Sir Hugo Waverly stood in the shadows of the gambling hell known as the Cockerel. His gaze roved over the mixture of peers and lower-class men gambling and whoring. Rumors of an underground boxing ring run by smugglers had surfaced earlier that morning, and Hugo wanted answers.

Smugglers were a fact of life, and one that he usually did not concern himself with, but this was different. What little was left of Samir Al Zahrani’s slave trade had found new leadership and was said to be seeking out new recruits. It was important to sort them out before they found a toehold on the docks.

He’d given Lily the mission of discovering more about them, offering herself up as bait. His little pet had mentioned being dragged down to Lewis Street as a prize for fighters, but Hugo suspected the ultimate destination would have been a cargo ship headed for parts unknown. She’d failed to learn more, thanks to Lonsdale, but thinking over the Lewis Street situation did give him an idea.

“Sir?” Daniel Sheffield was at his side, only lately returned from a covert mission in France. Despite not achieving all of his aims, the mission for the Crown had proved successful. Seventeen expatriates causing unrest in London had been caught and quietly dealt with, several in a permanent fashion. The sanctity of England and its empire was once more secure, a fact that filled Hugo with pride.

He served three masters: king, country, and control. A man must always defend his king, protect his country, and maintain his control.

“Daniel, find out what you can about the rules for the men who fight in Lewis Street boxing rings, assuming they have any. The smugglers run it, but I want to know how they allow men to fight in the rings, and what the stakes usually are.”

Daniel moved deeper into the crowds, and Hugo continued to watch the tables, the turn of cards, the cries of victory and, more often, defeat. Then his breath caught as he saw a golden-haired man at a table, one that for an instant made him think…

But no, it was not the Earl of Lonsdale. It was his younger brother, Graham Humphrey. They shared their father’s fair hair and eyes, but upon a closer examination, Graham’s looks came from his mother, not his father.

For a moment Hugo was disappointed. He was hungry for revenge tonight, and facing Lonsdale would have given him a chance to lash out. Not that he would enact his endgame here. No, when it came time to kill Lonsdale, it would be at a time and place of his own choosing.

Lonsdale had more lives than a bloody tomcat, but those lives were running out. It wouldn’t be long before Hugo had Charles right where he wanted him. And then, the final stroke.

Daniel returned, his lips in a firm line.

“Well?” Hugo asked.

“The smugglers who run Lewis Street boxing rings are the worst sort. The type to double-cross a man for a simple ill look.”

“That’s not unexpected. What else?”

“Those in charge”—Daniel lowered his voice and leaned in so as not to be overheard—“are known for offering a way for men to pay off debts by fighting. The wagers made are often high because there are no guarantees of safety. Sometimes quite the opposite.”

“Blood sport,” said Hugo.

“Indeed. And the willing men aren’t always so willing. They’re more desperate, I’d say. If they can’t offer the smugglers what they want, their only recourse is to offer themselves…in the ring.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hugo pointed to the man sitting beside Graham Humphrey. “You see that man?”

Daniel eyed the young aristocrat sitting next to Graham. “Phillip Wilkes, the Earl of Kent?” He and Graham were laughing and enjoying a night out at a table playing faro.

“Yes. Sampson is running the table. Set the earl up to lose. I want him to owe you a vast sum of money. When he can’t pay, demand he settle the score by fighting at Lewis Street.”

Daniel frowned. “I should point out, these boxers have been known to kill men in these fights.”

“That’s something we shall allow fate to decide. It is required to move a more important piece into position.”

“I understand.”

“And Daniel?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Be sure to use your real name.”

Hugo didn’t miss the resignation in Daniel’s eyes. He was loyal to the core, yet he’d been showing some reluctance to his methods as of late.

Daniel wandered to the faro table and took a seat beside Kent, nodding at him in silent greeting as the game began. Hugo collected a glass of brandy from a passing wench’s tray and tasted the liquid. Subpar, but better than he expected for this place.

He began to think of other games, other pieces, and other moves yet to be made. Word from his men working within the League households was that they were finally ready to fight back.

