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Evander’s mind was a whirlwind as they left Rigley’s office. The revelation that Whitley and Chevalier had been researching magical transference was deeply unsettling. Judging from his companions’ reactions, they shared his concerns.

“I shall arrange for a forensics team to examine Professor Whitley’s lab this afternoon, your Grace,” Shaw said, her tone somewhat subdued.

Evander clocked her pale expression and came to a decision.

“Let us delay until tomorrow morning. I believe we could all do with some reprieve after what we’ve just been through.

Besides, I would like to have Mrs. Scarborough inspect the place for traps before we let any more officers loose in there. ”

Philippa Scarborough was a curse-breaker working for the AFD. She had helped free one of Viggo’s closest friends from the control of dark mages during the Renwick affair.

Rufus cut his eyes to Evander while Shaw released a small sigh of relief.

“You believe those shadow creatures reacted to something we set off in Whitley’s lab?”

“Either that or whoever sent them is watching this place,” Evander murmured, conscious of Leon’s guarded glance.

Shaw shuddered. “Anyone else feel like someone just walked over their grave?”

“You’ve got years left in you yet, Shaw,” Rufus grunted.

“I am well aware of that, sir.” Shaw glanced at the inspector. “Of course, the same cannot be said of you.”

An outraged gasp left Rufus.

“I am only seven years older than you!” the inspector spluttered once he could speak again.

“Aye,” Shaw responded wisely. “And that’s seven years closer to the last roll call, sir.”

Evander pursed his lips when the pair began arguing in low voices.

Leon raised an eyebrow. “Are they always like this?”

“Alas, yes.”

The Frenchman fell silent.

“You’re brooding again,” Leon remarked as they descended the steps of the Institute. “I can practically hear the gears turning in that brilliant mind of yours.”

Evander gave him a sidelong glance. “This is hardly the time for levity, Leon.”

“Au contraire, mon cher,” the Frenchman countered with a wry smile, “it is precisely when matters are most grave that we need moments of lightness.”

“I’ll report back to Scotland Yard and brief Commander Winterbourne,” Rufus said as they approached the police carriage. His gaze flicked uneasily between Evander and Leon. “Will you be joining us, your Grace?”

“Not immediately,” Evander replied. “I need to speak with Viggo about these developments. Nightshade might know something we don’t.”

Leon’s expression sobered, something that looked like displeasure clouding his eyes momentarily. “Before you dash off, might I suggest we discuss our next steps over an early dinner? I’ve gathered some intelligence from Paris that may be relevant to our investigation.”

The invitation hung in the air between them, laden with unspoken history. Evander hesitated, torn between professional necessity and personal unease as he considered his options.

The last thing he wanted was to spend an evening alone with Leon, especially when he wished to talk to Viggo. But if the Frenchman had intelligence that could help them locate Whitley and Thornfield, he couldn’t afford to refuse either.

Besides, something about Leon’s behaviour in Rigley’s office and his current tone told Evander he needed to hear what his former lover had to say.

“Very well,” he conceded reluctantly. “Where and when?”

Leon’s face brightened a little. “There’s a French restaurant near Covent Garden, not far from the hotel where I’m staying. It’s called Le Petit Chateau . The chef is from Lyon and his coq au vin is magnifique. Say six o’clock?”

Evander had heard of the place. He dipped his head.

“I shall meet you there.”

They parted ways outside the Institute, Evander summoning a hansom cab to take him home. He needed to change. More importantly, he intended to send a message to Viggo to come to his place tonight.

Hargrove greeted Evander at the door when he reached his Mayfair townhouse.

“Welcome home, my Lord,” the manservant said, taking his coat. He observed him shrewdly. “You appear rather fatigued. Shall I prepare a bath?”

“Thank you, Jasper. That would be most welcome.” Evander removed his gloves and handed them over. “I’ll be dining out this evening. Le Petit Chateau , the French restaurant in Covent Garden.”

Though Hargrove’s expression remained impassive, Evander detected a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“Very good, my Lord. With Mr. Stonewall, I presume?”

“You presume wrong,” Evander replied tartly. A hint of tension entered his voice. “If you must know, I am having dinner with Comte Beaulieu.”

Hargrove’s eyes bulged, surprise turning to full-blown shock. “Not that French dunderhead, my Lord?!”

“Mr. Hargrove!” Mrs. Sinclair warned sharply as she entered the foyer and caught the tail end of their conversation. “Please mind your language.”

Evander greeted his housekeeper with a warm look. Cordelia Sinclair had been his nanny since he was an infant and had practically raised him. She was the only Ravenwood employee who knew all his secrets, including the one he had yet to reveal to Viggo.

“Has anyone ever told you that you move with the stealth of a ninja, Mrs. S?” Hargrove grunted.

Mrs. Sinclair’s eyes shrank to slits. “Is that an insult, Mr. Hargrove?”

Hargrove made a face. “It’s a compliment, Mrs. S. Ninjas are esteemed warriors on the other side of the world. I guess you missed what our Lord just said. The French chump he shall be dining with tonight is none other than Comte Beaulieu.”

Mrs. Sinclair blinked, nonplussed.

“The count is in London?” she asked Evander warily, ignoring Hargrove the repeat offender.

“Yes.” Evander sighed at the manservant and the housekeeper’s uncomfortable expressions. “Leon is an Arcane Investigator working for the French authorities. He arrived in England this morning and will be participating in a joint investigation with the Met. I have no say in the matter.”

“Well, this is going to put the cat among the pigeons,” Hargrove muttered darkly. “You best not let Mr. Stonewall see you two together.”

Evander bristled at the warning. “It’s not as if Leon and I are intending to resume our former relationship.”

“Your intimate relationship,” Hargrove corrected.

“Mr. Hargrove!” Mrs. Sinclair gasped.

“What?” Hargrove said with a shrug. “It’s not exactly a lie.” He narrowed his eyes. “I must admit though, there’s no way that Frenchman could keep up with the Ironfist Brute when it comes to satisfying his Grace.” He paused deliberately. “ Sexually , I mean.”

Heat suffused Evander’s face.

Mrs. Sinclair looked like she was contemplating walloping Hargrove over the head with the closest blunt object.

“If you’ve quite finished talking about my personal affairs, I would like you to send a message to Nightshade requesting Mr. Stonewall visit me tonight,” Evander instructed the manservant coolly.

A salacious twinkle appeared in Hargrove’s eyes.

“Don’t,” Evander warned, his ears hot as he realised belatedly how the command might come across.

He climbed the stairs to his chambers while Hargrove departed to make the arrangements, his thoughts churning. Not just about the case, but about Leon himself.

Seeing his former lover again after six years had stirred memories better left undisturbed. Their parting had been less than friendly—bitter words had been exchanged, promises broken, and hearts irrevocably wounded.

Evander could not deny that he had once loved the Frenchman. But he was over him. Had been for years. Yet Leon seemed intent on acting as though those final painful weeks of their relationship had never happened.

Evander swallowed a sigh as he entered his bedchamber.

Tonight’s dinner would be a delicate balancing act.

He would have to extract valuable information from Leon while maintaining an appropriate distance.

It was a challenge he wasn’t particularly looking forward to facing.

And it made him feel guilty towards Viggo even though he knew he wasn’t doing anything wrong.