She should have been annoyed, but she could not quite muster the energy. She was using too much of it to love him.

She settled back into the soft seat of his carriage, considering all the things she had to do prior to her deadline with Tremley tomorrow – most importantly, telling the other partners that Chase was about to be revealed.

How many times had she shaken her head at the actions of men in love?

They were nothing in comparison to the actions of a woman in love.

A light from a streetlamp outside shone bright in the window, illuminating the newspaper on the seat next to her.

She stilled, sure she had misread.

She lifted the paper, not believing it at first, turning the page to the street, waiting for a light to confirm the words. And then the date. The paper she held in her hand would release the next day, ironically, on the same date that Tremley’s offer expired.

There, across the entirety of the page, was a single headline:

Reward for the Identity of The Fallen Angel’s Owner

And beneath:

£5,000 for proof of the identity of the elusive Chase

Chapter 20

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.