by Lauren Smith
“You’re early,” Ashton said calmly to the man in the doorway. He recognized the fellow as one of his grooms—or rather, one of Hugo’s spies who’d spent two years here as a groom. So, Hugo had been moving people into position long before they had even learned of his return.
“Not going to fight?” the man asked.
“I’d rather not, Baxter, if it’s all the same to you. Besides, you need me alive.”
“Aye, I do.” The man flicked the pistol. “I was supposed to rough you up a bit, but I think we can dispense with that. For old times’ sake. Let’s be off. He wants you there by midnight.”
“Very well.” Ashton exited the evening room.
The weight of the white queen in his pocket seemed to grow with every step he took. “Baxter, if you don’t mind me asking, what is your impression of your mission?”
“How do you mean?”
“You’ve known me for two years, worked as my groom, sometimes as my footman. What possible reason do you think Hugo has to act against us? Have you ever seen me as a threat to the country?”
“Not my place to say, sir. But with all the secret meetings you lot have had and adventures off in other parts, I reckon you must be up to something no good.”
Ashton almost chuckled. That, at least, confirmed his belief that Hugo had convinced his men that the League were dangerous in some way. “Fair enough.”
Tonight he would face the darkness of Hugo Waverly’s heart, and the League would be tested like they had never been before. His mind flashed back to the river, the darkness, the sucking depths, and the fear that what had happened that night would repeat itself.
I did my best to predict all the moves. The game is now out of my hands. Please let me be right. The white queen could be the key to everything.
27
Charles brushed his fingertips over Lily’s cheeks, picturing himself as an old man, still holding her in his arms and marveling that he had been granted a long and happy life with her. She watched him, her eyes the purest blue he’d ever seen.
He pulled her body beneath his, covering her with slow, soft kisses. She tilted her head back, exposing her throat, and he ran his fingertips down the delicate column until he reached her collarbone. She sighed dreamily and stroked her hands up and down his arms as he nibbled on her throat. Each time he gave her little love bites, she giggled and then moaned. He slid one hand down to her breasts, exploring the peaks. The pale-pink nipples were perfect tips, and he shifted down her body so he could take them into his mouth, sucking on them until they were hard and Lily’s breath came out faster.
Charles wanted to linger over every inch of her skin, learning her secret spots that made her moan and call out his name. The ticklish spots on her lower waist, the flare of her hips, and the soft skin behind her knees—all of it was a gift to him, a precious thing he feared he had so little time to enjoy.
“Do you want me to make love to you, wife?” he whispered.
She lifted her head from her pillow and nodded slowly. “Yes…husband.” She whispered the word tentatively, like a child afraid to speak about Christmas lest Christmas never come. But she need not ever worry. He would stay her husband as long as he drew breath. He sat back on his heels and pulled her up onto his body. She was less afraid now, growing bolder in bed now that she knew there would only ever be pleasure between them.
She watched him slowly enter her and then moaned so sweetly, it made his body rigid with a desperate need to draw out this final climax. He wanted to bask in the glow that seemed to emanate off her as she gave in to her pleasure and abandoned her fear. Lily gripped the pillow on either side of her head, her back arching, her breasts on perfect display as he claimed her, and she in turn claimed him in a way no other woman ever had.
I am yours, will always be yours.
His body trembled as she came apart beneath him, and then he followed her over the edge of bliss. His vision turned white for an instant as he surrendered to their shared passion. He hoped, deep within his soul, that they had created a life between them in this moment, that something of him would remain with her if he didn’t survive whatever Hugo had planned.
“I love you.” The words trembled on her lips as though she might weep, as though she feared she’d never have another chance to say them.
He bent his head and covered her lips with his, wanting to ease the ache he saw in her face. Danger was coming, he could feel it, yet he felt strangely calm. Not unlike a man condemned to die who had been given his fill of a glorious sunrise—the brilliant colors, the vibrant skies, all of it. He would soak up the glory of those final glimpses. That was how he felt with Lily. He would worship her now and take that memory into battle with him like a shield.
