Chapter One

November 4, 1817

Hyde Park

Mayfair

London, England

Andrew Culpepper—Earl of Hazelton shifted in his chair in the private room at the Rogue’s Arcade club and grinned at his fellow brothers-in-arms.

“I thank you for the conversation and sharing a meal with me, but now I wish to be off to continue my celebration.” It had been a lovely night, for after years of searching, he had finally managed to track down a piece of jewelry that had once belonged to his mother. She’d been given it from his father on the occasion of her wedding.

One of his friends—Viscount Winteringham—nodded. His red hair gleamed in the candlelight. “Sounds as if you had a proper good day.”

“Indeed.” Unable to keep it a secret, Andrew drew the necklace from the interior pocket of his tailcoat and held it up for his friends to see. “This was once my mother’s. It was stolen from her when I was one and twenty. Ever since I’ve searched for it and finally it surfaced.”

Oval cabochons an inch in length and half an inch in height made up the main part of the necklace of moonstones and milky opals with silver and diamond stars between the ovals. Each piece had a diamond star set in silver at the bottom where a teardrop-shaped opal or moonstone hung.

The viscount raised an eyebrow. “Where did you find it?”

“That’s the best thing.” Andrew passed the necklace to one of the other men at the table so they could examine it more closely. “All of my adult life, I’d been on the hunt for it. My father had called the necklace the Fallen Moon and Stars. For years, I kept tabs on auction houses, pawn shops, and private sales throughout London and parts of the Continent. The good thing about being a former jewel thief myself meant I’d kept fingers in the criminal networks. Unfortunately, I was always one step too late in claiming the piece. Then, this week, the necklace surfaced. At the wagering tables in Brooks of all places. Yesterday evening, I played faro until I was seated at the table of the man who offered it up, for his fortunes hadn’t been strong. With one fell swoop, I won the coin plus the necklace, and now it’s mine once more.” He couldn’t keep the pride or excitement from his voice.

A newer member of the Rogue’s Arcade—Lord Stanchfield—glided his fingertips over the separate stones when it was his turn to hold the necklace. “How did your mother lose it?”

“It wasn’t lost in the traditional sense.” Some of the joviality faded from his person. “There’d been a break in. On that particular evening, my parents weren’t supposed to have been home, there was a rout they’d been invited to, but my mother suffered from a megrim and stayed behind.” He forced a hard swallow to alleviate some of the dryness in his throat.

“You needn’t continue if you don’t wish,” Lord Winteringham said in a soft voice, for all the rogues had suffered anguish and sadness in their lives. Some of it stemmed from being in the war, but some did not. It was another reason they had all bonded so well. “You are allowed to keep some chapters of your past private.”

Andrew waved a hand. “It’s all right, and I long ago made my peace with it. Nearly twenty years will do that to a person.” Still, there was a fleeting tightness in his chest that he experienced every time he thought of his parents and that night. “In any event, I was away at university. Mama was in bed when the thief came in through the window. He’d climbed the ivy on the outside, was quite nimble, really. She must have woken from a sound he’d made, and she witnessed him raiding her vanity, her jewelry coffins. Perhaps she cried out, perhaps she challenged him, there is no way to know for certain, but when my father came home later that night from his club, Mama was dead in a pool of blood on the floor with an empty jewelry box beside her and most of her jewelry missing.”

Both men wore matching expressions of shock on their faces.

Winteringham passed the necklace back to Andrew. “Dear God, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” He slipped the piece into a secret pocket made in one of the tails of his jacket for just this purpose. It also helped that he was well versed in being a jewel thief himself, which was how he had enough coin to fritter away while in university and the miliary afterward. “Despite the years, it never grows easier with the remembrance.”

“No, it never does.” The viscount frowned.

Andrew shrugged. “That moment changed me. As soon as I finished schooling, I went into the military, where I met the Duke of Edenthorpe, but surviving the war—as much as any of us did—didn’t bring me peace as I’d hoped, so I took up boxing.”

Stanchfield snorted. “I’ll wager you learned how to box in the event you ever met the bastard who stole the necklace and killed your mother.”

Heat crept up the back of his neck. “There is that.” Now finding the necklace meant he was one step closer to that possibility. Just because the man who’d lost it at the gaming tables had it didn’t make him the killer and thief, but Andrew meant to investigate accordingly. Yet ever since he’d taken up fisticuffs as a way to spend his leisure time and work off excess energy, he’d found a sort of contentment in his life it had been lacking before. “Well, I should be going. I’d like to take a walk through Hyde Park tonight and hope the rain holds off.”

“It’s a bit chilly though,” Stanchfield rejoined with a shiver.

“Eh, I’ll be fine. The whiskey I had with dinner will keep me warm.” Slowly, Andrew rose from his chair. “Anyone wish to take in the night air with me?”

Both men declined.

“Very well.”

