Chapter 1
“Take a break, old boy! Company has arrived!”
Evander Mason, the Duke of Redgrave, ignored the cheerful sound of his friends’ voices and kept his fists up.
Toby, his valet, tried to take advantage of the distraction and threw a punch at his ribs.
His lips twisting into a wicked grin, Evander sidestepped the hit with graceful speed and landed a blow to the younger man’s jaw for his troubles.
Toby let out a grunt as he pedaled backward, and with that, Evander called for a pause in their practice.
“Well met, Your Grace,” Toby panted, rubbing his jaw.
Through his own deep breaths, Evander gave him a nod of respect. It had taken far too long to get his body back into the shape it had been before he had been abducted and tortured, but once his strength had started to come back, he had returned to his daily practice with vigor.
His sweat-soaked muscles ticked with fatigue as he strode away from Toby, loosening the wraps around his knuckles as he went to his brother, Adrian, and friend, Damien.
Both gave him happy, approving looks as he approached, still obviously elated that he had finally crawled out of his den of self-pity.
Then those expressions of happiness turned grim as their eyes settled on the fire scars around his naked neck, then to the ones on his wrists.
To the lash marks across his chest and chiseled abdomen.
They would never admit it, but he was certain his scars terrified them as much as they terrified everyone.
A beast who crawled out of hell itself, people would say.
At least they have never fainted at the sight of me like that one maid.
“What brings you two scoundrels by?” he asked, running a drying sheet over his veined forearms and heaving chest and torso. Both men’s eyes snapped back up to his, and Adrian scowled.
“Hear that, Damien? The man still thinks we are scoundrels.”
Damien smirked.
“How very rude. We are married men now, old boy. Our days of scoundreling are far over.”
Evander chortled, his chiseled lips drawing up into his own smirk as his piercing blue eyes roved over his two friends.
So much had changed about them. He had missed so much of their lives while he was abducted.
Even more after, as he had spent nearly two years hiding in his old family estate outside of London, wallowing in his pain and shutting out the people who loved and had missed him the most.
It had been Damien who had jerked him from the shackles he had put on himself, and slowly, over the months, he began to work toward coming back to his old self. He had started with his body, nourishing it again after months of self-inflicted starvation and getting back to his boxing routine.
When he began to feel physically stronger, he moved on to healing his mind.
That had been by far the most difficult task.
He still had nightmares; he still felt the burn of the rope that had been tied around his neck, wrists, and ankles for months at a stretch.
He still experienced the phantom pain of painful fists and the stinging lashes of the whip whenever he let his mind rest for too long.
Still, he fought through it and worked until he could leave the seclusion of his estate and return to London.
“You look well, brother,” Adrian said, his tone sincere as their matching blue eyes met. “Better every time I see you.”
Damien gave a nod of agreement.
Evander flinched. It was subtle. They meant well when they said such things.
He knew they did, as did everyone who said them, but every time those words were spoken, he was reminded of when he did not look so well.
When his ribs protruded through his flesh, and his eyes were those of a dead man.
When his burn marks were fresh and agonizing. When his pain was…
“Well,” Evander huffed, waving a hand toward the seats surrounding the outdoor table as he took one for himself. “As much as I appreciate you two telling me how pretty I look, I would prefer that we move on to your reason for visiting.”
Damien and Adrian both chuckled as they took their seats, and a maid poured them each a drink.
“Do we need a reason to visit you?” Damien asked.
“How offensive. What would our mother and sister think of me if I did not come to see my favorite brother?” added Adrian.
“Are you saying you do not have a reason you left your wives to come see my ugly mug?” Evander countered, raising his glass to his lips.
He took a long swig of the whiskey, relishing the way it slaked the sizzling heat still shooting through his muscles from his practice.
“He caught us, old boy,” Adrian taunted, looking toward Damien. “The jig is up. Might as well ask him.”
Evander raised a wary brow as he lowered his glass.
“Ask me what?”
Damien swallowed his drink, looking slightly uncomfortable as he set his glass down.
“How are you feeling, Evander?” he asked.
“No,” Evander hastily countered, shaking his head at his friend’s somber tone.
