“This is a terrible idea,” Cedric muttered as he followed Godric, Ashton, and Lucien down a hedgerow in Vauxhall Gardens.

“I’d like to point out that most of Godric’s ideas are terrible,” Lucien replied in a low whisper. “But it hasn’t stopped any of us from participating before.”

“I don’t see any of you with better ideas,” Godric snapped, glowering at Lucien and Cedric.

Cedric smiled. It was like old times, when he and Godric had run wild in Cambridge, before they had been pulled into Charles’s orbit like four moons, before Peter had been lost to them all forever. It had been a binding of five souls over the loss of one. And tonight, like they had the night they’d saved Charles all those years ago, they were once again trying to rescue Charles, this time from himself.

“How do we even know Charles is here?” Cedric asked.

“I have reason to believe he may be searching for companionship tonight,” Ashton replied.

“Hold on, the last thing I want to walk in on is Charles naked and—”

“Oh hush,” Lucien laughed. “One of us will go then.”

Cedric followed his friends through the dark gravel walkways of the expansive gardens. They came to a path that had three distinctive archways featuring a realistic painting of the ruins of Palmyra. As a lad when he had first visited, Cedric had been convinced that the paintings had been real ruins.

“Should we check the dark walk?” Godric suggested.

“Might as well,” Ashton whispered. “Best place for trysts.” They tried to move unnoticed in the paths until they reached the farthest promenade. The dark walk, or lovers’ walk, was narrow and offered a clandestine, very close place for lovers to meet in the evening. Cedric had brought a lady or two here himself, before he had married Anne. He imagined taking her here, pushing her into the velvety leaves of the bushes and hiking up her skirts. The fantasy brought a smile to his lips. Perhaps once Hugo was finally dealt with, he could bring Anne here and show her some of his more wicked fantasies.

“Cedric.” Lucien’s hiss pulled him from his thoughts. He realized that his friends had all ducked across the crossway of merging paths and were waiting for him to join them. He glanced down the path, making sure that no one was watching, then hastily ducked in beside the others as they proceeded once more in single file. The sudden clang of a clear bell froze them in their tracks.

“Bloody hell,” Godric growled. “We forgot. It’s nine o’clock. The show.”

All around them the paths began to fill with ladies and gentlemen who moved toward the famous cascade at the center of the garden, which could only be viewed at nine o’clock for fifteen minutes. A miller’s house had been constructed there with a rippling waterfall that created a heavy froth at the bottom as the wheel turned.

Colored dyes had been added to the water, and floating luminaries created a beautiful sight of dancing light and colored water. People clapped and cheered as fireworks exploded overhead.

The four of them were pushed toward the water’s edge of the massive fountain. Cedric cursed. They would not be able to escape the crush until the spectacle was over. He scanned the crowd and caught a glimpse of a familiar face.

Charles.

He stood at the back of the crowd, half in shadow. Only the fireworks illuminated him. But he was alone. No woman was with him, and his face was… Cedric tried to read his expression, but it proved difficult in the growing gloom. Charles never had trouble securing companionship, yet tonight during the Vauxhall magic of the fountains and the fireworks he was alone, decidedly so.

Cedric had the strange feeling that he was intruding upon something intimate and personal. Whatever had brought Charles here tonight was not meant for anyone else to witness. A man’s loneliness was somehow sacred, belonging only to him, and it was not right for others to witness it like this.

“We should go,” Cedric said to Ashton once they were able to push their way past the visitors to the gardens and reach their other companions.

“We all agreed he needs intervention,” Godric reminded him. The duke’s eyes were full of a pain that Cedric felt deep in his bones. When one man in the League hurt, they all hurt. It wasn’t easy to explain, but it was undeniably true.

Resigned to his duty, Cedric pointed out Charles. They turned to look where he was pointing. All the faces in the crowd were turned skyward to watch the fireworks, but something was amiss. A man about twenty feet from Charles was watching Charles. Then he seemed to notice the League watching him.

“My God, it’s him,” Cedric said, half to himself.

“Who?” asked Godric.

“Gordon.” Cedric would never forget the face of the man who’d almost murdered him and his sister Horatia. He remembered the gardener’s cottage burning all around them, and how he’d been left blind for months afterward.

