The night was still and cold, no breeze to stir the mane of Cedric Sheridan’s horse as he reached his home. Tucked safely in his coat was a carefully wrapped package containing a set of ruby earrings for Anne. An early Christmas present he couldn’t help but get when he’d seen them earlier that day in a little shop on Bond Street. He grinned rakishly as he thought of how she would thank him, hopefully with ecstatic kisses, and he could then sweep her into his arms and carry her off to bed.

He dismounted just as the darkness deepened and clouds swept over the stars above. No lights could be seen from the windows, which meant Anne had gone to bed early. Given her condition, it was for the best. She needed more sleep. Cedric looked around, expecting his groom, Joel, to see to his horse, but the lad was nowhere in sight.

With a sigh, Cedric led the horse around the side of the house himself to the small stable he kept for his and Anne’s horses. He saw to the gelding’s needs, ensuring that it had oats and water in two buckets before he removed the saddle and blanketed him.

The stable door creaked open. A figure stood at the entrance, but he couldn’t see the man’s face because he was silhouetted against the purple sky outside. The hairs on the back of Cedric’s neck rose in warning. He kept his back to the stall, making sure he couldn’t be attacked from behind.

“Joel?”

“I’m sorry, my lord. I was seeing to my needs when you arrived.” Joel’s cheerful voice allayed Cedric’s unease, and he relaxed.

“Oh, yes. No worries, lad. It’s late as it is.” He stepped away from the stall, cursing Ashton and his cryptic biblical-like warnings.

Joel chuckled as he took over seeing to the horse. “Cold night tonight.”

“Indeed. All quiet at the house?”

“Aye. Her ladyship retired nigh on two hours ago.”

Cedric smiled a little, picturing himself sneaking into bed, curling his body around Anne’s, and kissing her sweetly until she woke up. He wouldn’t keep her awake for long, but he did want to steal a few kisses from her before falling asleep himself.

He shivered suddenly, as though someone had stepped over his grave.

I am overreacting. Ash has made me suspicious of everything, the damned fool. Yet he couldn’t shake the sense that something wasn’t right.

As he left the stable, he could hear Joel humming as he worked. Then the humming ceased and a heavy silence cloaked the stable. Cedric spun. He saw Joel’s limp body lying on the straw-covered ground.

A dark figure lunged at him and struck him hard in the face. Cedric grunted as he fell back against the stone floor. Darkness sucked him down into an abyss.

Lucien sang softly to Evan as he placed him in his bassinet. The baby gazed up at him with a dreamy smile.

“You spoil him, you know.” Horatia chuckled as she leaned against his side.

“You disapprove?”

“Hardly. I think we should spoil him more.”

She wore a dark-red dressing gown, belted loosely at her waist, and her hair hung down in soft waves around her shoulders. Lord, he had the most beautiful wife. Lucien curled an arm around her, pulling her into his side so he could kiss her.

“I love you.”

“And I you.” Her brow wrinkled in concern. Horatia placed a hand on his chest. “What is wrong? You seem anxious.”

“I am. I’m afraid for you and Evan. I can’t shake the feeling that whatever will happen is going to happen soon.”

Horatia hugged him close. “I know. It’s frightening. But we will be safe. Ashton will—” The door to the bedchamber opened, and a footman stepped in. He held a pistol, aimed at Lucien’s chest.

“Matthew?” Horatia whispered the man’s name.

“I need only you, my lord. Leave quietly with me, and no harm will come to the lady or the child.”

Lucien moved in front of Horatia and the bassinet.

“Don’t think of calling for help, my lord. There’s more than one man outside, and they will come if necessary. If you leave, I’ll make sure they come with us and leave your wife and child alone.”

“Lucien, no,” Horatia breathed, already knowing his intentions.

“Where are we going?” Lucien asked.

Matthew’s expressionless face chilled Lucien’s blood. “We are going to see him. That’s all you need to know. Now come.” He flicked the barrel of his gun toward the door. Lucien turned, catching Horatia’s trembling body, and kissed her.

“More than my own life,” he whispered as he pulled away from her. “More than anything.” He couldn’t bring himself to say anything more, for fear he would break.

“Lucien…” Horatia put herself in front of the baby’s bassinet, reaching out to him, and his heart shattered when he couldn’t reach back. They shared one last lingering look before he faced Hugo’s man.

It was late enough that the servants would be at their dinners belowstairs. No one would be harmed. That was the only good thought he could have tonight.

Matthew pointed at the front door. “Open it and go out to the waiting coach.”

Lucien did as he was commanded. He was almost to the coach when something hit him hard from behind. He fell against the side of the coach and half turned as two men leapt at him, their fists striking him over and over until he crumpled to his knees. Then he was grabbed by the arms and lifted into the coach.

Lucien blacked out moments later.