“No, we are not going to do that. I am fine. I am back in London; I am back to myself. You both know this, and we are not going to spend the next hour circling around my feelings before we get to the root of this visit. Mother has been pestering me with such questions enough.”
Even if he was starting to feel that familiar unease again, he was not going to discuss it with them.
For a moment, he considered telling them that he had been receiving threatening letters again.
They had begun arriving a few weeks ago, each one more certain than the last that the past he had clawed his way out of was not finished with him. The words sat on his tongue.
Then he looked at them. Damien, who could not bear to be away from his pregnant wife. Adrian, undone by his son and a daughter no bigger than a loaf of bread. They had built their lives while he was away. He would not drag the rot of his pain into them.
Evander caught the worried glance Adrian and Damien shared over his testy outburst. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a deep, calming breath.
“Apologies,” he offered, injecting a calm tone into his deep voice. “Damien, tell me what you need. You know I would be happy to help you with whatever it may be.”
Damien was not much for smiling unless it was directed at his wife, so when he smirked at Evander, he knew his friend was ready to forgive and move on.
“It is a rather large favor, I admit,” Damien replied.
“I have merely come here for support,” added Adrian. “In case you need convincing.”
Evander shrugged.
“No need to convince me or warn me, just tell me what it is. You know I am always here for you,” he countered.
“Well, you might need a little convincing for this one,” Adrian remarked sarcastically.
“Out with it,” Evander urged, grateful that the tense moment between them had passed and they had moved on to their usual bantering.
“It is about Jeremy,” Damien began to explain. “He is getting married.”
Evander’s brows flew up in surprise.
“Jeremy?” he repeated. “Wandering, debaucherous Jeremy? He is taking a wife?”
“I know,” Damien chortled. “I never thought I would see the day either, but it seems our grandmother’s insistent pleas, or threats, for him to finally settle down have gotten to him.”
“And pray, who is the lucky unfortunate soul that has been chosen to tame your brother’s rowdy nature?” Evander asked.
“Here is to hoping she is lucky,” Adrian interjected. “However, Bridget has a lot of faith in her. Apparently, they were acquaintances at one time, and I have been told that the bride-to-be is a particularly bright ray of sunshine.”
“Yes, she has been a friend of Jeremy’s for years,” Damien added. “Her name is Helena. Miss Helena Robinson. She is the daughter of the late Baron Robinson. Do you remember him?”
Evander stilled. The earth beneath his feet gave way. Suddenly, he was unable to draw breath into his lungs.
“Evander?”
The glass shattered in Evander’s hand as he squeezed his drinking glass too tightly, and his friends froze.
Helena Robinson?
Memories flooded his mind of a long-forgotten time.
A time when he was on top of the world. When he was brave enough to face anything—except talking to Helena in person.
She was exactly as Bridget had described—a ray of sunshine.
One that shone so brightly that it cast everything and everyone else into dull shadows.
Evander had always been fearless before he was captured.
He had not been afraid of anyone. But when it came to Helena, he transformed from a fearless man to a love-struck boy quietly longing for her.
He remembered their letters. How timid he had been after sending his first one, so timid that he had not signed his name.
How relieved and happy he felt after receiving one from her in return.
For months, they had corresponded, sharing their deepest secrets and desires through pen-sketched words while he kept his identity a mystery.
It was thoughts of her that had kept his will to live from extinguishing entirely while he had been tortured, even long after he had given up his hope of returning and finally meeting her.
After he was rescued, such hope never returned.
He had been too broken, a hideous beast, to return to a woman who was full of such pure light.
“Evander!” Adrian snapped.
Evander jolted out of his shock, surprised to see that Adrian was now at his side, holding a cloth napkin to his bleeding palm.
“What?” Evander asked, staring down at the growing crimson stain on the crisp white napkin that was pressed into his hand.
“You tell us,” Adrian urged. “Should we fetch the physician?”
“No,” Evander said quickly, forcing himself to pull away from the memory entirely. “No, I am all right. I just… had a spasm in my arm, that’s all.”
He caught Adrian and Damien sharing a look of doubt.
“I am fine,” he said, enunciating each word as he closed his fist around the napkin. “Damien, go on. What do I have to do with Jeremy getting married?”