Chapter Twenty
Sebastian gazed out of the window. He had retreated to the one room in the club where he could expect a measure of peace—the library.
A small chamber with a fireplace and two upholstered chairs, it was almost always empty; most men who frequented the club possessed their own libraries and preferred, while here, to play cards or drink.
As he had anticipated, he was alone. He sank into the chair by the fire, staring out over the rain-washed city. Drizzle blurred the rooftops and pattered against the windowpanes, echoing the heaviness inside him. He was miserable.
A dream of Evelyn had haunted him through the night—a vision of soft curves, dark hair, and those deep eyes filled with trust and longing.
He groaned aloud. He could not bear it. He longed to return home.
He could not endure another moment without her, and yet his own shame kept him here.
He was ashamed of his weakness—of having taken advantage of her.
Their agreement had been a marriage in name only.
He had intended to honour it. He had failed, drawn by his own longing into betraying the promise he had made.
“Let me in! A pox on you!” someone bellowed.
A harried club servant protested, “My lord, you are not a member—please, you cannot force your way inside!”
“I do not give a damn about your rules! Stand aside!”
Sebastian rose at once and strode toward the door.
He could sense a fight brewing, and he did not tolerate brawling in places of relative civility.
He pushed up his sleeves. His own training in pugilism had served him more than once, and his sheer physical presence often made would-be combatants reconsider their enthusiasm.
He reached for the handle just as he recognised a second voice—strained, impatient.
“We do not even know if he is here."
Nicholas?
Alarm surged through him—his brother had never visited him at the club before. If he had come here, he must have come with a purpose.
He opened the door just as someone stumbled into the room.
“Your Grace!” a dark-haired man gasped, half falling over the threshold. “You’re here!”
Behind him, the flustered club servant appeared, wringing his hands.
“Your Grace—my sincerest apologies,” the man stammered. “I attempted to prevent them, but they insisted—there was no reasoning with them.”
Sebastian scarcely heard him. His attention was fixed on the dark-haired man before him—wide-eyed, breathless, shaking.
“Lord Calperton?” Sebastian said, astonishment tightening his voice. “What in the world—?”
James did not wait for the question to finish.
“Your Grace—it is my sister!” he burst out. “Evelyn. You must find her. You must save her.”
Sebastian went still. The world contracted to a single, piercing note.
“What?” he breathed—too quietly at first. Then, stronger, hoarse: “What are you saying?”
He stepped closer, bracing a steadying hand on James’s arm—not gripping, but trying to anchor himself against the rising panic clawing at his throat.
“Calperton,” he said, voice roughening, “tell me plainly. What has happened to Evelyn?”
James swallowed, his eyes shining with fear.
Before he could speak, Nicholas stepped forward urgently.
“He arrived moments ago,” Nicholas explained, “insisting he had to find you. I could make no sense of what he told me.”
Sebastian’s pulse hammered. He forced himself not to shake James—not to give in to the wild dread flooding him.
“Tell me,” he repeated, staring into James’s ashen face. “Whatever it is, tell me.”
James’s breath shuddered out.
“It is Evelyn… she has gone missing. She went out to London—to the townhouse—to protect our mother. I will explain why. I could not remain hidden. I rode after her. I could not let her put herself in danger—especially not for me. I found…” His voice broke.
“I found the coach. The one she was using. The horses…” He faltered again.
“The horses were still in their traces. The coachman was gone. Evelyn was gone.” Tears filled his eyes.
“What?” Sebastian breathed. “What in Perdition—?” He looked sharply at Nicholas. “What has been happening?”
“Nothing. Mama is as usual, and Evelyn was miserable, but nothing else—” Nicholas hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “I did overhear something…” He shook his head. “It can wait. Lord Calperton, if you would explain further?”
“Evelyn had gone,” James said hoarsely. “I searched for any sign of her, but all I found were coach tracks—deep ones. A large coach. It headed toward London, so I followed, and now I am here.” He looked at Sebastian with raw anguish.
“You must do something. It is them. They have her. I know they do. And it is all my fault.”
“They,” Sebastian repeated. A pulse was thudding in his forehead, and his heart was thumping faster than he had ever experienced before. “Who are they?” he demanded. “Tell me whatever you know.”
“It’s Stannard. He owns the club. The one where I have the debts.
He wants to kill me. That was why I fled to Evelyn.
I hoped she could hide me. But I must have led them there.
I must have...” he trailed off, looking away.
Sebastian could see the agony and guilt written in every line of his pale, tortured countenance.
“Stannard,” he said at once. “But...” He gaped at James.
“I know,” James said miserably. “I lost everything. I cannot undo it now. What matters is saving Evelyn.” His voice cracked. “If Stannard would kill me, then I—” He faltered, words dying on his tongue.
