“How are you feeling?” Charles carried a tray of food into the guest bedchamber for Graham. His younger brother sat up in bed, his face still a messy mix of blue and purple bruises. One eye was almost swollen shut.

Graham winced as he reached for the toast on the tray Charles placed on his lap. “I feel like the devil himself trod all over me with his cloven hooves.”

“Eat, even if it hurts. Food will help you heal.” Charles pulled the chair up to the side of the bed and watched as Graham ate. It’d been so long since he and Graham had talked, let alone been in the same room like this.

Graham paused in his breakfast to look at him. “You don’t have to stay and watch me eat.”

“I know. I suppose I am just glad you came to me.” He didn’t have the courage to confess how much it meant to him that his brother had sought him out.

“I didn’t plan on coming here,” Graham said a bit gruffly. “But I knew I couldn’t go home to Mother and Ella.” Graham put his hand to his chest in obvious pain. Charles understood Graham’s concerns. Charles had lived in this home for the last ten years. It was a bachelor residence, but a large one. He hadn’t wanted his mother and sister under the same roof because he often brought ladies home for a night. It was deuced uncomfortable to come down for breakfast after a tumble in bed, only to find your mother scowling at you over a cup of tea. If Graham had shown up at their mother’s house in his condition, it would have been disastrous.

“No, I suppose you couldn’t. Mother would have had a fit. Then she’d want to storm the Lewis Street tunnels herself. And Ella…”

“Would’ve been terribly upset,” Graham finished.

“Yes.” Charles’s little sister was not good at handling difficult news. She was a tiny fae-like woman with a soft heart much too big for her. She had been often ill as a child, and while it hadn’t done any overt damage, it had made her more delicate. If she were to see Graham injured, it would destroy her.

“Charles,” Graham said, his eyes downcast. “What are we going to do about Phillip?”

“I’m going to handle it. I will find him if he’s still there.”

Graham’s eyes went wide with terror. “But you can’t go down there. You’ll get killed.”

Charles stood and walked over to the window, bracing one hand on the frame. “I’ve been down there before. I know my way.”

“What?”

Charles couldn’t look his brother in the eye. “I…have been known to box in the rings down there from time to time.”

He turned at the sudden sound of dishes clattering as Graham shoved the tray aside to try to get out of bed. He made it to his feet, but he had to lean against the bedpost for support. His face was ashen.

“Why… Why would you fight down there? You have Fives Court. Why would you seek out a place like that?”

Why? Because I feel alive only when there are risks involved, when there is a chance to truly get hurt. Because I deserve to hurt. I deserve it.

“Charles…” Graham spoke his name softly. It reminded Charles so much of when they were boys, before he had ruined everything between them.

“Don’t worry yourself. I always win. They haven’t found a man yet who could beat me.” His falsely cheerful boast made his brother frown.

“I’m going to put aside the part where it is clear you want to get yourself killed. You truly believe you could explore the tunnels and find Phillip?”

“Yes.” Charles pointed at the bed. “Eat and rest. I’ll take care of everything.” It was midday, so the tunnels would be empty and quiet, aside for the occasional thief or fighter waiting for night to fall.

“Don’t go alone. Please. I cannot lose you as well.” Graham grabbed his sleeve, jerking him to a stop.

“I’ll take someone with me,” he promised. Graham released him, and Charles left the bedchamber. He was in the hall putting on his greatcoat when Tom arrived through the service entrance.

“My lord, I need to speak with you.” The young lad’s voice was breathless, as though he’d been running.

“No time, Tom, I’m off for the day. Won’t be back for a few hours, if not longer.” There was no way he would take the boy with him. He could fight, it was true, but this required someone experienced with danger. Ashton, perhaps, or Cedric. Not the whole League, of course. That would attract too much attention.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid my aunt has fallen ill. Aunt Miriam needs me.”

Charles froze. “You’ve never mentioned an aunt before.” Then again, he’d only learned of Tom’s uncle yesterday.

Tom’s gaze fell. “She was my mother’s sister. They quarreled a lot when I was a boy. Now that she is dying, she has summoned me to make amends. I’m sorry to leave you on such short notice, my lord.”

Part of Charles wanted to make Tom stay, but that would be selfish. “You will come back, of course?”

A strange mixture of emotions crossed Tom’s face, too fast for Charles to decipher. “Oh, yes, sir. Davis has agreed to see to your needs until I return.”

Charles nodded. “Go on then, but write me when you reach your aunt. I want to know you arrived safely. And I expect you to return as soon as possible.”

The tension in Tom’s face eased. “Thank you, my lord. I will.”

Charles wanted to say something more, but there was no time. He turned his back on Tom and closed the door behind himself as he left.

He walked down the street and up the steps to Ashton’s door, never more relieved that most of the League lived so close to each other when they were in London. He tapped the knocker. When the butler answered, Charles was shown inside immediately, another one of the benefits of the League’s close-knit relationship. So long as the gentleman in question was home, they would be shown inside with none of the usual pretense of having to pay formal calls. Charles waited in the drawing room. But when the door opened, he instead saw Rosalind, Ashton’s fiery Scottish wife.

