Henry growled, shoving the flask back against his friend’s chest.

“At some point, Henry,” Benjamin cut in, “you will need to admit that your unpleasant arse needs female companionship.”

Complete rubbish. He needed nothing of the sort. More like he needed a quick escape, so he could retire to his apartment. Alone. Have that brandy and enjoy a book. That was what he needed.

Women, love, even his bloody acquaintances… he had no time for such nonsense. He had no interest in spending his nights rambling around London drunk and gambling and visiting the brothels. He left that to his younger rake of a brother, Lieutenant Rafe Davies, lately of the Royal Navy.

Henry knew his strengths, which consisted precisely of the law and being the dutiful eldest son. He considered anything else a waste of his time, which he fiercely guarded. He considered time a far more valuable and precious currency.

“You are beautiful when you blush,” Michael teased, elbowing Henry as he stretched up onto his toes to search the busy street for a hackney.

This was London, late in the afternoon, on a beautiful September day. Where were all the damn hackneys?

“I am not going. I wish you a happy birthday. Now, excuse me…”

“Wait!” yelled Stephen, grabbing Henry’s arm. “I can arrange a dinner with Judge Leeson.”

Henry froze, studying his boots and playing over the name in his mind. He had tried to have his dinner with Judge Phineas Leeson for almost two years now. Knowing him would serve Henry well. He wouldn’t always be arguing civil cases. He had ambitions. There would be nothing more pleasing to him than spending his days seeing those who commit wrong in the world pay their due.

“Come for one hour this evening, and I will see it done.”

Everything within Henry tensed, and he swore he felt the beginning twinges of a headache pulse at his temples. The temptation of home was all too alluring, but he pushed past the knot in his throat and glanced up at his ruddy-faced friend with narrowed eyes.

“He owes my father a favor. It can be arranged next week.”

There was something to be said about merit. Henry wished to be recognized by his talent, not necessarily by his connections. His time in London had taught him otherwise. It was not necessarily who you were, but who you knew. And Henry craved to become something. He was hellbent on making something of himself.

He would do nearly anything as long as it was legal, of course. That was often the moral sticking point for barristers. The better ones, at least.

He whacked his top hat against his thigh, glancing up at the September pink sky as dusk quickly approached.

“Fine. One hour.”

The group cheered and pulled him down the street in the opposite direction from his apartment. Carriages rumbled by on the street, and a little girl stood by a fruit stall clutching a wilting handful of flowers.

“One last thing, Henry,” Michael said. “You’ll need a mask for the masquerade.”

“I didn’t agree to costumes.”

“Technically,” Stephen started, “you agreed only to an hour. There was no discussion of attire for that hour.”

There was no point in arguing with a solicitor, especially one who excelled at discovering the loopholes in a case. He might as well have been a hound smelling out a fox.

“Very well. One hour and a mask. I will not make any further exceptions.”

“Of course not. We wouldn’t want to ruin your carefully planned evening of poring over law cases.”

Fifty-five minutes into the agreed-upon hour, Henry was lost among a swarm of people descending upon Vauxhall Gardens with such merriment, the excitement buzzing around him was almost catching.

Almost.

Henry was convinced the excitement was more because he was nearly five minutes closer to freedom.

He snapped his father’s timepiece shut. Four now…

The warm September night wrapped around him, but he swore he could smell the faint hint of autumn. Time was on a cusp, and Henry stood there, overlooking the party, and felt rather adrift. He felt far too restless lately, and he couldn’t shake the feeling.

It never usually bothered him. Being alone, that is. His father had passed away when he was ten, then he’d been sent to live with his uncle’s family in London. At the time, he had craved to be with his mother at the pink seaside cottage in Wales, running wild with his younger brother and sister, chasing the seagulls darting through the crashing surf. But he had lived in London on and off, and his younger brother Rafe was sent to become an apprentice to his father’s friend, Captain Ackerman, or rather Admiral Ackerman now. And as for his sister, Mari, well… they were never close before, and it was certainly difficult after the accident.

“Davies!” Stephen shouted above the din, waving Henry over to a very merry and very large group of women.

No time in his thirty-one years had Henry wished to flirt or frequent brothels or, worse, fall in love. He had one goal, and one goal only.

Henry removed his watch from his vest and pointed to it as an answer, but it didn’t matter because Stephen was already continuing with whatever one did at a masquerade. Which seemed like a lot. A lot of drinking, a lot of laughing, and a lot of behavior that normally the ton would frown upon in the grand ballrooms of Mayfair.

Funny what rules could be pushed when darkness swept over the city and masks were worn.

London was a social battleground with mamas hungry to make excellent matches for their daughters. It was often black and white, so why men were allowed to live and play in the gray was baffling to Henry.

Zeus and all his lovely wives, but Henry’s mask was damned uncomfortable. He wished to tear the stupid thing off.

He turned his back to the crowd and tugged at it, burrowing his thumb under the left eye hole so it would fit better. Henry was certain it was scraping off the bridge of his nose, and though he had been teased for his long Roman nose throughout school, he wished to leave the masquerade whole.

Henry peeked over his shoulder, toward his friends in the supper box, a small pang radiating in his chest. He should stay, but he had promised an hour, and his time was nearly up. It was finally time to retire for the evening. He had plenty of studying to do.

One day, his life would be what he worked so hard to create. One day, he would prove to everyone that Henry Davies wasn’t only Captain Davies’s son, he himself was distinguished.

He weaved through the crowd, nearly tripping over his own feet because of the damned mask. Henry cursed to himself, adjusting it once more before slipping behind a tree to take the blasted thing off.

His fingers fumbled for the tie at the back of his head when a branch snapped. He froze beside the tree, his arms still stretched up behind his head when an emerald blur raced into him.

Well, not run into—rather plowed down.

“Oof.”

The impact knocked him over, and he struck his head against a stone lodged at the base of the twisted sycamore tree. For a moment or two, his ears rang while pain radiated up his neck. Perhaps that was why, when the soft female body collapsed on top of his, he thought he had died.

Because angels walked the earth.

The air left his lungs in a heavy whoosh, and he blinked up to a mess of fire-orange hair and a smile DaVinci would be jealous of. Mona Lisa had nothing on these two perfectly lush crimson lips, curved with an enticing amount of mischief.

“Damn it, not again,” the woman muttered.

He would have laughed if he had any breath left, but all sense had been knocked out of him it seemed. He was speechless. What an absurd thing to say. He didn’t for a moment miss the Irish lilt to her voice, soft and warm like that brandy he had dreamt of all day.

“Excuse me?” he asked.