The man locked eyes with Cedric and gave him a nod, then turned his attention back on Charles and reached into his coat.

“Who is Gordon?” Godric asked.

“My former footman,” said Lucien. “One of Hugo’s assassins!”

Ashton spurred them into action. “Go! Stop him!”

The League broke apart, each man shoving at the crowds around them, trying to find the quickest path to Charles and the man stalking him.

Charles turned away and slipped into the hedgerows, vanishing from view, unaware of his peril. The assassin followed him like a black wraith into the shadows. Cedric was not a man to dwell on fanciful notions. He was a sportsman who needed to believe in things he could feel and touch, but the sight of that man haunting Charles’s steps in the cloaked gloom made Cedric wonder if devils were in fact real.

Cedric shouldered a rather plump woman out of his way, who harrumphed in indignation, swinging at him with her fan, but he was already out of her way. Lucien, however, caught the woman’s fan right in his face. Cedric dodged the edge of the massive fountain, leapt over a bench facing the garden path, and kept running.

Godric was now a step behind him and the dark stranger they pursued perhaps fifteen feet away. But there was no sign of Charles. If they couldn’t reach the man soon, he would vanish. Without warning Gordon spun, a blade in his palm as he lunged straight for Cedric.

“Hello again!” said Gordon.

Godric grasped Cedric by his coat and hauled him backward, preventing him from being slashed by the man’s blade. Too late, Cedric realized the position they’d let themselves be caught in.

“It’s a trap!”

Gordon hadn’t been trying to catch up with Charles—he’d been luring them all away from him. How easily Cedric saw it now. That was why Gordon had waited until Cedric saw him to make his move.

Cedric and Godric prepared to fight the man, though they were both unarmed.

“Two of you, eh?” he said. “Hardly seems like a fair fight.” Out of nowhere a second blade appeared in his other hand. “That’s better. Now, who would like to die first?”

Thump! Gordon collapsed to the ground with a muffled cry as someone tackled him from the side. Ashton had somehow found a way to cut the man off from a different path, and he struggled with him now.

“Careful! He has two knives!” Godric cried out. There was a sudden yelp. Ashton leapt back, a knife in his hand.

The other was buried in Gordon’s thigh. Gordon staggered to his feet, only to drop to his knees.

“Well…that wasn’t…supposed to happen.”

“It’s over, Gordon,” said Ashton.

The man smiled darkly. “You can’t be everywhere, Lennox,” Gordon said, his voice harsh, but growing weak.

“You might be surprised,” Ashton growled. Cedric couldn’t understand why the man didn’t stand up or fight back. The wound was not a fatal one.

Ashton raised the blade to his nose, inhaling carefully, then his eyes widened in shock.

“What is it?” Lucien asked.

“Belladonna.” Ashton dropped the blade as though burned and checked his clothes.

“Did he cut you?” Cedric asked.

Ashton sighed in relief and shook his head.

“Poison? Why would he…”

Ashton bent over the dying man. “Spare your soul some damnation and tell us what you know. Who were you really after?”

The assassin smiled weakly. “I believe you know,” Gordon replied simply. “And if you don’t, well, it won’t really matter much longer.” Then he convulsed on the ground, and his eyes rolled back into his head.

Ashton punched the gravel beside the man’s head. “Damn it all!” He sat back on his heels and cursed again under his breath.

“We’d best go now, before someone sees us,” Godric said quietly. “We can’t be tied to this. It would be too easy for Hugo to use it against us.”

“Agreed.” Lucien gripped Ashton by the arm and hauled him up to his feet. “Let’s go.”

They sank back into the security of a smaller path, one that would lead them out of the gardens. Cedric prayed that Charles would be safe wherever he was, at least for tonight.

I am a bloody fool.

Charles sighed heavily as he walked up the steps to his townhouse. He had spent nearly two hours scouring Vauxhall Gardens, hoping to see the woman in the red gown again. It was a silly notion to think he could find her there simply because that was where she had been when those brutes from Lewis Street had taken her, but he had no idea where else to look. He had only her first name to go by, and no one he’d met remembered seeing anyone of her description with that name. She was an enigma he feared he would never unravel.

