Chapter Three

January 10, 1818

Rogue's Arcade Club

Mayfair, London

For the first time since coming back to London, Evan felt comfortable in his own skin. Staying at the Rogue's Arcade for nearly two months had made such a difference in his mindset and confidence. They'd given him a primer on his life and the responsibilities therein, had shown him around Town at the places he'd usually haunted, and then over the course of the intervening weeks, they'd introduced him to the principal people who'd comprised his life before.

With the exception of his wife.

Out of all the club members that he'd met, every man was interesting in his own right and they were very supportive, but he had clear favorites who made him feel most comfortable: Lord Timelbury and Duke of Strathfield and at times, Viscount Winteringham, but he was quite busy it seemed. All of them had apparently come back from the war with some sort of wound—visible or not—and because of that, he understood them. Not that the rest of the rogues hadn't, but some of the other men had married and started families. Their attentions were split, and they didn't always attend the club, so it was more difficult to get to know them.

As he wandered out of the room he'd lived in for the past two months and downstairs to seek out his friends, a certain feeling of restlessness made itself known in his chest. It was officially a new year, and that meant it was time for him to reclaim his life and find purpose again. Being here with his friends, these men who'd known him and had served with him, his confidence had soared. Now he screwed his courage to the sticking place, and he wanted a new direction. Beyond that, he wished to meet the woman who was his wife, to whom he'd been married for nigh unto eleven years, would be twelve this coming June if Timelbury was to be believed.

No sooner had he drifted into the customary private room where he and the others had taken to gathering in the evenings than a man came in looking a little wild around the eyes, his brown hair disheveled, the knot of his cravat loosened and crooked. Evan frowned. He glanced at Baron Twinsfield.

"Who is that?"

"Ah, the Duke of Lockwood. He hasn't come ‘round to visit. Been quite busy in his personal life."

It was the Duke of Strathfield that came up to the mark first. He cleared his throat. "What the devil ails you, man? I've never seen you at such sixes and sevens."

The other man shoved a hand through his hair, further upsetting the style his valet had no doubt labored over. "Two hours ago, there was a break in at my townhouse. I had an errand, which is why I wasn't there." His Adam's apple bobbed. Concern and a trace of fear went through his eyes. "My wife was threatened at knife point. The intruder broke a ground floor window in the library when I came into the library which is where Her Grace was. He fled through it, ran far too quickly along the street, dodging traffic before I could even leave the house." The duke shook his head. "Juliet gave birth nearly three months ago. Her strength is only just now returning. She is a strong woman, but she was quite frightened over this incident. In fact, the whole household is rattled."

"Christ, I'm so sorry," Evan said in a low voice. "That must be disconcerting."

Lockwood narrowed his eyes. "It is. Who are you? Forgive me for forgetting your name but you seem familiar."

"Forgetting is what I am quite familiar with. I suffer from amnesia, brought on by an accident five years ago." He shrugged. "I'm Evan Fairfax. Earl of Baselford."

"Right!" Recognition dawned on the duke's face. "I'd heard rumors you'd returned." He flashed a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Good to have you back."

"Such as I am?" Evan joked in a low voice. "But thank you."

When Lockwood frowned at him, Viscount Winteringham came into the room and laid a hand on the duke's shoulder.

"I just heard." Alarm lined his expression. "Do you know who it was that threatened your wife or who ordered it?"

"I do not." The duke's face paled slightly. "I don't want my family anywhere near London now. I'm not comfortable with this at all."

"Calm yourself, Lockwood." Strathfield gestured them all into various chairs or sofas around the room. "Will you send them to your country estate?"

"I'm not certain. My mind is currently in freefall."

The other man nodded. "Consider this, then. If someone wishes you or your family ill, what is to say the perpetrator won't follow them there?"

Evan bounced his gaze around the room at his fellow club members. All wore the same grim expressions. "I don't know much about the history of the rogues or what has befallen each of you in your lives even after the past two months of your tutelage, but can I assume there are people or entities in London that wish to bring you—us—down?"

