Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Miss Chloe Fairchild snapped her mouth closed, so as not to gawk. She peered out the window, the burning lanterns of London dancing in her eyes. The big city.

She’d wished to visit since she’d been a small girl. Compared with the tiny northern village she’d grown up in, London was so busy.

Carriages, horses, and people milled everywhere, even in the dark of night. Lanterns lit the streets and hung from the passing vehicles, filling the night with life.

Nothing of note happened where she was from. Unless one counted death. Which sadly, seemed to affect a person no matter where they lived.

But traveling to London had been a dream of hers and this trip was the small consolation of losing her beloved father so unexpectedly.

The other comfort had been the great kindness of her father’s third cousin, Lady Mildred Wayland. A woman who’d not even known Chloe prior to the solicitor dropping Chloe on Mildred’s door. Mildred had been a wonderful comfort and friend over the past year.

The woman’s soft laugh filled the carriage now. “Impressive, isn’t it?”

Chloe straightened away from the window, smoothing her skirts. She was showing her country upbringing by being so obviously beguiled. People from the city were rarely interested in anything as far as she could tell, and they certainly weren’t awed by the city in which they lived.

She tried to emulate that bored disdain now. “It does smell rather boorish.”

Mildred smiled, still visible in the growing darkness of the carriage. “It does. It’s one of the many reasons I’ve always preferred Berkshire. Fresh, clean air.”

Mildred drew in a deep breath, as though she were back in the country, smelling the crisp pine scent that permeated the air this time of year. Mildred never appeared bored or disdainful. The woman was constantly on the move, filled with sunshine and purpose.

“How often do you come to London then?”

“Quite often.” Mildred leaned closer to give Chloe a conspiratorial whisper as though they weren’t alone. “My nephew needs a great deal of guidance.”

Chloe gave an involuntary shiver at the mention of the duke. Mildred’s nephew, the Duke of Helmsworth, was Chloe’s new guardian.

Even in Mildred’s home, rumors swirled about the man. Dark, dangerous, a rake, a debaucher, a gambler, he was called wild, and that was the nice word…

According to Mildred, he was an untamed man with a good heart. Chloe had no idea how true that statement was. During her brief stay with Mildred, Chloe had learned that Mildred tended to see the best in life and in people. Not that Mildred was a pushover, as far as Chloe could tell, the other woman ran her house and her affairs with exceptional competence. She just did so with a smile and a kind word.

A fact that Chloe greatly appreciated. Except for when it came to Helmsworth… she didn’t wish to see the man for what he might someday be, she needed a decent guardian now. One who could help her find the right future. And by future, Chloe meant husband.

At the age of nineteen, she was more than ready to marry. And it didn’t need to be for love. She was adrift at sea, and marriage would most certainly be the port she required.

She was through her mourning period, and with a bit of luck, the right connections, and a little money, she could make a decent match.

But her new guardian would need to dress her for the season, perhaps fill in some parts of her education, and provide a modest dowry that her father hadn’t given her.

Vicar Fairchild had been good at many things but managing finances had not been one of them.

Chloe sighed, her thoughts returning to the duke. Financial backing was a big ask for anyone. But she suspected the favor would be enormous for the duke, who’d yet to find the heart in his chest.

Though she wasn’t without assets in the hunt for a husband. She’d been told she was very pretty. And she had a natural understanding of people, but particularly of men, and how to illicit her desired reaction from them.

She smoothed down the simple skirts of her wool gown, a traveling gift from Mildred, and tried to calm her racing thoughts. She’d have no idea how to win the duke’s support until she met him. It was silly to worry about the topic now. “Will your nephew be in attendance when we arrive?”

“Difficult to say…” Mildred’s lips pursed as she sat back in her seat. “He’s a man who is used to the freedom that comes with his position. He comes and goes as he pleases.”

These were not words that filled Chloe with even a bit of confidence. “You’re certain he wants me here?”

“Want, dear?” Mildred’s hesitation was gone, an easy smile touching her lips now. “It’s not a matter of want but duty, and he understands that very well.”

Chloe didn’t answer, returning her gaze back out the window. She had Mildred. That was enough. She didn’t need the duke to like her or want her just… help her. A little.

