Bennet walked into the Cock and Worm at just after midnight that evening. The tavern was crowded and loud at that hour, the smoke from innumerable pipes hovering in a cloud near the ceiling. Harry sat in a dark corner and watched young Mr. Granville move with the overly cautious gait of a man who was already the worse for drink. Walking into a disreputable place like the Cock and Worm with one’s senses impaired wasn’t a particularly bright thing to do, but that wasn’t Harry’s worry. An aristocrat gambling with his own safety wasn’t his business—now or ever.

Harry took a pull from his mug and switched his gaze to the two local harlots drumming up trade. The younger of the wenches, a blonde, sat on a ruddy-faced man’s lap. Her titties were right under his chin—as if she was worried he was near-sighted. The man’s eyes were glazed, and the harlot made stealthy movements at the front of his trousers. It wouldn’t be long before the two came to an understanding.

The second harlot, a red-haired wench, caught his gaze and tossed her head. She’d already tried her charms with him, and he’d sent her away. Of course, if he flashed a purse now, she’d be smiling soon enough. The more ale he drank, the more he began to rethink turning the redhead down. He’d been randy for days now, and the object of his bone-on, despite her offer, wasn’t likely to help him now, was she?

Harry scowled into his ale. What had she been after, his Lady Georgina, when she invited him to her private rooms? Not what he’d wanted to think, that’s for sure. The lady was a virgin, and the first rule of aristocratic maidens was Guard well thy virginity. Don’t, whatever you do, go handing it out to the hired help. The lady had been looking for the thrill of a stolen kiss or two. He was forbidden fruit to her. Good thing he’d resisted her blandishments. Few men he knew could’ve done so. He nodded and drank to his own wisdom.

But then he remembered how she’d looked earlier that night. Her eyes had been so blue and so unwary, belying the temptation of her low neckline. Her breasts had seemed to glow in the firelight. The thought of her even now made his too-alert prick come to attention. He frowned, disgusted at his own weakness. Actually, none of the men he knew—

Crash!

Harry jerked around.

Young Mr. Granville slid across a table, headfirst, knocking ale-filled glasses to the floor. Each glass detonated with a small, wet explosion upon impact with the floor.

Harry took another swig from his mug. This wasn’t his worry.

The men at the table weren’t pleased. One fellow with hands the size of hams hauled Bennet upright by his shirtfront. Bennet flailed at the other man, catching him a blow to the side of the head.

Not his worry.