“I’m not leaving,” Jasper said, keeping his voice low so as not to cause a scene. Richard was playing with some toy soldiers one of the footmen had found, and Jasper didn’t want him to hear. But the old butler wouldn’t give up.

“My lord, the family appreciates your assistance, but his lordship has asked that I show the boy to the nursery the housekeeper prepared and see you out.”

“I’m not leaving until I see Olivia.”

“Miss Carlisle is with her ailing mother at the moment. They are not to be disturbed. Please do not make me fetch the viscount.”

“This is not your day, Dimsdale. If you want me to leave, I need to hear it from the viscount’s own lips.”

“Very well.” The butler turned on his heel and stormed away.

Jasper went back to the couch and sat. A plate of crumbs sat on the other cushion, the only remaining evidence of Richard’s three tea cakes, and Richard played on the floor nearby.

When Dimsdale closed the door, Richard looked at Jasper. “Do you have to go?”

Jasper clenched his jaw. So the child had heard. “I’m sure your mother will be back shortly.” She’d been gone far longer than he’d expected, but then what did he know of deathbed reunions?

Richard pushed the wooden soldiers away. “I don’t want you to go.”

“You are safe here, Richard. Lord Carlisle is your grandfather.”

“But I want to be with you.” He climbed into Jasper’s lap. Why did distraction and changing topics work when Olivia tried it and not him? Was he doing it wrong?

“You know I don’t live here. I can’t stay.”

“Then I’ll go to your house.”

“Your mother won’t like that.”

“She can come too.”

Jasper took an instant to appreciate that idea. He rather liked it, until he remembered the sort of people he usually worked for and the visitors who often came knocking in the wee hours. Jasper often spent more time in the shadows of London than he did in his own rooms.

He’d never had a reason to want to be home before.

“Your mother belongs here. Besides, this isn’t the last you’ll see of me. I’m not so easy to be rid of.” The night before he’d allowed himself to hope he would have more nights like that with Olivia, but now that he was back in London he saw those thoughts for the rubbish they were. How could he forget that he was a disfigured younger son who had gone into trade and sold his services? No decent noble family would want him as a suitor for their daughter.

The door opened again and the viscount walked in. He looked tired, and Jasper couldn’t help but sympathize with the man. He’d had quite the day. “Lord Jasper,” Carlisle said, his gaze lingering on Richard in Jasper’s lap. It probably appeared strange to see a small boy clinging to a masked figure. “My butler said you wanted to speak with me before leaving. I’m certain you must want payment for your services.”

Jasper’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t want payment.”

The viscount’s brows rose. “No?”

“Your daughter saved my life. I owe her more than I can ever repay.”

“What’s this? How did Olivia save your life?”

“I’ll let her tell you, or we can ask her together. I won’t leave without seeing her again.”

The viscount shook his head. “She’s with Lady Carlisle. The two haven’t seen each other in years. I told her I would see Master Richard settled in the nursery myself. I’m certain you must be tired from your travels. Come back tomorrow and call on her.”

Richard’s hand tightened on Jasper’s neck.

“I’d rather not leave the boy alone.”

Carlisle’s face tightened with impatience. “He won’t be alone. I will be with him, and I have plenty of staff. Olivia will see to him as soon as my wife falls asleep. She sleeps a great deal these days.”

“I’d rather—”

“Must I pull her from her mother’s deathbed to ask you to leave? This is my house, Lord Jasper. I’ve asked you politely.”

Jasper’s jaw hurt from the effort at restraint. The viscount was correct. This was his house. Jasper had no right to be here. Olivia wasn’t being held against her will. She needed time with her mother. The boy was fine. He might be a little frightened of the new place, but Jasper would not be leaving him without friends.

Slowly, he untangled Richard’s arms from his neck.

“No!” the boy said, attempting to hold on.

“I have to go. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Don’t go!”

Jasper set the lad on the floor and rose. “You will tell Miss Carlisle I plan to call tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Carlisle nodded.

Dimsdale appeared in the doorway, a smug smile on his face.

“Dimsdale will show you out.”

Jasper had no choice but to follow the butler. He spared one look back for Richard. His grandfather was bent, speaking gently to the boy. But Jasper couldn’t help but feel the child seemed very, very small.

***

TEN DAYS LATER, HE hadn’t seen Olivia again. He’d come back to the townhouse every day and been told, every day, that she was not at home. He’d asked to see Richard and been told the boy was not at home. He knew they were both at home, and when he’d pushed his way in, the viscount had threatened to have his footmen throw Jasper out. Jasper could see now he’d misjudged the man. He’d thought him weak and easily swayed, but though he might be meek, he had an unbendable backbone. That must have been where Olivia inherited hers.

“Lord Jasper, I assure you the boy is fine. I’ve engaged a governess for him and his mother is with him as much as she is able. Right now she is with her mother. The viscountess is gravely ill. Surely you understand. I’ve sent payment to your solicitor. Our business is concluded.”

Jasper had instructed his solicitor to tear up the payment Carlisle had sent. “I told you, I don’t want payment.”

“Then what do you want?” the viscount demanded.

