Chapter One

May 13, 1818

Rogue's Arcade Club

Mayfair, London

Michael Ashworth, Viscount of Winteringham nodded his thanks to a footman who poured a measure of brandy into his glass. Anytime he was in the club, it was a time for him to relax and revel in the relative quiet.

"I feel as if I haven't seen you fellows in an age."

The Duke of Edenthorpe snorted as he leaned back in his chair. They were in a private room inside the club even though it was teatime and there weren't many men in residence just now. "That is because we haven't seen you since the end of February when the contretemps with my brother was concluded. You've chosen to hide, I think." He was the man who founded the club and had hand-picked most of its members.

The one requirement to membership was that each man had to have been a jewel thief at one point in his life. Edenthorpe had done an excellent job at finding the right candidates, and what was more, most of them were veterans from the war against Napoleon. The fact that a good number of them came back from said war with scars—both visible and not—wasn't lost on him either, but they were a family, and they helped each other.

"Nonsense. I have been busy. The estate in Essex has taken a bit of my time." And during his down time, the jumble that his mind was becoming kept him away from most people.

Are you certain? It's not like you to pull away from us."

Michael huffed. "I am afraid the aftereffects of the war are becoming more acute as time passes. When I thought I could keep those episodes under my control, the incidents are more frequent now and it's more difficult for me to pull out of them."

What he would do once they were finally a hazard to functioning in his life, he didn't know, and he didn't wish to contemplate that just now.

"I am sorry to hear that, but I do sympathize. The war took a toll on all of us, and we do what we can to understand this new life as well as how to make room for it." The duke nodded while the others around the table murmured their agreement. "Your mother's health is stable?"

"It depends on the day." His chest tightened when he thought of his mother's current health struggles. "My sister is with her most of the time, but we fear the consumption will no doubt take her before the summer is out. But she is hanging on." Then she could finally join his father in eternal rest.

Along with his wife and his second child. The business of death grew tedious after a while.

"I'm sorry, Michael." Compassion clouded the duke's eyes. "I remember when my parents died. It was a difficult time, and I was on the march at the time."

"If you ever wish to talk about it, I am here too." This from Lord Timelbury, another of the Rogue's Arcade members. The man's black hair was always arranged in a popular style, and he dressed in the first stare of fashion. "I lost my father as well, and though my mother is still quite alive, she's ornery as a mule at times."

A grin tugged at the corners of Michael's lips. "Is she still in Bath to take the waters?"

"Not any longer, no matter how I've tried to encourage her to stay there." The man briefly pointed his gaze at the ceiling. "Unfortunately, she is staying with me in London. She said she didn't want to rattle about the country estate, and besides, since my sister married Hazelton, she hopes to worm her way into that household no doubt to bully Annabelle into reproducing. "

The other man at the table with them—the Earl of Hazelton—turned red in the face and sputtered on a swallow of brandy. "Well, it's not for a lack of trying, but we have both decided if children are not in our future, we won't let that stop us from living life to the fullest."

A laugh was shared by the men at the table, but perhaps it wasn't that hardy from Michael or Sir Alexander Tattingham, who was a relatively new member of the Rogue's Arcade. Out of the men present, they two weren't currently married.

"Don't be in a rush, Hazelton," the duke cautioned. "Once those little ones arrive, your life will change more than you ever thought possible, and it will be a challenge to have a moment to yourself or even with your wife again."

The duke had been married a couple of years and had recently welcomed his first child into the world. During the past few months, a disgruntled countess had emerged within the ton who had made it known she hated every member of the Rogue's Arcade and had begun going after them, but for the moment, Michael was confident they had the winning hand. That didn't stop the concern for the men who were starting families and getting on with their lives despite the ever-present danger.

The earl nodded. The flush had faded but amusement danced in his eyes. "After what I have been through with the amnesia from that attack, I am taking nothing for granted. Every day shows me something new to be grateful for." A frown briefly touched his lips, and for a moment, Michael wondered if the man was going to let his emotions overcome him. Then he got himself together though a muscle in his cheek ticced. "Honestly, I don't know what I'd do without Annabelle. She has been my saving grace, and still must guide me from the darkness at times when I think of all I've lost."