"Oh, absolutely." Twinsfield nodded. "People who are unscrupulous dislike it when others help the ones who don't have a voice." He shrugged. "But right is right, and we won't stop fighting. To that end, I volunteer myself and my wife to accompany Lockwood's family to their country estate. My wife's confinement time won't be until sometime in July. Surely, we won't be away for all of those months."

"What?" Winteringham stared in shock. "Your wife is increasing?"

"Yes." The baron's grin was this side of cheeky "I just discovered this fact the other day."

"Well, congratulations, my friend. It seems the rogues are quite fruitful."

Strathfield snorted. "Most of them, but success in life should never be measured on whether a couple can reproduce or not."

"True." Evan nodded, and again he wondered if he and his wife had wished for children. Another round of restlessness came over him. He needed to talk with her, if only to set his own soul at ease.

"While I appreciate that, Twinsfield, I must decline." Lockwood frowned. "Don't you have causes to helm and chaos to enact for men who indulge in the slave trade?"

"Yes, but there are many kinds of evil in the world, Your Grace. The flesh trade is everywhere as is every sort of criminal." He shrugged, and in an aside, he quickly explained to Evan how he and his now wife had become embroiled in trying to topple the men who hauled human cargo, and how they'd both nearly lost their lives, which ultimately led to their engagement and subsequent marriage. Then, to the duke, he said, "I'm quite certain I can right some wrongs while at your country estate, and my wife's become a crack shot since that incident when we were left to perish on that sinking ship." His lips temporarily formed a hard line. "While such criminal enterprises still exist, I rather doubt I'll rest."

A few murmurs of agreement went around the room.

Finally, Strathfield held up a hand. "That's heroic but not necessary, Twinsfield. I won't allow you to put yourself or your growing family at risk." He met Lockwood's gaze. "I will escort your family, my friend. And if there is danger, at least I'm the one at risk. Not a family man."

"No. You are not less valuable because you aren't married." Authority rang in Lockwood's voice. "I can protect my own family."

"Oh, I have no doubt you can, and that wasn't my intention." Strathfield rubbed a hand along the side of his face. He shook his head. "There are a few things that are concerning that I've heard in snippets and bits."

One of Evan's eyebrows went up. "Such as?"

The duke frowned. "There have been grumblings of a new player in the criminal networks of London, someone who hopes to pull various threads and factions together for one common purpose."

Lockwood's frown deepened. "And that would be what?"

Strathfield shrugged. "To come after members of the Rogue's Arcade and destroy every one of them by one mean or another."

The silence in the room that followed the announcement was nearly deafening.

Evan had no idea what much of it meant, but even he knew it was disconcerting, but before he could ask a question, Lockwood was there ahead of him.

"How do you know this?"

"For a long time now, I have worked diligently on forming my own network throughout London. A ring of domestic spies, if you will, people who blend in with every walk of life that will watch… everything for me in return for coin, food, or whatever they want." He paused, a muscle working in his clenched jaw. "In affect, I have a finger on the pulse throughout Town, and unless I miss my guess, Viscount Rockwell's current contretemps is tied up within that budding network, perhaps as an easy mark for the leader to make a statement."

"Ah." Timelbury nodded. He'd been silent for much of the evening until now. "Or put us all on notice, as a sort of dare to see what we'll do." He glanced around the group with a sober expression. "We are going to need to watch each other's backs."

Twinsfield huffed. "Just like in the damned war."

"Exactly." Strathfield nodded but didn't seem thrilled with the prospect. "The more vulnerable members of our club will need the most protection." His regard landed on Evan. "Baselford and Hazelton, especially. Rockwell is indeed in the thick of it right now, but I believe he can handle his own for now until he asks for help. Mr. Burgess is in the Lake District and far removed from the issues here, so he is no doubt safe for the time being. However, he will need to be informed. Aldren has been married for just over a year and has no children, but his boxing salon is coming along. He'll want to stay in Town."