She drifted to sleep, and he held her a long while before he slipped from bed and dressed. Despite what Ashton had told him, he sensed within his bones that whatever was coming was coming tonight, and he wanted to be ready.
He’d just finished buttoning up his waistcoat when the door handle to his bedchamber began to turn. As the door opened, he raised his fists, expecting…well, he had no idea what would come through the door.
When it did open, a man he recognized stood before him.
“So, it’s you,” he said to Daniel Sheffield.
Daniel’s grim smile looked bleak in the candlelight. “He didn’t trust anyone else to bring you to him.” He held no weapons. Charles tensed, wondering if he could stop this man in a fight if it came to it. No one could match him when it came to boxing, but at the same time, he was no assassin. Lily had bested him in fencing because she knew when to break the rules.
“You won’t fight me.” Daniel said this without arrogance but rather with a calm assurance.
Charles didn’t lower his fists. “I won’t?”
“You might make a show of it, but we both know you’re going to come. Because the others have. Because you know I’m not truly alone. And because he has the child.”
Every muscle in Charles’s body went rigid, and he glanced toward the bed behind him. Thankfully, Lily hadn’t awakened. He couldn’t let anything happen to that child.
“Very well.” Charles lowered his fists, and he and Daniel exited the chamber with Lily still lost in the land of dreams.
Daniel had a coach waiting outside, and Charles followed him into it. Neither man spoke as the coach lurched forward. Daniel watched the streets through the windows, and Charles stared at his hands clasped in front of him. His fingers trembled slightly, but he hid it easily enough by clenching them tightly together.
“You say the others came willingly?” asked Charles.
Daniel gave a half smile. “I never said that. But it was far too easy to capture you all. Of course, that was expected.”
“Expected?”
“Sir Hugo has a more cunning mind than you realize, Lonsdale. He anticipated Ashton’s plan to let you all be taken easily long ago, I’m afraid.”
Charles leaned forward. “What does he hold over you, Sheffield? Or did he buy your loyalty?” He asked this not with anger but curiosity.
“He has no hold over me, nor did he buy me. He saved me at a time I thought I couldn’t be saved. That sort of debt is far stronger.”
“I understand.” Charles thought of the debts he owed to every man in the League, and to Peter as well. Some debts could never be repaid.
“Do you?” Daniel asked, but his question was not sarcastic, rather ponderous.
Charles found it easier to speak of the past now. Facing death now made such secrets seem irrelevant.
“I made a foolish mistake as a boy, and it took Hugo’s father from him. And I lost my own father in the bargain—it just took longer to happen. But it wasn’t enough for Hugo that we both lost our fathers. Did he ever tell you that he tried to drown me at Cambridge?”
Daniel was quiet a moment and then spoke. “He did, but I’m curious to hear your side of it, if I may.”
“It was a quirk of fate that brought our circles bac
k together. I had a friend, Peter, one of my few friends at school. And, it turned out, he was a friend of Hugo’s as well. He had us meet one day, thinking we would hit it off, not realizing we shared a common past. Something about that meeting set him off. That night, Hugo dragged me from my room and bound my hands and wrists.” Charles rubbed his wrists, feeling the ropes as if it were fifteen years ago. “He dragged me into the shallows of the river Cam and tied me to a heavy stone. I never stood a chance.” As he spoke, he was borne back into the past, feeling the water swallowing him up and feeling his throat burn with his cries for help.
“Peter Maltby came to my rescue. He was one of the finest men I’ve ever known. He died saving me. My other friends arrived, pulling me from the water, but Peter was lost. I had taken another life from Hugo.” He paused, drawing in a slow, painful breath. “I owe my friends everything for saving me.”
Daniel was quiet a long moment as his gaze met Charles’s.
“He’s going to kill you tonight.”
“I know.”
Daniel paused, as if it physically hurt him to divulge part of his master’s plans. “You don’t. Not really.”
