In a gambling hell like the Cloven Hoof, most gentlemen were beggared by the cut of the cards or a roll of the dice. For an already beggared lord like Zachary Nash, Marquess of Hawkridge, his best chance for future wealth lay not in games of chance, but with the gamblers themselves. Hawk was not here to spend money, but to raise some.

His current prospect, an idle gentleman named Mr. Leviston, motioned over one well-tailored shoulder for a barmaid to refill his glass.

When she arrived with a fresh bottle, Leviston raised his brows in query. “Port, Hawkridge?”

“No, thank you.” Hawk allowed the edges of his lips to curve. “As you recall, I’m building my own.”

“Touché.” Leviston took a healthy swallow of the burgundy wine, then dabbed his upper lip with the edge of a white handkerchief. “When did you say your port would open?”

If Hawk sold the last sticks of furniture and put every penny into the project… He had done these calculations many, many times.

He leaned back. “Twelve months, in the worst of cases.”

“One year.” Leviston swirled his glass. “And in the best scenario?”

Hawk considered. That depended entirely on funding. On whether Leviston could be convinced to invest. On the size of his contribution compared to outstanding debts.

Outstanding debts. How tired Hawk was of spending every waking moment fighting to undo the damage the previous marquess had caused. Ten years ago, when he had first inherited the title, financial recovery had seemed impossible. Now it was finally almost in his grasp.

As long as Hawk’s port completed construction, launched on schedule, and became a commercial success.

Which it could do—nay, which it would do—if he could secure several thousand pounds of funding.

“Six months,” he answered.

Leviston wrinkled his nose. “That will be autumn. Almost winter. Inopportune time to open a port, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would not.” Hawk leaned forward. “The docks here in London are open year round. The Thames hasn’t frozen in three years, and before that, not since 1789. But my property isn’t on a river. We’re building forty miles south of Dover. The English Channel has never frozen over. Nor will it. And now that the war is over, the coast’s proximity to France makes my port’s location a strategic advantage for international trade.”

Leviston nodded slowly. “How much are you seeking?”

“Ten thousand pounds,” Hawk answered without hesitation.

Leviston blinked.

Hawk did not.

Even half that much money would make a significant impact. Finishing construction in the summer months was the key to securing all necessary inspections and permits in order to open before the end of the year.

But offering the exact pounds and shillings required to launch the port on time would be a mistake. Hawk had quickly realized that few individuals had any wish to underwrite the entirety of a project. Too much risk. Even those who did see the potential value were never willing to part with more than a fraction.

“Bit rich for my blood.” Leviston swirled his wine. “Best I can offer is five hundred pounds.”

Hawk lifted a shoulder. “Five hundred pounds earns five percent interest. One thousand pounds earns ten percent interest and a one percent stake in the venture.”

Leviston’s jaw worked for a moment.

Hawk waited.

In order to tempt investors, he was forced to give high margins. The terms were in Leviston’s favor, and the man knew it.

Hawk’s more intangible advantage was that he wasn’t his profligate father. Not only did Hawk personally pride himself on being the antithesis of that self-serving tyrant, his peers vocally welcomed the diametric change.

Despite his lack of riches and fallen social status, Hawk had brought integrity to his title. He did not spend what he did not have. He worked religiously to pay the debts his father had accrued.

Although he was by far the least eligible bachelor among the aristocracy, the marquessate was much closer to solvent now than when Hawk had first inherited the title.

“One thousand,” Leviston said at last. “But not a penny more until the docks actually open.”

“My solicitor will send over the contract.” Hawk rose to his feet. “Enjoy your wine.”

He cut across the crowded room before Leviston could think up any last minute objections or renege on his commitment to invest. Hawk couldn’t risk Leviston changing his mind. One thousand pounds was more than Hawk had been able to raise in the past three months.

How he despised the devil’s circle of being an impoverished lord. Hawk’s new ties to trade had blackballed him from high society venues like Almack’s and its ilk. The estate’s empty coffers prevented him from retaining memberships in exclusive gentlemen’s clubs like White’s and Boodles’s.

Raising funds was remarkably tricky to accomplish when one had little to no access to wealthy marks.

