Page 2

Chapter Two

“ I should ask you,” Simon slurred, “do you always walk like you’re heading toward enemy territory?”

London’s rain felt like knives, sharp and capable of assault.

Dominic Carlyle, the Duke of Oakmere, felt its blades sting his skin and drip down his neck as if prepared to invade him even beneath his clothes. He tried to ignore how he always did anything that would hinder his movements toward his goal.

To his right, Simon Parker, the Earl of Darfield, stumbled slightly as he walked toward St. James’s.

Dominic did not answer, although a scathing remark had formed on his tongue, scratching to get out.

He heard it.

First came a sharp cry, then the thud of bodies colliding, followed by the rustle of fabric. Somewhere nearby, a commotion had broken out, and damn it all , he suddenly needed to know exactly what was going on.

“There,” he muttered, stopping Simon mid-step.

In a dim corner of the alley, lit only by the flicker of a dying gaslight, a well-dressed man struggled against three others.

Everything about him screamed money—from the gleam of his polished boots to the cut of his expensive coat.

It also shouted idiot , because who in their right mind would venture into this part of town dressed like that?

One of the thugs already had his hand in the dandy’s coat pocket. The sight sobered Simon—at least a little—or maybe he was simply too far gone to feel fear. Either way, the Earl was moments from hurling himself into the fray.

“Wait,” Dominic said, his tone calm, measured.

“What? He’s outnumbered!” Simon hissed.

“Wait.” This time, the word came out sharper, like the flick of a blade.

Simon bit his tongue and fell quiet. He stumbled back a step but stayed upright, swaying slightly. Dominic’s eyes swept over the alley.

Narrow. One exit.

The gaslight cast long, broken shadows across the cobblestones. The thugs were poorly spaced and even more poorly disciplined—loud and overconfident. They hadn’t expected company.

Dominic moved.

Not forward. No. That was what they would expect. He slid sideways, folding into the shadows like smoke. Low, silent, deliberate. Every motion was practiced, the mark of a man who had hunted before—men and beasts alike.

While the ruffians blustered and pawed at their prize, he was already behind one of them, unseen and utterly still.

At this point, the largest of the thugs noticed him. The brute raised a fist, but Dominic was quicker. His hand met the man’s wrist mid-air—sharp, precise.

“I would not do that if I were you,” he said, his voice quiet, almost dispassionate.

The thug blinked, startled by his unnatural calm. But it lasted only a second. He snarled and swung.

Dominic had already anticipated it. He twisted his arm, ducked beneath the swing, and used the man’s weight against him. The thug crashed to the ground with a thud.

The second thug, realizing the first was down, lunged forward. Dominic was ready. He caught the momentum, driving a knee into the man’s gut. The air left him in a choked gasp as he folded and dropped.

The third held a knife. Dominic tensed the moment he saw the glint of the blade. The thug hesitated, his eyes wide, fear slowly bleeding through his bravado. Smart man. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Dominic advanced. That single, decisive movement was all it took. The man bolted, and the others scrambled after him, their boots slapping against cobblestones as they vanished into the night.

The dandy they’d been attacking sagged against the wall, his breathing ragged, his limbs heavy with relief and pain. Dominic could see it in the hunch of his shoulders and the tremors in his hands.

“T-Thank you,” the man stammered. “For a moment there, I thought I was going to?—”

“You should not have been here at all,” Dominic cut in, his voice cool. “It’s not a place to be alone at night.”

What idiot wandered into a place like this wearing clothes that screamed, Rob me?

“I won’t make the same mistake,” the dandy promised quickly, catching the tone. “How can I repay you?”

Dominic raised an eyebrow, half in disbelief. A faint, sardonic smile tugged at his mouth.

“N-Nothing?” The dandy laughed nervously. “You must be noblemen, indeed. Perhaps then, if you are going to attend Lord Grisham’s stag hunt this weekend, I could expect your full discretion?”

That pushed Dominic’s temper dangerously close to the edge. His jaw clenched, and he stared the man down with the same unflinching intensity he’d used on the thugs.

“Do I look like I gossip?” he asked, his voice quiet but hard .

“N-No. No, of course not. I just meant—well, I don’t want anyone to know what happened tonight. For good reason,” the dandy added, looking pained and pitiful.

An awkward silence ensued. Even Simon, who usually had something to say, kept his mouth shut. That in itself was remarkable.

“Ah, well, that will be all then,” the dandy mumbled, clearing his throat. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

And then he fled—there was no other way to describe the way he practically ran out of the alley. Like the thugs before him.

“Very curious,” Simon muttered, staring after his retreating figure. “Everything about that scene.”

Dominic grunted. He hadn’t planned to intervene in a fight tonight, and certainly not in this particular alley.

As he frowned at the dandy’s disappearing back, Simon turned to him with a crooked grin. “Remind me never to get on your bad side, Oakmere.”

“You couldn’t,” Dominic murmured. “Though God knows you’ve tried to get on my nerves often enough, Darfield.”

“Ah. I think you’re starting to mellow. You’re going on a proper stag hunt. With a house party afterward,” Simon said, giving him a knowing look.

“I don’t want to offend Lord Grisham—he’s my business partner,” Dominic replied drily.

“Is that all?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I ask because Lord Grisham has, quite likely, planned this hunt as a means of finding a husband for his daughter, Lady Elizabeth.”

“And…?”

“Well, knowing you, you’re always painfully dutiful. And your duty is to marry—eventually—for the sake of your estate,” Simon prodded, the smirk back in his voice.

“My duty,” Dominic growled, “is to see this business venture through.”

What he didn’t say—what he couldn’t admit, even to his oldest friend—was that strange, bone-deep unease had crept in earlier and hadn’t left him since.

As if someone had walked on his grave. Or worse, as if invisible strings were being pulled, and he had just stepped into someone else’s design.