Yes, the man certainly hadn't had an easy time of it, but Michael grinned. "It's good that you and she are so well suited. It takes much of the stress from my shoulders." A year ago, he'd been worried over his sister's prospects, but then she met Hazelton by accident and a relationship had taken off from there. "She is quite happy from all accounts."

"She has certainly enriched my life." The earl waved a hand in dismissal, for he didn't enjoy talking about himself. "What of you then, Winteringham? Do you think you will marry this year?"

"I shouldn't think so." That was the last thing he wanted to do. "I lost my wife barely three years ago; I'm not keen on going through that again." The woman in question would need to be either quite compelling or quite beautiful, and even then, looks weren't enough to build a foundation upon. He glanced at each of the men. " Losing someone close to you—anyone—takes a toll you are sometimes not ready to pay."

Sir Tattingham nodded. His dark brown hair gleamed in the candlelight. "How is your son navigating through life just now?" When Michael frowned, the other man rushed onward. "I beg your pardon if that is too forward or familiar. Some of the other rogues have given me a brief history of many of the men from the club, and I thought this discourse was a way to come and know you better."

"No offense taken." Michael sipped his brandy. He couldn't fault the man for wondering. All the men at the club offered advice to each other at one time or another and everyone knew each man struggled in his own way. "I suppose I'm not adverse to marriage again, but I don't want to enter into another union so soon."

Edenthorpe cleared his throat. "It has been three years, but I also know that grieving is a process and something we all move through at different times."

"I appreciate the reminders."

Timelbury grinned. "If you ever wish to go about Town with someone who is on the prowl, I'd be happy to fall in beside you." He nodded when everyone glanced at him. "Mistress to bed or woman to court, it matters not. Soon enough we'll be facing the holiday season, and I don't wish to enter that alone or listen to my mother lament that soon I'll grow too old to be useful as a husband."

Another round of snickers went through the room.

"Let me think on it, and I will let you know." Though he enjoyed being in society well enough, too many crowds and too much stimulation caused his brain to shut down, sending him into memories where he was locked inside a capsule of time until something jarred him out of them. Of late, they had become worse and went on for longer periods of time. Once, his son had to shake him from one of the fugue states.

I might need help.

"Well, we are more than friends here. We are family, and if one of us is struggling, we all are." Edenthorpe raised his glass. "To the rogues."

"Huzzah!" They all answered together.

Some godforsaken battlefield in France, March 1807

Michael wiped his face, and a smear of blood came away on his glove. They had just concluded a skirmish with French forces. Both sides had suffered casualties, and unfortunately, the Duke of Edenthorpe had been injured with a ball to the thigh that produced copious bleeding. He had been on the opposite side of the battlefield, but he'd witnessed the moment when the duke fell, when another man had jumped in front of a French soldier to take a ball meant for the duke.

And so he'd come running to lend assistance.

Another man by the surname of Langley had just succumbed after taking a shot to the chest, and he'd bled out quickly, much to the duke's horror and sorrow, for apparently the men had been close friends.

Now, Michael and Edenthorpe's brother Cecil Fitzwilliam and a young man by the name of Graham Islington gathered around the duke and the other fallen man in silence to pay their respects. He'd only recently been transferred to the unit five weeks before, and he didn't know these men well, but he admired the hell out of them.

He removed his hat, wiped the sweat from his brow, and then replaced the head gear. "Someone needs to get the duke to safety. He'll need to be evacuated and sent back home."

Edenthorpe shook his head. "No. I am responsible for Langley, and it will be me who carries him back."

"Don't be an arse. You're injured as well," Cecil said as he worked to bind off the duke's leg to stem the flow of blood. "That ball needs removed else infection will set in."

"I am going to do this." His tone brooked no argument. As Edenthorpe glanced about every man there clustered about him, he grimaced when strips of linen were wrapped about his thigh in a makeshift bandage. "Every man here is like my brother; it matters not how long I have known you. We leave the battlefield together or not at all."