The Cloven Hoof was one of the few venues at Hawk’s disposal. The gaming hell was at the very edge of respectability, both geographically and societally. Exclusive enough to attract the more raffish viscounts and earls. Disreputable enough to allow in those who did not quite belong with the aristocracy.

Hawk eased into the shadows and cast a practiced eye about the crowded interior in search of other potential investors. He did not find any.

The problem with only being able to frequent a notorious establishment like the Cloven Hoof was that one quickly became familiar with the regular clientele.

Every man within these walls had heard Hawk’s pitch for investing in his port. The vast majority preferred to risk their money on bouts of Faro and Piquet. The few Hawk had convinced to contribute, however, were the reason the launch date was finally within sight.

A few more investors like Leviston, and Hawk’s port might actually open before he and his mother were forced to subsist solely on gruel and broth.

Movement in one of the back corners of the vice salon caught Hawk’s eye. With a smile, he made his way to the shadowy recesses of the gaming hell and slid into a small dark table opposite Simon Spaulding. London’s most celebrated Bow Street Runner… and Hawk’s illegitimate half-brother.

Simon moved a small bundle of primroses aside to make room at the table. “Hawkridge.”

“Inspector.” Hawk nodded at the bouquet of flowers. “Never say you’re still unfashionably smitten with your beautiful wife.”

Simon grinned back at him. “Incurably so. When are you tying the knot?”

“Ask me next year,” Hawk said, rather than give a true reply.

The truth was, he didn’t know.

He’d been in love once. Might even confess to still being in love, if one were to catch him in the dead of night, jolting awake from the same feverish dream where he relived the best and worst moments of his life with the one woman he could never forget… and never have.

It didn’t matter what Hawk wanted. What the title required was a wealthy heiress with a dowry capable of repaying the marquessate’s substantial financial debts as well as financing the new port’s construction, launch, and ongoing operation.

A difficult task. On rare occasions when he did manage to rub thrice-darned shoulders with those of the elegant set, even the most mercenary of title-hungry debutantes had her sights set far higher than an impoverished lord who could scarce afford to pay his few servants.

“Thirsty?” Simon asked.

Hawk shook his head. “No.”

“I’ll buy,” Simon offered.

“No,” Hawk repeated, more forcefully than he meant.

Simon had been the one swindled out of his birthright, such as it was. Hawk’s childhood had been filled with fireworks and pony rides and expensive boarding schools. Simon’s had been spent in a shabby corner of his courtesan mother’s townhouse, never knowing what they might have to do to buy bread for their next meal.

Their sire had only been interested in the pleasure he could demand from his lover. Not in being a true father for his unwanted bastard child.

Hawk would never ask Simon to part with so much as a hard-won farthing.

Simon leaned back. “I hoped I might find you here.”

“You’re a phenomenal investigator,” Hawk assured him. “Also I have nowhere else to go.”

“Well, I do.” Simon gave a crooked smile. “I’m being reassigned across town for the foreseeable future. This is likely to be my last visit to the Cloven Hoof.”

And to you, was the unspoken implication.

The two places Hawk was still welcome were his crumbling ancestral home and the smoke-filled gambling rooms of the Cloven Hoof.

Of the two venues, the Cloven Hoof was not only the more semi-respectable, it was also the sole place he could meet with his brother.

Hawk’s home was out of the question. Not only did his nonexistent inheritance preclude him from entertaining guests, his dowager mother would rather throw herself from a balcony than allow the bastard child of her husband’s mistress beneath the same roof. Hawk would not make her suffer more than she already had.

Yet he didn’t wish to lose contact with his brother. Not when they’d just spoken for the first time only a few months earlier and come so far toward establishing a brotherly relationship.

Simon arched a brow. “Have plans for the evening?”

“You know I do not.” Hawk couldn’t afford plans. Not until the port opened.

“Come to the school.” Simon lifted his palms. “Have supper with us tonight.”

Hawk’s spirits rose. “Dine with you and twenty orphans?”