“What about my wife?” Charles asked.
“Unharmed. She and the child will be allowed to live. You discovered her deception then?”
“Yes,” he lied. He was not about to admit that she’d confessed Hugo’s plans to him, or that she was now on his side. But was it possible he already knew? What if Daniel’s words were just a ploy to coerce him into cooperation?
The coach stopped and they climbed out, but his shoulders slumped at the sight of the entrance to the Lewis Street tunnels. Daniel glanced at him, a hesitant look in his eyes. Charles grabbed his arm, hoping he could appeal to this man’s honor in some way.
“Please, do not let him harm the child or Lily. They are innocent. I need to know, whatever happens, that they will escape his wrath.”
Daniel’s dark-brown eyes studied him. “I have spent my life serving my country and repaying the man who saved my life. But this past year I’ve watched him succumb to his own madness. You have my word I will do what I can for them.” His lips turned down in a cold frown, but the frustration seemed to be turned inward.
“Thank you.” Charles released Daniel’s arm, and they descended into the tunnels, which were surprisingly empty, much like when they’d rescued the Earl of Kent. No doubt Hugo’s men had cleared them out. Perhaps even now they were stationed in the shadows, ensuring no one interrupted this private meeting.
When they reached one of the open areas that held the rings for fighting, Charles skidded to a stop. Hugo stood in the center ring.
“Welcome, Charles,” Hugo said with a laugh. “I’ve arranged for a little party here tonight, and you’re the guest of honor.” He waved for Charles to look beyond him.
Behind him in the three usually empty tall metal cells were his friends. Ashton stood in the middle cell, pressed up against the bars, proud and unafraid. Cedric sat on the ground behind him, holding a hand to the back of his head and groaning. In the second cell Lucien was slumped, barely conscious, against the wall, his face bruised. Beside him, Godric was also seated, angry, sweat and blood dripping down his brow. Ashton curled his fingers around the bars, his blue eyes intense with sorrow as he and Charles looked at each other.
“I’m sorry,” Charles whispered loudly enough that they could hear.
Hugo only chuckled. “Come now, I never said this was a surprise party. You were expecting this as much as I was looking forward to it. You knew they would be here, because they carry the guilt of their sins as much as you do.”
Charles stood at the edge of the boxing ring. Despair cloaked him like a shroud. What if Hugo had anticipated Ashton’s every move? Could all his planning have been for nothing?
“Where is she? The child?” Charles asked, not seeing Katherine among them.
“She’s safe.” Godric’s voice was hoarse. “Emily has her.”
“Silence!” Hugo bellowed. “Or I’ll have you shot before your time.”
Thank the heavens, Kat was safe. So not all of Hugo’s plans had gone as they should. He took a small amount of pleasure in that. It proved Hugo was fallible, and that gave Charles faith in Ashton’s plan once more.
“The time has come, Charles. After what you did to my father, to Peter…it’s time for you to pay. A pound of flesh from each of you. The wages of sin, with interest.” Hugo turned to the League in the cages, a gleam of triumph in his dark eyes. Ashton stepped forward, shielding Cedric and the others as much as he could.
“This won’t work, Hugo. You’re trying to tear us apart, just as you always have. Haven’t you learned yet that we only get stronger?”
“Do you really?” Hugo asked. “Or have I worn you down so gradually that you don’t even see where you will break?”
Charles’s soul splintered, like ice over a swift-moving river. He would not survive, not if he lost them. He stepped into the ring, arms held open wide, exposing himself.
“Take me, kill me.”
Hugo looked to Ashton and smiled. “Crack.”
Charles looked to each of his friends. He would do anything for them to have another day with their wives, their families. He would give his life without hesitation to give them but another few seconds of happiness. He owed them that. He owed them everything.
“You want me, Hugo. It’s only ever been about the two of us. Kill me and let this be ended.”
“Loud and impulsive. Foolhardy as always. You’re failing to see the lesson, Charles.” Hugo paced before him, like a lion waiting to be set free from his cage. There was a horrifying confidence in his eyes. “And, as you will see, suffering is the greatest teacher.”
