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"No one ever remembers who followed the rules. They only remember who won."

—Marian Fitzroy

S elina insisted, repeatedly, that she was in no special danger that her servants couldn’t handle. Given that the marchioness had been the one to somehow find Will Hodges and employ him to begin with, Peregrine gave up and decided to leave her to her own devices at her home.

But he was not willing to chance a repeat of the attack at Atholl House. He entered Selina’s foyer, peered around suspiciously, and then told Selina to wave at him from a window once she was upstairs to let him know the house was secure.

Once she had, he managed to bribe the hackney driver with enough coin to head directly on to the Fitzroy estate.

It was well after midnight by the time the conveyance pulled into the drive, and the house was solidly dark. But only moments after he alighted from the hack and sent the driver off with another generous tip, Peregrine heard the sound of boots approaching from the side of the house.

He turned and came face to face with Will Hodges. His man had an open lantern lifted high to cast light in his left hand. A pistol angled towards the ground was held in his right.

“Lord Fitzroy,” the older, ex-mercenary said, only the barest trace of surprise in his voice.

“I see you are staying vigilant,” Peregrine murmured, and Hodges grunted in response, uncocking the hammer of the pistol and sliding it into his coat pocket. He let out a strange, tuneless whistle as he did so.

When Hodges said nothing further, waiting patiently to let Peregrine speak first, the silence grew awkward.

Peregrine studied the man who had been beside him in the firing line at the Nive, wondering at the sort of trouble Selina had gone through to put him there.

How much it had cost her, both in money and her political pull.

And how lunatic a man like Hodges might just be. Not only to take her up on such a dangerous position, but then to tell her he was leaving her employment afterwards to work for the man he was hired to guard.

Hodges let Perry look his fill, squinting a bit in the dim light.

Peregrine finally broke the silence. “I need a man.”

“You got one.”

“A loyal one,” he added.

Hodges was unruffled. “Aye. And?” As if questions of loyalty had nothing to do with him.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Peregrine wondered if he could dare take the man at face value. “Tell me. Just how did you become acquainted with the marchioness?”

“That one you’ll have to ask her, sorry.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but a strange prickle of presentiment had him turn on his heel.

Barely visible in the lamplight, a boy of perhaps thirteen or fourteen watched him casually from the cover of a large hedge near the front door, holding a carbine like he knew exactly what to do with it.

The boy kept the rifle ready, but pointed away.

“Oi! Sammy,” Hodges hissed. “Mind yer manners in front o’ his lordship.”

The boy—Sammy, presumably—rested the big rifle upright, against his shoulder. “I weren’t gonna shoot him, Uncle Will.”

Both eyebrows high, Peregrine turned back to his general hand.

“My sister’s whelp,” Hodges muttered. “Bloody nuisance most days, but useful now and then.”

Peregrine kept his voice light and cutting. “Taking a few liberties in my absence?”

Finally, finally Hodges took a stubborn stance. “Took what liberties I had to, my lord. Nothin’ that can’t be set straight so long as you get more hands in. Place’s too bloody big for just me and Dawson.”

“Does necessary liberties include continuing to take money from the Marchioness of Normanby?” he asked silkily. “Following me, as well?”

Hodges chuckled, the rough sound like iron striking on cobblestones.

“Suppose that’s down to you, Lord Fitzroy.

Aye, I followed. Aye, I took her coin. Did my job and kept the trouble lookin’ the other way.

Her ladyship’s purse paid for the runner.

Just enough to keep your name out o’ the scandal sheets.

Seemed the polite thing, considerin’ all else you had on your plate.

Think you can cover it now, instead of her? ”

Peregrine had assumed he would have to do something to protect his reputation eventually, but right from the start, gossip about him since he returned had been… politely restrained. That oddity had struck him, but he hadn’t had the time to delve into that mystery .

Apparently, Hodges had taken the initiative quickly and quietly, using Selina’s funds.

Which made a certain sense, in hindsight.

Asking Peregrine for the money to do such a thing, or even suggesting it, would have been a dead giveaway that his phlegmatic veteran-turned-general hand was a bit more than he appeared to be.

“Of course I can, you cheeky bastard.”

