She was doing it for him. “I will.”

“Do this one thing for me,” he begged. “End it with him… whatever it is. Stay away from the club.”

“I will.” Two more days, and she would never look back at it.

“Do this, and I will never ask you for another thing again.”

She wanted him to ask. She wanted to be his partner in this. His Amphitrite. “Duncan…” she trailed off, not knowing what to say. Hating fate and fortune, and wishing she were someone, anyone else. Wishing she were a woman who could fall into Duncan West’s arms and spend the rest of her life there.

“Promise me,” he whispered, his lips on hers, neither of them caring that they were in full view of half of London’s coachmen. “Promise me you won’t let him win in this.”

She returned the kiss. “I promise.” It was the closest that she would ever come to telling him she loved him. “I promise,” she repeated, and it was truth. Chase would not win this.

They walked to the next carriage in the line, and he opened the door. She peered in. There were newspapers scattered across the floor. Her heart began to pound. It was his carriage. Was he taking her to his home? Abducting her away from this place? From all the things that kept them chained to this world?

He handed her up into the carriage. “And promise me something else…”

“Anything.”

The wide world.

His hand slid down her leg, sliding under the skirts of her dress, his fingers caressing the skin of her ankle.

“Stay out of the club tomorrow.”

He closed the door and banged on the side of the carriage, signaling to the driver. “Take the lady to Leighton House,” she heard him say as the conveyance lurched into motion. She instantly understood what had happened – he didn’t want her sleeping at the club, so he was sending her to her brother’s house in his own carriage.

She should have been annoyed, but she could not quite muster the energy. She was using too much of it to love him.

She settled back into the soft seat of his carriage, considering all the things she had to do prior to her deadline with Tremley tomorrow – most importantly, telling the other partners that Chase was about to be revealed.

How many times had she shaken her head at the actions of men in love?

They were nothing in comparison to the actions of a woman in love.

A light from a streetlamp outside shone bright in the window, illuminating the newspaper on the seat next to her.

She stilled, sure she had misread.

She lifted the paper, not believing it at first, turning the page to the street, waiting for a light to confirm the words. And then the date. The paper she held in her hand would release the next day, ironically, on the same date that Tremley’s offer expired.

There, across the entirety of the page, was a single headline:

Reward for the Identity of The Fallen Angel’s Owner

And beneath:

£5,000 for proof of the identity of the elusive Chase

Chapter 20

Editors of this prestigious paper have had enough of the monopoly of power that exists in London’s darkest corners. We encourage our readers to do what they can to ensure that the country have only one monarch, and one who reigns in public…

— The News of London, May 17, 1833

The Fallen Angel was under siege.

As it was only half-eleven in the morning, the casino floor was dark, but there was nothing quiet about the space, filled with echoing shouts from outside the steel doors of the casino, loud banging on the doors of the building, and the constant din of men outside, filling St. James Street in the hopes of getting their chance for five thousand pounds.

Inside, Temple and Cross sat at a roulette table, waiting for a member of the security team to appear with news.

Bourne arrived first. “What in hell is happening?” he called, pushing through the inner door to the casino from the entrance hall, barred with double locks and a door-man twice the size of a normal person.

Cross looked to Bourne. “You look as though you’ve been through a war.”

“Have you seen how many people there are out there? They’re desperate for entry. Do they simply think we’re going to announce Chase’s identity? Simply because West has lost his mind?” He looked down at the sleeve of his coat and swore roundly. “Look what the bastards did to me! They tore my cuff.”

“You are like a woman when it comes to clothes,” Temple said. “If I were you, I would be more concerned about arm tearing. As in limb from limb.”

Bourne scowled at Temple. “I was concerned about that. Now that the immediate threat is gone, I’m irritated about my cuff. I’ll ask again; what in hell is going on?”

Temple and Cross looked at each other, then at Bourne. “Chase is in love,” Cross said, simply.

Bourne blinked once. “Honestly?”

“Besotted,” Temple said. The word was punctuated by a crash high above, where a well-aimed rock broke a small window and rained glass down onto the casino floor.

They watched the fall of glass for a long moment, before Bourne turned back to his partners. “With West?”

Cross nodded. “The very same.”

Bourne thought for a moment. “Is it me? Or does it seem fitting that Chase’s love story is the one that nearly destroys the casino?”

“It’s going to do more than nearly destroy it, if West doesn’t call off his dogs.”

Bourne nodded. “I assume you’ve —”