Godric sat in his study, quietly thinking over the day’s events. Ashton’s warning had left him sick with worry. Charles’s wedding had been a pleasant enough reprieve, but it hadn’t removed the danger to Emily and their unborn child. He was terrified that there was nothing he could do, and he couldn’t send them away. Even if Emily could travel the harsh winter roads in her condition, he knew better than to try. She would only find her way back and perhaps land in even more trouble trying to help him. Then there was little Katherine they were watching over for Lily and Charles. He couldn’t let anything happen to the child.

A soft sound, like footsteps on carpet, drew his focus. He looked up through the open door of his study and saw a figure in the hall slink past. Godric glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was almost midnight. His servants would normally be in bed.

Ordinarily this would be of little concern, but his mind connected what he was seeing with the possibility of what he had been fearing. He got up from his desk, moving silently as he followed the man up the stairs. The gleam of a pistol in his hands froze Godric’s blood as he realized that the man was heading toward the nursery. He rushed up the stairs and launched himself at the man. They hit the steps, bodies crunching against the carpet and wood. Their limbs tangled as they fought. Godric punched the man in the jaw and soon recognized him as one of his gardeners.

“You—” he grunted. The man kicked him in the stomach, and Godric tumbled down the stairs, groaning as he hit the bottom. He blinked, trying to clear his vision of the black spots that shrank and grew in turns. Body aching, he scrambled to his hands and knees, his gaze darting frantically up the stairs.

“Emily! Simpkins!” he bellowed. “Protect Katherine!” He prayed his wife could hear him. Why was no one coming to his aid? Where were Simpkins and the others? Could they not hear the commotion? Godric was halfway up the stairs when he saw the man throw himself at the door to the nursery, but it did not budge.

“Open this door!” the man shouted. Silence answered him. Good—Emily had heard his warning. The man hissed and raised the pistol at him.

“I was here for you and the child, but you will have to be enough for now. Get on your knees so I can tie your hands.”

Godric had no wish to comply, but he knew Emily and Katherine needed to be safe, and they would be safest if he left. He fell heavily to his knees and slowly raised his hands. He heard the man shuffle behind him seconds before the man hit him with the pistol. Godric grunted as pain exploded through him. He crumpled to the floor, his vision blurring.

“Emily—” He raised one hand toward the closed nursery door, fingers straining for the three lives safe behind that impenetrable oak. The man stood over him, peering down with a scowl.

“You are one tough bastard, I’ll grant you that,” he muttered. Then he raised his boot and brought it swiftly down on Godric’s face, and everything went dark.

Emily held Kat in her arms, trembling as she heard Godric shout out a warning. She slid the door latch in place, sealing off the nursery. She flinched at the sudden pounding and muffled shouts of whoever was outside. It was not her husband.

“Mama…want Mama,” Kat whispered, her tiny hands digging into Emily’s arms.

“I know. Mama is safe, but we aren’t. Hush. You must stay quiet. Do you understand?” Kat’s cheeks were coated with tears, but she nodded.

Emily carried Kat across the room to the tall dresser in one corner. She opened the highest drawer, one well out of Kat’s curious reach, and dug through the baby blankets until her fingers brushed against cold metal.

The sound of her husband’s pained shout from the other side of the nursery door made her freeze. Her heart nearly stuttered to a stop. She pulled out a pistol from the folds of the blankets.

Godric…

She dared not breathe. They had made a vow to each other. No matter what happened, she was to protect Katherine and their unborn child at any cost, even if it meant leaving him to danger. It was a vow she’d never wanted to obey, but she had to. She pointed the pistol toward the door and waited.

There were no more sounds outside, but she couldn’t bring herself to open the door. What if the intruder was waiting for her to show herself?

“Want Mama,” Kat whispered against Emily’s neck.

“I know, I know,” Emily crooned, curling her arm around Kat’s body as she eased them down onto the floor to wait. The only sounds she heard now was the haunting tick of the mantel clock and the sound of her heart fracturing as she feared for Godric’s life.

Jonathan St. Laurent held Audrey in his arms, placing teasing kisses on her lips as she finally fell into sleep. He tenderly placed her beneath the covers and blew out the candles. She caught hold of his hand as he started to rise from the bed.

“I’ll be back, sweetheart,” he said, and her hand dropped to the sheets.

He left the bed and donned his clothes in the dark, then exited the bedchamber and headed down the stairs, hoping to find himself a glass of brandy. He was having the worst time getting to sleep ever since Ashton had told them all they were in imminent danger. He didn’t fear for his own life, but he did fear for his brother and his friends, and most importantly for Audrey. She’d been targeted once by Hugo already, simply to hurt the League, and he wouldn’t let that happen again.

Something felt wrong. It was like a change in the air of a coming storm. He slipped outside unnoticed, hoping that the brisk air would clear his head. Having once been a servant, he knew how to be both quick-footed and quiet as a mouse. Even his own servants rarely were able to find him when he didn’t wish to be seen or heard. He ducked out into the street and saw down the moonlit road toward Godric’s house, a coach out front. Two men were carrying a body. They lifted it into the coach, which then headed down the street toward his home.

