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 arenota 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?”
