Editors of this prestigious paper have had enough of the monopoly of power that exists in London's darkest corners. We encourage our readers to do what they can to ensure that the country have only one monarch, and one who reigns in public...

— The News of London, May 17, 1833

The Fallen Angel was under siege.

As it was only half-eleven in the morning, the casino floor was dark, but there was nothing quiet about the space, filled with echoing shouts from outside the steel doors of the casino, loud banging on the doors of the building, and the constant din of men outside, filling St. James Street in the hopes of getting their chance for five thousand pounds.

Inside, Temple and Cross sat at a roulette table, waiting for a member of the security team to appear with news.

Bourne arrived first. "What in hell is happening?" he called, pushing through the inner door to the casino from the entrance hall, barred with double locks and a door-man twice the size of a normal person.

Cross looked to Bourne. "You look as though you've been through a war."

"Have you seen how many people there are out there? They're desperate for entry. Do they simply think we're going to announce Chase's identity? Simply because West has lost his mind?" He looked down at the sleeve of his coat and swore roundly. "Look what the bastards did to me! They tore my cuff."

"You are like a woman when it comes to clothes," Temple said. "If I were you, I would be more concerned about arm tearing. As in limb from limb."

Bourne scowled at Temple. "I was concerned about that. Now that the immediate threat is gone, I'm irritated about my cuff. I'll ask again; what in hell is going on?"

Temple and Cross looked at each other, then at Bourne. "Chase is in love," Cross said, simply.

Bourne blinked once. "Honestly?"

"Besotted," Temple said. The word was punctuated by a crash high above, where a well-aimed rock broke a small window and rained glass down onto the casino floor.

They watched the fall of glass for a long moment, before Bourne turned back to his partners. "With West?"

Cross nodded. "The very same."

Bourne thought for a moment. "Is it me? Or does it seem fitting that Chase's love story is the one that nearly destroys the casino?"

"It's going to do more than nearly destroy it, if West doesn't call off his dogs."

Bourne nodded. "I assume you've —"

"Of course," Temple said. "First thing. The moment we saw the paper."

"And she doesn't know."

"Definitely not," Cross said. "Did she ever give us the courtesy of letting us know that she was going to meddle in our affairs?"

"She did not," Bourne said with a sigh as he sat. "So we are waiting, then?"

Temple waved to a seat nearby. "We are waiting."

Bourne nodded. They were quiet for a long moment, all watching Cross spin the wheel again and again. Finally, Bourne said, "It's less fun when there's no ball."

"It isn't that much fun when there is a ball."

"I wonder why Chase loves it so much," Temple said.

"Because roulette is the only game of chance that is entirely random," Cross said. "You cannot force a win. And so, it is even ground."

"Pure chance," Bourne said.

"No calculated risk," Cross agreed.

There was heavy banging on the door, long and loud and with little threat of giving up. When it stopped, and a door opened, the security team no doubt using all their might to keep the crowds at bay.

Bourne laughed, and the others looked to him, confusion on their faces. He shook his head. "I am simply imagining all those starchy nobs from White's and Brooks's, turning down St. James's, unsuspecting."

Cross laughed, too. "Oh, they shall be furious with us. As though they didn't loathe us before."

"Hang them," Temple said, his lips curving into a grin. "Never let it be said that The Fallen Angel doesn't bring entertainment to the neighborhood."

The statement had them all laughing, each louder than the other. They almost did not notice that Bruno had appeared at the edge of the room. "He is here," the enormous guard announced.

"I can see myself in," Duncan said, pushing past the massive man and onto the darkened floor.

The founders stood as one, straightening sleeves – except Bourne, who simply swore again over the condition of his sleeve – each intimidating in his own right, but together, a trio of power more intimidating than most men would be willing to face.

Duncan approached without hesitation.

Bruno watched his back. "Even though I think we should leave him to the crowds."

"We might well do that," Temple said.