What did he want? “I want to see Miss Carlisle and Richard again.” He needed to see with his own eyes that they were well. Jasper hadn’t suffered any additional attacks on his life since being back in London, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Olivia might still be in danger. He’d promised to protect her, and, though he wasn’t allowed inside, he’d kept a watchful eye on the town house. He just wanted to speak to her.

“And so you shall,” the viscount said, his tone softening. “Today is not the best time. As I’ve said, my wife is very ill.”

Jasper knew this was true. He’d spent hours each day loitering in front of the town house. He’d seen the doctor come and go. He’d even questioned the man and been told the woman only had a few more days, if that. The viscountess was dying. Who was he to take her daughter away from her in her last hours?

“You will tell her I called?”

The viscount nodded. “Of course. She knows you have been here every day. When all of this”—he gestured vaguely—“is over you shall come to dinner. You can tell me all about how you found them, and I can thank you properly for your service. If you won’t accept payment, perhaps you will take that much as thanks.”

Jasper knew this offer was made to appease him, but he also knew empty words when he heard them. There would be no invitation to dinner when the viscountess was dead. The man didn’t want Jasper near his daughter. He might be the son of a marquess, but he was the third son and the black sheep of the family. No respectable father would want Jasper Grantham near his daughter. He’d expected that. But he had thought Olivia would fight it. She knew that he had called every day and he had not seen her. So perhaps, now that she was home, Olivia didn’t want to see him. She’d certainly not written to him or made herself available when he’d called. He’d known that their time together would end when they returned to London, he just hadn’t expected it to happen so abruptly.

“Tell her I called,” Jasper said again. “And be on guard for anything unusual. I was attacked by a man with a knife when searching for your daughter. I don’t know who was behind it or if I was the target or your daughter.”

“Yes, well, knife attacks are not a concern now that’s she’s home with her parents.” The clear implication being that Jasper’s unsavory line of work made Olivia unsafe in his company. Dimsdale opened the door and without another choice, Jasper walked through it.

Outside, a cold drizzle had turned the city wet and miserable. Jasper pulled his greatcoat around him and stood looking up and down Brook Street. If he couldn’t get in to see Olivia, surely whoever had attacked him in Penbury would have even more difficulty. Withernsea either did not know or did not care that Olivia was back. She and Richard seemed utterly safe and secure. Jasper could begin to retreat now. Could go back to his old life. Which was...where, precisely? But for a couple servants, he lived alone. He had no great desire to wander his empty rooms. He could have taken work. He had any number of men requesting his services. They would have paid handsomely for them too.

But Jasper didn’t want to hunt for another lost person or thing—not when he couldn’t have the ones he had found. The ones he wanted. The thought of spending the night in a tavern or wandering one of the rookeries did not appeal.

Which left only one place he did want to go—The Draven Club.

The club was not a long walk, but with the rain and the streets having been turned to mud it was bound to be unpleasant. Jasper didn’t care. He needed the time to clear his head. Not that anyone would question him if he showed up and told them all to go to hell. It was the one place any of them—any of the Survivors from Draven’s troop—could go and be accepted no matter what. They were brothers. They had a shared history, shared memories, shared horrors.

Perhaps Neil would be there. The leader of the troop was logical and level-headed. All of the men brought their problems to Neil and Neil, the Warrior, more often than not, solved them. He was the sort of man who never gave in and never gave up.

Ewan was like that too. He didn’t speak much, but Jasper had spent plenty of evenings with him in companionable silence. The Protector of the group, Ewan was fiercely loyal. If Jasper asked Ewan to break down the doors to Carlisle’s house and clear the way for him to charge in and find Olivia, Ewan would have done it without questioning.

But Ewan and Neil didn’t come to the club as much as they had before they married. Jasper didn’t really expect to see either of them today. And he knew he wouldn’t see Rafe, who had gone to the Americas. Rafe had been Jasper’s closest friend, though with Jasper’s ugly scar and Rafe’s too handsome face, they were very much opposites in appearance. He wouldn’t have minded drinking a glass of whatever Porter had open with Rafe tonight.

But perhaps Lord Phineas would be there. Or Nash. Jasper had heard the Sharpshooter was in Town. Perhaps Draven himself would be dining at the club tonight. Jasper reached the club on King Street in St. James’s and knocked on the door. It was open less than a moment later by Porter, the Master of the House. He nodded at Jasper. “Good afternoon, my lord.” Porter swung the door wide to admit Jasper into a wood-paneled vestibule. The gloomy weather meant the chandelier above had been lit, and light flickered off the large shield mounted on the wall opposite the door. A sword that reminded him of the sort Highlanders used bisected the shield. The pommel of the sword had molded into the shape of a fleur-de-lis, and a skeleton stared at him from the cross guard. Situated around the shield were smaller fleur-de-lis that marked the fallen members of the Survivors—those who hadn’t returned from the war.

Jasper looked long and hard at the second to last fleur-de-lis. Peter had been the seventeenth man to die. Jasper knew he had almost followed.

“The dining room, my lord?” Porter asked.

“Is Wraxall here?” Jasper asked the older man who stood so erect, walking stick clutched in one hand and silver hair gleaming under the light of the chandelier.