“Good,” was all Hodges said, shrugging.

Hugely annoyed, because everyone just seemed to assume that Peregrine would forgive Hodges—Hodges included—Peregrine stepped closer.

“ ‘Good ?’ That is all you have to say about the whole matter? I am sure you know that neither trust nor forgiveness are among my predilections these days, and you have broken with me.”

“Toss me out on my arse if you like,” Hodges said mildly. “Won’t stop me doin’ the job. Just makes it harder, is all.”

“You mean to tell me you would stay and do this anyway.”

“Always had a soft spot for bad odds. Makes the fight worth turnin’ up for.”

“What a prize you are. Stubborn and foolish.” Peregrine arched his eyebrow at Will Hodges. “How do you feel then about going to do something breathtakingly stupid with me?”

The man grunted, turning and heading towards the stable. “Should I bring a gun or a shovel?”

“Both. We need to dig into something that got passed over when we went after Cameron. It is time to see if we can find Red Hand.”

Staying in motion, looking forward to the next problems, was the only thing keeping Peregrine’s thoughts from drifting into dangerous territory.

That, specifically, was the confused muddle of Selina’s revelation about her and the duchess.

And the way the duchess had laid his hand over the beating heart within her breast.

It was an echo of the way he had shown her where to strike him when he had given her his blade. Not an offering of her life. But it was an offering of an object he had the power to harm.

That’s the brilliance of using someone’s love as a leash, my darling.

His breath left him shakily. Not only had he been tricked and shackled by love to his mother and sister, now it was nightmarishly clear how easily he could do the same thing to others. The duchess. Or even Hodges, who had not even questioned where they were bound.

Feelings? Loyalty? It positioned them at his fingertips, like tools to be used for whatever purpose he required. He could collect people and their favours like picking wildflowers into a bouquet.

And likewise, Selina was caught in his web. Her armour was dented, and Peregrine knew too many of her secrets. She would tolerate being bent to his will if it meant she might survive. She would hate him, but she would serve his command, if he issued one.

Selina was his. They all were. Tethered of their own volition. It was a terrifying gift, this power to ensnare, and it left him feeling chilled to the bone.

Tonight, Peregrine stood with both feet upon the path his mother walked. Where she lost her soul, assuming she had ever been born with one.

Tonight, he needed to take the first step, boldly. Hopefully he did not have to walk far.

It was too easy to return to certain old, violent habits. Like putting on an old pair of gloves, really. But it was the only intelligent thing to do, to don the gloves and wear the mask of someone who was both cutthroat and unpredictable .

As sick as it made him, this part of London wasn’t any place for gentlemanly behaviour. Only savagery belonged here.

Unlike the other leads he had been following, the Irish bludgeon man who went by the moniker of Red Hand was still keeping his crews busy on the docks and rookeries.

But Red Hand was a killer for anyone’s hire, and not one of his mother’s creatures.

Cameron had been her own flash man, typically employing the likes of McGrath for the dirtier business.

Cameron had used Red Hand for the first attack on the bridge, likely knowing that Perry would have made McGrath immediately.

Peregrine hoped it cost Cameron a pretty penny to recompense Red Hand for the death of three hired men.

And he also hoped that the incident would make the man treat him with a respect borne of caution.

Where it came to his own security, Red Hand clearly felt as bold as brass.

He was still at his old haunt, a place so seedy and disreputable that it boasted no sign and only weakly made the attempt to look like a drinking establishment.

So he and Hodges took up a position in the alley, behind some crates, to wait for their quarry.

Red for his temper, his hair, and the blood his men spilled. But the man was overconfident on his own turf. Within an hour, Red Hand strolled perhaps ten feet into the alley from the main doorway and dropped his trousers, letting his stream flow against the dirty brick of the shuttered gin shop.

Hodges didn’t wait for an introduction. Then again, given his past, it was likely he was already well acquainted with the man.

Surging forward from behind the crates, Hodges slammed the thug face-first into the wall, grabbing hold of his collar in one hand and twisting his right arm behind him with the other.

“Good evening, Red,” Peregrine said with bravado, stepping carefully over the puddle of urine on the cobblestones.