"Give it time," Cross added.

"What the hell is this?" Duncan asked, brandishing a small square of paper. "You think insulting me is the way to convince me to rescind the reward?"

Bourne plucked the missive out of his hand and opened it. Read aloud. "'You are an idiot, wandering blind in the woods.'" He nodded, looking to Temple. "There's a poetry to that."

Temple looked rather proud of himself. "Thank you. I thought so."

Duncan snatched the paper out of Bourne's hands in exasperation. "Insulting me and then summoning me to your side hasn't put me in a generous frame of mind. What in hell do you want?"

"You know," Bourne said, "I once heard you described as a genius." He looked to Cross. "Except, for a genius, he is something of a lummox."

"Well, to be fair, he's in a situation where intelligence does rather go out the window," Cross said. "I have a theory that women actually siphon off our cleverness during the courting phase, and keep it for themselves. Which is why they always seem to see the endgame before we do."

Temple nodded, as though the earl had said something tremendously sage.

"That is a very good theory," Bourne said.

"You're all fucking mad," Duncan said, brandishing the note. "I did not come for your insane ideas. I came because you promised me Chase. And looking at the three of you, you lied."

"Excuse me," Temple said, affront in the tone.

"We did not lie." Cross replied.

"Well then?" Duncan asked.

"The reward was a very good move," Temple said. "It certainly got our attention."

"Did it get Chase's?"

"I imagine it did, yes," said Bourne.

"Then why am I talking to you three instead of him?"

Cross leaned back against the roulette table, folding long arms over his chest. He lifted his chin in the direction of the door at the far end of the room, beneath the enormous stained glass window. Duncan's gaze fell to the exit, and he realized that he had never in all his years of membership seen that door unguarded.

He looked back to the owners.

"Go ahead, then," Cross said. "Talk to Chase."

His brow furrowed. "Is it a trap?"

"Not in the way you think," Temple said, ominously.

He turned away. "You waste my time."

"It's not a trap," Cross said. "You'll survive it."

He looked from one founder to the next. "How do I know to trust you?"

Bourne shrugged one shoulder. "She loves you. We would not hurt you, even if we wanted to." The words were punctuated by a cacophony of shouting from the street outside – the sounds matching the beating of his heart.

She loves you.

"You have all mistreated her. Abysmally," Duncan said. "Letting her live this life."

Temple smiled at that. "That you think we ever let them do anything is a testament to your senselessness." He lifted his chin to the door. "Chase's office is through that door."

Duncan's gaze lingered on the door in question. If it was a trap, so be it. He had brought them to this moment, forcing their hand. He'd offered the reward, sending half of London to their doorstep to smoke out the elusive owner of the casino.

He would face this head-on.

He crossed the room, opened the door to reveal a long staircase, ascending into darkness. Looking back, he saw the three men who were the public face of the casino, standing shoulder to shoulder, watching him. As he closed the door behind him, blocking them out, it occurred to him that their fourth was missing – the woman who reigned over this floor. Their partner in this impressive place.

The thought echoed through him. She was their fourth.

She was their fourth.

He climbed the stairs, moving more and more quickly as his mind turned the events of the past six years over and over again... all the references to Chase, all the missives carried on his behalf by the beautiful, brilliant Anna, a Society cast-out hidden in plain sight. She knew so much about the place, about its members.

She was their fourth.

The door at the top of the stairs opened onto a familiar corridor, the wall opposite him boasting an enormous oil painting he'd seen before. Themis and Nemesis. Justice and Vengeance.

Who are you? he'd asked when they'd stood here before.

I cannot be both? she'd replied.

She was both.

He nearly ripped the painting from the wall as he opened the entrance to the secret passageway. To Chase's office.

He counted the doors, stopping at the fourth. Grasping the handle. Knowing that whatever – whoever – was behind this door would change his life. Forever. He took a single, stabilizing breath, and opened the door.

He was right.