No doubt Ashton Lennox was leading the charge. He was the only member of the group who ever had any ability to play the game like Hugo did, but it did not matter. The baron was far too late, and even this turn of events had been expected. Necessary, in fact. There would be no stopping the firestorm from raining down upon the League of Rogues and everyone they loved.

Graham Humphrey folded his cards and watched his friend Phillip, the Earl of Kent, anxiously. The faro table had thinned out, and the real match was now between his friend and a dark-haired man who played with considerable skill. He’d introduced himself as Daniel Sheffield, a manager down by the docks.

Kent leaned forward, frowning as he examined the cards the dealer turned up on the green felt tabletop. Faro was half skill, half luck, and usually Kent was blessed with both, but not tonight. Sheffield was winning almost every hand it seemed, and racking up debts against Kent.

“Another round?” Sheffield challenged Kent. “One good hand would set you right.”

Graham gripped his friend’s arm, giving a shake of his head, but Kent shoved him off.

“Another.” Once more the dealer laid out thirteen cards, and the bets were placed as to what card the dealer would turn up next.

Graham’s stomach knotted as Kent placed a hefty sum, which Sheffield quietly doubled. A hush settled around the table as a small crowd gathered to watch.

The dealer turned the card over, and Kent’s face turned the color of birch.

“I…” he stammered. “I may need a few days to collect the finances for you, Mr. Sheffield.” Kent was not poor, but no man could afford so much without sufficient time.

“I’m afraid I’m leaving in a day’s time,” said Sheffield. “But perhaps we can come to an arrangement.” Sheffield leaned in and whispered something in the earl’s ear. Kent nodded hastily. Then Sheffield rose and departed.

“Phillip, what did he say?” Graham demanded in an urgent whisper.

Kent rose from the table and pulled on his coat. “Not here.”

Graham followed him out the door, sliding his own coat over his shoulders. Once outside in the icy wind, Graham jerked his friend to a halt.

“Phillip, what the devil did he say?”

The Earl of Kent couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’ve no means to pay his debt in a timely fashion, and he offered…”

“What?” Graham feared the answer his friend might give. If he was so hesitant, it had to be something dreadful.

“He has other interests and finds himself in need of someone.”

“What do you mean? What interests?”

“Boxing. He feels that I could repay the debt if I agree to fight in the rings on Lewis Street. He has some sort of financial arrangement with those who organize the fights.”

“Lewis Street?” Graham echoed. He’d only heard rumors of the place. It was a bad place to be a boxer. The men there had no honor and showed no mercy. It was not a place where anyone should go.

“I’m bound there now. Win or lose, he says my debt will be considered paid in full.”

“No, Kent, you cannot—”

His friend spun to face him. “What would you have me do? Better to face a brute in the ring than have every note called in by every financier in London. Once word was out that I had allowed such a debt to be owed, my name would be ruined.” He looked away. “Thank you for trying to stop me from that last hand. I should have listened to you. I’m sorry.”

Kent went to call for a hackney, Graham following on his heels.

“Well, I won’t let you go there alone,” Graham announced. “Someone’s going to have to drag you to a doctor afterward.”

The two exchanged a moment of cold laughter. “Thank you, but I’d rather prefer to think I stand a chance of winning.”

Graham didn’t want to think about what might happen in the tunnels tonight. He feared that once it was over, he might be calling on a priest rather than a doctor.

Lily wandered down the hall of the grand townhouse, smiling as she admired her new place of employment. Her first place of employment. Working as the lady’s maid to the wife of a prominent man in society had been an unexpected turn of good fortune. Melanie Waverly was exquisitely beautiful, the sort of woman all men found desirable. Her flashing eyes and coquettish smile had earned her many admirers.

Lily paused in front of the door to her lady’s bedchamber and smoothed a hand down her pale-lilac day gown. It was pretty enough, yet it hung loose on her body. She’d grown taller in the last few years, yet she still had a rather coltish body with smaller breasts and hips than most women her age. She would never draw the kind of attention her mistress had, but perhaps that was a good thing. She’d only planned to stay in service long enough to meet a decent man, another person in service, and hopefully marry. She had no expectations beyond that, and working in the Waverly household would be an excellent way to start.