Was she a gentle-born lady? The conservative cut of her fine red silk gown suggested so, but her defiance and bravery were not traits often found in a gentle-born woman. Certainly, he had known brave women, the wives of his friends were excellent examples, but their bravery had been tempered by their positions in life, even when they dared to reach beyond it.

Lily had been different. When she broke free of her captors, something about her reminded him of himself, and where he drew his own strength from, and that feeling had only strengthened as they spoke. She had experienced things in her past, dark things, he was sure of it. It had created a strange longing for her, for the sense of kinship the woman gave him.

“Who are you?” he whispered into the darkness. For the first time in his life, he felt his heart race like a boy in love. But that was ridiculous. He’d experienced infatuation, lust, and a myriad of other emotions for the women he’d been with over the years, but this was the first time something…pure seemed to burn inside him, an emotion so deep and clear it rang like a bell.

Have I ever been in love? No, not in the way the poets put to paper. He certainly had been in lust, but never love.

He was still lost in these ruminations as he returned home. The lamps had been extinguished, except for a few nearest him. He felt an emptiness in his home; the servants were likely downstairs seeing to their own supper.

Ramsey exited the door to the servants’ quarters. “My lord. Thank God you are home.”

Charles tensed. He recognized that tone. “What happened?”

“Come upstairs and I’ll explain.” Ramsey motioned for Charles to follow behind. “Your brother arrived an hour or so ago, presumably on foot. He was badly beaten.”

“By whom?”

“We do not know. We only know that the men involved were connected to Lewis Street. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Yes, I fear it does.” Charles followed Ramsey to a guest bedchamber. Inside, he found Graham lying on the bed, Tom Linley at his side. The lad had been holding Graham’s hand. Tom withdrew his hand from Graham’s grasp, his face reddening as he backed away.

“We had the doctor here to check him over. A few broken ribs and a bruised throat. The greatest concern is whether he’s bleeding inside. He will need to rest for a few weeks, at least.”

Charles sat on the edge of the bed close to his brother.

“Graham…” He touched his brother’s shoulder and Graham stirred, his eyes opening.

“Charles. Thank God…” Graham’s voice was rough, but he continued to talk. “Kent is dead. They killed him.”

Pain lanced his heart. The Earl of Kent was dead? Charles had known Phillip a long time, almost as long as Graham, and had counted him among his friends.

He grasped his brother’s hand, holding it, wishing he could lend Graham his strength. “What happened? Tell me everything.”

“We were gambling at the Cockerel. Do you know it?”

“I do. By the docks.”

“A man sat down beside us and started winning. You know Phillip—he has the devil’s own luck at cards. But not tonight. I tried to get him to quit, but this man would always egg him on into another hand, until he lost more than he could repay.” Graham winced as he shifted in the bed.

“What happened then?”

“The man told Phillip there was a way he could pay back his debts to avoid becoming a public spectacle. He could fight in the Lewis Street boxing rings. I went with him and…” Graham closed his eyes as he fought to keep his composure. “He never stood a chance. They put him in a ring and wouldn’t let him out, even after he won the match. They kept sending in another, and another, and the betting grew higher and higher. They wore him down, and when he couldn’t stand… The last one kicked him until he didn’t move again. I tried to stop them, but they…” He couldn’t finish, but his injuries made this part of the story clear.

“How did you get out?” One could easily become lost in the Lewis Street underground.

“Lucky, I suppose. I didn’t know where I was going. But eventually I felt the breeze, stumbled my way through until I could see the torch lights flicker.” Graham choked on his next words. “I left him, Charles. I couldn’t get his body out…I…”

Flashes of another dark and terrible night returned to Charles. The chill of the river, cutting like a knife as he splashed to the surface, finally free of the ropes that had bound him to the heavy stone Hugo tried to drown him with.

But at what cost? Peter… He couldn’t find him. He struggled, cried out Peter’s name. Had he hurt Peter in his struggles? Had he…? The fear of what he might have done that night never left him. He’d been about to dive back down after Peter, even though he had no strength left in him, but Godric had grabbed him and swum to the bank. He surrendered to exhaustion and let the others get him to shore. They clawed their way onto the muddy bank and collapsed onto their backs.

