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“Devons, open the door,” his half-brother Malcolm, the Marquess of Derry, called from the hallway outside the apartment Sebastian Devons kept at their gentlemen’s club, the Den.

Malcolm had a similar space but seldom spent time there now that he was a happily married man. Sebastian’s brother knocked loudly, interrupting his thoughts.

A blonde naked minx groaned. “Tell him to go away.”

Sebastian smacked her bottom. “Unfortunately, my sweet, I think I’m late for an appointment with him. We have business to discuss.”

Abigail Spencer, a rising star of the London theater scene, rose from the bed and coyly asked, “Are you sure?”

The woman was a vixen and had been quite delightful over the past few hours. He leaned in and kissed her. She tried to pull him down, but another pounding on the door came again.

“Sebastian, we have a meeting.”

He groaned. His brother used his first name. Malcolm never did that, which meant he wasn’t going away. “My sweet, I do think you must go. I would suggest you dress before my brother sees you bare.”

She sighed and jumped from the bed. “Brothers are no fun.”

He chuckled as he headed to the door. Cracking it, he grinned at his impeccably attired brother, who glowered at him in return.

“We have much to discuss.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I’m busy.”

Abigail giggled from within the room.

Malcolm’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “Unbusy yourself.”

“And to think you finding true love would make you less stuffy.”

“Meet me in our office in ten minutes,” Malcolm said before turning on his heels and stomping down the hallway.

After shaking his head at his brother’s retreating form, Sebastian closed the door and turned to see Abigail, almost dressed in a lavender-colored frock that molded to her curves.

The woman was a delight. She’d broken plenty of hearts since arriving in London.

Sebastian wasn’t one of them, but he appreciated the time they spent together, no matter how infrequent. He groaned and reached for her.

She giggled. “You have been summoned, Devons.”

“Just one more kiss.”

“Very well.”

Thirty minutes later and twenty minutes late, Sebastian strolled into their office located on the second floor. Malcolm sat in a wingback chair reading one of the many London society papers.

“Anything good?”

Malcolm looked at him and frowned. “You look like hell.”

Of course, he did, Sebastian thought. He’d been up most of the night entertaining Den guests and then decided to spend time with Abigail.

He hoped he would be able to rest before Den patrons started arriving for the evening.

He pulled his pocket watch out and flipped open the front case.

It was two in the afternoon. If Malcolm left in the next hour, he could sleep for at least three to four hours.

“When was the last time you rested? Or did something besides Den business?” Malcolm asked.

Sebastian’s fingers flicked the white dial forward and skimmed the text on the back case of the watch.

The measure of a man is defined by his actions.

Since receiving the pocket watch from his father at eighteen, he had a habit of opening the front and back cases and skimming the words within.

He snapped the watch shut and dropped down into the other wingback chair.

“Someone needs to keep our customers entertained.”

“I’m here a couple nights a week and for any big events. You could do the same and focus on other efforts or initiatives you are interested in.”

He looked at his brother skeptically. Their establishment was the most successful gentlemen’s club in all of London.

Most evenings, their venue was filled with the elite men of London, who placed bets, had drinks, and enjoyed their nightly entertainment.

Sebastian couldn’t remember the last slow night their club had.

Even if that ever occurred, the Who’s Who of London paid astronomical amounts of money to utilize the decadent cottages scattered throughout the Den grounds for liaisons for which the club guaranteed absolute privacy. These little buildings were used and booked by both men and women.

Often, reservations for the year were arranged during one of the two scandalous balls the Den hosted in the fall and at the end of the season.

Invites to the events were highly sought-after among the peerage and the wealthy.

They promised a night of freedom for all attendees.

Only three rules existed: no innocents, no violence, and no forcing anyone to do anything they didn’t want to.

They were currently planning the Ball of Misdeeds that would wrap up the season.

Sebastian guessed at least half the cottages for the next few months would be booked by the end of the event.

Sebastian rolled his eyes at his brother’s suggestion. “Malcolm, our success is because someone is always here.”