"All to the good." Lockwood nodded but he still seemed ill at ease. "We should convince Edenthorpe and St. Vincent to remove from London with their families as well. Having everyone here presents too big a target, and the men cannot be home all the time with their other responsibilities. If we're scattered it might be more difficult."

Timelbury nodded. He shoved the fingers of one hand through his dark hair. "Or we should send a contingent to Edenthorpe's estate and some to Broadmoor's. Double up. Close our ranks until the threat has been neutralized."

"If I may?" Evan didn't want to join in the conversation, but these men were his friends, and they'd gone out of their way to help him. "Running won't solve anything. If anything, it will be declaring defeat, and don't you think that's what this unnamed threat wants?" As every pair of eyes landed on him, heat went up the back of his neck. "Don't you think I would have fought tooth and nail to get back to London and my life here if I could have? Being away from everything we all hold dear is horrid, and at least you fellows remember it all. If my opinion means anything, we need to make a united stand."

For long moments, silence reigned in the room once more.

Finally, Lockwood rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Perhaps Baselford is correct. Leaving London is essentially declaring defeat. If we rogues leave Town, the balance of power will shift. Evil has a chance to fester and win. I refuse to allow that, for it will mean horrible things for many others beyond us."

"Thank you for taking my opinion into account." Pleasure rose in his chest. "That means so much to me."

The duke nodded. "You are a member of this club. A brother to us all. Which means you are in as much danger as we are." He sighed. "We have no choice but to hold the line."

They were commonplace words, but simply hearing them tossed Evan's mind into a time he scarcely remembered but was as familiar as the nightmares he continued to have.

End of January 1809

Shortly following the Battle of Corunna

Somewhere on the Iberian Peninsula

"I need more strips of linen! And someone to hold this tourniquet! This man will bleed out if I don't get help."

It didn't matter how many times Evan barked for help; there was none to give. Everyone was stretched thin, and the first order of protocol was to fight back the damned French. Even though they were in the countryside and away from the biggest battle sites and even though the English troops had been ousted from the area, the ones that were left had resorted to joining the Spanish troops in fighting with what was called guerilla warfare against their hated enemy.

Hell, at this point, villagers had joined the cause, for everyone was tired of being dictated to by the French and having their lives upended by the same. It didn't matter to him, for he just wanted out of the hated war, wanted a surcease for the never-ending stream of dying and wounded, the streams of blood everywhere.

It was all he saw every time he closed his eyes.

Truth be told, he only wanted to be back in London with his wife of barely three years. The thought of being in Vivian's arms brought him a modicum of comfort. Theirs had been an arranged marriage by their parents, and there hadn't been enough time in each other's company to warrant an unbreakable foundation of love, but in this moment, he missed her and would anything to quit the horrors of war and spend time with her.

"Here are a few more bandages." A young man rushed into the tent that had become a makeshift hospital, but without enough help, far too many men would die. He dumped the strips of linen onto a table then jumped in to hold the tourniquet Evan indicated. "I'll try to stop the bleeding, but I'll wager this leg is going to need amputating."

"That was my thought too."

And God, he hated that part of being a surgeon. Or rather being forced into this profession. He'd never set out to do that in his life. Hell, he wasn't supposed to be next in line to hold the position of Earl of Baselton, but his older brother had perished in this same bloody war not three months ago, and since there was a shortage of doctors already in the field, and since Evan had shown a disturbing and natural affinity for healing, there was no going back once thrust onto that stage.

All around him, the moans and whimpers and screams of the wounded and dying rang in his ears. There were ten cots in the tent, and all were filled with men in various stages of injury. Some were worse than others, but he'd done the best he could in assessing which ones would receive care and which ones were too far gone to worry about. It wasn't fair, but then, this was war and there wasn't anything such asfairness here.

Long ago he'd become numb to the feelings as well as the metallic scent of blood. Truth be told, he hated himself for that, but it was the only way to protect his own sanity. Perhaps after the war ended or his commission expired, he would be able to try and put himself back together and plug the cracks in his soul, but until that time, this was his existence.