Still gasping for air, he had stared at the sky above, the wild array of stars so thick they filled the sky. Their cold, distant light choked him with emotions. Peter would never again see them, and he would, because of the four men who lay beside him. He raised his head, and there, on the opposite bank, his would-be murderer was also climbing out of the water, swearing his revenge upon them all. Their war wasn’t over; it had only just begun.

“Graham,” Charles spoke soothingly. He better than anyone knew the pain Graham was going through emotionally and physically. “Who was the man who bet against Phillip?”

“David…or Daniel… Sheffield. Yes, that was his name.”

Charles closed his eyes, trying to mask his reaction. That was the man who had betrayed Jonathan and Audrey in Calais. Hugo’s second-in-command.

Once I find him, he will pay for Phillip.

Graham looked away, his face full of shame. “Charles, I know I shouldn’t have come”

“You are right where you belong, brother,” Charles said. “We are blood, and we are always here for each other.” He gave Graham’s hand another squeeze. “Rest now. I need you alive and well to help me see justice done.”

Graham closed his eyes, and sleep claimed him once again.

Charles watched his brother for a moment before he nodded for Ramsey to leave, then turned to Tom.

“Thank you for staying here with him. You are a good man.” He paused, his emotions still raw. “You don’t know how much I need to have friends who are loyal and true.”

“I’m your valet, sir. It’s my duty.”

“You are far more than that, Tom. We are friends.”

“Friends, sir?”

“Yes. I believe we have been for some time now.” He smiled ruefully. He had needed a friend desperately the night he met Tom.

Tom frowned, as if uncertain about what he was about to say. “Then may I ask a personal question, as a friend?”

Their gazes locked. Something about Tom’s eyes reminded him of late-summer storm clouds. The kind of storm he had loved as a boy, one where he would dash into the meadows, reckless and unafraid, to watch the clouds climb upon one another, the rumbling thunder building and the feeling of a static charge in the air. He’d felt invincible then, ready to face any challenge by man or nature, and life had seemed endless. That innocent boy was gone. Dead long ago. But when he looked into Linley’s eyes, he saw flashes of that boy, as though the lightning from the storm had struck him and brought him back to life.

“Ask me anything, Tom.”

“What happened between you and your brother?”

Charles looked to Graham again.

“He never forgave me for the death of our father.”

Tom sucked in a breath, but didn’t interrupt him.

“My father fought in a duel in my stead. I was a boy, only seventeen at the time, and I challenged someone to a duel. My father knew I would get myself killed and took my place instead.”

Tom reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “He died in the duel?”

“No. He killed the other man, but that death haunted him. Broke him. He felt like he had murdered that man in cold blood. He died a year later, from grief and guilt.” Charles hadn’t spoken these details to anyone, not even the League. But Tom had been here with Graham and knew of the ill will his brother held. He deserved to know the truth as to why.

“Graham blames me, and rightly so. If I hadn’t lost my temper, our father might still be alive.”

And I wouldn’t have broken my family apart. His reckless temperament had hurt so many people and ruined so many lives. His father’s, Peter’s, even Hugo’s, the man now determined to destroy him.

“You were practically a child.” Tom gave Charles’s shoulder a squeeze. In that moment, Charles knew he had a bond with Tom much like he had with Godric and the others. Something that he couldn’t define, but it was there, tying them together. Someday he hoped Tom would return the favor and talk about his own past.

“Some sins are unforgivable, no matter the age.”

He looked at his brother’s face, hating the void that had stretched between them. He had been too afraid to try to get close to Graham after their father died, too filled with guilt to believe he could make things right.

Tom must have read his thoughts. “My lord, it isn’t too late. He came to you in his hour of need.”

“I hope you are right,” Charles said. He had to make things right before it was too late, before Hugo triumphed. Charles knew how it would be in the end. Too much darkness surrounded them for either he or Hugo to ever forgive the other. In the end, one of them would die.

I can’t afford any more innocent lives lost, not to him.

“You don’t have to stay,” he told Tom. “I’ll watch over him now.”

Tom said nothing, but did not move from his post. His quiet determination filled Charles with a sense of hope. Surely so long as good men and women with noble minds and pure hearts stood by one another, they could keep the darkness of those like Hugo at bay.

He had to believe that, or all was lost.