One by one, the men nodded.

Graham Islington stood and dusted the dirt from his breeches. "I will prepare Langley's body for transport, Your Grace."

"Thank you." Edenthorpe gestured to his brother. "Help Graham. I need to speak with Ensign Ashworth for a moment." Pain was evident in his voice. "Then you can help be back to camp and we shall make plans from there."

"Damned stubborn fool," Cecil muttered, but he did as bid.

Once they were alone, Edenthorpe leaned his head back against the slight hillock. Shadows flitted over his face but couldn't disguise the agony he must feel. "I have monitored your work since you arrived in the unit, Ashworth."

A shiver of unease went down Michael's spine. "Ah, and I hope you have been pleased with my performance. "

"Very." The duke wiped at the sweat forming on his upper lip. "Who are your people, Ashworth?"

"My father is Viscount Winteringham. My mother is the daughter of an Irish earl, which means she's got a bit of sass to her. I'm the oldest of three siblings, but my sister and I are the only ones to survive into adulthood."

The duke grinned. "I like your description. It shows you have imagination and character." Several moments went by in silence while the duke panted, and blood slowly seeped through the bandages on his leg. "Continue the good fight, my friend. Once your commission ends and you return to London, come see me at the Rogue's Arcade."

"What is that?"

"A gentleman's club I founded for men who used to be jewel thieves."

Michael gasped. "How did you know I was one of them?" No one knew about that part of his past, at least he had assumed so.

"You have much to learn about the beau monde before you inherit your father's title." Edenthorpe scoffed then winced. "Anything concerning the theft or appropriation of jewels or jewelry or even art always makes its way to my ears." His grin was decidedly wobbly. "Ten years ago, the Aegean Sapphire was stolen from a museum in Greece. It happened on a stormy night when lightning had struck the building. In the chaos of putting out the fire, apparently someone sneaked inside and took the jewel—a fifty carat sapphire set in a silver diadem—and it was never seen again."

"Ah." Michael tried not to grin with foolish pride, for that very diadem was tucked away in his father's personal safe, waiting for a time when it could safely see the light of day.

"That was you, correct?"

"Yes." This time he did grin. "I had been enjoying a Grand Tour at the time. Perhaps I was a bit opportunistic, but I couldn't help myself. Jewels have a soft spot in my heart." He chuckled. "But how did you know that?"

"I'm well connected in London, and when it comes to stolen jewels, I'm very interested." The duke winced. Even in the nighttime shadows, his pale face was evident. "Come by the club. I'll make you a member. You've got potential, my friend."

Shock roiled through his chest, but he nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate that." And it was a great incentive to survive his commission.

"I'm happy to do it." He struggled into a more comfortable sitting position. "Now, if only this bloody war would end so we could all return to our lives and the business of living."

"No doubt it will soon, Your Grace. Best of fortunes when you arrive in England."

Present Day

"Winteringham? Are you quite well?"

The concern in the duke's voice snapped Michael back into the present. In some confusion, he glanced about the table, remembered he was at the Rogue's Arcade among friends, then he shook his head. "I am fine. Temporarily lost in thoughts."

With alarming regularity.

"Think nothing of it, Winteringham," Timelbury said in a soothing voice. "We all have our own demons to fight."

He nodded. "Yes, we do." And it would always be so. After swallowing the remainder of his brandy in one gulp, he winced from the burn in his throat and rested the glass on the tabletop. "What have you planned for the evening's entertainment?" At least it would take his mind off his personal troubles and worries.

The duke shrugged. "Soon, I'm off for home. A night in will do me good."

Timelbury chuckled. "You just want to play with that darling baby of yours."

A hint of ruddy color rose above Edenthorpe's collar. "Perhaps I do. It's not every day a man becomes a father, and I don't want to take any of it for granted."

Because it could be taken away at any time. Michael was keenly aware of that as well. He nodded. "I wish you a relaxing evening. As for me, I have plans to pop over to the Reading Room at the British Museum for a few hours." Going there, being surrounded by books always seemed to soothe his frazzled nerves as well as his soul.