She was behind her desk, head bowed, writing, a stack of cards next to her on the great expanse of oak. Memory flashed – days earlier. She, on the edge of that desk in this white room. His hands and mouth and body on hers.

He'd rushed, thinking they were in Chase's offices.

Thinking they would be caught.

Thinking she belonged to another.

Wanting her for his.

He was consumed by anger and fascination, disbelief and respect.

She did not look up from her writing as she heard the door open, instead waving a hand in the direction of the stack of letters at her elbow. "These are ready to go," she said. "Is Bourne here yet?"

He closed the door, locking it in a single motion.

She looked up at the sound of key in lock, her gaze finding his, shock in her eyes as she shot out of her chair.

She was wearing trousers again.

"Duncan," she said.

"Bourne is here," he said.

Her brow furrowed, and it took her a moment to understand what exactly he meant by the words. "I —" She stopped. "Oh."

"Tell me," he said, and it occurred to him that the night prior, he'd spoken the same words to her, hoping she would finally tell him that she loved him.

Now he would simply settle for the truth.

When she did not reply, he repeated himself. "Tell me." The words came out harsh, nearly broken. When she shook her head, he repeated himself, the words coming on a near-shout, "Tell me!"

There were tears in her eyes, in those beautiful amber eyes that he had marveled at so many times. He wondered what the tears were for – if they were because he'd discovered her secrets, or if they were because she realized that a betrayal of this size would be impossible to forgive.

That a secret of this magnitude changed everything.

She opened her mouth. Closed it.

"Duncan," she whispered. "I was not ready for you to know."

"Know what?" he asked. And he commanded her a final time. "Tell me. Say it. For once in our lives, tell me the truth."

She nodded, and he watched her throat work as she searched for the words. Not many words. Three of them. Utterly simple and somehow tremendously complicated.

Finally, she met his gaze, unwavering. And spoke.

"I am Chase."

He was quiet for so long, she thought he might never speak.

A dozen possibilities rioted through her, every one a question. But when he did speak, it was not a question, but a statement, filled with disbelief and awe and something else that she hesitated to name. "I was so damn jealous of him."

She did not know what to say when he ran a hand through his hair and continued, "I thought he owned you. I couldn't understand why you were so committed to him. Why you protected him so well. I couldn't understand why you fell into my arms even as you chose him, time and time again."

"I didn't choose him," she said.

He met her eyes. "You chose this place."

"No," she said, wanting him to understand. Wanting him to see. "I chose safety. Security."

"I could have given that to you," he said, the words coming out like rolling thunder. "Christ, Georgiana, I wanted to give it to you. All you had to do was trust me."

"Why would I do that?" she asked, suddenly desperate for him to understand. She came out from behind the desk. "I've spent my life around dangerous men... and you might well have been the most dangerous one of all."

"Me?" he asked, the word incredulous. "From the moment we met, I offered you help."

"No," she said. "You offered Georgiana help, but once you discovered her connection to the Angel, once you discovered that I was also Anna, you offered me a trade."

He stilled.

She knew she should not punish him for it – knew she had done far worse – but she could not stop herself. Feeling defensive, she said, "Tit for tat, Duncan. And a threat to reveal my secrets." She shook her head. "I was party to the deal, no doubt. But do not for a moment think I have not learned in all my years as Chase that business is not friendship. And that trust is not a part of business."

"This hasn't been business for a long time," he said.

She knew that, of course. Knew, too, that this might be the only time she was ever able to tell the truth.

And she wanted it to be him who heard it.

She leaned against the desk, placing her palms flat to the top of it. "I wanted to be something more than what they made me." She paused, trying to find the words to explain. "Do you recall the house in Yorkshire?" He nodded. "There were so many of us there... so many of us who had run. Who had found the strength to defy expectations." She shook her head. "I was the weakest by far, and I could afford to be. When I left – when I returned home – I saw the way the world looked at me. At us. And I hated them for it. I wanted to do something tremendously powerful... something that would hold them under my thumb, these people who talked propriety and lived sin and vice when they closed their doors.

