Chapter One

December 14, 1818

Harding House

Manchester Square, Mayfair

London

What fresh hell is this?

Captain Cornelius Harding—Lord Timelbury—rubbed his eyes with the fingers of one hand while his mother continued to harangue him about his apparently deplorable unmatched state.

The dear—and he used that term loosely—woman had recently moved into Tetford House, where his sister and her husband of perhaps half a year resided in Berkley Square, yet here she was at his home, and telling him there was something odd about him and the fact he hadn’t married.

When gritting his teeth didn’t alleviate his ire, he blew out a breath of frustration. “Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I am not ready to take a bride, or that I might not trust women enough to let one close again?”

His mother waved a hand in dismissal. With her slim form and her gray-streaked brown hair scraped back into a severe bun, she looked more harsh than she truly was. “Pish posh. That happened four years ago. Why haven’t you put it behind you?”

Why indeed?

A muscle ticced in his cheek as he looked at his parent. “Possibly because men sometimes don’t enjoy having their hearts broken and refuse to usher in that sort of pain a second time.” Slowly, he shook his head as he offered his teacup for a refresh. “Leave it alone, Mother. I am well enough.”

“I rather doubt that.” But she put another measure of the amber liquid into his cup, frowning when he dropped a lump of sugar into the brew. “Life is passing you by, Cornelius. It’s time you wed and set up your nursery.”

“Why? There is no title for me to pass along since mine was awarded to me, and I don’t have many holdings other than this townhouse and the country estate.”

He had been given the lordship and a monetary award to buy an estate from the Regent for extraordinary services rendered to the Crown during his service in the war. So he’d bought a country estate and rented a townhouse in London, but he made a living with smart investments and the occasional public speaking appointment.

“What I do have, I plan to leave to Annabelle.”

Though, his sister was married to an earl and she wouldn’t have need for such things.

“As the Countess of Hazelton, Annabelle will be busy enough without managing your affairs.” His mother looked down her hawkish nose at him. “The easiest solution is to marry and have a son.”

“As if I have control of either outcome.”

“You know, dear, sometimes people can surprise you.”

He glanced at the other woman in the room who had just spoken. Aunt Beatrice, was his father’s sister. She often came over to check on him and to take tea with him once a week. She was his mother’s opposite in every way. While his parent was tall and thin, Beatrice was short and matronly with a round face and cherub-pink cheeks. Blue eyes and blonde hair had probably once been quite the beauty in society, but she’d chosen to remain unmatched. Never had he gotten the story of why.

For whatever reason, she and his mother apparently thought him in danger of becoming a recluse who would lock himself away.

“I appreciate that insight, Auntie, but matters of the heart are best left to the owner of said organ, don’t you think?” Why did both of them assume a man was useless without a wife?

“Personally, I am not certain men have the capabilities to make such decisions.” She genteelly sipped her tea as if this conversation was perfectly normal and not a judgment of his character. “While I understand why you are reluctant to offer your heart to a woman again, I agree with your mother. You’re not getting any younger. How old are you?”

“Nearly six and thirty. I’ll be that on Boxing Day. What does it matter?”

The ladies exchanged a glance.

Aunt Beatrice continued. “You need to forget about your last failed relationship, Cornelius. That woman missed her chance, and quite frankly, you were far too good for the likes of her.”

“Ha.” He snorted in derision. “So it would appear, since she threw me over for an earl.” That didn’t mean the sting of her betrayal didn’t bother him. The woman had left him standing by himself at the church, and had a footman deliver a note telling Cornelius that she had fallen in love with an earl and wished to marry him instead.

As if what they’d had over the course of a damned multi-year engagement had meant nothing. Not for worlds would he tell these two ladies the other reason his former fiancée left him, because if he did, he would have to acknowledge the break was his fault, and it would send him into a dark spiral he might not be able to pull out of.

“In any event, the Christmastide season is nearly upon us.” His mother’s sharp gaze took him in from tip to tail. “That means there are plenty of societal events in Town just now. I would like for you to attend at least half of them you’ve been invited to. No doubt at one of them you will meet a suitable candidate for a wife.”

