“Sister—I need to hide. I need your help. It is Stannard—the owner of the gentleman’s club. He will kill me if I cannot pay him. I need help.”
His face had gone chalk-white; his dark eyes pleaded with her, and a tremor passed through him.
Evelyn stared. “But—James!” she managed. “Wasn’t the money already paid? Sebastian told me the debts were settled. What has happened?”
A knock sounded. Evelyn shut her eyes briefly, steadying herself.
“Come in,” she called.
The butler entered, carefully ignoring the fear stamped upon their features as he arranged the tea-things and withdrew. Evelyn turned back to James.
“Tell me what happened,” she said, her stomach tightening with dread.
“I did not mean it, Evelyn—I swear I did not,” James burst out. His expression was one of raw, unguarded horror. “I thought I could repay him. Iwantedto repay him. I wanted to prove myself—to you, to him. I could not bear the sacrifice you made for me. I had to set it right. I had to…”
Evelyn pressed her hand to her brow. His words made little sense—and yet, because she knew him, they made a terrible kind of sense. She staggered back, reaching for the wall.
“You lost it?” she whispered.
“I thought I could win twice as much!” James cried, voice tight with unshed tears. “And I did win—a great deal—but then I lost it all. Every last pound. I thought I could repay him.” His voice cracked. “I only wanted to repay him—and you—for everything you did for me.”
Evelyn’s knees weakened, and she leaned against the wall. Her brother had gambled away the entire three thousand pounds—risked it all in a desperate attempt to double it and repay Sebastian. It was so tragically like him. James was the best of men—loving, loyal, warm-hearted. His great weakness was his need to please, to be worthy. It had driven him to gambling in the first place—a hopeless bid to earn their father’s approval—and it had clearly driven him again, to risk everything, even his life, to repay Sebastian and Evelyn.
“James…” Evelyn whispered. She reached for him, tears blurring her vision. He could not die. She would not allow it. Yet with Sebastian away, she had no idea how to save him.
“Hide me, sister,” James begged, desperation tightening his voice.
Evelyn bit her lip, looking away. How could she hide James at Brentfield Manor? The Dowager Duchess made it painfully clear that Evelyn was only a guest in her own home. Even if that had not been so, the guilt of involving Sebastian’s household weighed heavily on her.
“Brother… if he goes to the townhouse…” Her voice faltered. Their mother was alone. Evelyn imagined Stannard’s men descending upon the house, finding an unprotected older woman. The least they would do was hold her hostage to force James’s surrender. Hiding James at the manor would not save her. And Mama had no one to defend her.
James stared at her in dawning horror, tears welling.
“What have I done?” he whispered.
“Hush, James,” Evelyn said gently, though her mind raced. “Mayhap nothing is lost. We must think.” She looked around the small room, thoughts tumbling through her head. If Sebastian were here, he would know what to do. He would send the coach to fetch their mother, hide James on the estate, and dispatch his solicitors to negotiate with Stannard. But he was not here. She had to find a solution herself.
“I will return,” James said suddenly, rising in panic.
Evelyn turned sharply. “You will stay here, James.” She summoned all the authority she possessed. She remembered Lucy’s words. Gemma’s words. Shewasbrave. Shewasstrong. She had the strength to protect James, whatever it required. “You cannot ride back to London. If any of them sees you, they will kill you. It is a wonder you escaped from London as it is,” she added; her voice softened.
She could not imagine the danger that he was in. Stannard was a dangerous person, with links to criminal activity all over London—if even half of what the whisperers said was true. He could have spies everywhere. He might even have had James followed to Brentfield.
“What can we do?” he whispered. “Mama...”
Their mother was one person who meant the world to him. James and Mama had always had a special connection, and, like Mama, James was emotional and gentle, and they understood each other better than anyone.
“Hush, James,” Evelyn said gently, resting her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. “All will be well.”
Her mind raced. She could not send a rider to London with instructions to bring Mama back to Brentfield, for there was no conveyance to fetch her, and Mama could not ride. Nor could Evelyn command the barouche unless she used it herself; she had no authority simply to order the coachman to London.
She glanced around the room, desperate for some spark of inspiration. Her eye fell on the Shakespeare volume, and two memories rose up—first, the reckless dive that had led her to save Sebastian the day they met; and second, an older, fainter memory of her father.
You are such a good girl,he had said, praising her after she took a dangerous turn at speed on horseback to rescue a fledgling bird from the grass.You are a courageous girl.
The words had been like warm honey—a soothing balm she had carried for years.
“I will go,” she said suddenly.
