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H arrington rose early the following morning and set out to execute his mission.

He started at Castle Court Tea and Coffee House, an establishment he had heard was popular with MPs because it carried a large selection of newspapers.

Unfortunately, it appeared to attract the wrong sort of politicians, as none of the men diligently perusing the news of the day were on Harrington’s list of idlers.

He passed an hour perusing the latest edition of Cobbett’s Political Register —something he had never imagined himself doing—then set off in search of a new strategy.

Harrington didn’t know a damn thing about the habits of the men on his list. But he did know who to ask.

His friend from Oxford, Peter Ferguson, was head of his family’s business importing textiles from India, his mother’s home country.

Peter had an encyclopedic memory which he applied diligently when it came to his potential customers.

He had intelligence on everyone—whether they paid their bills on time, what fashions they preferred, and how they could best be beguiled into making a purchase.

He dropped by the showroom of Ferguson’s Fine Draperies on Leicester Square. Unsurprisingly, Peter was busy charming a dowager marchioness into purchasing an expensive Kashmiri shawl, but they arranged to meet at the chophouse around the corner for luncheon.

Harrington decided to spend the interval imposing himself upon his friend, Henry, and his sister, Caro so that he could meet his new niece, Georgiana.

Little Georgie was the spitting image of her mother, had a bright giggle, and adored batting at the red tassels hanging from the sash of his Rifleman’s uniform.

Harrington informed Caro and Henry that they could not have done any better.

Henry decided to accompany him to the chophouse. As they stepped outside, Henry said, “Your birthday is coming up in a few weeks. Do you think you’ll be in town? Or will the army have found somewhere to send you by then?”

“I don’t know. They could send me anywhere, but for now, they seem eager to make use of my new position in Parliament.”

“Good.” Henry shot him a grin. “I’ve got a few things planned.

We’ll start in the afternoon over at Bentinck’s property just outside of town.

He has the perfect setup for trap shooting—your favorite.

We’ll stay the night at his villa, and Peter’s going to send his French chef to prepare us a real feast.” Henry gave a low whistle.

“You should see the wines he’s purchased for the occasion.

I have no idea how he’s getting them during wartime.

” Henry glanced at him, and his eyes held a trace of nervousness. “How does that sound?”

It was on the tip of Harrington’s tongue to say different . Because for many years, the birthdays of Harrington, Henry, and the rest of their friends had served as a convenient excuse for a night of extreme debauchery, inevitably ending in a house of ill repute.

But each year, the number of revelers dwindled.

Harrington’s friends either married or started the sorts of careers where they needed to have a care for their reputation, or both.

Harrington hadn’t much cared until Henry had been the one to marry.

Henry was his best friend. He couldn’t possibly celebrate his birthday without Henry in attendance.

But that meant that the nature of the celebration had to change.

Harrington didn’t mind, precisely. It wasn’t as if he wanted to visit a bawdy house with the man who was now married to his sister .

The mere thought made him shudder. Besides, Henry marrying had brought home the fact that the rest of his friends were moving on, were growing up, while Harrington was still living the life of a young buck even as he reached an age at which most people no longer considered him young.

Henry’s wedding was the event that had spurred him to join the army, and looking back, he could see that he had needed the push.

And yet, part of him missed those wild parties of years past. It wasn’t that Harrington found their new festivities unappealing. Everything Henry had suggested, from the trap shooting to the feast, sounded bloody brilliant.

But out of all his friends, Henry was the only one who had somehow figured out Harrington’s secret, who knew what he really liked in bed.

This meant that every year on Harrington’s birthday, they didn’t wind up at just any bawdy house.

More often than not, they found themselves at an establishment specializing in flagellation.

It was one thing if it was Henry’s choice. Harrington could laugh it off as some mad lark schemed up by his friend. He was just going along with it! It wasn’t as if he really liked that sort of thing.

Except… he did like that sort of thing. He had discovered as much on his first day at Eton, when he and Henry were paddled soundly for sneaking a goat into Headmaster Davies’ private quarters on a dare. To his surprise, Harrington had sprung a cockstand during his caning.

He hadn’t thought too much of it at first. He’d been a twelve-year-old boy at the time.

Everything caused him to spring a cockstand.

The sound of a girl laughing. His trousers, rubbing against him from an unexpected angle.

Neatly stacked melons in a market stall.

It was a wonder he ever didn’t have a cockstand in those days.

But, given how much trouble Harrington got into, and how many paddlings he received as a result, it became impossible to ignore the fact that his cock jumped to attention each and every time. Not that Headmaster Davies inspired those sort of feelings in him! Yech .

But when he imagined that it was one of the pretty barmaids down at The George Inn wielding the birch, the ones who wore low-cut dresses and smiled at all the boys when they walked through the door…

Well, he’d learned that he’d best not do that while the caning was taking place unless he really wanted to embarrass himself in front of the other boys.

But if he imagined one of those barmaids spanking him later, when he’d found a private spot to stroke himself to completion, it made his resulting orgasm ten times more intense.

He'd come to discover that his proclivities weren’t that unusual, at least, not for schoolboys. Every year, there were a handful of boys who had the same reaction to getting paddled. They would even joke about it sometimes.

But it was one thing to be a bit oversexed when you were fourteen. Everyone at Eton was oversexed. Enjoying a spanking was one of a number of behaviors that you could get away with during your school days, but not later in life.

So, it wasn’t necessarily scandalous that Harrington had liked being paddled back when he was young and foolish, nor was it surprising that Henry had noticed. But he was supposed to have grown out of this strange perversion years ago, and it was the fact that he hadn’t that was shameful.

Henry would never judge him. Harrington trusted Henry implicitly.

And those scant handful of birthdays Henry had planned for him had been the best sexual experiences of his life, even though he hadn’t trusted those women enough to tell them precisely what he wanted them to say and do.

He’d just pretended he was going along with it on a whim, because he was game enough to try anything once.

He definitely did not have a precise script that he secretly wished they would follow, one he’d been fantasizing about for roughly half of his life—what an absurd suggestion!

And so, even though he knew he was too old for such things, that it was past time for him to grow out of it, Harrington couldn’t help but feel morose at the thought that, without those birthday parties, he would never have the chance to experience what he really liked in bed.

Ah, well. Such was life.

Henry was still looking at him expectantly.

Harrington squeezed his shoulder. “That sounds outstanding.”

Relief washed over Henry’s face. “Does it really?”

“It truly does. Thanks for putting something together for me. Means a lot.”

Henry nodded. “Good. Good. I’ll ask all our usual crowd. Put together a list of any new friends from the army you’d like to include, and I’ll make sure they receive an invitation as well.”

They came to the chophouse. As they stepped inside, Harrington recalled that he had bigger problems than his birthday party. How he hoped that Peter would be able to help him solve them.