Perish the thought.

The last thing he wanted during this time of the year was to court a romance. In fact, the holiday season was ruined for him, all because of that damned embarrassing betrayal and breakup.

“Bah.” He shook his head then finished his tea. “While I have no faith in romance any longer, finding one during Christmastide holds even less appeal for me.”

His mother frowned. “Why?”

“This time of year makes it far too easy for women to fall in what they think is love, for everywhere they look, there is evidence of couples and romance, couples marrying, couples having or expecting babies. The list goes on. What they are really feeling isn’t love but infatuation and the thought that they must chase what their friends are experiencing. It’s merely a way for women to trap men into marriage.”

And it was nauseating.

Aunt Beatrice looked at him with compassion in her gaze. “That is a rather dim view of things, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps I am too jaded, or perhaps I simply don’t have patience to start that process all over again, but the two of you pestering me about my marital prospects isn’t helping.” He leaned forward and rested his cup and saucer on the low table. “Once Twelfth Night is over, that magic fades and women start to regret their choices. They’re stuck in a relationship, or worse, an engagement, they no longer want, for they were never in love to begin with.”

“How sad for you, Cornelius.” Aunt Beatrice shook her head. “To go through life seeing everything and everyone as a scheme or con.” She shook her head. “Your father would be so disappointed. He wanted so much for you; to be better than he was.”

“I am better than he was. At least I’m alive.” Though somedays, that was suspect.

His father had been a naval man. More away from home than he’d been home, Cornelius had grown up without that masculine influence. By the time his father had come back to London after he’d retired, Cornelius had bought a commission into the military, but his father continued to forget his troubles and demons with various vices.

The war with Napoleon had lasted far longer than anyone had anticipated; he’d survived battles and had seen horrific things no man should ever have to bear witness to, and when he came home with his mind scrambled and his soul scarred, it was to the news that his father was suffering from an ailment of the lungs.

Of course, Cornelius had no knowledge of the illness because no one in his family had seen fit to write to him and tell him, so where he thought there was an opportunity to reconnect with a father he hardly knew, when he visited that man, it was to be told he was on his death bed.

They had run out of time, and that was one of his only regrets.

“Don’t speak ill of the dead,” his mother said in a waspish tone. “Your father did the best he could, and he was a good provider.”

Yet that hadn’t stopped his mother from having an affair with another man. Cornelius rather suspected she didn’t know that he knew, but since it had ended with that man’s death a year before his father had returned home, he’d never said anything about it.

Such was life, he supposed, but it only meant that even though his parents had supposedly married for love, they couldn’t keep that emotion heated enough to last the course of the union. Not something he wished to keep as a goal.

“I am not; it was merely a statement of fact.” His nerves felt as if they were crawling beneath his skin, and his legs were restless to move. “If there is nothing else? I have business yet this afternoon that will take me away from the house.”

Gently, Aunt Beatrice cleared her throat. “Do stay. I particularly enjoy our time together, for in you I see much of my brother, and it helps to heal the grief of his passing.”

Well, damn.

“Fine.” With a sigh, he stood and took to pacing, merely to calm his frazzled nerves. The warmth from the fire was most welcome. “What would you like to further converse upon?”

“Well, your mother and I have been talking. We think that since you won’t put yourself out in society except to go to your club, we will lend a hand in helping you meet eligible ladies.”

He stifled a groan. “How the devil do you plan on doing that?” Did he even want to know?

When his mother smiled, he had the distinct feeling she had been scheming with his aunt, and that none of it boded well for him . “Beatrice and I have decided to jointly host a Christmas Eve party.”

Bloody, bloody hell.

“Wait. Isn’t Annabelle throwing a dinner party on Christmas Eve? Surely you don’t wish to upset those plans that she’s had for some time now.” He would much rather go to his sister’s house than anything his mother had concocted.

“Oh, my poor deluded boy.” She clicked her tongue. “Do you truly think I’m going to trust such a popular date on the calendar to your sister who has no experience in hosting society events?” Another grin had him a bit on the defensive. “Annabelle might believe she’s hosting a dinner party, but in truth, it will be through the efforts of Beatrice and I that the event is much more like a rout with dinner included.”