“Twenty-four,” Simon corrected. “And I’m afraid not. The Headmistress Dinner is limited to adults only, although the ‘servants’ are the students. What, is the occasion not fancy enough for you?”

Hawk laughed. “I haven’t received a fancy invitation in years.”

“Allow me to change that.” Simon lifted his nose and affected an imperious tone. “To the esteemed Lord Hawkridge. The honor of your presence is requested this evening at the St. Giles School for Girls, which you may recognize as the preeminent, most decorated boarding school in the entire rookery.” Simon dropped the false hauteur and grinned. “Do come. It’s primarily a family dinner. When is the last time you saw your sister-in-law?”

Sister-in-law.

Family.

Zachary still wasn’t used to using these words to describe his half-brother. They had resented each other for decades. Simon, because Zachary had been the one to win their father’s surname...as well as the marquessate, status, and legitimacy that went with it. Zachary, because despite all that, Simon and his mother were the only ones to occasionally win his father’s attention.

It wasn’t until after the marquess died—in the arms of his mistress, not his wife—that Zachary and Simon had confronted each other. Although they quickly realized that the enemy was not each other, but rather their late father’s irresponsible behavior toward the people who loved him most, the path toward a future resembling true brotherhood required effort on both sides. Trust. Forgiveness. Risk.

“Of course I shall attend,” he said immediately. “Consider yourself added to tonight’s social calendar. But tell me, what is the occasion? Are congratulations in order?”

Simon paled and coughed into his fist. “We have more than enough children at the moment. You are worse than Lady Grenville.”

“You know how we old matrons are,” Hawk agreed. “Babies, babies, babies.”

Simon laughed, blissfully ignorant of how badly Hawk wished he were in any position to start a family. He had always dreamed of being the sort of husband his father had failed to be.

To Hawk, marriage could be so much more than a cold business arrangement. A wife he loved and doted upon. Someone whose company he enjoyed outside of strained silent meals and requisite nocturnal visits to beget an heir. Likewise, fatherhood meant being there for one’s child from the first day. Not only when it suited him, as their father had treated Simon. Nor be present only when one was obligated to, as their father had treated Hawk.

He intended to do it right.

“Splendid.” Simon straightened the ribbon on his bouquet of primroses. “I’m sure Dahlia will be thrilled to have a guest at the dinner table.”

“And if she isn’t?” Hawk asked.

Simon grinned wickedly. “If she isn’t, then it will be just deserts. I have been the lone male in an abbey full of females for long enough. It is past time to even the odds.”

Hawk narrowed his eyes. “That’s right, you said ‘headmistresses.’ Plural. Is one of Dahlia’s sisters helping with the school?”

“Camellia is far too busy with the opera, and Bryony…” Simon gave a theatrical shudder. “Can you imagine putting Bryony Grenville in charge of shaping impressionable young minds?”

“Fair point.” Hawk inclined his head in agreement. “One incorrigible hoyden is more than enough.”

Simon shook his head. “Fortunately, we have Faith.”

Hawk’s heart skipped. Did Simon just say… No, of course he did not. Hawk’s overeager mind had simply misunderstood.

“Faith in the children?” he asked cautiously. “Faith in each other?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Simon waved a hand. “I meant Faith Digby. The other headmistress.”

Faith Digby.

Time in the gambling salon seemed to stall, curlicues of smoke freezing midair, the clink of glasses and the slap of cards drowned out by the sudden rushing in Hawk’s ears.

“Faith…Digby?” he repeated hoarsely.

Simon nodded. “She’s not only Dahlia’s closest friend, but also an exemplary headmistress. If it weren’t for Faith’s oversight and administration, the school might not be in operation today. She is the star of the show.”

She also starred in every one of Hawk’s recurring dreams.

The one where he stole their first kiss under a moonlit summer night. The one where he realized he was falling head-over-heels in love. The one where he walked away from the best moments of his life, never to lay eyes on her again.

“Faith Digby?” Hawk echoed faintly. “She’ll be at your dinner table this very night?”

“Er…” Simon tilted his head in question. “My keen investigative senses are telling me you may have already made this young lady’s acquaintance.”

“You should get a promotion,” Hawk said. “Nothing escapes a Bow Street Runner.”