“Charles?” Rosalind came over to him. “What’s the matter? The butler said you seemed ill.”

“Ill with concern, perhaps,” he murmured, catching sight of his pale face in the wall mirror, Rosalind now beside him. When he’d first met her, he hadn’t wanted to trust her love for Ashton, going so far as to try to bribe her to leave, but he’d been wrong about her. She loved Ashton as fiercely as he loved her.

That didn’t stop him from feeling frustrated, though. As much as he was glad for his friends settling down with wives who were worthy of them, those same wives created complications. Before marriage, his friends would have willingly dashed off with him to a place like the Lewis Street tunnels, but now? Now his friends had other considerations before they put their lives in danger, such as the safety of their families. Resentment crawled beneath his skin. He hated that part of himself, knowing it was wrong to feel that way.

“Ash will be down soon. I just want to be sure that you are all right.” Rosalind touched his arm. He covered her hand with his, patting it once before he let go and so did she.

“I’m quite fine.”

But he wasn’t fine. Right now his greatest fear was that he would ask Ashton for his help, and Rosalind would forbid it. Rosalind nodded and left him alone. Perhaps she had sensed something in his tone. A few minutes later, Ashton joined him.

“Charles?” There was a note of concern in his voice. “I heard you aren’t feeling well?”

“It’s not what you think.” He paused, making sure Rosalind wasn’t lurking near the door. “I need your help. I have to go into the Lewis Street tunnels to retrieve a body. It’s a matter of honor and respect for a friend.”

Ashton’s face went blank. “A body?”

“Lord Kent. He was most likely killed there last night. My brother was with him and almost met the same fate. I promised I would retrieve him, come what may. I know the tunnels well, but it would be unwise to go alone. Especially once you learn who was behind it.”

Ashton waved for them to leave. “You had best tell me everything that happened on the way.”

They soon caught a hackney to Lewis Street. By the time they were at the entrance to the tunnels, he had told Ashton everything he knew. When they knocked on the door, Charles expected the gatekeeper to slide open the hatch and peer at them. But he wasn’t there. Charles tried the door handle, and the door opened with a heavy groan. The gate was unguarded. That left him with an unsettled pit in his stomach.

“Sheffield had to have had a reason to maneuver Lord Kent into such a position.” Ashton kept close to Charles as they moved deeper into the dark bowels below Lewis Street. Lamps hung every twenty feet along the craggy walls, illuminating just enough of their path for them to keep walking.

“Obviously it was on Hugo’s orders.”

“Obviously,” Ashton agreed. “But why? A message? Then why not Graham instead?”

“I’m not sure,” Charles whispered. The tunnels had ears, and he did not want to risk being overheard.

“Perhaps it is because Lord Kent is a man without a family. There is no one to seek answers for his death.”

Charles scowled. “Or perhaps Hugo wants to remind us that no one is far enough removed for his designs. He planned for Graham to be there, to witness everything, and to come to me for help. No one with any connection to us, no matter how remote, can be considered safe anymore.”

Ashton started walking again, and Charles led him deeper into the dark. “I believe Hugo is starting his endgame now.”

The narrow tunnel opened into a cavernous space with several boxing rings. At the far end of the room there was a group of iron cells meant to keep people locked up. In the times of the Tudors, this space had been a dungeon used for keeping political prisoners too influential to be kept in more visible prisons. When the monarchs wanted someone to disappear quietly, they ended up in the tunnels.

Charles shivered at the empty quiet of the room. It was usually so thick with sweating bodies that a man could barely get through.

Ashton pointed toward a lumpy object toward the back by the cells. There was a body inside wearing what had once been fine clothes. “There.”

Heart pounding, Charles hurried over and knelt by the corpse, rolling him over onto his back. The face was almost unrecognizable, but it was Lord Kent.

“His leg has been broken,” Ashton observed. “What animals would do this and call it sport?” Ashton’s calm demeanor was crumbling at the sight of Phillip’s tortured body.

“Graham said they beat him until he stopped moving.” Fury swept through him. Hugo may have believed no one would avenge Phillip, but he was wrong, so very wrong.

The man suddenly moved. His body seized, and a gasp of air escaped his lips.

“Bloody Christ!” Charles fell back onto his backside in alarm.

“He’s not dead!” Ashton pulled Charles to his feet. Together, they lifted Phillip up by his arms, taking one over each of their shoulders.

“Phillip? Can you hear me?” Charles asked.

“G-Graham…?” The croaked whisper was full of pain.

“Graham sent me,” said Charles. “Good God, Ash. We’ve got to get him out.”

They lifted him up, trying to keep any pressure off his legs while they carried him back up the sloping tunnel. There was still no sign of the gatekeeper. It was as though the tunnels has been abandoned. Charles was grateful for the ease of their escape, but he couldn’t help but feel that they were being played somehow. Or watched. Once they reached the portal to the street, Charles stayed with Phillip while Ash summoned a coach, and then they carefully lifted him inside.

“Take him to your home,” Ash said. “I’ll get the doctor.”

Charles nodded. Time was of the essence if they were going to save him.