Chapter Thirteen

Anger throbbed through Evan's veins as he glared at the Earl of Starkington while being restrained by Twinsfield.

"Don't do anything you will regret later," the baron said in a low voice. "He isn't worth the trouble."

"He bedded my wife!" The betrayal ravaged through his chest with all the pain of a hot poker. Everyone staring at him could go to hell. Did know one care that he was dying on the inside? "And he's standing there, mocking me, as if he thinks he's going to win her."

"I will," the earl said with a sardonic grin. He brushed an invisible piece of lint from his sleeve. "Compared to you, I am clearly the better choice."

"God, you're despicable." The last thing he wanted to do was be stared at and gossiped about while he struggled to breathe. Just when he assumed he could enter into this life he'd been handed, fate threw him down a ravine without warning. "However, for the time being, I'm still married to Vivian. You have no valid claim, and because of that, I'm warning you to stay away from my wife."

"Or what? You'll come after me? Hit me? Didn't you have enough violence and blood in the war?" One of the other man's black eyebrows rose in challenge. "Demand satisfaction in an illegal duel?" He scoffed. "I rather doubt that, for you are naught but a coward with a shattered mind."

That man was a menace. Evan surged forward despite Twinsfield trying to hold him back. He wanted to land the earl a facer and then continue to beat the stuffing out of him. "Cowardice is never going to war and hiding behind being an heir to a title." How the devil he knew that, he had no idea, but it was much a shot in the dark.

Anger distorted Starkington's expression. "Who are you to judge me?" The earl came at him, swung out with a fist, and when it connected solidly into Evan's midsection, he laughed while Evan doubled over. "In the event that your wife never told you, she has never been able to conceive a child." Starkington kicked out, caught Evan's hip, and sent him to his knees amidst the circle of onlookers. "You will never have an heir and your title will die with you. Perhaps that is for the best. Tainted blood of insanity and all."

"That was beyond the pale. I am not mad." As Evan surged to his feet, Twinsfield clamped a hand hard onto his shoulder.

"You'll have to convince me otherwise, for you are a wreck of a man." The other man sneered, dusted his hands as if merely touching Evan had compromised him. "And if you aren't as mad as you say, what sort of life do you have then? What sort of life are you subjecting your wife to living?" Starkington shrugged. "How can a man wish to live when facing the facts there would be no children, and heir, or even know love again?" His grin was mirthless. "Vivian cannot possibly love a man who cannot remember who he is or who she is, a man who isn't the same man she'd married."

"None of that matters; we've made a fresh start."

Twinsfield's fingers bore into his shoulder. "Don't give him more ammunition. Shut the hell up and walk away."

Before he could acknowledge that, Starkington spoke again.

"By the by, Baselton, do you know where your wife's allegiance lies? I'll wager she loves me more than you, and it's not fair to rip us apart." He lowered his voice. "Perhaps you should bow out and do the right thing."

The urge to cast up his accounts climbed Evan's throat. "She is mine, will always be mine." And he desperately wanted to believe that, for things had been going well between them recently. Yet the devastation behind the anger was more powerful than the first emotion, and as he struggled not to beat the other man to a pulp, guilt plowed through his chest. Had he ruined Vivian's life by coming back?

"Don't make it worse by acting like an arse," Twinsfield hissed as he tugged on Evan's arm. "Be the bigger man. He just wants to nettle you."

"The way I see it, you have two other choices," Starkington said as he turned to leave. "You could divorce her, which means I will win her, or you can usher in the demise you should have had years ago." He shrugged, and his eyes flashed in victory. "I'll be there to pick up the pieces, because no woman deserves to be saddled with a man who has a broken mind and no memories." Then he gave a half-bow from the waist. "Until the next time, Baselton."

He might not remember his past or his marriage, but what he was coming to feel for Vivian felt much like love. Or so he'd thought. Had it been a hoax? A stupid hope on his part? The champagne he'd just drunk threatened to make a comeback, so he didn't protest as the baron led him from the drawing room, and then further escorted him out of the house altogether.

Outside on the pavement in front of the house, he dragged in deep lungfuls of the crisp, cold air until some semblance of calm came over him. Except peace never came. His pulse pounded through his veins, he struggled to take breaths, while his mid-section hurt due to the punch he'd received, the urge to vomit sat at the top of his throat, and all the while, the sensation of cold panic rose. Had he already lost her?

"Go home, Baselton," his friend urged him as he gave him a small shove toward the curb where more than a few carriages waited. "Nothing good will come of darting back in there to challenge the buggar."

The thought of going home, of seeing Vivian, nearly had him retching on the pavement. Evan shook his head. "I cannot go home."

"Then come with me. You can have the guest room. I'm sure my wife won't mind."

