Page 31 of A Dangerous Lord (Regency Spies & Secrets 3)

“Why is it that you haven’t been seen in Society lately?” his brother asked with a raised brow.

He shrugged. “I am not interested in mingling with members of theton.”

“I hope to see you there,” Simon said, speaking over his shoulder as he walked away.

Corbyn reached into the pocket of his green jacket and removed a pile of missives. He placed them on the desk and sat down.

As he reached for the first one, he found himself shaking his head. There was a reason he had moved out of his father’s townhouse. It was a place filled with painful memories, ones that he would prefer to forget. No. He would never go back to that place.

Despite his father’s insistence that he would never amount to anything, he was running a spy agency at a young age. He had made something of himself, and he refused to feel bad for working for his income. His duty was to King and country. Nothing else mattered.

His job was important, and he worked hard to ensure his agents were supported and protected in the field. So why couldn’t he just bury his past?

Botheration!

He knew he needed to go visit his father one last time. If not for him, for his mother. He owed her that. He owed her so much more. But he refused to linger at their townhouse. That is where he would put his foot down.

Leaning back in his chair, he wiped his hand over his mouth. Now on to the next issue. How he dreaded balls. He would rather be back fighting Napoleon’s army than attend a pointless social gathering, but he knew he couldn’t forego his Aunt Diana’s ball. Simon had been right. He refused to dishonor her so tremendously by failing to appear.

Drats!

He would also be expected to dance at least one set.

At least he had work. That filled him with a great sense of accomplishment. He unfolded the paper in his hand, read the contents, and moved on to the next one.

Chapter Five

The next morning,Corbyn walked purposefully towards Hawthorne House. He wanted to see if Oliver had made any progress in his case and, truth be told, he wanted to ensure that Jane was well.

He had no doubt that Baldwin had given her a thorough scolding for her impulsive decision to leave the orphanage and follow Oliver through the rookeries. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel some sympathy for her plight.

Jane was inquisitive, much like him. He had to admit that he admired her for wanting to discover the truth of her brother, but that was not likely to happen. It was much simpler if she never learned the truth of it all.

Corbyn tipped his head at the guard as the man opened the gate for him and headed across the cobblestone courtyard. As he approached the main door, it was opened, and Pratt greeted him politely.

“Good morning, milord.”

“Good morning,” Corbyn said as he stepped into the entry hall. “Is Lord Hawthorne available for callers?”

“He is,” Pratt replied. “He is in his study.”

Jane’s voice came from the doorway to the drawing room. “You should know that he is with Oliver.”

Corbyn turned to face her. “When did Oliver return home?”

“Only moments before you arrived.”

“Is that so?”

Jane had a look of disapproval on her face. “His clothes are terribly wrinkled, his hair is disheveled, and he smells awful. It almost appears as if he slept on the street in the rookeries.”

“At least he is home,” he attempted.

“But for how long?”

Corbyn’s eyes roamed over Jane’s lovely face. “How are you faring?” he asked.

Her face softened. “I am well.”

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