“No…”

The end was here, and sooner than any of them had expected. He used the tall rhododendrons to shield himself by the steps up to his house, but the coach rolled past and kept going. Jonathan glanced down the street to Godric’s home and then at the coach, torn between wanting to see if everyone in the house was all right and fearing that Godric was in that coach and needed him.

He could hear Ashton’s voice in his head. “If Hugo wished to assassinate us, we would all be dead. Even his attacks so far have been feints. He won’t try to trick us all to be at the same place, either. But he will want us together, and he will want it to be violent. You must let them take you. It is safer for everyone if we surrender. Remember, this game isn’t over yet.”

“Then I must be one move Hugo didn’t take into consideration,” Jonathan said to himself. “He didn’t come for me.”

Jonathan began to run, keeping the slow-moving coach in sight. As long as it didn’t speed up, he might be able to follow it. He only prayed that the League would survive the night. Evil could not be allowed to prevail.

The chess pieces on the ornate marble board gleamed in the firelight. Ashton stared at the board, his mind clear of all thoughts as he focused on the moves. The white king was exposed, with no knights in a position to save him.

It was a metaphor. This match symbolized his struggle with Hugo, but he wouldn’t presume to equate the game to their true situation. Still, it gave him a point of focus. He could picture Hugo playing a similar game, because that was the way he viewed the world. Objects to be moved, stratagems to be played, pieces to be sacrificed.

Ashton thought back to a private conversation he’d had with Lily, before the wedding breakfast had begun.

“You know what he wants.”

Lily nodded. “Charles’s death. After he feels he’s suffered enough.”

“And he wishes to do it himself.”

She nodded again. “Eventually.”

“How do you think he will do it? What is his idea of suffering?”

Lily hesitated. “By killing all of you in front of him, with him powerless to stop it.”

Ashton nodded. “Correct. This is a war of the mind. It always has been.” He paused a moment. Lily was attentive, listening. She wasn’t giving in to feelings of despair, simply watching him for an opportunity to contribute. He could understand why Hugo had found her useful.

“The moves, the stratagems, even the players must be seen through that lens. Every move Hugo makes in his endgame will be calculated to take something away from Charles. To hurt him, and yet leave him powerless to retaliate, for fear of losing more. There will always be just enough hope left to believe that things will end differently, until he has nothing and realizes all the times before that he should have acted but did not. He will blame himself for each and every tragedy that has befallen him. Only then will Hugo kill him.”

Lily’s resolve wavered, and she looked to the ground. He could hardly blame her. Being inside Hugo’s mind had sickened him, but it had been necessary. Hugo’s past had been the key all along. Once Ashton had understood Hugo’s motivations, the rest had fallen into place, and a weakness had shown itself.

Ashton lifted her chin with his fingers. “But…if he loses you first…”

Lily swallowed but didn’t speak.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Lily turned her gaze to where Charles stood, talking to guests. Her eyes narrowed in grim understanding.

“I do.”

Ashton had been impressed by Lily’s courage. Few men would make such a sacrifice easily, but she hadn’t hesitated.

The door to his study opened, and a tall dark-haired man stood in the doorway, a pistol with two barrels side by side gleaming in the firelight. Ashton slowly stood, slipping the chess piece into his waistcoat pocket. Upstairs, Rosalind slept safe and sound. He’d locked her door from the outside and slipped the key under her door as a precaution, but the truth was he hadn’t expected anything to happen for at least a couple more days.

“You’re early,” Ashton said calmly to the man in the doorway. He recognized the fellow as one of his grooms—or rather, one of Hugo’s spies who’d spent two years here as a groom. So, Hugo had been moving people into position long before they had even learned of his return.

“Not going to fight?” the man asked.

“I’d rather not, Baxter, if it’s all the same to you. Besides, you need me alive.”

“Aye, I do.” The man flicked the pistol. “I was supposed to rough you up a bit, but I think we can dispense with that. For old times’ sake. Let’s be off. He wants you there by midnight.”

“Very well.” Ashton exited the evening room.

The weight of the white queen in his pocket seemed to grow with every step he took. “Baxter, if you don’t mind me asking, what is your impression of your mission?”

“How do you mean?”

“You’ve known me for two years, worked as my groom, sometimes as my footman. What possible reason do you think Hugo has to act against us? Have you ever seen me as a threat to the country?”

“Not my place to say, sir. But with all the secret meetings you lot have had and adventures off in other parts, I reckon you must be up to something no good.”

Ashton almost chuckled. That, at least, confirmed his belief that Hugo had convinced his men that the League were dangerous in some way. “Fair enough.”

Tonight he would face the darkness of Hugo Waverly’s heart, and the League would be tested like they had never been before. His mind flashed back to the river, the darkness, the sucking depths, and the fear that what had happened that night would repeat itself.

I did my best to predict all the moves. The game is now out of my hands. Please let me be right. The white queen could be the key to everything.