Hugo turned his back on Charles and studied the trapped rogues with a cold, speculative appraisal. The men in the cages tensed, sensing their danger.
Ashton never took his eyes off Hugo. Lucien struggled to his feet, as did Godric and Cedric. None of them wished to die on their knees. Daniel watched from the edge of the ring, his arms crossed, his face impassive.
What can I do to save them? Charles had never felt more helpless in his life, except that night in the river. The past was repeating itself, but this time they couldn’t swim to the opposite shore.
“Lennox, Rochester, Essex, Sheridan… Which of you will stand by him now? He’s brought death and ruin to you all. Surely you would not stand at his side,” Hugo said with a sneer. Then his expression changed. “I am feeling magnanimous. His life is forfeit, but yours do not have to be. I offer you your lives—if you renounce him and walk away.”
“Do it!” Charles begged them, eyes burning with tears. “Leave…please.”
Ashton shot Charles a glance with an expression Charles couldn’t read. Then Ashton cocked his head, as if considering Hugo’s offer.
“You’ve never understood true friendship, have you, Hugo?”
“Oh, shut up, Lennox. You’ve been beaten. You’re all dying tonight unless you agree to leave. Now, if you are wondering why you should believe me, consider this: Having to explain the disappearances of so many of the gentry is a huge inconvenience for me. Abandon Charles to his fate, and I will have no more to do with you, because I know you will never move against me. If you did, your complicity would become public. Therefore, I have nothing to fear from you. Of course, I rather hope you stay because I’ll thoroughly enjoy watching the light vanish from your eyes.”
Ashton chuckled softly, as though amused at Hugo’s offer. “All these years you’ve hated us, but not because you lost Peter or your father. You filled yourself with hate because you knew you would never have what Charles had that night. Love, love from strangers. Our bond is based on love, and sacrifice when called upon.”
“You dare speak of love? Peter was my friend. I loved him, and you fools took him from me! He was my only friend, the—”
“He was my friend as well!” Ashton shouted, in a surprising burst of rage. “And he died trying to s
ave your most hated enemy. You hated Charles even more for that, but what you should have seen from the start was what Peter’s death really meant. He wasn’t trying to save Charles that night—he was trying to save you.” Ashton paused, drawing in a breath. “Because he knew, as your only friend, that your soul would never survive murdering your own brother.”
The wind rushed out of Charles’s lungs. He was suddenly dizzy as he swayed on his feet. What had Ashton meant by that? Brother? No. They weren’t…they couldn’t be…
He stared at Hugo, tracing the lines of Hugo’s face, seeking a familiarity and, to his own horror, finding it. Hugo was a dark-haired version of Charles’s father. He hadn’t wanted to see the truth, had denied those thoughts from ever surfacing. Yet hadn’t he looked upon Kat and sworn he’d seen something of himself in her little face?
I’m her uncle.
Hugo gave Ashton a slow, deliberate clap. “Half brother. Accuracy is important, wouldn’t you agree?” He began pacing again, but he still seemed completely in control. “His mongrel father seduced my mother and she bore me, yet my true father raised me, loved me. He died protecting my honor.” Hugo looked at Ashton again. “Honestly, just whose confidence did you expect to shake with that revelation? It seems to be news only to Charles. And we are not brothers, no matter what blood might tie us together.”
Charles couldn’t have agreed more. Brothers were not made by blood, but love. The men trapped in the cells here were his true brothers.
Hugo stopped pacing and looked slowly, deliberately at Charles. “Since your friends seem reluctant to denounce you, I should by all rights kill them all. Those were the rules, after all.”
Charles said nothing. What could he say that wouldn’t make things worse?
“But perhaps blood should count for something,” Hugo continued, as if considering a new possibility. “Choose one. Choose one of your friends to leave, and I’ll choose one to kill. A fair trade, wouldn’t you say?”
