Quin admitted, "The Hive."

"They dinna go there," Ethan bit out incredulously. The Hive, a warehouse converted into an unlicensed dance hall, was infamous for debauchery. "How do the women in your family evenfind these things?" Quin's two sisters and his six female first cousins comprised the Weyland Eight, as society called them. They were progressives, loving all things modern, and had dubbed themselves "sensation seekers."

Ethan called them "spoiled chits with too much coin and too much freedom."

Quin shook his head. "I wish I bloody knew."

"I canna believe they're voluntarily going into that place. You ken your sisters will no' come out in the same shape as they went in."

"Go to hell, Kavanagh—"

"Doona call me that," Ethan snapped. He hated being reminded of his title, of that life. "Why do you no' drag them home by their ears?"

"And be forced to give Jane a reason why she suddenly has none of the freedom she's accustomed to?"

"She does no' know she's in danger?"

Quin shook his head. "We are hoping you'll take out Grey early enough that Jane never has to know about any of us." He reined around when Ethan prodded his obstinate mount forward. "You're going?"

"Aye, I need to see my brother."And make sure he's capable of the job at hand. "What's the fare tonight at the Hive?"

Quin muttered, "An illegal courtesans' ball."

Ethan gave a humorless laugh. He could practically feel sorry for the unsuspecting "young friend from out of town." The lass was about to get an eye-opening lesson in depravity.

Regrettably, Ethan had seen the love-struck look on his brother's face before.

Though Hugh was an assassin—one of the most skilled and prolific in the world—his mind went blank when he was near Jane Weyland. He had difficulty speaking. His brow would bead with sweat like a green lad's.