The carriage slowed as the large metal gates swung open. Chloe tried not to stare. She’d never seen the likes of this home with its vast stone front and sweeping manicured lawns. Were they not still in London?

She drew in a tremulous breath as the front door opened and she saw an army of staff coming down the massive stone steps to meet them.

Mildred exited first, her tall, graceful figure looking completely at home in the grand landscape. “Is my nephew home?”

Chloe took the hand of a footman, exiting as well. “No mum,” one of the servants answered. “Away on business for a few days at least.”

Mildred nodded and then looked back at Chloe with a wink. “Perfect. We’ll fill our time preparing for the season while we wait for his return.”

Chloe didn’t answer as she followed Mildred inside. “I’ll write a note to my dear friend, the Countess of Milford. She’ll know which events we should attend. We’ll have tea with her tomorrow, I think, after we’ve gone shopping.”

“Of course,” Chloe’s stomach filled with nervous butterflies. She’d guess even afternoon tea was different here.

“She’ll also know which gentlemen are on the make for a wife,” Mildred raised a finger as she entered the house, stopping in the three-story marble entry. “Though I’ll need to first speak with Ryker about your dowry. That will give us an idea of which men to target.”

Ryker. The name tickled over her skin as she stared up at the massive crystal chandelier that glistened above. “Any amount will do.”

“Don’t be silly, Chloe. You’re now the charge of a duke. It will need to be as grand as the rest of your showing in society. And don’t worry about Ryker. I’ll handle the boy myself.”

“Boy?”

Mildred shrugged. “When you’re my age, one and thirty seems young.”

Chloe covered her mouth with her gloved hand. “Then I must seem very young indeed.”

“Indeed,” Mildred waved her forward. “We’ll have a quiet meal tonight and then we’ll be up first thing in the morning. We’re late in getting you outfitted but we’ll make up for it by being the first customers in the dress shop tomorrow.”

Chloe gave another nod, but in her stomach, the butterflies continued to beat their wings. She wouldn’t rest easy until this meeting with the duke was over.

* * *

Ryker scrubbed his hands down his face. The past few days had been a near failure. He’d been sent by the Emperor to some inn on the North Road to investigate a scarred man who had been seen near the crime scene the night of the murder.

Before he’d left, he’d learned the identity of the victim. Lord Hershem Maxwell. A second son, he was known even among rakish lords for his debaucherous lifestyle. The club barely contained his antics. Most likely, it’d been one of his other exploits that had gotten him killed. A theory Ryker found very comforting.

The one unsettling detail was that the killer had not even attempted to hide his identity. Maxwell had been stabbed by a man with six horizontal scar lines across his cheeks, making him easily recognizable. Several witnesses had been able to corroborate.

It made the killer easier to find with such striking markings, but it also spoke of a man who wanted to be found.

How the Emperor knew to look at this particular inn, Ryker couldn’t say, which was another irritant. Outside the club, Ryker was the man who gave the orders. But he digressed.

The people at the inn knew the man with the scars well. He went by the single name of Adam, and no one knew of any other address. Prone to violence, he was a religious zealot, and had started more than one altercation at the inn over behavior he’d deemed amoral.

But where he was now or when he might return was anyone’s guess.

Three days, miles of roads, bug-infested mattresses, and Ryker had left with a single name and a pattern of behavior. Could he have discovered more? Perhaps. But tonight was the masquerade. And though some might consider the antics of the club fun and games, Ryker took them seriously. He’d been made a man in that club, and he’d honor any commitment he’d given within its walls.

He’d partnered with the Master. They’d agreed to meet fully masked at the masquerade. At precisely eleven, they’d both be at the bottom of the grand stair. That way, they’d be able to keep their identities private.

Ryker would do his utmost to already have a lady chosen and waiting so that he could spend as little time on this game as possible. Truth be told, tonight, all he wanted was his own bed and some peace and quiet.

Perhaps it was time to leave the club. Murders and investigations were not what he signed up for. Then again, what else might he do with himself?

The club wasn’t just a diversion… it was… a shared purpose. Some might think that voluntarily seeking out duels was foolish, but Ryker didn’t agree. The club members were men with no family, no responsibility. These activities filled their lives with meaning, discipline, competition, and skill.

And fun.

