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Nathan said.
    “Next you’ll tell me you believe in the wee fairies. Too drunk to know what’s real, you are. Perhaps you should go ahead and pass out.” Talbot gave Nathan’s shoulder a nudge.
    Instead of falling on his face, Nathan launched out of his chair. “A bloody nuisance,” he shouted. “That’s what we bloody are. You and you—” He gestured toward the unconscious James Harlow on the floor. “And me. Second sons. What good are we? Alive only because our older brothers might kick off this mortal coil before producing heirs. My father splits his time between wishing me to the devil and pretending I was never born. And my damned brother already has a son of his own. So what use can I be to him? I’m a bloody nuisance, that’s what.”
    “Speak for yourself, Wynter,” Talbot said after draining his glass of whiskey. “My father is pressuring me to complete my studies and take up a position in the blasted clergy. Wants me to become a damned productive citizen. Can you imagine me— me delivering a sermon on the evils of vice? I’d pay a year’s allowance just to get my father to ignore me.”
    Harlow snorted from the floor.
    “You’re lucky,” Nathan grumbled. “I came to Bath thinking I might be able to—” He waved a hand in the air and nearly lost his balance. “Never mind. I can’t gain entry into any of Bath society’s dull functions thanks to his—” He batted away the angry thought as the room spun around him. “Never mind. Who would want to go to a damned tea or ball anyhow? Drink up. This is a fine whiskey and the beginnings of a fine night. Neither should be wasted.”
    Talbot grunted his agreement and drained his cup.
    Nathan reached for his own glass but ended up grabbing his head to ward off the loud, painful sound that was pounding on his ears. Perhaps some mischievous goblin had crawled inside his head and was banging on his skull from the inside out. Damn and drat. He’d pay a pretty coin to get that thumping to stop.
    “Someone’s knocking on the door,” Talbot said. “Don’t you have a valet to chase unwelcome guests away, Wynter? This bottle is nearly drained as it is. Send them away! Send them away!” He tossed an arm in the air. “We haven’t enough to share!”
    “My valet has the day off.” Truth was, Nathan sent his efficient servant away. Freddie would scold like a fishwife if he were to witness his master in such a sorry condition.
    The cursed knocking resumed.
    “Well, someone needs to send them away,” Talbot said.
    Harlow groaned and tossed an arm over his head.
    “Very well.” With the help of the top of his sturdy desk, Nathan managed to stand. He tugged on his coat to straighten it. There was no hope for his cravat. The starched muslin was wrinkled beyond any hope of repair. No matter, he planned to open the door only long enough to send the cove with the relentless knuckles on his way.
    “Please,” he barked as he tossed open the door, “stop that infernal knocking.”
    A ragged street urchin quickly lowered the fist he’d been using to practically pound the blasted door down. “Would you ‘appen to be Lord Nathan Wynter, sir?” the lad drawled.
    Nathan nodded, which set the world to wobbling again. “Damn and blast, who the devil wants to bother me right now?”
    The lad didn’t answer. His eyes grew to the size of a pair of wide saucers as he dug around in a deep trouser pocket. After a moment of frantic searching, the boy produced a crumpled piece of foolscap. He pressed the grimy note into Nathan’s fingers and scampered away.
    Nathan pushed the door closed, leaning against it while he stared at the paper sitting in the palm of his hand.
    “Who the bugger was that?” Talbot shouted the question.
    Nathan unfolded the note and read the flowery scroll. Tonight. Eleven o’clock, outside the Lower Assembly Rooms a feminine hand had written. It was signed with a flourish Your eager pupil .
    “A bloody heap of trouble, that’s