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our—”
    “No, I’m not backing out. Damnation, you’re stubborn. Get yourself hanged, then. I’ll continue to do my part.”
    “That’s all I ask.”
    All through dinner he fended off questions from Bramwell about his plans regarding Lady Isabel, and from Molly Cooper about his plans for the rest of the evening. The innkeeper’s daughter was a pretty little thing, but it was rumored that her father kept a loaded musket behind the beer kegs, and Sullivan didn’t feel like the risk would be worth the reward. Aside from that, he had other things on his mind.
    Finally Bram pulled a handful of social invitations from his pocket. “These are the ones I’m undecided about,” he said, pushing the stack in front of Sullivan. “Any preferences?”
    Sullivan looked through them. They were requests for Bram’s presence at various soirees, music recitals, and private dinners; he already would have accepted the invitations to the more interesting and prestigious events. After all, cynical and jaded as he was, Bram did have a duke for a father.
    “The Hardings,” he said, sending one of the cards back in his friend’s direction. “Eugenia Harding already owns two of my mother’s paintings legitimately.”
    “So what should I not look for?”
    “Two young girls in a flower garden, and Dover at sunset,” he said immediately. Even if he hadn’t remembered them all, his mother had kept very precise records. That waswhy when he’d returned home from the Peninsula to find every wall in her home bare of her own dearest paintings, he’d known it hadn’t been her idea.
    “Are you certain you don’t want those back, as well?”
    Sullivan shook his head. “She sold them. I only want the ones that were stolen from her, and from me.”
    “I’m merely saying, as long as you’re…liberating items from a house and angering Dunston, why stop at the ones to which you have a legitimate claim?”
    “Because I have a legitimate claim to them.” He handed back another folded card. “This one. Barnett’s a collector, and he’s greedy.”
    Bram frowned. “But he has two unmarried daughters.”
    “And?”
    “You know precisely what the ‘and’ is, Sullivan. The only reason I was invited to their dinner was so one of the chits could trap me into marriage. If I attend, they’ll think I’m willing.”
    “If you weren’t willing to go, you shouldn’t have handed me the invitation.”
    “You are hardheaded.”
    “I’m on a course of vengeance, if you’ll recall. It’s supposed to be messy.” Sullivan took a breath. A good friend probably wouldn’t attempt to force his companion to attend something he deemed unpleasant. He knew Bram well enough, though, to have a fair idea that the Duke of Levonzy’s son wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want to, under any circumstances. “Those are the only two that strike a note with me,” he continued, handing back the rest of the invitations.
    Bram signaled for another glass of port. For a moment he looked as though he wanted to say something, but he finished off the last few bites of his roast duck instead. Good.Sullivan could think of a few choice words for someone who lived the life that Bram did and then handed out advice to others.
    Yes, what he’d chosen to do was dangerous. And yes, he supposed that he’d had the option of making a legal or a public outcry about his missing property. He’d seen the results of such things before, however, and he had a business to protect and employees to support. No, a few thefts were the best way to set things right.
    And his burglaries had the added benefit of undoubtedly angering and humiliating the original thief, with the happy knowledge that the Marquis of Dunston could do nothing about it without ruining his own good standing with his fellows. After all, failing to acknowledge an illegitimate son was one thing. Stealing from the poor soul, especially when he was a respected fringe member of Society—well, that would just be