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That was a deep thought, and not one Conor cared to sit and untangle here and now.

He found Henry Wilson seated at a card table with five other men and rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m leaving,” he said when Henry looked up.

“You’re leaving already?” Henry frowned. “You just got here.”

“I’ve had a couple drinks. I’ve seen that things are going well. I’m ready to head back home.” There was a cigar and a newspaper awaiting him there, as well as the privacy and quiet of his own personal library. Conor would always prefer those things to the mad bustle of The Arc.

“Won’t you sit in for a hand before you go?” Henry asked, gesturing to the table.

“No, thank you. You know I don’t enjoy gambling.”

One of the men at the table muttered something under his breath to another man—a pointed comment about Conor’s unwillingness to join in, no doubt.

But Conor didn’t care. He had given these people a place to drink, a place to sit and play cards, a place to socialize. He didn’t owe them anything more. Certainly, he didn’t owe them any of his own time.

He inclined his head to the men around the table, hoping they would feel some shame for the way they had spoken about him.

But knowing them, they probably wouldn’t.

Chapter 2

Conor’s route home took him right past the Angry Boar pub. There was a part of him that would have liked to go out of his way to avoid the sight of the place, but there was another part of him—the more dominant part, as it turned out—that was averse to making any such concession to the Angry Boar or its owner, Killian O’Flannagan.

Why should I go out of my way?he asked himself, unable to keep from descending into moodiness as he passed the establishment that was The Arc’s biggest rival.I opened my business first. And I’m not the one trying to sabotage him.

It really was hard to believe the lengths O’Flannagan seemed willing to go to in order to sabotage The Arc. Business rivalries were nothing new, and Conor had expected that sort of thing when he had first opened The Arc. But O’Flannagan had made it personal.

He had nearly made it past the Angry Boar when he heard a door swing open. He closed his eyes, knowing already what he was about to face, wishing he could just get this over with.

“Middleborough!” a shout came from behind him.

Conor steeled himself, then turned slowly. O’Flannagan stood in the road behind him, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed. He was a strong, burly man, and he probably thought himself physically intimidating, but Conor was not afraid of him.

O’Flannagan would never be bold enough to start an actual fight, he thought.He fights with words, and he fights in secret. If he were to confront me physically, he might lose. He’d never take such a chance.

“What is it, O’Flannagan?” he asked.

“What are you doing outside my establishment?” O’Flannagan asked. “Spying?”

“Don’t be a fool. I’m on my way home. It’s nothing more sinister than that. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

“I can’t have men like you lingering around my pub,” O’Flannagan said.

Conor raised his eyebrows. This ought to be rich. “Men like me? And what does that mean, may I ask?”

“Everyone knows about the way you are with women,” O’Flannagan said, his voice gruff. “You make them believe you care for them. You persuade them to come home with you. Then you abandon them.”

“That’s a really sickening thing to say,” Conor said. “I’m almost impressed.”

“How many have you left with child?” O’Flannagan asked.

“I’m going to go now,” Conor said.

“I heard you had at least three bastard children around the city,” O’Flannagan pressed.

“Well, I believe you started that rumor yourself,” Conor said. “And I think you know as well as I do, that it isn’t true. But I don’t have to prove anything to you, O’Flannagan.”

“You do if you’re going to be lurking outside my pub,” O’Flannagan said. “You’ll frighten away my patrons. And frankly, I can’t have violent criminals who pose a risk to my clientele here.”