Then Winteringham cleared his throat. “Have you seen Baselford since that disastrous ball a few weeks ago?”

“I have not, but I’ve heard that Edenthorpe and St. Vincent were here at the club a few days before All Hallow’s Eve when the earl stumbled in, his memory apparently gone.” It must have been horrid to lose one’s identity as Baselford apparently had.

A few weeks ago, he showed up at a ball his wife had co-hosted with another man after the earl was presumed dead for years. Wasn’t dressed for a formal society event, had no recollection of who he was or who his wife was, and before anyone could question him, the earl ran out into the night.

The viscount frowned. “Where is Baselford now?”

“I would have no idea, but I hope wherever he is that he can find the help he needs beyond the rogues.” He rubbed a hand along the side of his face. “Of course, we will do all that we can to help him… but he will need to resurface in London for us to do that.”

Everyone knew that Baselford had served in the military, but he hadn’t been in any of the regiments the members of the Rogue’s Arcade had been in, but Edenthorpe enjoyed a friendly connection with him, and apparently remembered the earl from years before, and there were rumors the man had been shot in such a way that there was still shrapnel lodged in his body. Had it contributed to his memory loss? It was anyone’s guess, but until Baselford ceased going to ground and sought out real help, no one could help him or try to puzzle out the real story.

The viscount nodded. “We shall keep an eye open for him.”

“And if you do manage to locate him, bring him to the club, find him a room here, and then notify all of us. He’s going to need help piecing his life together and support to move forward.” It would be all too terrifying to not remember anything about the life he once had. “I’d imagine his wife is worried sick.” Not to mention confused after accepting that he’d been killed only to find him more or less risen from the dead after she’d moved on.

Sticky wicket, that, and one he was grateful that he wouldn’t need to struggle though.

The other man nodded. “We will do our best.”

Andrew tugged on his gloves. “I’m off but hope to see at least some of you at the Patterson’s rout in a few days.”

Winteringham’s grin was this side of cheeky. “The gossip mill says you’re in the market for a wife soon. Is that true?”

Bloody ton serpents. If one of them happened to overhear a piece of conversation, they grabbed onto it like a dog with a particularly toothsome bone. “Considering it’s no secret that I’ve reached the age of forty and my contemporaries at this damned club keep falling to parson’s mousetrap, I suppose I ought to turn my attention to the responsibilities of the title and what will happen once I pop off this mortal coil.”

Over the course of a year or so, a handful of his good friends and fellow brothers-in-arms had fallen in love and were now consumed with being domesticated. Hell, when was the last time he’d seen Edenthorpe or even St. Vincent? Did he want the same for his life? He’d already made his fortune knocking about India after his stint in the war against Napoleon had ended. What was the purpose of that if he hadn’t anyone to pass it on to?

Both of the other men laughed. “We all must fall to the marriage trap at some point, my friend,” Stanchfield joked as he raised his brandy glass to the earl. “Better you than us at the moment.”

Yet Winteringham’s eyes were shadowed with secrets and sadness. “And good luck to you if you choose to give away your heart, for if you happen to lose the woman you love, you will always feel like an outsider.”

Belatedly, Hazelton remembered the man’s wife had died and had left behind a son who was now seven years of age. “No offense, my friend. It cannot have been easy for you, and neither should you rush to replace your wife,” he said softly as his mood sobered once again.

“It is a hazard of life. Love and death seem to go hand in hand.” But he took a deep sip of his own brandy as all joking faded from his eyes. “I truly think losing someone is the price we pay for daring to ask fate for love.”

Andrew’s chest tightened for the pain in his friend’s voice. “Come to the boxing salon if you need to work out aggressions, and bring the boy as well. It’s good for him to learn how defend himself at a young age.” Then he said his goodbyes.

By the time he’d summoned his carriage and stood outside the club, he was obliged to turn up the collar of his greatcoat for a light drizzle had descended upon the city, and with it brought an ethereal mist that rolled across the grassy patches in the squares.

The drive to Hyde Park was relatively short, for the club wasn’t that far. Andrew exited his vehicle at one of the main arches, instructed his driver to return in an hour, and then proceeded to follow his favorite paths on foot while the darkness and drizzle closed around him.

Did he wish to marry? It had long been on his list of things to ponder. Not that the life of a bachelor was something close to his heart. He wasn’t a monk and had enjoyed a willing woman in his bed every now and again, but he wasn’t a rake by any stretch of the imagination. Yes, he drank and gambled, but not to excess, and he had a fortune that he had no use for since his holdings and properties ran like the proverbial clockwork.

Beyond that, it seemed for the past couple of years, he’d lived for the excitement, action, and intrigue he’d found within the Rogue’s Arcade club, and with so many members with questionable pasts and even more delicate mental states, there was always trouble somewhere.

