“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 isthem. 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 arethey?”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. Ihoped 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.”
