The comments, though they allowed him access to places he normally wouldn’t have been allowed, burned through Harry’s heart, for they proved over and over again that he was not as important as he wished, no matter how he dressed. He became more determined to succeed in the society that only allowed him to stand at its edges.

But to reach those heights, he would have to establish himself well enough that he could marry the woman of his choice—someone wealthy, well connected, and desirable. Harry thought he knew such a woman, the daughter of a wealthy viscount. Harry had been flirting with her for a sennight, and he thought he detected some feeling in her gaze.

Not that it mattered. She was necessary only to cement his place in the society to which he belonged, and nothing else. He looked into his glass and sighed. It was one of the great ironic facts of the ton that wealth tended to marry wealth. And Harry, for all his scheming, didn’t have the funds it would take to convince the protective papa of a tender young heiress that he was an eligible parti.

He’d considered an elopement, but that was too crass and could cause him to be ostracized from the very society he wished to enter. No, he wanted to be welcomed into the family he chose. Welcomed as an equal. And that would take some serious funding.

The desire had grown into an obsession. Harry ate, drank, slept, and dreamed of it. Though until he’d met Chase St. John a year ago, he hadn’t known how to gain the entrance he so desired. How to get the large amount of funds he so desperately needed.

It was a pity Chase had suddenly developed a conscience. “Utterly inconvenient,” Harry murmured into his glass.

A waiter stopped and quietly asked if anything else would be needed. Harry shook his head impatiently and waved the man away. The waiter bowed respectfully and reached for the bill that Chase St. John had signed not ten minutes earlier.

Harry’s eyes were drawn to the bill. “Wait.”

The waiter stopped, waiting politely. “Yes, sir?”

“Leave that. I may want something more after all.”

“Of course, sir.” The waiter bowed, then left.

Harry reached over and picked up the bill, looking at the flourishing signature for a long moment. Slowly, by barely discernible degrees, a smile touched his lips. Chase St. John might be leaving London, but his brothers would still be there. And for a while, at least, they wouldn’t know the whereabouts of their beloved younger brother. It was just the opportunity Harry needed.

“Yes, indeed,” he said, folding the bill in half. “I shall have to thank my dear friend Chase, after all.” He tucked the bill into the same pocket he’d tucked the banknotes and, whistling softly, finished his port and called for his coat. Within moments, he had left the club and was making his way to his lodgings on 10th Street.