But then, it was in his nature to rescue his friends, save them from themselves if need be… because he hoped that if he ever needed the same, they would all rush in to do just that.

A drop of rain dripped from the brim of his beaver felt hat, but Andrew didn’t care. He was never happier than being outside or doing some sort of activity that moved the muscles and exercised the lungs. Though some of the parts of the path were slippery, he walked with care, for he was well familiar with every aspect of the park.

When a man rushed at him from a shadowy path and plowed into him, Andrew exclaimed his surprise and annoyance. They both careened to the ground. His hat tumbled from his head and rolled a bit down the path.

“What the devil is wrong with you?” he asked as he shoved the assailant’s form from his.

The man didn’t answer. Instead, he renewed his efforts to get off a punch, one of which landed in Andrew’s midsection.

Pain exploded through his belly. Instincts rose to the forefront; he wasn’t a boxer in his leisure for nothing. He scrambled to his feet and at the same time peered at the brigand who’d dared to accost him. “Who the hell are you? What do you want?”

“You know what I want. Give me the Fallen Moon and Stars.” The other man who was dressed in black and a slouch-style cap pulled low over his eyes sprang to his feet, fists raised. “If you do, I might not clean your clock.”

How the deuce did this man know the name of the piece? Only his family had known that. “You can try, but you should buggar off right now. That necklace belongs to me.” Andrew struck out with an answering punch, which caught his assailant in the chin and sent him staggering backward. “I also have a fair knowledge of fisticuffs.”

“You nobs always think learning how to fight in a fancy salon is the same as surviving on the streets.” The shorter, slighter man retaliated with a punch of his own. It connected with the side of Andrew’s face, spinning him about.

“Try me, then.” As hot annoyance rose in his chest, Andrew took a punch to the jaw and one to the stomach, but he gave as good as he got. His footwork was better and faster than the man who’d attacked him. Additionally, as he circled his opponent, his jabs were quicker and sharper, which caught the other man by surprise.

With a groan, his attacker came back with a renewed purpose that had Andrew stumbling backward on the slick path. “Give the bauble over else my employer will not be pleased.”

“Then your employer can call on me in the morning and we’ll talk like gentlemen.” Under no circumstances would he give up the jewels. Thank goodness they were hidden in that secret pocket. It was highly unlikely they would be found. He jabbed with a fist, delivering a quick punch to the attacker’s chin.

“I’ll be taking the jewels right now.” With surprising force, the other man flew at Andrew as if he were a whirling dervish from Constantinople.

Blows rained left and right in a flurry he couldn’t keep up with let alone defend against, so he did the best he could, but a punch to the temple rendered him temporarily helpless and he fell to his knees as pain exploded through the side of his face. The world spun and tilted crazily about him, and no amount of shaking his head would clear it.

Andrew attempted to rise to his feet, but his balance was off, and when the attacker kicked at his chest with a booted foot, he had no defense. With a cry of both pain and denial, he flew backward only to strike his head on a boulder at the side of the path.

Stars entered his fading vision. Pain became his world. As he slumped to the wet ground, the urge to defend himself was still there but his limbs wouldn’t obey the commands of his brain, and as the attacker dressed in black loomed over him, he slipped into the cloying, grasping darkness that enveloped him and dragged him into the nothingness.

He came back to consciousness some time later to several flares of pain in various portions of his body. The ache in his head was quite fierce, enough that he retched upon the wet path on which he laid. As he slowly maneuvered his battered body to his side, he frowned, for there was something very wrong. It felt as if there was a great nothing in his head, as if his brain had suddenly been shrouded.

Lifting his head, Andrew’s frown deepened, for he had no blessed idea of where he was. He only knew it was the dark of night, but no amount of pondering could put a location to the forefront. Beyond that, he had no knowledge of anything. It was quite disconcerting.

As he sat there in the light drizzle on the slightly muddy path, the sound of a horse’s hooves echoed in the air. He felt the vibrations through the ground. Was the rider a friend or foe? Though his head still ached, he attempted to push himself to his feet, but his body refused to cooperate, and he tumbled back to the path like an invalid.

“Hello?” The sound of a woman’s voice echoed through the damp night. “You there. Are you alive or are you simply a bundle of rags that my imagination has convinced me is a person?”

Why the devil was the woman speaking aloud if she thought he wasn’t alive? Before he could attempt to puzzle it out, a dark bay mare came into his hazy line of vision and the light from a lantern on the rider’s pommel temporarily blinded him. He held up a gloved hand to ward off the sudden burst of illumination, and as he narrowed his gaze, the rider dismounted, and to his surprise, there was a flash of tan breeches and gentleman’s riding boots beneath her skirting, hidden once she landed on the ground.

Perhaps she was part of a dream or a figment of his imagination, but he watched her approach with neither fear nor anticipation, for truly he was out to sea on why he was here to begin with.

Wherever here was.