t mind…

“Is it safe? To leave her with them? Hugo might…”

Charles’s eyes darkened. “She’s probably safer with Godric than she would be with us.”

Lily realized this was true. Godric was a duke, after all, with more staff on hand than Charles at any given time.

“I wish there was somewhere completely safe we could send her,” said Lily. “But there isn’t, is there?”

“Not yet,” said Charles. “But soon.”

Lily rested her chin on her chest, closing her eyes. “I don’t want today to be over.”

He brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “Nor do I.” There was another long moment of silence. Finally, Charles looked toward the locked door. “Why don’t we see if we can slip upstairs without being noticed by the guests?”

“Yes, let’s.”

Lily and Charles climbed off the couch and headed for the door, trying not to giggle lest they be caught.

Lucien bounced his son in his arms, chuckling as Evan cooed and gurgled, a grin on his chubby cheeks. Evan’s brown eyes were his mother’s, and that made him even more irresistible. Lucien sought out his wife in the crowd and soon found her speaking to the other ladies, who were gathered in a tight circle.

“That spells trouble,” Cedric grumbled from beside Lucien.

Lucien agreed. “Can you believe they all knew that Lily was Tom and kept it a secret from us?” Lucien whispered this after checking to see that no servants were close by.

“Yes, well, they did not know everything about her,” Cedric said. “Otherwise, they would have warned us of her ties to Hugo.”

“True. Still, I wonder how they figured it out? If anyone was going to see through Tom’s disguise, I would have thought it would have been Ashton.”

Cedric smiled, pointing out Audrey in the group. “Yes, well, we might have Ashton, but they have Lady Society herself. She knows more than Ash does when it comes to women. And no doubt her active imagination led her down that path for reasons Ashton would never have considered.”

Lucien nodded. “Indeed.”

“We really shouldn’t be surprised, should we? With Emily in charge, the ladies are bound to know everything before we do.”

“And sometimes more.” Lucien shifted Evan in his hold as the baby started to drift off to sleep.

Cedric snickered. “At least we have something to celebrate. It’s not every day a man marries his valet.”

“Indeed it is not.” Lucien started to say something more, but the sight he caught through the open door across the room stopped him short. Charles was carrying Lily in his arms and slinking up the stairs, glancing around in the hopes of not being caught.

Lucien broke into a grin. “Escaping his own breakfast? Why am I not surprised?”

Cedric laughed. “Wish I’d done that with Anne. But no, we were a well-behaved couple.”

“As was I,” Lucien agreed. “But this is Charles. We should know better by now.”

Ashton and Godric joined them, Godric carrying little Kat in his arms.

“Good practice, this,” Godric said as he balanced the child on his hip.

“It certainly is, but I daresay nothing truly prepares you for it.” Lucien laughed and peered down at Evan’s face. There was nothing more beautiful in this world than his newborn son, aside from his wife, of course.

“Do you think having children will change everything?” Cedric asked, a slightly worried look in his eyes.

“Of course it will.” Ashton smiled as he joined them. “But change is not something to be feared. Marriage changed all of us for the better, after all.”

Lucien nodded, thoughtful. “I want London to be safe for them. Our children need to have lives of adventure, not fear. And so long as Hugo shadows us, they won’t be safe.” He held Evan closer.

“The endgame is coming soon,” Ashton warned. “We must be ready. All of us.”

“What do you know?” asked Godric.

“Too much and not enough,” Ashton said cryptically. “But know this: when Hugo makes his move, it won’t be against Charles alone.” The men exchanged glances, and more than one man clenched his jaw as Ashton continued.

“Though his quarrel began with Charles, Hugo sees us all as one collective group now. We represent something vile to him. Something that must be wiped out.” Ashton lowered his voice even more. “But we have one advantage that he does not realize. He will treat us like pawns, and we will continue to let him. But remember, we are knights, and knights can jump over all the other pieces.”

Hugo leaned back in his chair, eyes focused on the black-and-white marble chess set in front of him. Beside him was a piece of paper, the words “It is done” scrawled in Daniel Sheffield’s elegant hand.

Charles was married.

Despite the fact that this had been his plan, Hugo felt rage vibrate through him. The man he hated more than anything was enjoying bliss in the arms of his new wife. A bliss he did not deserve.