“No, my lord.  Colonel Draven is in the dining room.”

“The dining room then, Porter.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Porter walked slowly, leading Jasper past the winding staircase carpeted in royal blue and into the all but empty dining room. Draven was the only man seated in the room, occupying one of the five tables, that closest to the fire. The room was paneled in wood with a low ceiling, crossed by thick wooden beams. The light in this room came from sconces on the walls and a cozy fire crackled in the hearth. The five tables had been topped by white linen and set with silver.

When Jasper walked in, Draven raised his head and his mouth curved in a half smile. Draven was perhaps fifteen years Jasper’s senior. He had wild red hair and piercing blue eyes. He might be in his forties, but he was still in prime condition. Jasper wouldn’t have taken him on in a fight.

“Where the devil have you been, Lord Jasper?” Draven asked, motioning to an empty seat across from him.

“Here and there, sir,” Jasper answered, following Porter, who led him to the table. He sat and began to remove his mask as Draven asked Porter to bring another glass so he might share the wine in the bottle on the table.

Jasper had no inhibitions about removing his mask here. Every man who came to this club had scars. Jasper’s were simply more visible than others. “It looks as though we’re the only ones here today,” Jasper remarked.

“Your friends don’t come as much as they used to now that they’ve married.”

Anger flared in Jasper. First Neil, Ewan, and Rafe had deserted him, now Olivia. “I’ll never understand why a younger son would marry,” he said bitterly. “He’s not the heir or the spare, and when he’s served his time in the army and come out a hero, why not enjoy life?”

Draven said nothing and merely sipped his wine.

“Why tie yourself to one woman when women are fickle creatures?”

“I know why Mostyn and Wraxall married,” Draven said, speaking of Ewan and Neil. “I even know why Rafe Beaumont chased a woman all the way to America.”

Jasper drank the wine Draven had set in front of him. “So do I. All three of them are daft. Dicked in the nob, as Rafe would say.”

“So he would, and he might even agree with you. Love can have that effect.”

“Love.” Jasper sneered. “Love fades, just like passion.”

“Not always.” Draven toyed with the rim of his wine glass. “I was married.”

Jasper almost choked, and he wasn’t even drinking any wine. “What?” he sputtered.

“It was a long time ago.” He had a faraway look, and his light eyes had turned darker.

Draven married? Jasper had never so much as heard the man mention a sister, much less a wife. Come to think of it, he’d also never seen the lieutenant colonel with a woman. He’d thought the man too busy for baser pursuits, but perhaps he was loyal to his wife. “I’ve not had the pleasure to meet Mrs. Draven.”

Draven smiled ruefully. “She doesn’t live in London. The marriage took place years ago. I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

“What happened to her?” Jasper asked, dreading the answer.

“I don’t know. Duty called, and I always followed. Fool that I was.”

Jasper didn’t quite know what to make of his one-time commanding officer. He’d never heard the man speak of his personal affairs.

“Is she still alive?”

“I suppose she is alive somewhere. She’s probably forgotten me by now.”

“But you haven’t forgotten her,” Jasper said almost to himself.

Draven lifted his glass in a salute. “I didn’t think I was in love with her,” he said. “I sneered at love, much as you do. But I think I must have fallen in love with her and not even known it. Else why would I still think of her today? Why would I wonder if she was well, if she’d found another man, if she ever thought of me?”

Jasper stared, open mouthed. If Ewan and Rafe had said such a thing, he would have poked at the man mercilessly. He wouldn’t take that liberty with Draven.

Draven drained his glass. “I’m foxed, Jasper, but not so foxed that I can’t see your problem.”

“My problem, sir?”

“Who is she?”

“I’m not following, sir.”

Draven pointed at Jasper. “There’s a woman behind the anger I saw earlier. And I, for one, say it’s about time. You can’t let your face dictate your life. You can’t spend the rest of your life hiding in dark alleys and slipping into shadows.”

“I’m good at slipping into shadows.”

“I wouldn’t have made you part of my troop if you hadn’t been. But there’s a time for everything, and maybe it’s time you stopped hiding.”

Jasper scowled. “Maybe it’s time you stopped drinking.”

Draven laughed. “Don’t want my advice, do you? I don’t blame you. I didn’t want advice when I was your age either. I’ll give you some anyway.”

“Oh, good.”

Draven leaned close, ignoring Jasper’s sarcasm. “Don’t let her go without a fight.”

“Don’t let who go, sir?” Jasper said.

Draven laughed again. “You keep telling yourself she doesn’t matter. One day you’ll be drinking alone, sitting across from a young man, telling him what a fool he is for throwing his chance at happiness away.”

And before Jasper could object to being called a fool, Draven rose and stumbled away. Porter was at his side in a moment, and then Jasper was alone in the dining room. No reason to stay here. He could go home and be alone in his rooms. He could call on Neil...and watch the man give puppy dog eyes to his bride. He could take one of the cases hopeful clients had pressed on him since he’d returned to London.

Or he could step out of the shadows...

Jasper rose. His eldest brother didn’t live far. If he left now, he could arrive just in time to interrupt his dinner.