Sebastian felt a sharp flare of fury—not at James alone, but at himself. He drew in a long breath, steadying it, refusing to let the emotion control him.
Where were you? his conscience demanded. Where were you when she truly needed you?
Shame twisted sharply within him. He had hidden himself at the club when he should have been home. James bore blame, yes—but Sebastian bore his share as well.
He turned to Nicholas.
“I am going to assume he speaks the truth,” Sebastian said, his voice hard but controlled. He faced James again. “Where is this Stannard’s club? Would he have taken Evelyn there? How far is it?”
He was already striding toward the door.
“Near Westminster Abbey, Your Grace,” James replied.
“There?” Sebastian stared. The district was infamous—filthy, crowded, built on marshland, inhabited only by the desperate. Crime thrived there; even the watch avoided it. One could be swallowed whole in those alleys.
“I know of it,” Nicholas said, nodding.
“You do?” Sebastian asked, surprised. It was difficult to imagine his quiet brother having any familiarity at all with one of the most wretched gaming hells in London.
“It was mentioned in an article written by an architect,” Nicholas explained. “A discussion of London’s most poorly planned districts. Stannard’s, you said?” he asked James.
“Yes, my lord,” James murmured, keeping his gaze fixed on his boots.
“Take us there,” Sebastian commanded—though his eyes were on James, Nicholas gestured toward the door.
“Someone must summon the watch,” Nicholas insisted soberly. “You cannot go in alone. The club is not in the very worst streets, but close enough. The watch will know the way. I shall bring them.”
He paused, gaze searching Sebastian’s.
“Yes,” Sebastian said. “Summon them. Thank you.”
He meant it. Nicholas was right; they needed men behind them. He would have gone alone, fury and terror driving him—but Nicholas’s clear judgment cut through the haze.
“I will go ahead,” Sebastian added, moving toward the stairs. He looked to James. “Will you come?”
James inclined his head. “Yes. I will. I want Evelyn safe as badly as you do.” There was challenge in his tone, anger even, as if astonished that Sebastian might doubt him.
“Very well,” Sebastian said.
He clasped Nicholas’s hand. “Thank you, brother.”
“No trouble at all, old chap,” Nicholas replied, meeting his gaze steadily. “Take care.”
Sebastian inclined his head. “I will.”
He would do whatever it took to bring Evelyn back. Anything.
As he and James stepped into the inn yard, James said quietly, “We should hire a hackney. There is nowhere to stable your horse near Stannard’s.”
“True,” Sebastian conceded. He still felt the sting of his anger toward James, but he could not deny the sense of the suggestion—nor that it was James’s quick action that had brought the truth to him at all. “We will summon one at once.”
Hackneys were easy to hail in this part of town. Sebastian raised his hand, and within moments a coach rattled up to the pavement.
“Stannard’s,” Sebastian said, distaste thick in his voice.
The driver nodded without comment. “Threepence, my lord.”
Sebastian paid, and they climbed in. The coach lurched forward, racing through the slick London streets.
The scenery changed swiftly—gracious buildings giving way to crowded, darkened tenements, then to sagging hovels.
Smoke hung so thickly it seemed perpetual twilight.
Children, barefoot and muddied, darted through the filth.
A gaunt man hurled a bottle into the street and laughed, drunk beyond sense.
“Where is this club?” Sebastian breathed. The thought of Evelyn anywhere near such suffering and danger twisted something deep inside him.
“Down this road,” James said briskly. “It is not the worst part—but close.”
The hackney turned onto a marginally cleaner, cobbled street and drew up before a low, dark building. Through the haze of smoke, Sebastian made out the painted sign.
“Stannard’s,” he read aloud.
His heart surged painfully. Evelyn was in there. He felt it. He knew it.
James climbed down beside him. Sebastian turned toward him.
“Let’s go.”
James’s face was chalk-white. Sebastian remembered suddenly: Stannard had threatened to kill him. Fury rose afresh, but he pushed it aside.
“Two are more dangerous than one,” Sebastian said lightly—an attempt at reassurance.
James managed a thin smile. “Best pray there are only two of them, too.”
For a fleeting instant, the familiar spark in James’s eyes reminded Sebastian of Evelyn. Wit, courage, a resilience beneath the fear.
His chest tightened.
I love her, he realised with sudden, startling certainty.
Why did I not realise that sooner?
The truth struck him like cold water. His parents had never loved one another—and had claimed it made life easier. But he loved Evelyn with an intensity he had never imagined possible. And he would not let her story end as theirs had. He would not fail her again.
He straightened and nodded to James.
“We go in together,” he said. “Through the front. Reinforcements will come.”
He hoped Nicholas would reach them in time—Nicholas, who never failed him.
James, pale but resolute, nodded. Side by side, they strode toward the door.
They would find Evelyn.
They would bring her home.
No matter what waited for them inside.