“And in doing this, you believe I’ll fall madly in love with a woman at said event?” Were they deluded, desperate, or merely hopeful?

“Yes, of course.” His mother nodded, and from her smug expression. “It can’t fail.”

Well, he had a bit about that to say, but he kept silent on the matter.

“Oh, Cornelius, please just come.” Aunt Beatrice set her cup and saucer on the low table as she implored him with her eyes. “For my part, I only want you to find happiness. For far too long, life hasn’t been kind to you. Don’t you think you deserve that now? Or at least peace?”

That caught him off guard, and he paused near the windows. “I’ll admit, I haven’t had either in many years.” How could he, after the war had made him far too broken to carry out the life he’d had before? Not that he’d had many plans in the past. All he’d known was the infantry life for what had seemed like a lifetime, doing what he’d been told until he’d earned the rank of captain…

…and then his mind had fractured.

“Please say you will try. For me,” his aunt continued. “I worry over you every night, say a prayer before I sleep that you will come out right. Above everything, I would like for you to settle, have someone in your life who will take care of you, to see past everything you think you are not and have a glimpse of all that you are, all that you can be if you would but let yourself.”

Finally, he couldn’t bear the pleading in her gray eyes, so like his own. Beatrice always had a way of phrasing things that appealed to his common sense. He bowed his head. “I promise I will attend your rout, and that I will do so with an open mind.” As a general rule, he adored his aunt. Having her in his life gave him back a sense of his father, if only a tiny one. In many ways, she had been more of a parent to him than his own mother had, and certainly she had written to him more while he’d been away at war than his mother had. “Will that make you happy?” Their event was in twelve days. Anything could happen in that time, couldn’t it?

“Yes. Oh, thank you.” She rocked to her feet, for Aunt Beatrice wasn’t a slim miss any longer. In fact, she had never married, but he couldn’t understand why, for she was an agreeable person… unlike his mother. “You don’t know what this means to me.” Then she joined him near the fireplace and hugged him.

“All right, enough of that.” Gently, he set his aunt away from him. “You always know how to wrap me around your fingers, don’t you?” She was an amusing sort, and he dearly wanted to please her. His mother, not so much. “Since you are quite the dear, I’ll go ahead and give you this now.” He fished about in the interior pocket of his sapphire superfine jacket and retrieved a slim, square-shaped box. “I bought this today but wished to keep it back for Christmas. However, perhaps you can make use of it through the holiday season and think of me fondly.”

“How wonderful!” As soon as she opened the box, the candlelight and firelight winked off the pearl and diamond bracelet, all set with silver. “This is lovely. Thank you.” With tears in her eyes, she hugged him again before he set her away at arm’s length.

Uncomfortable with the display of affection and feeling somehow he wasn’t deserving of it, Cornelius cleared his throat. “I’m off for a bit, but will be back for dinner.” It was a promise he’d already made to the two women, and he couldn’t break that.

Rogue’s Arcade Club

Mayfair, London

Since the hour was far too early for dinner, there weren’t that many of his friends or acquaintances around the club, but that didn’t matter much. Cornelius was perfectly content to sit in one of the comfortable wing-backed chairs near the fireplace and sip his cut-crystal glass of brandy. At least he was away from his matchmaking relatives.

“You are the last person I expected to see this evening.”

He glanced up at the sound of Edenthorpe’s voice, and as the duke slowly approached, his gait broken by the limp and his reliance on the cane, Cornelius frowned, for the man—and one of the founding members of the club—seemed older, somehow. Lines of exhaustion framed his face, and when he grinned, the gesture didn’t reach his eyes.

“You look like a dog’s breakfast,” he said by way of greeting.

“Ordinarily, I would dress you down, but today, I suspect that it’s true.” The man collapsed into a matching chair near Cornelius’. “God, everything is a coil.”

“Is the baby well?” The duke had a daughter a bit over the age of one.