“My point is it doesn’t always have to be you,” his brother countered.

“I’m not a lord like you and nor do I have a family. What does it matter if I spend my time here?”

His brother ran a hand through his brown hair.

They were so physically different from one another.

Malcolm had inherited their father’s brown hair and fair skin, while Sebastian took after his mother, with black hair, dark-brown eyes, and olive skin.

Yet their large builds and mannerisms would suggest a familial connection to any observer.

“I worry about you. You work and play, never leaving the grounds of the Den. Lately, it has been more so than normal. You are burying yourself in this place to avoid what happened with Lady Wesley.”

Sebastian scowled at his brother. He never wanted to speak of the lady again.

She had been a liaison he thought was more until the lady picked a marquess to wed.

He’d been about to propose to the widow when she’d shown up at the Den to wish him goodbye and to let him know that, perhaps after her first child, they could resume their affair.

When he mentioned proposing, she’d laughed and said she couldn’t marry the by-blow of a lord. It was beneath her. He’d been a damn fool, thinking the dowager viscountess would wed him. Yet for a moment, he believed that they had something more. That she thought he was worthy of more.

He pulled his watch out again, flicking back and forth between the back case and the front case.

Not really looking at the words but needing something to do.

A sharp pain sliced across his chest, and he rose, moving to the table where brandy and glasses waited.

He poured some into a glass. His brother made a disapproving sound, and Sebastian turned. “Don’t judge me, brother.”

Malcolm frowned at him with concern. “I don’t. I worry about you. She—”

“I have no desire to talk about her,” he said harshly.

Malcolm pressed his lips together and studied him silently. Finally, he said, “Don’t stay cooped up here. She isn’t worthy of this punishment you are inflicting on yourself. Never leaving the Den, that is.”

Annoyance flashed through Sebastian. “I do other things. You and I are involved in multiple ventures that have nothing to do with the Den.”

“Yes, but if we are honest, your focus lately on anything but the Den, liaisons, and drinking has been minimal. You are drawing yourself into vice to forget her. Acknowledge the pain she caused you and move on.”

Sebastian’s lips twisted into a smirk. Lilah hurt him, and he’d been a fool to think her affection for him was more than an affair.

It had been rash of him to assume she didn’t care about status because she was a wealthy childless widow.

He didn’t want to think about any of that and pushed the thoughts away, focusing on his brother.

Who the hell was Malcolm to judge? He was his partner in this very building of vice they were sitting in.

“Are you judging our club now that you are married? Too much sin for your liking?”

Malcolm glared at him. “I care about the club. I built it with you from nothing and I’m honored to be part owner with you.

All I’m saying is it would do you good to take a break from it.

We could hire some gentleman in need of money or a merchant looking to chat with some lords to keep people entertained. It doesn’t have to be you every night.”

They recently had this discussion more than once. Sebastian couldn’t fathom hiring men who likely had the world handed to them and wasted it to take his place.

As if reading his mind, his brother said, “They wouldn’t replace you, but it would give you the ability to venture out. I can’t remember the last time you stayed at your townhouse in Mayfair or left London?”

Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck, staying silent, not wanting to confirm his brother’s points.

“Just think about it, is all I’m saying. There is more to life than ruling the Den all night, taking a companion home for a couple of hours, sleeping, and then starting all over again. You know that, Sebastian. Snap out of this wallowing or whatever it is.”

Sebastian scowled at him. “I’m not wallowing.”

His brother snorted. “Removing the topic of Lady Wesley, I would like to see you outside of this place more. Is that so much to ask?”

Sebastian sighed. “Understood. Let’s move on. Hopefully, this isn’t the only reason you came to see me today.”

Malcolm shook his head. “I wanted to talk about the Ball of Misdeeds and who the final invitees are.”

Rising, Sebastian moved to the large bookshelves that contained their business papers, books, and ledgers. He grabbed a book with the list of invitees and turned back.

Malcolm was still frowning at him. “You will think about what I said?”

Tired of his brother’s concern, he nodded even though he wasn’t going to do anything of the sort. “Of course.”