Prologue

PROLOGUE

The Club With No Name…

Masks were a necessity. The flickering candlelight cast the room in shadow, but the covering of their faces ensured that their identities were kept secret.

That was part of the fun…

Much of Ryker's position at the club was to make certain that their meetings, their games, even the club itself, was kept in complete confidence.

Only one man knew all the members' identities, and he was called Emperor. Ryker had his suspicions about who the Emperor actually was, but he kept those to himself. Wasn't it his role as the Keeper of Secrets to guard what should not be shared?

And besides, life had trained him not to say what should not be said. Likely why he'd been given the position in the first place.

His job was usually easy.

The Club was made up of men with power and position and most wanted their activities here to remain out of the public eye.

Only the occasional fellow decided he wished for others to know about his illicit activities. And that's when Ryker stepped in.

But that wasn't what tonight's meeting was about. Tonight's agenda had a far darker subject matter… murder.

Specifically, one that had occurred three nights prior when one of their members had been killed just outside The Club's doors in Hadley Square Park. Across from The Club, the man had been on the way to their monthly meeting when the unfortunate event had occurred.

The question on everyone's mind was this… Was the murder random, targeted to the man in question, or somehow related to The Club?

The third seemed unlikely and yet…it had happened right outside their doors.

"Can we know his name, now that he's dead?" A man called from the end of the table. The other nine members turned to the Emperor, who's only reaction was to grimace.

"How can we determine the cause of his murder if we don't even know who he is?" another called.

The Emperor leaned forward, his eyes narrowing under his mask at the impertinent speaker. The Emperor commanded with unparalleled dominance. "We keep our identities secret to keep all of us safe."

"Except we're not all safe, are we?" a third called, a man with a ruby red mask, his dark hair sweeping back from his high forehead. He was known behind these walls as the Master of Sins, and he created the games the members often played.

Well-liked for this fact, and for his easy ways, the other men murmured their agreement.

Behind the Emperor, the Summoner cracked his knuckles, silencing the murmur. A massive man, the Summoner never spoke, Ryker believed he was mute, but it was entirely possible that he just chose not to speak. Who could say?

But either way, as the Emperor's second, and the one man who delivered messages should they be needed, he knew several of the men's identities. It made everyone more comfortable that he was built like a brick house and was equally silent.

"We don't know that," the Emperor barked back, his hands spreading out on the table. "If you're that concerned, perhaps you should give up your seat."

Silence fell.

No one wished to give up his seat. The occasional man decided that he tired of the play, but the club's turnover rate was incredibly low.

To act with such debauchery and then have a group with which to share without the worry of consequence…it was just too good.

"That's what I thought." The Emperor sat back in his seat. "Now…" He glanced about the table, "I've considered your words and have decided to create a subcommittee to explore the death."

There was a rumble of assent about the table that Ryker did not share. Because, if he wasn't mistaken, the Emperor's gaze, from behind his jet black mask, landed upon him.

He didn't need a murder investigation to add to the list of problems that were landing upon his door.

Just this week he'd received a letter from his father's sister. Never married, Lady Mildred Somerset had spent much of her adult life meddling in Ryker's. It wasn't that he didn't care for the old crow. She was the closest thing to a mother he'd had, his own gone far more than she'd ever been available to Ryker.

But Aunt Mildred had a way of always disapproving of his life and his choices. And now, some distant country cousin had died and his daughter, according to Mildred, was now in Ryker's charge. What the fuck was he supposed to do with a child? A girl no less?

His lip curled into a sneer. Aunt Mildred would be filled with all sorts of thoughts on the matter. Love her, treat her like your own. You're too much like your father, Ryker. Don't you want to be different from him?

He could hear Aunt Mildred already and she hadn't even arrived with the girl. Inwardly he bristled at her imagined words, words she'd actually said often enough. He was different from his father. Aunt Mildred was wrong.

He ticked off the mental list of ways he was different. He didn't neglect a wife or child. Didn't make promises he had no intention of keeping.

Despite being the new Duke of Helmsworth, Ryker had vowed not to marry. In that way, he'd never repeat his father's mistakes. Wasn't that different enough?

Shifting in his seat, he turned to more fully face the Emperor. "Who is going to be on this subcommittee?"

"Messages will be sent to the chosen men," the Emperor rumbled back. "In the meantime, I will turn the meeting over to our Master of Sins. Since our meeting three days ago was interrupted, we've yet to be given our next challenge."

The energy shifted in the room but for the first time in years, Ryker was not all that interested. Be it sexual conquest or physical challenge, Ryker only listened with half an ear as the Master stood. "This month's activity will be lighter than usual since we've suffered a loss and everyone is in preparation for the upcoming season…"

Ryker looked at his folded hands, studying the pale skin where his signet ring usually sat. He took it off for the meetings to help hide his identity, but he wished he hadn't. Even the challenge was reminding him that his aunt would be coming to stay for the foreseeable future. As events for London's season would begin in just a few weeks, she'd likely spend the remainder of the winter and most of the spring in his home.

"With that in mind," the Master continued. "You are to collect, at the minimum, a kiss from a perspective debutante. She must have never experienced a season."

Ryker's head snapped up. A kiss? That was it? Normally the challenges were much more…interesting.

"Remember, you're not to get caught and neither is she. If you do, these are the most innocent of ladies and marriage will be the consequence. Along with your removal from the club, of course. Will all that said, you will need proof. There is a public masquerade this Friday. I'd recommend partnering with another member to attend anonymously. And as a reminder, any man who does not obtain evidence will be on duty at Esmerelda's."

Esmerelda's was the nearby gentleman's club where ladies of the evening entertained men of their class. Being on duty was not as glamorous as it sounded. Depending on how handily a man lost, he might be washing the beds of the whores.

Cleaning up another man's spunk was never appreciated and an excellent motivator to complete the task.

"Who chooses to participate?"

Men were allowed to skip one challenge a year but no more. Choosing which one was important. Last year, Ryker had saved his pass until nearly the very end when the challenge had been to…well…challenge a man to a duel.

While most members didn't choose to leave, some were forced. The year prior, an earl had been caught debauching a lady and had been forced into marriage.

But in the case of the duel challenge, two members had died.

Two ways in which seats sometimes opened.

So as much as Ryker had little interest in stealing some paltry kiss and even less in investigating a murder, he threw in his coin to signal his participation.

Perhaps the kiss would be fun.

Perhaps the Emperor hadn't chosen him to be part of the subcommittee.

But as the meeting wrapped up, and the men began to leave, making their way to their unmarked carriages, a large finger tapped Ryker's shoulder.

He turned back to stare in the dark, humorless eyes of the Summoner.

Well. Fuck.