"For one thing, your clothes are covered with dirt, and your face looks like hell."

Hugh ran a sleeve over his cheek, remembering too late the jagged cuts marking his skin.

"For another, I'm not sure Jane would want to see you."

Hugh had ridden nonstop for days, and his body was a mass of knotted muscles and aching old injuries. His head was splitting. The idea of being near her again had been all that kept him going. "That does no' make sense. We used to be friends."

Quin flashed him an odd expression. "Well, she's…different now. Completely different and completely out of control." He caught Hugh's eyes. "I don't know that I can take another night of it." He shook his head forcefully. "No longer. Not after what they did last night…."

"Who? Did what?"

"The Eight. Or at least, three of them. Two of whom are my sisters!"

Society's notorious Weyland Eight consisted of Jane and her seven female first cousins. Remembering the brazen antics they'd encouraged Jane to take part in, Hugh felt his irritation building.

"But this is no' what I've been brought here for?" Hugh had abandoned his injured younger brother Courtland in France and nearly killed his new horse, a fine gelding that had been a gift for a service he'd rendered. "Because Weyland needs someone to rein her in?"

Surely Weyland wouldn't be so foolish as to call Hugh back for this. Weyland knew what Hugh was, of course. He was Hugh's superior and dispatched him to deliver deaths in the name of the Crown. But then, Weyland had no idea how badly Hugh coveted Jane. Nor for how long.

An obsession. For ten bloody years…

Hugh shook his head. Weyland would never have exaggerated the danger in his missive.

"Weyland didn't tell you what's happened?" Quin's brows drew together. "I thought he sent you a message."

"With little information. Now, what in the hell—"

"Bloody hell!" Rolley came barreling through the doorway. "Bloody, bloody hell! Quin! Have you seen her?"