Simon frowned. “My wife thinks the world of Miss Digby. I must admit that I and every one of our students do, too. Have you some reason to dislike her?”

“None at all.” Hawk’s words flew from him in a rush. “She’s an angel. You truly could not have found better. She’s everything that I… That is to say… There’s a tiny bit of history there you may not be aware of.”

Simon crossed his arms. “I’m listening.”

“A decade ago, I may have implied our secret courtship was leading to marriage,” Hawk admitted. “And then broke off all contact.”

“You what?” Simon stared at him as if he’d sprouted horns and a tail.

Much like Hawk saw himself in the looking-glass every morning.

“Not my finest moment,” he said quickly. “I regretted it immediately. If it makes a difference, I had just turned eighteen—”

“It does not make a difference.” Simon reared back in horror. “One does not callously break one’s word—or a young lady’s heart. What could possibly excuse such unforgivable behavior?”

“I cannot excuse it. No one could. But there is an explanation.” Hawk took a deep breath. “Our father.”

“Our father died before you turned eighteen,” Simon said with a frown.

Hawk nodded. “And spent every penny of the marquessate before he went. Worse than that. He opened lines of credit he could never hope to pay with every vendor and shopkeeper in England, and shamelessly abused their goodwill. The debts he incurred in the pursuits of pleasure are nothing short of astronomical.”

Simon grimaced. “I had no idea.”

“Neither did I. No one did.” Hawk rubbed his face. “Except my guardian. Until I reached my majority, an uncle oversaw the marquessate. And what he saw was that there was a short window of opportunity to squeeze even more credit from unsuspecting vendors before the entire house of cards came crashing down. By the time I gained control of the title, it was already too late.”

“And Faith?” Simon narrowed his eyes. “What role had she to play in this?”

“None. She is blameless,” Hawk said with feeling. “I wanted nothing more than to wed her. To marry for love. To raise the kind of family children are supposed to have. A home filled with love.”

Simon frowned. “Then why didn’t you?”

“I could not afford to.” Hawk groaned. “Much as it killed me. She was lower class and poor, and I was upper class and completely indigent. Not only was that not at all the sort of life I would ever offer her, our union was financially out of the question. I was forced to begin a hunt for an heiress bride the very next day.”

“And you walked away from Faith without a single word of explanation?” Simon asked incredulously.

“Of course not.” Hawk winced at the memory. “I wrote her a letter.”

“A letter,” Simon repeated in disbelief. “No doubt she loved that.”

“She sent me to the devil and told me never to darken her door again,” Hawk admitted. “You can see how this makes your dinner invitation a wee bit awkward.”

“You’re an idiot,” Simon said baldly. “I have a complete featherbrain for a brother.”

“I was an idiot,” Hawk corrected. “Ten years ago. I was young and foolish and over my head with responsibilities and debts I never knew existed. If I could do it all over again…”

Simon raised his brows. “If you could do it all over again?”

Hawk didn’t answer.

He could not have married Faith back then, no matter how much he wanted to. If he could go back in time, the honorable thing would have been never to court her to begin with. He could not provide for her then or now. She had always been better off without him.

And yet the thought of losing a single stolen moment with her twisted a dagger in his heart.

“I never got the chance to give her a proper apology. In person,” he added. “With real words. Out loud.”

Simon stared at him. “And you think she’ll forgive you?”

“No,” Hawk said honestly. “I wouldn’t, if I were her. But she deserves a heartfelt apology.”

“I’ll say.” Simon shook his head. “Many, many apologies.”

Hawk rubbed his face. “I’m just afraid that if I see her, if I speak to her, it will only make things even more complicated.”

“Are they complicated?” Simon asked dryly. “You were horrible to her a decade ago. You realize this now. You’re sorry.”

“But there’s no way to put it right.” That unfortunate reality had tortured Hawk for years. He had never meant to hurt her. And yet, he’d done exactly that. “It’s too late. Too much time has passed.”

Simon was silent for a long moment.

“Maybe not,” he said at last. “Look at us. We didn’t speak for nearly thirty years, and now…we’re brothers.”