She knocked lightly on the bedchamber door. It wasn’t her mistress who opened it, however, but her master. Sir Hugo was a handsome but intimidating man, with dark hair and even darker eyes. There was an aura of power about him that Lily sensed immediately, and it made the hairs on her neck stand on end.

“You must be the new maid. Lily, is it?” He stepped aside, and Lily slipped past him.

“There you are. You’re late.” Melanie’s tone was curt as she eyed herself critically in the mirror of her vanity table. “Come and fix my hair. Don’t just stand there.”

“Check your temper, my sweet,” Hugo warned his wife, and he offered Lily a pleasant smile. Perhaps his bark was worse than his bite? Still, Lily knew better than to trust men, at least when it came to maids in service. She’d been warned that it was in a man’s nature to take advantage if he was in a position of power. And a woman in service was on the lowest end of that power as one could get.

“Quickly now,” Melanie snapped.

Lily carefully picked up an expensive silver hairbrush and began to comb through the thick waves of her mistress’s hair. The moment she did, her mistress began to relax. When she had finished and was done with her other duties within the bedchamber, it was early evening.

Sir Hugo had left earlier to visit his mother and was expected back for dinner, though it was possible he would spend the evening at his club, Boodle’s. The staff would spend the afternoon and evening catching up on their work if neither the master nor mistress returned until late.

Lily had finished changing the linens and exited her lady’s bedchamber. But as she passed by the master’s room, she heard sounds, a man muttering to himself.

She pushed open the door wider and saw Sir Hugo. He was pacing in his bedchamber. She started to close the door, but it creaked and she froze.

“Who’s there?”

She guiltily pushed the door open and revealed herself.

“Oh, it’s you. Bring me some brandy,” he said without emotion.

Lily rushed to fetch a decanter and glass from his study and handed them to him. He had settled himself in the chair by the fireplace, which wasn’t lit.

“Shall I fetch someone to light it for you?” she asked. His distant gaze told her his thoughts were miles away.

“Sir?” she prompted.

“No, leave it,” he muttered, looking at the dead hearth. “It seems strangely appropriate.”

Lily could see he was troubled, and she wanted to help. There was a terrible pain inside he was trying to hold back.

“Sir, was your mother not well when you saw her?”

“Oh, she was well.” His reply was cold. “Her life has been just fine without me in it.”

“She was not happy to see you?”

Sir Hugo huffed. “She was quite happy to see me. I thought perhaps things would be different between us now. Only she then proceeded to ruin everything.”

For a second Lily didn’t know what to make of his snapping outburst. She reached out to touch his shoulder, the way she would a friend.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I’m sure she didn’t mean any harm.”

Hugo’s hand was white-knuckled around the glass as he slowly set it down on the table by his chair. “Perhaps. But it does not change the facts laid before me.”

Lily wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, but she wanted to offer him some words of comfort. “Sir, I know it’s not my place, but…is there anything I can do? To help?”

His eyes flicked to her hand, which still rested on his shoulder. “Help? You think you can help me?”

“Sometimes it helps when people talk about what pains them. Takes the weight off their shoulders.”

Hugo slowly rose from his chair, and her hand dropped from his shoulder. She watched him quietly close the door to his chamber, blocking the only way out of the room.

“Who sent you?”

“Sir?”

Hugo approached her. She felt powerless to move, even as he reached up and took her by the throat, though he didn’t squeeze.

“Who. Sent. You?”

“I don’t understand, sir. I was leaving my lady’s room when I heard you in distress. I only wished to help.”

Hugo looked her over, eyes narrowed. For a moment he looked ashamed, as if he realized he’d made a mistake. She thought he would let her go. Then his eyes hardened, and he began to squeeze.

“You think because you see me upset, that you can help me? Do you presume to think you understand anything about me? You know nothing about pain or suffering.” His dark eyes raked over her body.

“But you will.”

“Sir? Please don’t.” She whispered the words, not understanding anything except that she was in danger.