"At first, it was for revenge. I wanted to punish anyone who crossed me. Who dared insult Caroline. I wanted to murder gossip and kill ton. A casino was the ideal place for all of that. Decadence, sin, vice – they make for excellent partners in vengeance."

He smiled. "And then you realized you weren't God."

She raised her brows. "No, then I realized I did not wish to be God. I wished to be something very different. I wished to reign over them. I wished them to be in debt to me, with secrets and money and whatever else they wanted to put on the table."

"And Chase was born."

"My brother put up the money for the club, helped me choose my partners." She smiled. "Bourne and Temple came first, and I'll never forget the look in their eyes when my security guards tossed them into my carriage, and I introduced myself." She paused. "Bourne called me any number of names before he settled down and realized that what I offered was really quite magnificent."

"Ownership in a men's club."

She shook her head. "Resurrection from the gutter. He'd lost everything. Temple, too. I could give them a chance to rebuild. I did not need the money... I needed the titles. The faces. The skills they brought to the table."

He nodded. "Where did the name Chase come from?"

She grinned. "Bourne gave it to me. I was leading London on a merry chase, he used to say. It stuck.

"We opened the casino with my brother's help and his connections. Within months, people were clamoring for memberships. And for the first few years, I did not care what they thought of Georgiana. I barely even thought of Georgiana. I was Chase, and I was Anna, and I was free... and it was glorious." She looked away. "Until it wasn't."

"Until Caroline was old enough to notice their censure."

"Until Caroline was old enough to become the object of it."

"And then it became about her."

She met his gaze, saw the understanding in it. He had faced a similar battle, knowing that he must protect his sister from the world. "I didn't steal a horse, Duncan. I stole a world."

"And we believed you," he said.

"It wasn't as difficult as it would seem," she said. "People believe what they are told, mostly. Once we decided that Chase would never be seen, it was easy to convince the world that he was more powerful than any of them. His mystery became his power. My power."

"You're wrong." He was close to her, close enough to touch, but she resisted the urge as he continued, "I have known you as Georgiana and as Anna. And I have felt the full heat of your power. I have railed at it and basked in its glow. And there is nothing about that power that is Chase." His hand came up, cupped the nape of her neck, and she caught her breath at the touch. "It is all yours." She looked up at him as he added, "And she will know it."

Tears came at the words, unbidden and unwelcome. How did he know that was her worry? In the dark of night? How did he know that she was terrified that Caroline would one day look at her and hate her for the choices she'd made?

She looked away, trying to hide from him.

"Don't," he said, forcing her to return her gaze to his. "Don't hide from me. You pushed me away at every turn. You used Chase as a shield."

"No —" she began, but he cut her off, anger and sorrow in his eyes.

"Yes. You were afraid of me. But why? Were you afraid of what I might do? Of what I might tell the world? Did you actually think I might betray you?"

Her brow furrowed. "I did not know... the only other man I had ever given myself to..."

He went on. "You weren't afraid of me. And you weren't afraid of repercussions from Chase... we know that now," he offered the words, with dry humor. "You were afraid of what I make you feel."

Truth.

She met his gaze. "Of course I was." Her honesty took them both by surprise, but it was time to be honest, was it not? "I was on my own. I had to fight for myself. For Caroline." She paused. "Am on my own. Must fight for her. I must use every weapon in my arsenal to secure her future. That meant Chase... which was easy. And you..." She hesitated. "But that is the bit that became more difficult."

"You disinvited me to the club," he said.

"I apologize. You are welcome to be a member again." For as long as the club exists.

"I don't care about the damn club. I care about you sending me away."

"I couldn't have you close," she said, setting the truth free. "I couldn't have you near without wishing you near forever."

That word again, insidious and tempting.