Hawk stared back at him, speechless.

For so long, he had yearned to see Faith again. Now that the possibility was at his fingertips, the idea terrified him. Not only might this be his one chance to apologize face-to-face, but also an opportunity to finally move on. To cease carrying a torch for a past they could never relive. He would give the long overdue explanation, and they would go their separate ways.

Someday, he might even stop dreaming about her.

“Am I still invited to supper?” he asked his brother.

Simon let out a deep breath. “As long as you don’t upset Faith.”

“I won’t force her to talk to me.” Hawk straightened his shoulders. “And I promise to leave at once if she throws anything at my face.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” Simon glanced at his pocket watch. “Come. We’re going to be late.”

Hawk tugged his threadbare riding gloves onto his hands. He had no open account to settle. “I’m ready.”

Simon scooped up the primroses and rose from the table. “Meet me there?”

“Be right behind you.” Hawk pushed to his feet and followed his brother out of the Cloven Hoof.

Simon’s horse was tied to a post just outside, which meant he would make it home far faster than Hawk could navigate his old coach through the congested city.

There was no time to go home to freshen up before heading to St. Giles. Besides, not only was Simon’s home in one of the poorest neighborhoods in London, Hawk was already wearing the finest outfit he owned.

So be it. Perhaps evening coats and trousers that seemed shabby and unfashionable by Mayfair standards would seem positively glamorous in a rookery.

He shook his head wryly. It had been years since last he was glamorous.

But when his aging horses pulled the old carriage to a stop in front of his brother’s boarding school, a niggling doubt blossomed in Hawk’s gut.

In a neighborhood like this, leaving one’s carriage behind could mean losing it forever. Even with a scrappy young driver inside, Hawk wasn’t completely certain the horses would still be attached when he came back out. And he couldn’t afford to replace them.

He glanced around and forced his runaway worries to settle. Simon would not have put him in danger. In fact, if Hawk didn’t possess entailed properties, a neighborhood like this would perhaps be his home as well. He should not be so quick to judge.

He turned toward the front steps, jaunty hat at a smart angle and walking stick in hand, when a sudden impulse caused him to turn back toward his driver and hand the young man the walking stick. Its hidden sword would be far more useful out here in the street than inside a school.

Empty-handed, Hawk turned his back to his carriage and quickly made his way up the walk to the front steps of the boarding school and banged the knocker.

When the door swung open, Hawk crossed a clean-swept threshold out of the soot-covered rookery and into another world.

The butler was not a portly old fellow with ruddy cheeks and a pompous air, as Hawk was used to, but rather a slip of a girl of no more than twelve years of age, possessed of pointy elbows, crooked teeth, and the brightest smile Hawk had ever seen. He could not help but return her grin.

Despite the crumbling brick comprising the façade of the building, the interior of the school was bright, clean, cheery, and open. Because it had been converted from an old abbey, the architecture boasted flourishes like decorative moldings and beautiful arches.

He shrugged out of his greatcoat. A crackling fire was just visible through the corridor connecting the next room. The murmur of animated voices and muted laughter bubbled from the other side.

Hawk willingly relinquished his hat and coat to the girl-butler, and then followed eagerly toward the salon containing the voices.

It had been years since he had shared a family meal with anyone but his mother, who often preferred to dine alone in her private quarters. With luck, moments like these with his half-brother and wife would not be a one-time occurrence, but rather the new normal.

He nervously straightened his waistcoat. The only thing better than having a brother would be having a brother he could count as a friend. A cozy dinner with Simon and Dahlia was exactly the step needed to set their awkward little trio off in the perfect direction.

Except tonight, there would be a third party at the table. A third party who belonged even more than Hawk did. A third party who might have forgotten him altogether, although she had never left his heart for a moment. A woman he’d dreamed of for ten long years.

When Hawk rounded the corner, he came face-to-face with his past.

Faith.

A jolt of recognition immediately gave way to a sudden rush of longing. It had been years, but Hawk had never forgotten her face. Or the color of her eyes. Or the scent of her hair. Or the soft feel of her skin as he’d curled against her after lovemaking. Or how right she had always felt in his arms.