Before she knew what was happening, she was dragged into the mistress’s bedchamber and thrown onto the bed. Minutes later she lay on the bed, her skirts tossed up past her hips, pain coursing through her. But she dared not move, dared not do anything but draw shallow breaths and try not to think. He gripped her waist tight, the hold hard enough that her skin would blacken with bruises in a few hours.

Hugo finally climbed off her. “You know when to be quiet. That’s good. I could find other uses for someone who can control themselves like that.”

A tear leaked from her eye and dampened the pillow below her chin. She stared at the fibers of the pillow as the reality of what had happened set in.

“Tell my wife anything and you will lose both your wages and your employment. I will see to it that no one else hires you.” He nodded at the box on his wife’s bedside table, the one that held Melanie’s collection of jewels.

Hugo exited the bedchamber. Lily stayed still, like a frightened rabbit hiding from a fox, knowing the danger was all too near.

When she finally got up, she dropped her dress back down and used the cloth and the water from the washstand to clean herself up. There was blood on her thighs and the sheets. Sheets she would be expected to clean.

It was that thought, the idea of her doing all the work to hide this shame while he pretended that nothing happened, that broke her. She rushed down the hall and through the kitchens, fighting off tears. She could not stay here. She could not work for that monster. Without a word to anyone, she slipped out the back door and fled into the streets, never looking back…

Lily jerked awake. Her throat filled with a scream that would not come. Then she remembered where she was. She was in Charles’s home. Safe. At least for now. She wasn’t within Hugo’s easy reach, not here.

Yet in truth she was always within his reach. She was his puppet, dancing on his strings. She leaned down over her baby and brushed the backs of her fingers over Katherine’s velvety cheeks. She should have been a horrific reminder of that night, a black spot in her memory, but Lily refused to see Katherine that way.

You are my child. Mine. You will never be his.

She kissed her baby’s forehead before she slipped out of bed. Night had fallen, and only embers were left in the tiny fireplace. Lily used a poker to stir the flames back to life, adding a fresh log from the pile. Lily smiled. Davis must have brought them up sometime earlier that day. She stoked the flames until they burned steadily. When she returned to her bed, she picked up her daughter, carrying her over to her crib and setting her down inside.

Lily had let the afternoon escape. She still had work to do, including polishing the boots, as she had promised for Davis. With a heavy sigh, she left her chamber and walked down the hall. It was quiet. Most of the staff were now attending to their own supper down by the kitchens. But Lily wasn’t hungry.

She was just coming down to the ground floor when she heard the front door knocker. The usual footman wasn’t there since Charles was supposed to be out for the evening. Lily hastily smoothed her clothes to look presentable and rushed to open it in his place. A dark shape lurched inside, grabbing at her as he collapsed. At first she tried to dodge the man’s hold, but for a second she thought it was Charles who was reaching for her. She tried to grab him as he tumbled to the ground.

“Charles…” the body on the floor groaned. “Need…help.” The man soon sank into unconsciousness.

Lily rolled him onto his back and got a better look at him. He was badly beaten, his face bruised and swollen, but there was no mistaking the familial resemblance. It was Graham, Charles’s younger brother. She’d only seen the man a few times in the last year, and Charles rarely spoke of him. Whatever had happened between the brothers had been so bad they continued to keep their distance. Now Graham was here, begging for his older brother’s help.

“Mr. Humphrey?” she asked, but the man didn’t stir. She checked his wounds, but there was no evidence that he had been stabbed, only beaten. She ran for the kitchens, calling for the butler. Mr. Ramsey rushed to meet her just outside the servants’ dining room.

“Tom? What on earth?”

“It’s Mr. Humphrey, his lordship’s brother. We must fetch the doctor.” Lily led Ramsey back to the entryway. The butler cursed as he knelt by the fallen man.

“I’ll get him to the drawing room. There’s a couch there. Have Davis fetch Dr. Shreve on Duke Street.”

“Yes, Mr. Ramsey.” The butler shouldered Graham into the drawing room. She’d never been more thankful that Ramsey was a strong, fit man, albeit in his fifties. He had no trouble getting Graham into a place where he could rest safely. By the time Lily had sent Davis to Duke Street and returned to the drawing room, Ramsey had removed Graham’s coat and waistcoat and was examining him for further injuries.