He swore, and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her like steel, making her wish that this was all there was. That there was no Chase, no Anna, no Tremley beating down the door with his deadlines and his secrets. No Fallen Angel.

Because she did not wish to use him. Not anymore. She did not wish for him to be anywhere near the falseness that was her future. Did not wish for him to have any more reasons to think ill of her.

He misunderstood. "Christ... Georgiana," he spoke to the top of her head, his arms around her like steel, strong and welcome. "The paper. The reward."

She turned her face into his chest, reveling in the scent of him. "Chase is done for."

He had been since the moment Tremley had made his offer – her secrets for Duncan's. It was an offer she would never refuse. A trade she would gladly make. Chase and Anna would disappear from the world, and they would be replaced by Duncan's safety.

If only it would be enough.

He swore softly. "I did it. I ruined him." He paused. "You. I ruined all you worked for."

She would have ruined it herself – still planned to – but that was the final secret she could not reveal to him. Instead, she smiled. "He had to be done, eventually. I could not continue here and preach propriety for Caroline. I thought I could... but now, I see the ridiculousness in that plan."

"I will find a way to keep you safe. To keep Chase safe. I'll rescind the reward."

She put her hands to his lips, silencing him, running her fingers over his cheekbones, down the long line of his jaw. "All this time... from the beginning, you have told me to trust you."

"I have," he said. "And now, you must believe that I will find a way —"

She stopped him. "It's your turn, Duncan. It's time for you to trust me."

His gaze narrowed. "What does that mean?"

She leaned up to kiss him. "Exactly what I say."

"I do trust you." He took the kiss, returned it. "What are you planning?"

"That's not trusting me."

He started to reply. Stopped. "I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to talk." He lifted her in his arms, her legs wrapping about his waist. "I just want to love you. All of you. Once, before it's over."

Before it's over.

The words crashed around her as she took his face in her hands, and returned the kiss he settled on her lips, deep and longing. She didn't like the finality in them. The sense that everything important was ending tonight.

Not sense. Truth.

Tonight would end the myth of Chase. It would end the fabrication of Anna.

And it would leave Georgiana alone once more, to face Society and its wolves.

To create a new future.

But she did not want the future. She wanted the present. This moment.

This man.

"I wish..." his words were low and dark in her ear, and she met his gaze.

"What?" She moved against him, rocked into him sending pleasure through her and, she hoped, through him.

It worked. He smiled, his eyes closing. "It sounds mad, but I wish we'd done this in a bed. Like ordinary people."

"There is a bed."

He tilted his head, looking pleased as punch. "There is?"

She nodded. "There is."

He set her on her feet and she guided him into her apartments through several doors and into the room where she slept most evenings. He paused in the doorway, looking at the bed, upholstered and curtained in white. He shook his head. "All this time, London has wagered and sinned and bathed themselves in vice... and you have reigned from this white bed – fit for a pristine princess."

She smiled. "Pristine no more."

He turned his hot gaze on her. "No more."

And then she was in his arms, and he was lifting her, carrying her, setting loose an ache deep in her. She – who'd spent the last six years giving the men and women of London everything they desired, who considered herself an expert in want – she'd never wanted anything more than this man.

Than this moment.

He stood her next to the bed and slowly undressed them both, boots and breeches and shirts, shucking his own and then hers, kissing the bare skin he revealed in long, lingering licks until she thought she might die from the pleasure of him.

Until she thought she might from her desire for him.

He laid her down, naked, back against the cool sheets, and climbed over her, pressing his face to the soft skin of her belly, breathing deep, pressing his open mouth to the swell there, to the faded marks that told the tale that he alone knew.

"I love you," he whispered, soft and privately, to the skin there, so easy that she thought perhaps he hadn't said the words at all.

She gasped as his mouth moved, finding the tip of one breast, and then the other, his hands cupping her, lifting, caressing, ensuring that she would never forget this moment, the way he touched her. The way he loved her. She held him, fingers in his soft golden hair as he whispered to the skin between her breasts, "I love you."