"No." The stirring up of his past and what he'd done or hadn't done had left him balancing on the edge of anxiety. Nightmares pressed into his consciousness; the screams of the dying echoed in his ears. The scent of blood clogged his nostrils. Images of wounded friends—dead friends—imposed themselves through his brain. His breathing labored as he looked at Twinsfield without properly seeing him. "When I knew Vivian waited for me to come home after my damned commission expired it was the only reason I could survive the war at times," he admitted in a choked whisper.

"You are no longer there, my friend. You are in England and safe," Twinsfield said in a low, even tone.

Evan ignored that. "Now her allegiance is called into question." He raised his gaze to the baron's and felt at sixes and sevens. "Suddenly, without her as my safety blanket, I…. I am terrified of life again, Twinsfield. What am I going to do?"

"Just as I said. Go home."

"I cannot. She'll be there, and I have already destroyed her life once. I don't wish to do that a second time." Then he gasped. "I assume she went home. I need to go back inside and search for her. God, no wonder she wanted to start her life over without me in it."

"Stop. I will do that. Look at me." A note of command had entered the baron's voice as he gave Evan's shoulder a shake. "Your mind is playing tricks on you. Depression is telling you that you don't matter, but listen to me." He met Evan's gaze. Nothing but earnestness was reflected there. "None of those things are the truth. You are a good man, a decent man, a man who is worthy of every good thing. Whatever is between you and your wife can easily be worked out by a truthful round of conversation."

"Yet I don't know where she is or even how she is getting home."

"I will take care of her. Don't worry."

For long moments, Evan stared at his friend, and then finally nodded. "Thank you, but I must go." Without another word, he ran along the pavement in the opposite direction of the waiting carriages and ignored Twinsfield's shouts after him.

Loverly House

London, England

A half hour later, he found himself on the Duke of Broadmoor's stoop, staring at his front door and wondering if this was a good idea.

If any of it was good.

If he was.

But none of it could be helped. Not in this moment, that was. Raising a hand, he pounded on the door, hoping against hope that someone was home and that they were not yet abed at this time of night.

When no one immediately came to answer his knock, he repeated the actions, louder this time, and as every second ticked by, the more rattled and anxious he grew. Broadmoor probably wasn't the best of men to advise him, since his mind had never healed from his own stint in the war, but it was the only name that stuck out in Evan's mind.

Finally, the door swung open, and the duke himself stood peering out at him. His brown hair was in disarray, the tails of a lawn shirt hung out of his breeches, and an obvious cockstand lay outlined in breeches. He wore no boots, and there were random red marks on his neck that could only be made by heavy kissing.

Evan inwardly groaned. No doubt he'd interrupted Broadmoor when he was about to be intimate with his wife. "God, I'm such a bother."

"Baselton?" The duke frowned as he peered through the darkness at Evan. "What the devil are you doing here and at this time of night?"

"I, uh…" There were too many feelings and emotions slamming through his person to sort them at the moment, but he couldn't deny that he was both happy and jealous of the fact that Broadmoor had such a trusting, happy, and carnal relationship. Obviously, people had lives, and Broadmoor had fought for his, just like they all had, if all the stories he'd heard were to be believed. He cleared his throat. "I have had a bit of an altercation with Starkington over my wife while at the rout. Blows were exchanged, and now I don't know what to do. Didn't know where to go. Accusations were made…"

"Ah." The duke gestured him inside. "I'm afraid my staff has already retired for the night, but I would be happy to get you something to eat," he said as he closed the door behind Evan.

Shadows closed around him. "I couldn't eat anything right now, but I wouldn't say no to brandy or any other spirits you have."

"Of course. Come with me to my study."

"What of Her Grace?"

Broadmoor shrugged. "She will understand. If you are in trauma, that is the greater interest. Quite frankly, my wife is well versed in trauma related to post war mind issues and the problems therein." He led the way along a darkened corridor, and when he entered the room, immediately the scents of leather, ink, and tobacco assailed Evan's nostrils. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll retrieve some brandy."

"Thank you. I appreciate your willingness to extend a courtesy." After he'd more or less collapsed into a leather chair that was well worn but comfortable, he accepted a tumbler of amber spirits from the duke. Then he shielded his eyes from the sudden flare of a match when Broadmoor lit a candle on his desk. "I didn't know where else to go, and since you are one of the rogues I'm not all that familiar with due to your own… experience, I thought perhaps you would be more willing to offer counsel."

"What happened at the rout? Or should I wait for the morning and the latest on-dits?"

"Oh, God, I hadn't given thought to the

aftermath." He took a deep sip of brandy and almost welcomed the burn of the alcohol in his throat. In a low voice, Evan told him what had transpired at the rout. "We hadn't even had time to lure the criminal representative out. As far as I know, those sapphires are still in Vivian's possession."

"There will be other times. You must continue to keep yourself and her safe."