“How did you find him, Tom?” Ramsey asked.

“He was pounding on the door. When I opened it, he collapsed on me. He asked for help before he passed out. He wanted to see his lordship.”

Ramsey removed Graham’s neckcloth and winced at the dark-blue finger marks that circled Graham’s throat.

“Someone tried to strangle him,” Lily said.

Ramsey nodded. “I believe so.”

Lily’s hands rose to her own neck reflexively. Vivid, painful memories of when Hugo had her by the throat. How she had tried to escape him, but that escape had been short-lived.

“I wish his lordship was here,” Ramsey muttered.

“Where is he? I could fetch him,” Lily offered.

“I’m not sure. He left for Vauxhall, but you know how he is. The man changes his direction like the wind. He could be anywhere now. You would never find him.”

“What should we do?” Lily asked. Graham lay still, but his breathing was deep, not shallow.

“Once the doctor assesses him, we shall put him up in one of the spare rooms. When his lordship returns, we will explain the matter to him and he will decide how to proceed.”

Lily nodded. Ramsey was aware, even more so than she was, of the precarious nature of the relationship between the two brothers.

In an effort to help, Lily brought clean clothes and a basin of water and wiped the blood on Graham’s split lip and the dirt on his face. It looked as though he’d fallen a few times before arriving at Charles’s doorstep.

The drawing room door opened and Davis entered, followed by Dr. Shreve. The doctor was hardly a stranger to the Lonsdale household, given Charles’s fondness for boxing.

“Over here,” the butler said. Lily shifted over but kept close to watch the doctor as he lifted Graham’s shirt. More bruises and welts covered his chest.

“Someone beat this man quite severely.” The doctor’s sharp eyes assessed Graham’s condition. “He has a few broken ribs, here. It is important that he rest in bed as much as possible for the next few weeks.” The doctor leaned close, touching Graham’s throat. Graham suddenly stirred, tossing restlessly like a fitful child.

“Charles?” Graham groaned. The sound was oddly pitiful, like a boy desperate for his older brother, because he was the only person who could make things right. Lily brushed a wet cloth over Graham’s brow, trying to comfort him. His eyes opened, and she glimpsed those light-gray eyes, so much like Charles’s.

“Easy,” the doctor said. “Rest, Mr. Humphrey. You are out of danger, but you need to sleep. You understand?”

“Yes,” Graham replied.

“If it hurts to speak, then rest your voice as well,” said Dr. Shreve. “It looks like someone tried to crush your windpipe.”

Ramsey joined Lily near Graham’s head. “His lordship isn’t here, but we will bring him straight to you once he has returned.”

“Phillip…is dead.” He coughed and seized with pain, no doubt from his broken ribs. Lily stroked her fingertips over his forehead, trying to calm him. Then she smoothed a wet cloth over his brow.

“Who is Phillip?” asked the doctor.

“The Earl of Kent… They beat him to death… Lewis Street… I barely escaped.” Graham’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped on the couch.

“Lord Kent? Dead?” Ramsey whispered, his eyes wide.

“Who is he?” Lily asked the butler.

“A friend of Mr. Humphrey’s. Since they were just lads. A good man.”

Lily shuddered. A man was dead, and Graham was badly beaten. She feared Hugo was somehow involved, making another move in his deadly game. Had he intended for Graham to die as well? Or was it important for him to live, to be here, battered and bruised?

“Put him to bed and I’ll leave some laudanum for the pain.” Dr. Shreve and Mr. Ramsey picked Graham up, one arm around each of their shoulders, and carried him from the drawing room. It was a tricky thing to get him up the stairs, but they managed it.

Lily remained with Graham for an hour, keeping a vigil at his bedside. She owed it to Charles, after everything he’d done for her and Katherine.

Graham woke as she was bathing his forehead with a cloth. His eyes fixed on her, a feverish gaze, but no less intense.

“Does he know?” Graham asked drowsily.

She put a glass of water to his lips. “Know?”

“Yes…” Graham caught her wrist, his thumb touching her racing pulse. “Your eyes…too kind.” He fell back asleep, leaving Lily to wonder what it was he meant.