“She is. Teething, but nothing worse.” Edenthorpe briefly closed his eyes. “Don’t let on that I told you this, but my wife has just informed me she’s increasing again. Early on, of course, but she’s been a bit sicker with this pregnancy than the last, so sleep is difficult to come by just now.”

Interesting. “I assume you are happy with the news?”

The duke’s eyes popped open, and he managed a wider grin. “I am. However, it also brings more anxiety to me.” With a sigh, he rubbed a hand over the side of his face. “If I’m being honest, I’m concerned over what Lady Stover and her minions will do next.”

“I am as well, though my worries perhaps aren’t as acute as other members here who have wives and families.” In fact, he was one of the last of the rogues who hadn’t fallen to parson’s mousetrap. Of course, he didn’t know many of the newer members of the club. Since the duke invited a handful of men each year to join, there were many Corneilus hadn’t had the chance to meet.

“That matters not. The lives of every man beneath this roof are precious. All of you are friends, brothers-in-arms, closer than blood.” The lines on his face settled deeper. “I couldn’t bear it if one of you were injured or worse because of that woman’s insanity.”

“Has she made contact with you?”

“Not overtly, but recently I’ve had the sensation of being watched.”

Cornelius nodded. “I can imagine your senses have been heightened.” For long moments, silence stretched between them. “It’s been an age since I’ve spoken to some of the rogues. Every once in a while, I’ll have updates about their lives, but I feel as if we don’t have reason enough to gather here altogether and meet face to face.” And he rather missed that.

“I think we have all decided to stick around home and take stock of what’s truly important in our lives.” Edenthorpe glanced at him. “You know, Timelbury, I’m grateful for your presence. You’ve been instrumental in building the backbone of this organization for a long time. In the last several months particularly. When our friends are under attack, you have thrown yourself into the fray without hesitation until the threat was neutralized.”

The praise warmed his insides and caused his chest to swell. “I try. But in all truthfulness, I would do anything for the men in this club. Never have I felt more at home or more understood than within these walls.” Emotion balled in his throat. It wasn’t like him to show such things, so he struggled a bit until he got control of himself. “If I can help to save one of their lives, I’ll do it, because life is already difficult enough for those of us who came home from the war damaged.”

“I quite agree.” The duke rested his gaze on Cornelius. “I have a feeling things will grow worse for us, regardless if it is the Christmastide season.”

“You and the others need to take your families and stay at your country estates. It is no longer safe for you here in London.”

Edenthorpe snorted. “You don’t believe Lady Stover’s minions can’t find us there?”

Cornelius shrugged. “One can hope.”

“No.” The duke frowned. “As much as I want to send my family away for their own protection, I fear that being separated and something happening would completely destroy me where the war couldn’t.”

That was something Cornelius didn’t understand. Of course he loved his mother, aunt, and sister and would mourn if they died, but he rather doubted their loss would destroy him. Send him further into the darkness, sure, but he’d survived other deaths for people he was close to before. “Do the other rogues feel the same? St. Vincent? Lockwood? Broadmoor? Twinsfield?” The list could go on, for there were many men he considered his brothers.

“I would imagine so, but I haven’t talked with some of the men in a bit.” He leaned forward in his chair. “What we need is an old-fashioned council of war with everyone present. We need to make plans and contingencies for an attack if such a thing should occur.” Then an expression of sadness crossed his face. “I never thought when I founded the club that this threat would bring us all together. We’ve become a tightly knit family, and every single man here is vital to my growth and happiness.”

“I think we all would say the same, and to know that you have steadily led us without complaint or obvious fear? That’s something to find pride in.” In many ways, Cornelius admired the duke for what he’d accomplished, as well as envied some of the rogues for their contentment as well as for finding peace where they could. “Set the meeting. It’s Christmastide. We will all share a drink or a cup of cheer, and then once the year turns, we’ll be better suited to meet whatever challenge befalls us.”

“Together.” The duke nodded. “We will not let evil win, and that I can promise.”

“Agreed.” Then he grinned. “It’s good to be part of a mission again. It helps me to focus, for I’ve been adrift for far too long.”

“I understand that, my friend, and if you need to talk, to work out the demons in your mind, I’m here. We are here.”

That meant so much.