"Which is becoming more difficult since someone threw a rock through my study window last night with a threatening note attached." He relayed the contents of the missive.

"Damn." Broadmoor wrapped his hands about his own brandy glass. "I'm sorry, Baselton. It is like the world has gone mad just now."

"Indeed, it has, which has me more worried and on edge than before." Silence lingered between them for long moments before he spoke again. "Suffice it to say, between the day terrors and the nightmares, Starkington's interference and my wife's secrets, combined with my inability to remember who I was or any of my past, I don't know what to do. Obviously, I want to do what's best for Vivian." His swallow was audible. "If that means she doesn't want me any longer, I should do the honorable thing and let her go. Right?"

"That isn't for me to say, for the state of marriage is difficult to come by and even more difficult to remain in without declaring all out war." The duke stared steadily at him. "You must at least talk with her before making a rash decision."

"While my logical mind understands that, my emotional side balks at that fact. What if we truly are unable to have children? Yes, we can adopt a young one, but none of them can legally inherit the title. Don't I have a duty to that? Most of the rogues I've spoken with have told me I was very attentive toward that and my estates before I went missing."

"While that might be true, circumstances have changed for both you and her. You must decide together to forge a new path since trying to walk the old one isn't feasible any longer." When Evan didn't answer, Broadmoor sighed. "Surely, you won't divorce her merely to let scum like Starkington win."

"Perhaps not…" He finished his brandy in one gulp and then gasped from the burn. "However, I can kill myself, thereby leaving her a true widow." The thought of being parted from her with something as definite as death left him cold and clammy. "After a year, she can marry her lover, or sooner if she's discreet. Especially if she wishes to quell the suicide rumor."

"No." That one-word answer echoed through the shadow-filled study. "Offing yourself won't solve the matter of the heir."

Evan snorted. "I shall be dead, so I will cease caring about that. Vivian will have the unentailed property, and I'll make certain it will remain in her name alone so Starkington can't get at it. I won't need to worry over any of it any longer—or her—and the nightmares will finally stop." After setting his tumbler on a small rose-inlaid table at his back, he held his head between his hands. "I just want all of it to cease, Broadmoor. I need peace and silence in my mind." Quelling a sob in his throat, he rushed to continue. "There is so much pain and grief, so much horror stuck in my head. It's a constant battle between what my dreams dredge up from a life I don't remember, and what I'm trying to hold together in the present. The poor Drury Lane antics from Starkington and the emotions brought up from with being back with Vivian will tear me apart."

"I know it feels hopeless, and quite frankly, this is the most difficult fight you will engage in, but you must hold, my friend." The duke rose to his feet. He left his own glass on his desk as he came around that piece of furniture to rest a hip against the side. "Nothing is ever as bad as going through with ending one's life, not even when your mind is screaming at you, telling you no one cares. Trust me on that." He dropped a hand on Evan's shoulder then stooped down to better peer into his face. "I am worried about your well-being, so you will stay here tonight which will allow me to keep watch over you."

A wad of emotion lodged in Evan's throat. "While that is a kindness I can never repay, I couldn't impose. I am certainly interrupting your life."

"Gammon." Yet a hint of ruddy color rose slowly up his neck. "There will be other nights with my wife. A brother-in-arms is important as well, and tonight, you need me more than she does."

"I don't know what to say." Emotion graveled his voice, made him feel like a lesser man for the weakness.

"There is no need for you to say anything. I was just as lost until Georgianna came along. She didn't fix me, of course, but somehow knowing that she's there, knowing she loves me despite my broken pieces—as well as some missing pieces—it's enough to keep me… stable."

"Thank you." Evan bowed his head. He couldn't keep the tears from wetting his cheeks. "It's a precarious position, but ever since Vivian came back into my life, I feel that there is finally hope."

The duke nodded. "I've been there. Still struggle occasionally with those sorts of thoughts and the darkness. Perhaps one day I shall tell you that story of how I met my wife."

"I would very much enjoy that. Right now, I fear I'm failing on all fronts, and especially with my own wife." Finally in the presence of someone who understood exactly what was happening to him, Evan sat there and quietly cried. Everything was so jumbled in his mind. What was real, what was nightmares?

And above everything, how did he feel about Vivian?

"You are not failing, Baselton." Gently, the duke assisted Evan to his feet. "The war wasn't kind to some of us, and life is by far a crueler mistress than that at times. However, you are a member of the Rogue's Arcade. We do not leave a man behind, and neither do we let them suffer alone." Gripping his arm, Broadmoor led him toward the door. "You will push your way through the current problems, and eventually, you will find your own path. Of that I have no doubts."

"And the threats against the rogues?"

"We will meet the enemy once he's at the gates, and not a moment sooner, so let us prepare for that time, hmm?" With slow steps, the duke guided him through the townhouse and up to the third floor, where he saw him settled into a guest room.