The door to his study opened, and Melanie stood there, looking radiant as always, but there was a nervousness in her eyes.

“Yes, my dove?” He spoke the endearment sweetly, playing the part of a doting husband.

“Hugo, I’m leaving.”

“For how long?” he asked, assuming she meant to spend a week in the country.

She kept a hand on the door latch, and he could hear the metal handle tremble. “Forever.”

She’d made the threat before, whenever she didn’t get enough attention. “No, you’re not.”

“You don’t have to believe me,” she said.

At this, he tilted his head, studying her more carefully. The pretty wife he’d purchased with his reputation and his fortune had aged well and was possibly more beautiful than the day he married her. What had changed about her? In the last few months, Melanie had seemed happier than he’d ever remembered, and she hadn’t been with him. She’d been off to dinner parties and balls alone.

No…not alone. Of course. Melanie had taken a lover.

“Who is he?” Hugo asked, not daring to move from his chair. If he did, he might strangle his wife.

“All that matters is that I’m happy. I have found what you could never give me.”

“Oh? And what, pray tell, is that?” He’d given his wife everything—jewels, power, expensive clothes, trips to the continent, priceless art…

“Hugo, you closed your heart off long ago, even before we married.” Melanie spoke with a quiet honesty that stunned him. In this final hour of their marriage, she was challenging him. “I wanted you to love me. I wanted it to be you, but you never… You never let me in.” She looked down at the floor now. And much to his own surprise, so did Hugo.

There had been a time he had hoped to hold on to her affections, only to be consumed by his work. Serving the empire. Protecting the Crown. He knew that he had closed himself off, because he had to. It was easier than dealing with the pain.

But when he’d learned she was carrying Peter, he had hoped to mend all that between them. He’d become more attentive and had even reached out to his mother for the first time in years, hoping to bring them all closer together. To be what a family should be.

But Melanie and his mother had brought that hope crashing down into ruin.

“I’m leaving for my mother’s estate in the country, and I’m taking my son.”

Hugo’s fists shook. “If you insist on being a fool, then go, but you will not take my son. Peter will have a far better life in London. The best education, the best tutors, the best introduction to society. He could rise to become a lord. Why would you take all that away from him?”

“Because if he stays, I fear he will become just like you.”

For a long moment, Hugo didn’t move, didn’t breathe. He’d expected fury, he’d expected rage. He had not expected sorrow to steal his breath.

What would he provide Peter? Money, power, position, yes—but what else? What lessons would he teach? Revenge? Guile? Treachery?

What could he give his son that would make him a better man?

He stared at his wife and uttered one word, because it was all he was capable of.

“Go.”

Melanie fled and Hugo closed his eyes, trying desperately to bury the pain. Was this how his father had felt all those years ago when he’d learned his wife, Hugo’s mother, had never loved him? That Hugo hadn’t even been his son by birth? Yet his father had fought for him, taken him under his wing and raised him as his own.

And yet when he’d lost his father, he’d come close to ending his own life. He’d always looked to him for guidance, and without him he had nothing. He’d gone to school, done his duty, and yet day by day he had considered ending it all. It would be so much easier.

Peter Maltby found him on one of his darkest days, befriended him, showed him that life was something you created for yourself. It was all a matter of will. It was the reason he’d named his son after him. It was the least he could do, considering how things had ended between them.

Perhaps it was for the best if young Peter went with his mother. Perhaps he would be a corrupting influence on him. Perhaps later, when this was all over, he could heal. Perhaps then he could be the right sort of father for him.

But that did not mean he had nothing to contribute. His life had value. It had to. To suggest otherwise was insulting. He had served his country. He had bled for it. He had sacrificed everything for it. Did he deserve nothing in return?

But what if he could raise another in Peter’s place? He had promised Lily a pension to raise Katherine with in exchange for her service, but he could do so much more than that.

His son would carry his name, but his daughter could be his legacy. Perhaps it was time he took her back. To give Katherine a better life than anything she could expect to have as the child of a servant.

“Is that what you truly want? To hurt a child by taking her away from her mother?” Peter Maltby’s voice haunted him, just as it always did when he was close to breaking down. Even as a ghost, Peter could still talk to him.

“But what life can Lily give her? She was raised above a gambling hell, for God’s sake.”