He repeated the words like a benediction as he licked and sucked and worshipped until her breath was coming in short, nearly unbearable pants, and he lifted himself over her, covering her with his body, hard and warm and perfect in every way.

He looked into her eyes. Spoke. "I love you."

And she loved him back, desperately, reaching up, pulling him down for another kiss, into which she poured everything she had ever felt for this brilliant, magnificent man.

He slid into her slow and true, as though they had done this a thousand times, as though they belonged to each other, as though he owned her and she owned him. And he did own her, she realized. He always would.

His movements were deep and thorough, long, lush strokes that had her craning for him. For more of his touch. For more of his love. He seemed to know it, leaning down, repeating his vow again and again at her ear. She did not know if it was the words or the movement, but soon she was begging for release that only he could provide. He stilled, rising up over her, eyes closed in pleasure and pain and she knew he steeled himself to leave her, refusing to release inside her. Refusing to risk her.

"Duncan." He opened his eyes, stealing her breath with the emotion in them. "Don't leave me," she whispered. "Not this time."

He watched her for a long moment, as if searching for the truth in her words. She shook her head. "Not this time," she said, tears welling as she was struck by the keen knowledge that this was the last time they would ever do this.

He took her mouth in a scorching kiss, deeper and more passionate than anything they had shared before, and he reached between them, setting his thumb to her, stroking over and over until she was crying out her release. Only then did he move, thrusting deep, spilling inside her, and she was lost to herself, to the world.

He came down over her and she wrapped herself around him, cradling him as the tears spilled over, and she wept. She wept for the beauty of this moment, the two of them against the world, she wept for herself, for the sacrifice that had set her on this path... the one she had vowed to make, somehow infinitely more devastating now that she understood what it was she gave up.

Love.

When he woke, she was gone.

He should have expected it, but it still rankled, the fact that she had left him here, in the heart of her casino, as she went to fight God knew what battle on her own.

I was on my own. I had to fight for myself. For Caroline.

No longer.

Did she not understand that he was her champion? That he would fight her battles? That he would do anything he could to save her and this place she loved?

He might not be able to have her forever, but he could give her this.

And it would be enough.

Christ. He had to rescind the reward. The Pandora's box he had opened would ruin her and the club if he did not close it. He stood, pulling on his clothes quickly, wasting no time in returning to the main room of the offices.

It was empty now, and he approached the desk in awe and admiration. He thought of the first time she stood in this room, a girl of, what, twenty? Taken down by Society for a moment of risk. For a single mistake.

And she'd built an empire from here. From behind this desk.

And he'd thought he was the hardest-working man in London.

His fingers grazed the blotter, the silver pen that lay there, haphazardly, as though she'd dropped it in a rush to finish some other work. He smiled at the idea – his industrious love.

They made a perfect match.

He ignored the thread of sadness that coursed through him at the thought. At the way he ached for it to be true. For it to be their future. But his secrets were legion, and he would never saddle her with them. With the threat of his discovery. Of his punishment.

Of scandal, once more.

He looked away, his gaze falling to a small stack of letters on the edge of the desk – there were maybe ten there, a final, forgotten stack of what had been dozens of identical squares covering the surface of the desk when he'd entered the room.

He lifted the messages, knowing he shouldn't. Knowing it was not his business, but somehow unable to stop himself. Each one was addressed in the strong, black hand that he had come to know as Chase's.

Not Chase's. Georgiana's.

The letters were made out to members of the club – men he'd seen on the floor dozens of times. There was nothing about the names that linked them – some old, some young, some wealthy, some less so, a duke, two barons, three men in trade.

He lifted one addressed to Baron Pottle.

He slid a finger beneath the seal and opened the note – dread pooling deep within him – to reveal one line.

Tonight, the Angel falls