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His distasteful task complete, he made his way back through the streets of Whitechapel to his suite at Montague Club.

Only Dunn knew about his arrangement to fight for Brody.

Since the owners of the club thought little of Brody and had in fact tangled unfavorably with him over the years, Simon had thought it best not to share his continued association with the underworld boss.

He was able to explain his injuries by claiming they were from the private fighting lessons he offered to a few of the club’s members.

The more heinous injuries, like bruised ribs and black eyes, he told them came from being jumped by men in Whitechapel, which often wasn’t a lie because it happened from time to time.

As he walked, his thoughts wandered back to the phantom woman.

He’d never had a woman of his very own before.

There had been girls aplenty. They had seduced him in his youth in the hopes of getting closer to Brody.

Now they bedded him for the thrill of shagging a brawler.

None of them had been his. He could still feel the impression of her at his side and see the concern in her eyes—even if he couldn’t recall their color—when she’d looked up at him.

If he ever did have one woman at his side it would be someone like her.

Someone soft and kind who smelled of roses.

Thoughts of her accompanied him the entire way back home.

He meant to go directly to his room when he returned, but one of the club’s footmen met him when he arrived and informed him that Lords Leigh and Devonworth were waiting for him in a private drawing room.

The Earl of Leigh owned the club along with his half brother, Jacob Thorne, who was in Paris at the moment.

They shared a father, with Thorne being the illegitimate one.

The Earl of Devonworth was a friend of the brothers.

He’d called on Simon for help recently when his wife, one of the many American heiresses invading London lately, had been threatened by one of Brody’s men.

It was a problem he thought they had solved, but he wondered if that is what had them both here.

“My lords,” Simon greeted them as he walked into the room, schooling his voice into a vague imitation of their posh accents. He’d been working the club for so long that the switch came naturally to him now.

The men were sat in oxblood leather chairs near the window, though it was quickly apparent that Devonworth was anything but relaxed. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together, a furrow on his brow.

“Cavell.” Leigh smiled in greeting. He was around thirty years old with dark hair and gray eyes.

He took up his cane—today’s selection appeared to feature a silver wolf’s head as the palm grip—and rose to his feet.

Unlike several gentlemen who carried canes as a fashionable accessory, Leigh used his to aid his walking due to an old injury.

He stepped toward Simon with a slight limp and said, “Devonworth tells me that you were quite heroic when it came to saving his wife from ruffians.”

Brody’s man had retaliated against Devonworth for a perceived slight by threatening his new bride in the park. Simon had…intervened. “It was nothing,” Simon said.

“You saved Cora’s life.” Devonworth came to his feet. He was several years younger than Leigh and blond. He was known for having a penchant for solemnity, and his eyes were dead serious now. “Thank you, Cavell. I’ll never be able to repay you.” He looked like a man who had been utterly wrung out.

“I only did what had to be done.” Devonworth had confronted the bastard. Simon had only come up from behind with a revolver. The man had all but crumbled after that.

“Nevertheless,” Leigh put in, “it was commendable bravery.”

Devonworth nodded in agreement. “I know that I have no right to it, but I’ve come to ask for another favor.”

“What sort of favor?” Simon asked.

Devonworth took in a breath through his nose and waited, as if whatever he had to say would be a great burden.

“Without going into the particulars, I’ve come across some rather delicate information on a political rival.

He knows that I have this information and has made threats.

Given what has so recently befallen Cora, well…

I’d like to make certain that she and her family are protected. ”

“You want me to protect your wife?”

“Not precisely. I’ve arranged to conduct much of my work from home in the near future, and I can oversee my men while I’m there.

I’d like you to watch out for her sisters and her mother.

The Dowager Duchess of Hereford has graciously sponsored their entrance to Society and they are residing in her Mayfair residence, so I can’t watch out for them as I’d like.

I’ve offered to have them stay with Cora and me, but they prefer their own space. Would you manage their protection?”

Playing nursemaid to a group of spoiled Americans was the last thing Simon wanted to do, especially since Brody had promised him a fight on the horizon. “Thank you for thinking of me, but I’m not certain I’ll have time with my duties here at the club.”

“That’s why he spoke to me first,” Leigh said. “We’ll be at loose ends without you, but we can survive for a bit.”

“How long do you expect to need my help?” Simon asked Devonworth.

“A fortnight at most. Cora believes I’m being overly cautious, and I myself suspect the threat is hollow, but I’d not be able to live with myself if something happened to them.”

“What of my training?” Simon asked Leigh.

In addition to fighting for Brody, Simon participated in exhibition bare-knuckle brawls here at the club.

He fought men from other clubs in a very gentlemanly display of violence that rarely ended with more than the odd bloody knuckle. The upside was that it paid very well.

“If you hire some men you trust, you should be able to slip away and use the club’s facilities for an hour or two a day,” Devonworth said.

“All right, then. I suppose I can’t say no to that.” The extra money would only help.

“Excellent.” Devonworth’s brow relaxed for the first time. “Good. I’d like you to start first thing tomorrow.”