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Thorne fretted during the long ride through the dimly lit streets of London.

The traffic was surprisingly heavy for the late hour.

There must be several entertainments happening tonight.

He hoped his contact was not attending one of them.

If he was not at his club, he didn’t know where he might look for him.

When his carriage finally arrived, he wasted no time disembarking. He greeted the doorman as he entered the club and asked if he’d seen the gentleman he was seeking.

“Aye, sir, he is in the cardroom.”

Thorne nodded and handed off his top hat and overcoat before stepping into the cardroom.

“Are you playing tonight, sir?” a waiter asked.

“Not tonight, but I wouldn’t mind a pot of coffee and some of cook’s stew.”

“Very good sir, are you dining here or in the regular dining room?”

Thorne met the eyes of the man he was seeking and nodded. “The dining room, if you please, and could you make that two stews?”

“As you please.”

Thorne made his way into the dining room and waited for his contact to join him. “Good evening, brother.”

“You don’t have to announce that to everyone,” he sneered.

Caleb Blackwood had returned from the war in the Americas with only one good arm.

His plans to die in service of the crown thwarted by an army surgeon with more tenacity than skill.

As the second son of the mad Duke of Briaridge, he too had spent years in the shadow of their eldest brother and the father, whose wastrel ways had resulted in syphilis induced psychosis.

Thorne could barely remember a time when their father wasn’t half mad, but unlike his youngest siblings, he didn’t think their father was sick when the older siblings were born.

It was his father’s blatant disregard for their mother’s health, as well as that of their younger siblings, that had kept him celibate for so many years.

“I would have thought you’d have been with your betrothed?”

“We put on a bit of a show so that I might disappear for a while.”

“Ah, so you didn’t just come here to buy your invalid brother a meal.”

Thorne rolled his eyes. “You may have lost your arm, but you are hardly invalid.”

He nodded. “A group calling themselves the Reformists are planning something.”

“Napoleon’s supporters?”

“Yeah, they are a splinter group that started with those seeking reform. Unlike their parent group, these guys have become militant. They were responsible for the riot down on the docks last month.”

“That got bloody, but it was just a bunch of bully boys with clubs.”

Caleb shook his head. “They were just the distraction. The actual crime happened without even a peep.”

Thorne frowned. “But you heard about it?”

He shrugged. “People talk freely around me like I’m not even there.”

“It makes you good at your job.”

“Yeah.” He sighed and returned to the subject. “They wish to cause havoc here in London. It’s believed the government used too much of our resources fighting the Americans, and if they can cause dissent here at home, it’ll keep Britain from being a threat to their cause.”

“Do you know what or when?”

He shook his head and shoveled in a spoonful of stew. “I don’t know what it is but from the word in the streets, it will be big and take out several key players. I think Liverpool is the key target, but there’s been some mention of the Home Secretary as well.”

“Keep your ear to the ground. If you get any leads, please let me know.”

“I always do.” He sipped his wine. “Tell me about your betrothal. I have heard it was fake.”

Thorne sighed. “Nothing about my relationship with Beatrice is ever fake.”

“Then you plan to marry her?”

“How can I when we both know what madness we could bring to her and any children we might have?”

“Father’s madness was of his own doings. You are nothing like him.”

Thorne wasn’t so sure. Even now, all he wanted to do was join Birdie in her bed and stay there until this war was over. Unfortunately, he had an obligation and honor demanded he put his personal desires aside for now.