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swirled brandy in a snifter. His head was tipped back, his eyes closed. He looked the picture of the relaxed English gentleman except he was still dressed in evening clothes, and they were severely wrinkled.
    If Farrington had called before seeking his bed, then the matter must be serious indeed. Rhys braced himself against the onslaught that was sure to come. Farrington would have a whole list of reasons why Rhys needed to complete just one more mission.
    “Enjoying my private stores?”
    The man opened his eyes and looked down at his glass. “You always did have impeccable taste in liquor, my friend.”
    “I told you not to bother me again.”
    “Perhaps you did, though I don’t quite remember it being phrased so politely.”
    “Any chance of getting rid of you quickly?”
    Farrington smiled, looking like the weasel he was. “I’m afraid not.”

    “Then just tell me what you’ve come for. I’m not in the mood to spar with you.”
    “Rough night?” Farrington asked, his gaze skimming over Rhys.
    Rhys lifted a brow. “No rougher than yours, I’d say, based on your appearance.”
    “I’ve been working.”
    Rhys snorted. “I’m sure you have, but then you’ve never quite drawn the line between work and pleasure, have you?”
    Farrington scowled and sat up straight. “Let’s not start that argument again.”
    “Then start talking.”
    “Les Centimes is on the move again.”
    Rhys heart pounded, and his nausea returned. “Why tell me this?”
    “You wanted to know why I’m here. That’s why.”
    “I thought Valois was dead.”
    “He is. We took care of him as I assured you we would. However, some of his underlings have reformed the club. Reports are circulating in Paris that Les Centimes is planning a strike against the Bourbon family.”
    “I am distressed by this news, but I am no longer part of your organization.”
    “You are an Englishman who loves his country.”
    “I don’t love England enough to sink to the level you require of your agents.”
    “You know how sorry I am about what happened to Therese and Aaron.”
    “Valois tortured and killed Aaron, and you let everyone believe he’d died a traitor.” Farrington’s jaw tightened. “That was all straightened out later.”
    “Not to my satisfaction.”
    “How many times do you want me to apologize?”
    “Apologies are useless. Bring Aaron and Therese back from the dead, then we’ll talk.”
    “Rhys, we need you. You have access to circles here that none of my other men have. Circles which, according to my information, are harboring Centimes members who plan to stir unrest here as well as in France.

    Rhys thought of the numerous illicit parties he used to attend. After seeing what some of the men in his former social circle were capable of when he helped Mark and Cassandra put an end to the selling of young girls, his former escapades had lost their allure. “Some events transpired a few months ago which encouraged me to break with the circles you refer to. I am no longer involved with that set.”
    “But you could return if you chose. Do you think Aaron would want you to let Les Centimes rise to power again?”
    Flames of anger burned in Rhys’s chest. “That was low. Even for you, Farrington.” Farrington ran his hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “I’m desperate.
    What can I do to make you understand how vital your help would be?” Rhys knew better than to let Farrington’s words affect him. The man would say anything to get his way. But loath as he was to admit it, Farrington was right. They could not let Les Centimes rise to power again. “You’re no more desperate than you’ve ever been. You know you always get your way, and you’ll get it again tonight. Because despite all appearances, despite everything my family and most of London think of me, I was born with an overabundance of honor.”
    Farrington smiled and rose from his seat. “Excellent. I’ll be in contact tomorrow with specific