“That is the life you forced her into.”

“We all live with our mistakes,” Hugo muttered. “I’m trying to make amends for mine. I can provide her far more than she can. The mother will be compensated. I will make things right.”

“If you want to make things right, let her go. Let them all go.”

Hugo’s lip curled. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“You know damn well why.”

Lord, he wished Peter were truly here, not just a voice inside his head. Peter had always softened the hate inside him. He’d saved Hugo’s life at a time when he’d been ready to give in to despair. But Peter was dead; he lived only in the past now.

Hugo closed his eyes, and the memories of his days at Cambridge surfaced.

“Well, that was an odd coincidence,” said Peter.

“You couldn’t have known it was him,” said Hugo.

“Why do you hate him so?” Peter asked.

Hugo pulled his glare away from Charles, where he sat a few tables away at the pub. After their chilly reintroduction, Peter had taken him aside to talk in private to calm him down.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” Hugo muttered and glared at Peter. “Why are you so nice to him?”

Peter grinned, his good mood infectious. “I believe every man is essentially good. You’ve read John Locke, haven’t you?” Peter tapped the cover of a thick book he was carrying.

Hugo snorted. “Hobbes is more realistic, less romantic. Mankind is destined for violence and driven by animal urges. At best, we can control those urges.”

Peter’s laugh was warm and his eyes bright. “You know, Hugo, if you smiled more, you’d be sitting at a table with more friends.”

Hugo glared at Peter, but Peter never took his scowls personally. He always saw the good in people, just as he had said. It was impossible not to like Peter. When Hugo had arrived at Cambridge, he saw no future for himself. He had considered putting his head in a noose or jumping from the bell tower. But Peter had been there, had talked to him, had been a friend when Hugo believed he was utterly alone. Peter had saved him.

“Tell me, what did Lonsdale do to you? You haven’t told me the whole story.” Peter slid closer to him. All around them the cacophony of robust voices from the young men enjoying the pub and laughing bounced off the stone walls.

“Hugo, we’re friends,” Peter reminded him.

Hugo wanted to lash out, to tell Peter they weren’t friends, but it wasn’t true.

“He killed my father.”

Peter’s eyes dropped to the table awkwardly. “I thought you said his father killed him.”

“Charles challenged my father. But he was a coward. His father fought in his stead and killed mine. But it never would have happened if he hadn’t challenged him.”

Peter looked toward the table where Lonsdale was sitting. He was alone now, but he tried to smile hopefully at the patrons around him. For a moment Hugo realized he could have pitied Lonsdale for having no friends, just like him, and for looking too eagerly for company. But Hugo hardened his heart.

“Either man could have called off the duel,” Peter reminded him. “And would your father shooting a boy have made him a better man in your eyes?”

Hugo frowned but didn’t answer.

“Forgiveness is one of the most powerful forces there is,” Peter said, his gaze locked on Hugo’s face. “Second only to love. You don’t have to love him; you need only to forgive him.”

Hugo snarled and threw his plate of food so hard it hit the wall and shattered.

“I can’t!”

Hugo had said the words aloud without realizing it. He looked around to see if anyone had overheard him, but he was alone.

Alone.

He let the memories of the past fade as he stared at the chessboard once more. His fingers flicked the white king over onto its side. The king rolled lazily in a half circle before coming to a stop. Then Hugo curled his fingers around the white queen piece.

With his other hand he retrieved a set of five letters that had been written days ago and rang the bell for a footman. He’d intended to give Charles a few days to enjoy married life before Hugo ripped it all away, but now he couldn’t wait. He wanted this to end. He wanted a new beginning.

When the servant he’d summoned appeared, he gave the letters to him.

“Deliver these at once.”

Until now, Hugo had been playing with Charles and his friends. They no doubt thought that they’d foiled his plans at every turn, but what they did not see was the fact he had been putting his pieces into position the whole time. Every gambit that had failed had been accompanied by other moves unseen.

Five letters to five agents lying in wait. By midnight, he would have every rogue in the League under his control. They would be on their guard now, of course, but it didn’t matter. There would be no one to save Charles this time.

He opened his hand to stare at the white marble chess piece, brilliantly pale against the skin of his palm.

“Checkmate, Charles.”