Sir Tattingham nodded. "I'm for a rout this evening. Timelbury is coming with me. The Season is at its height, so new ladies are coming into Town every week."

At the last second, Michael stopped himself from rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "I wish you good fortune in hunting, then."

"Will you return to the Rogue's Arcade later?" Edenthorpe asked with a poorly hidden grin. "I'm told a good number of the rogues will be in residence tonight, which is rare as of late."

Yes, everyone was busy with their new lives and their happy marriages and their growing families. Not that he begrudged any of the men that. They had all fought hard to reach those milestones. "No doubt I will. I still need to go home and check on my son. I read him a story before bedtime every night and I don't want to disappoint him. After that, it's the Reading Room and then here. It will be nice to see everyone again."

Without fighting to save someone's life.

Timelbury smiled. "You are a good father, my friend. "

"I appreciate that. Being a parent is a difficult endeavor at times, and at others, I truly believe I'm failing, but the times in between?" He shook his head. "Those are the moments I live for because that is when I feel like I am making a difference."

The duke waved a hand. "Go home, Winteringham. Spend time with your boy. You won't have this time back."

"No, indeed." He stood up from the table. "Until tonight, my friends."

Winteringham House

Grosvenor Square

Mayfair, London

By the time Michael returned home, his son had already enjoyed dinner with his governess and was now playing with his tin soldiers in his bedchamber, as he was wont to do each night.

"Hullo, Christopher." He grinned at the eight-year-old boy, for his strawberry-blond hair stuck up at a stubborn angle on one side of his head. "I trust you enjoyed your dinner?"

"Oh, quite, Papa, and Miss Simpkins always introduces such interesting topics for the meal." When his son glanced up from his soldiers, those hazel eyes so much like his own were full of questions. "We went to Hyde Park today."

"Oh?" Michael sat on the edge of the boy's bed, which upset the delicate balance of the troops spread out upon the counterpane. "I imagine that was great fun." Both he and his son loved spending time at the park, for there was always something with which to fill the time.

"It was. We saw ever so many fashionable people in carriages." As the child's grin widened, Michael was reminded of his wife, for the boy had many of her characteristics, including a dimple in his right cheek. "There was a pretty lady in a white dress and a bonnet decorated with birds."

"Now that is interesting." Women these days had a need or a talent for setting themselves apart from others. Not that such a thing was bad, it was merely different.

"Yes." Christopher nodded. "Miss Simpkins and I discussed the ton . And we've decided that you should go to balls and parties."

Surprise moved through his chest. "Why is that?"

The boy laid a hand on his while holding his gaze. Nothing except honesty and a somberness beyond his years lingered in his expression, and in his lawn night shirt, he resembled a tiny, learned man. "Isn't that how men court women?"

"I suppose, but – "

The child rushed in to continue his thoughts. "Isn't it time for you to marry again, Papa?" A tiny huff issued from him. "So I can have a mama again?"

A thin band of annoyance snaked through his insides. "Is this Miss Simpkins' doing, then? Putting such thoughts into your head?" Though he was fond and grateful for the governess' help in raising his son, if she thought to have him court her , she was profoundly mistaken.

"No." Christopher shook his head. "It's my idea. Miss Simpkins says you probably won't ever marry again because you are too comfortable in grief." Before Michael could respond to that, the boy rushed onward. "Promise you will think about it, Papa. It has been just you and me for a long time. Shouldn't we have another person in the house who might teach us both how to be more interesting, who will come with stories I haven't heard yet?"

Well, he did enjoy stories, that was certain, but that didn't equate to Michael taking a new bride. "I promise to think about it. That is the best I can do." Then he retrieved the book from the bedside table they were currently enjoying. "Now, let me read another chapter to you so you can settle down for sleep. I'm sure you have another busy day ahead of you tomorrow."

It didn't matter how much he loved his son, retreating to the obscurity of the Reading Room couldn't come soon enough.