His heart flipped as years’ worth of regret and yearning surged within him. She was so different, yet the effect was the same. Being near her was the closest to heaven he had ever been.

By the shocked horror in her eyes, she had not forgotten that when his advisors forbade the match, he had not been able to choose love, and instead had walked away from the only happiness he had ever found.

Dahlia leapt protectively between them.

“What the devil is he doing here?” she snarled at her husband.

Simon frowned in obvious confusion at the sudden layer of ice blanketing the once-warm room. “Hawkridge? I invited him. He’s family.”

“He is not my family. And he is certainly nothing to Faith.” Dahlia’s eyes flashed as she linked arms with the lost love Hawk should never have left ten long years ago.

“His presence means nothing to me,” Faith said with bored indifference as she took a seat at the ancient oak table.

The insult of her words indicated his presence very much meant an interminable evening of pain and humiliation for her, and she wished for him to know. He tightened his jaw. The lack of blood in her now pale face would have sent that message even if she had not spoken.

But what was the right path? If Hawk left now, he would certainly never be invited back. But if he stayed… He might tarnish this fragile connection even further.

“Hawkridge is family,” Simon announced firmly as he took his seat at the head of the table. “If I can forgive all the wrongs in our past and create a relationship where before there was none, then certainly my wife and my friend can share an hour’s meal in polite civility with my brother.”

Dahlia sniffed, not bothering to hide her skepticism. “We will discuss this later.”

“We certainly will. He’s my brother.” Simon held out an open palm toward an empty seat. “My apologies, Hawkridge. Won’t you join us at the table?”

Hawk clenched his jaw. Simon had done nothing wrong. Hawk had created the rift a decade ago.

Faith Digby had every reason to hate him.

Not a day had gone by since then when he hadn’t wondered how differently things might’ve worked out if he had made different choices. He would not be any richer, of course. The marquessate would still be in danger of collapse and ruin. His father would still be dead, his mother would still be disappointed in him, and there wouldn’t be a single society invitation on their mantel.

But he would have had Faith. A wife. Love.

No. Hawk’s stomach churned with regret. Faith deserved better. She had always wanted a family and Hawk still couldn’t afford to give her one. He had ruined the moment back then, but at least he had not ruined her life.

She was free to find someone else. Someone better. He had lain with her, yes, but that was a secret only the two of them knew.

Gentlemanly manners dictated that he make an honest woman of her. At the time, there had been nothing Hawk had wanted more. He had confessed his love to her as well as his intention to inform his guardian in the morning. And follow that encounter with a meeting with her father, in which Hawk had fully intended to beg for her hand on bended knee if need be.

But Hawk’s guardian was his self-serving, vainglorious uncle, who had more than forbidden the unequal match. He castigated Hawk for his duty to his family, to the title, to the marquessate, to their name.

His uncle had called him stupid to consider even for a moment marriage to a chit as common as Faith. His mother had agreed, tearfully pointing out that Faith had been spawned from a family to whom a connection would make the Hawkridges a laughingstock. His advisors confessed that the point was moot—Hawk could not afford to marry for love. Not with the estate’s ballooning debts beggaring them all. They’d be lucky not to be chased out of England.

Each word had been a painful reminder of where his duties lay. He was now Lord Hawkridge. His wife must be his equal in society. Good blood, good family, even better connections. And above all, wealthy. The fate of the marquessate depended on Hawk making a brilliant match. The breaking of his heart—or hers—was inconsequential.

Love was for common people. Duty was for noblemen.

So here they were.

“Thank you,” Hawk said, hoping his voice did not relay the turmoil within.

He took a seat because this might be the last time he saw his half-brother and his sister-in-law. And would undoubtedly be the last time he saw Faith.

Even though she clearly hated him, his love for her came rushing back a thousand-fold with every stolen glance in her direction. He’d never forgotten her. Not for a single night. Perhaps this was a sign that he could finally give her the apology she’d been owed for ten long years.

His chest grew tight. As the years had gone by, the apology had become harder and harder to make. A dragon that could never be slain. A confrontation best avoided.

Until now.