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“Escaped!” Lord Vernon growled. “I cannot believe that bastard escaped.”

The old spymaster had been saying the same thing for nearly a week as they tracked Napoleon through their assets in the field. “My intel says that he is gathering supplies and supporters as he travels towards Paris.”

“Can we stop him before he reaches Paris?” Thorne asked.

Lord Vernon shook his head. “By the time we can get men deployed, he will have Paris. It is up to Louis to stop him.”

“Surely, he has lost most of his supporters. Napoleon can hardly be a threat,” replied John Hartley. He was the youngest councilman in the organization, his former neighbor and eldest brother to the woman Thorne yearned for. Thorne gritted his teeth and forced the old hurt away.

“Have you decoded the message I brought you?” Thorne asked, eager to get back in the field.

In the office, he was not as capable. Other men were much smarter, more educated.

He’d survived on the battlefield by his wits and charm, but in the ballroom, cardroom or gambling house, he was the master.

He knew how to use flattery or challenge, a well-placed rumor or innuendo to influence the Beauton, or a small group of peers.

Like a good game of chess or a hand of whist, it was more often about manipulating your opponent than any big scheme.

“My expert decoder is out of town and no one else can decipher it. I will have to contact Blue Bird immediately.” Vernon paced in front of the table where the rest of them sat. “Thorne, I need you to attend the Earl of Lakeland’s ball. I believe the earl is in cahoots with the Corsican.”

“I can save you from yourself,” the widow cornered Thorne as he stepped out of the cardroom.

His contact met his eyes and shook his head before disappearing amid the crowd of dancers. Thorne cursed under his breath as he tried to sidestep the buxom young widow. “Excuse me, madam, but I believe you are mistaken…”

One of the older debutants pushed the widow aside, leaning too close for propriety’s sake. “It’s a virgin bride he needs to give him the redemption society seeks. Everyone knows a well-experienced woman can’t salvage his reputation.”

The two women started squabbling, and Thorne ducked out of their clutches.

They were just the most recent to launch an attack.

Last evening, on his way from the club, a group of widows waylaid him, but his espionage training enabled his escape.

This afternoon, three feuding ladies confronted him outside his tailor’s shop.

He’d had to slip out the back of the shop to avoid further confrontation.

His sudden popularity confused him. His reputation as a rakehell had allowed him to avoid the machinations of marriage-minded mamas.

He cultivated that reputation, carefully remaining just within the bounds of respectability to be accepted in most social situations.

He ducked behind a potted fern when he saw another group of ladies heading in his direction.

“Trouble, Thorne?” A sultry alto asked with a quiet chuckle.

His pantaloons were suddenly too tight. Her voice was enough to elicit a few dark thoughts.

He’d dreamed of her often in the years since they’d parted.

Thorne turned to see his childhood friend, Beatrice ‘Birdie’ Hartley, grinning at him.

“You think this is funny, eh?” He struggled to contain his desire and frustration.

The old hurt threatening to consume him once again.

Her humor did not reach her eyes. “Oh, yes, hilarious. How many women have accosted you tonight?”

Thorne huffed. “Tonight, I’ve been hiding in the card room.

” Hiding in the card room and unable to do his job because every time he’d stepped out of the room, a swarm of women had started his way.

Frustrated, he watched his contact get scared off.

It made no sense. He was a younger son with few known prospects.

“And how many in the last few days?”

He frowned at her question, alert to the innuendo. “What do you know, Bird?”

“What makes you think I know anything? I’m just a plain old wallflower sitting here twiddling my thumbs while the beautiful people dance the night away.”

Her pain and anger were palatable. He’d done that.

Well, his father had, but it was because of him.

The bastard had threatened to ruin her and her family if they continued their liaison.

He’d joined the Army to escape the man, but Birdie had not had that opportunity.

He should have stayed to protect her, but he’d been penniless and powerless.

He’d feared she would marry while he was away, but now he had to wonder if they would not be better off had she indeed married. It wasn’t as if he could ask for her hand. Not now that Napoleon had escaped.He lowered his gaze to her lap to keep her from deducing his warring emotions.

Birdie might not be traditionally beautiful, but she was stunning, tall, with raven hair and eyes like a foggy morning.

Her height didn’t bother him. He was well over six feet tall.

She was one of the smartest people he’d ever met.

So why was she a wallflower? Had the Duke of Briaridge’s machinations left her no other options?

Could no one else see her worth? If he wasn’t eyeballs deep in espionage, he’d stand up with her, but he had a part to play and courting someone as fine as Beatrice Hartley wouldn’t make anyone believe his cover story.

“You’ve never been plain, and why anyone would let you sit here in the corner is beyond me.

So, dear Birdie, tell me what you know?”

She pulled a clipping from the book she carried.

“Who carries a book to a ball?” Thorne demanded.

Tilting her head, she gave him the look he knew well. It was the same look she’d given him when they were children.

“Okay, I know. You go nowhere without a book.” He laughed and brought the piece she’d handed him up close to his face to read. Squinting, he reread the article. “Where was this printed?”

“In the Ladies’ Home and Hearth Magazine.” She nodded her head. “That’s a reprint in the London Daily.”

“The London…when did this come out?”

He could feel her eyes on him and knew she was studying him. “Papa showed it to me the first of the week.” She shrugged. “But it must have come out last week.”

He cursed under his breath. “Can I keep this?” Was it just a coincidence that it came out about the time Napoleon was escaping his prison island?

She nodded and tried to hide her smirk. “I take it you didn’t send in the advertisement?”

“Of course not. This is someone’s idea of a joke,” he fumed. Or a way to keep him occupied.

“Who would do such a thing?”

He growled. Only two names came to mind, but only one would care enough to do such a thing. “My former mistress,” he muttered.

Birdie looked away, but not before he saw the hurt in her eyes. “You must have royally pissed her off.”

Or she was working with the enemy. He blushed. “I shouldn’t have mentioned…”

“Your special friend?” She grinned. “With a widowed father and my crowd of brothers. Do you think I don’t hear things?”

He tugged at his collar. “Thank you for the information.”

“What will you do?”

He shook his head. “Hide?”

“I’ve been doing that for years. I don’t recommend it.”

He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss away her sadness.

Birdie had been the first girl he’d ever kissed.

They were six years old, and he told her he was going to marry her.

His heart skipped a beat, and he wished for a moment that he was free to do so.

He bid her goodbye and hurried from the ball.

He had an informant to catch up with and evidence to locate, not to mention he needed to discover who’d played this prank and why.