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W illiam wrote quickly, signing contracts and penning missives for his solicitors. The faster he finished his business, the faster he could return to Helene. He had ordered his chef to prepare a special dinner. If she complained that she didn’t receive gifts, or God forbid—food from him, he would feed her, pushing the caviar through her plump lips until she was replete. Then, he would undress her slowly and worship every inch of her delectable skin.

The clock struck seven, and he decided he had waited more than a hot-blooded gentleman could be expected to. William released his pen and was about to rise when Baines announced a visitor.

“Thornley, this is a surprise,” William said, hiding his impatience under a blank facade.

The older man sauntered inside, his face flushed, his white hair sticking out at odd angles. “I had hoped to see you at the Duchess of Devonshire ball last night. Everyone commented on your absence.”

William gestured for Thornley to sit. “I had a previous engagement. May I help you?”

“My discoveries couldn’t wait,” Thornley replied, shaking his hand firmly.

William crossed his arms. What was it this time? “If this concerns the protest in Covent Garden, I talked with Cavendish already. The Horse Guards could have handled the commotion better. Our military shouldn't attack unarmed civilians. Beyond that, we have our hands tied against Farley. My lawyer said the court will take—”

“Never mind the court.” Thornley waved his hand dismissively. “I have news that will silence the radical.”

William frowned, suddenly alert. He didn’t care for the glint in the older man’s eyes.

Thornley leaned in. “I have it from my sources that Farley frequents a well-known establishment on Rose Street. The bastard is a molly, a sodomite.”

Frowning, William gripped his pen. “You can’t mean to use this information against him.”

Thornley’s smile was predatory. “One breath of this to the Runners, and he will face the gibbets. Dead writers can no longer tell libel. His morals will be tainted, and he won’t even be able to be a martyr.”

“This is about principles," William said. "We cannot compromise on ethics, no matter the circumstance.”

Thornley narrowed his eyes. “This weight must rest on our shoulders, I’m afraid. Who else is there? Lord Liverpool is more worried about maintaining his power and the Regent… No one can count on him for important matters. Sometimes, during war, it is necessary to take actions that defy our conscience.”

“Farley’s personal life should not be weaponized. It’s a line we cannot cross. Are we in war against our countrymen? I think not.”

Thornley frowned. “Son, we shouldn’t let private matters cloud our judgment.”

William pushed away from the table. Stomach churning, he stared outside. People huddled against the biting wind as they crossed the square.

Thornley placed a hand on William’s shoulder. “This has nothing to do with the Dowager Duchess.”

William gritted his teeth. “Leave the duchess out of this.”

Memories of his mother flooded his mind—her beautiful smile, her laughter, and the piano lessons. What right had Thornley to bring her up? She lived in retirement in Brighton with her companion, and few knew of her arrangement. She didn’t need the scandal, not with her declining health.

“What you mother did was not a crime,” Thornley insisted.

William gripped the windowsill, his pulse pounding in his ears. She had followed her passions, hadn’t she? The government might see her actions as a harmless friendship between women, while what men did was a capital crime, but that didn’t lessen the impact on William’s family. After she left, his father had changed. Astley took the first opportunity to run to the Peninsula, and his sister Joan… Out of reach, in a bloody Austrian convent.

“We won’t use this against him,” William said, his expression hardening.

In his mind’s eye, he saw Helene pleading for him to protest the brutality in Covent Garden. How would he face her now if he acted so despicably?

Thornley’s eyes narrowed, his tone judgmental. “Why not? Farley indulged in disgraceful conduct and should be disgracefully punished.”

“No, damn it!”

A heavy silence ensued. The clock ticked loudly. William’s breathing rasped against his nostrils.

Thornley’s eyes widened, and he took a step back. “Son, are you sure you are all right? You’ve been missing social events, and at the last parliament session, you seemed distracted.”

Pain throbbed in his head, and William pressed his fingers against his temples. “We cannot destroy a man for this. It’s not right.”

Expression solemn, Thornley placed himself before his father’s portrait. “The fifth Duke of Albemarle was the greatest man this kingdom ever saw. Do you remember when he dissolved Lord Ramsey’s government because of corruption? His best friend? Your father knew the value of sacrifices. Never once had he allowed emotions to jeopardize his duty to his country.”

William gazed at the portrait, and his hands clenched. Father could always see right through him. If he were alive, he would be appalled at William’s lack of control and, worse, his relationship with Helene.

William caught the chain from his vest pocket, pressing it against his fingers. He could not be the broken link. Cold sweat formed on his back, and a weight settled in his chest. He could wrestle Thornley into leaving the matter to rest, but for how long?

“I will speak with Farley. Personally. If he understands his vulnerability, he will curb his radicalism.”

The words left a bitter taste in his mouth. Still, scaring Farley was a lesser evil compared to allowing his arrest.

Thornley nodded and ambled to the door. Midway, he stopped. “Farley is out of town. If you cannot convince him when he returns, I will have no other choice but to act.”