It was said that some of the greatest leaders had moved through the doors of the club. Of course, no one could confirm these rumors since their identities had been protected, but Ryker felt the truth deep in his gut. The Club was where men were made.

So, when he arrived home, he immediately took himself upstairs and began to change. His manservant, Thomas, entered. “May I assist you, Your Grace?”

He raised a hand. “I’ll see to myself this evening.”

“And your aunt? She’s requested an audience.”

“She’s here?” He grimaced as he knotted his cravat. “Already?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“I’ll see her and our new guest tomorrow, assuming she brought the girl?”

“She did,” Thomas gave a single nod of affirmation.

Ryker’s frown deepened. He struggled with the knot, his thoughts elsewhere as his fingers tangled in the fabric. Thomas finally crossed the room to assist him. Once done, Thomas reached for his cufflinks, attaching the metal holders despite Ryker’s assurance he didn’t need help. Ryker held out his wrist, knowing he’d leave more quickly by just accepting the aid. Thomas inserted the cufflinks, opening them to secure his cuffs. The diamond-encrusted pieces glittered in the candlelight. “Tell my aunt I shall see her and my new charge when I break my fast tomorrow morning.”

Thomas nodded, smoothing the shoulders of Ryker’s jacket. “I’m sure she’ll agree. They are also about to leave.”

Leave? He reached for his over coat, shrugging on the garment. It was rather late to take a child out, but he was certain his aunt had her reasons. Perhaps they were going to a dinner party with other nobles who had children the same age.

After reaching for his mask and gloves in the chest of drawers within his dressing room, he gave the knot at his neck a final tug before he made his way back downstairs and out to his waiting carriage.

The trip to the public hall was short, the event blessedly close to home. Unlike a private party, the refreshments here would be sparse, ratafia one of the few beverages, and every person paid a few coins at the door. All fine with him.

He didn’t wish to be seen as a lord tonight. Just another man here to meet a lady.

The Master was already standing by the stairs when he entered. “You’re early,” he rumbled. This evening had not been going to plan.

“So are you.”

He frowned. “I just got back into town after being gone for several days. I thought it best not to stay home long or I might not have left at all.”

One of the Master’s brows rose above his black mask. “Ah. Yes. Investigating the murder.”

Ryker cocked his head to the side. Who else knew he’d been put on the task of investigating? “I see at least one member is not as keen on keeping secrets as I am.”

“That’s why you’re the Keeper,” the Master gave him a one-sided grin. “But as it stands, most members noted that you were tapped at the end of the meeting. I think we all assumed you’d been chosen to aid the investigation. As was I, but my searching took place here in London.”

He grimaced. Had he known that was an option…

He swept a gaze over the crowd to make certain no one was inadvertently listening to their conversation.

“Shall we discuss what we’ve each discovered?” the Master asked, shifting closer.

It was his turn to raise a brow, his gaze finding the Master’s once again. “You’re asking me, of all men, to divulge information at a public event?”

The Master gave a single low chuckle, or perhaps it was a grunt, as his arms crossed over his broad chest. “A tidbit that you’ll share with the entire group. No more.”

Ryker scoffed, a low sound that rumbled in his throat. “He was murdered. I can confirm that fact.”

The Master’s low chuckle bloomed into a loud, easy laugh. “Well played.”

Speaking of play…

As his gaze swept the crowd again, he noted the open door at the back of the hall. Positioned perfectly in the arch of the doorway, a woman stood outside, resting her arm on the stone rail that encased the veranda, her porcelain skin glowing in the cool moonlight.

She was perfect.

“I’ve just found my quarry,” Ryker said.

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’m winning,” he answered, adjusting the mask over his eyes. “Now, keep up. This should be quick and painless.”

“I should hope so. It’s just a kiss.”

Just a kiss. Something heavy settled in his limbs as he started for the woman. Why was it that with some women, this one in particular, the idea of even a kiss was thrilling?

He paused. Perhaps, he ought to go home. Lose. Clean up the spunk at the whorehouse.

Because he should not be this thrilled at the idea of a simple peck on the lips.

But she turned then, her profile catching the light that glistened off her blonde hair. Damn, but she was a beauty.

He forgot his misgivings as he made his way out the door.