"The laudanum is on that table next to you. Give the man enough to send him floating. The pain will knock him out the rest of the way." And he prayed to God that after the amputation, the man would live. He seemed to be strong enough to survive the trauma.

"At once, Doctor Fairfax." The younger man followed the orders while holding onto the tourniquet.

"Thank you." He rooted around on his table where his equipment rested. "Let us hope the line will hold and the damned French will be sent back to hell where they belong. We can all use a day of peace in this godforsaken place." There was simply no way to doctor all these men while in full retreat. Then he took up his bone saw and closed his mind to everything except the job that needed done. Coming back to the table where his patient lay shaking and sobbing, he bit back a sigh. "I'm afraid this will hurt like the devil…" And he closed his ears to the man's screams as he began his grim work.

Present day

"Baselford? Are you still with us?"

A hand shaking his shoulder and the voice of Strathfield filled with concern brought Evan crashing back into the present. Sweat dampened his brow and plastered the fine lawn of his shirt to his back. His fingers had dug into the cushions of the sofa where he sat, and one by one, he relaxed those digits as he came back to himself.

"I am here. Mostly," he finally said as the urge to retch climbed his throat. "Thank you for bringing me back. The nightmares are growing worse." As he glanced around, the worry in the men's eyes both discomfited him and gave him a sense of comfort. "I have no control over when I'll be lost." And it was growing worse even through his time at the club.

"It happens to the best of us," the duke said but didn't leave his side. "We were discussing what should be done to keep us all safe."

Evan nodded, grateful to have something else to concentrate on beside the damned nightmares. "How do we know who is in the criminal network?"

"That's the rub," Strathfield said. "We don't, but it seems to me they need to raise coin to further their plans."

Twinsfield cleared his throat. "If we remain in Town, we should try to draw one of their numbers out into the open. Perhaps offer a large piece of jewelry and see what dangles from the hook."

"Ah, yes." Lockwood slowly nodded. "At least then we could question them, find out who they work for."

They were all horrible choices, and he hated that his friends were struggling. "I might have survived the war and that accident, but I don't want to sit here and cower." Bit by bit, Evan's voice gained strength. "I want to offer myself as a sacrifice." When all the rogues stared at him with varying degrees of shock, he continued. "If someone is trying to pick us off one by one, then I volunteer. Then you lot can capture the person, but I'm the best candidate."

Dissent immediately broke out in the room.

Eventually, after listening to some of it, Evan stood. Though his legs shook and fear gripped his chest, he stood. It was time to give them back something of himself. "I want to help, and since I haven't been here for you all these years, let me be here now. And if my life is forfeit, what does it matter? It won't affect any of you too much."

"Fuck off, Baselford," Strathfield said with the shake of his head. "We haven't made a habit of leaving men behind, we are not starting now." There was enough command in the duke's voice to squelch Evan's arguments. "One thing is certain: it's all or nothing. If one of us falls, we all do, and until we know more about this threat, we will discuss the possibility of either setting guards on each rogue's house or do something else. But this is a group decision." One by one, he met the rogue's eyes. "Tomorrow, we will conduct a council of war with everyone available." Then he looked at Evan. "My best advice to you is to get your house in order, Baselford. If your wife isn't loyal to you, we'll have to move forward without her."

"My wife." The words sent icy fingers down his spine. "The woman I can't remember yet might somehow be in danger because of me." He forced a swallow into his tight throat. "The woman who gave up on me and let some other man court her."

It was Timelbury who came near and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I understand your pain. It's hell. All of it, but life is messy at times. Not all of us have it easy, and we are the ones who are strong enough to bear it. You have survived everything fate has given you up to this point. Stiff upper lip." He gave Evan's shoulder a shake. "We will get through this. And if you find that you wish to fight for everything, then do that. Let the nightmares fuel that energy, but none of us will leave you behind."

Moisture welled in his eyes. He gave a quick nod. "I appreciate that so much. Tomorrow is the day I'll either rejoin my life or forge a new one."

And he hoped to God he could survive this one last thing.