Mission: Improper: London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy by Bec McMaster Page A

though.
    Debney grunted, and then a boot hit the floor. With a sigh, he collapsed back on the bed. "So what do you want?"
    Taking the jug of water on the washstand, Byrnes poured a glass, then crossed to the bed, considering the state of the viscount. "I need to ask you some questions about something, and I can't explain why."
    Debney sighed, his eyelids fluttering closed. Byrnes threw the glass of water in his face.
    "Jesus!" Debney came up, wide-eyed and wet. "You sodding bastard!" He looked down at himself, hands held wide. "What was that for?"
    "To wake you up." Byrnes put the glass aside, then dragged his chair around and resettled in it. Tugging a piece of paper from his pocket, he held up the photograph of the Begby Square black flag. "Have you seen this symbol before?"
    He'd thought that nothing would sober Debney up at this rate, but the second the viscount saw the picture, his face paled even further and his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "Put that away. I'm going to cast up my accounts."
    Byrnes complied, watching as his half brother stumbled to the basin and retched. Hell. He rubbed at his temples. "I know I saw an invitation with that symbol embossed upon it on your desk a few months ago."
    Debney spat and rinsed then turned, giving him a frightened look. "I don't know what you're working on. I don't care. But if you go digging into that symbol, then you won't find whatever puzzle piece you're looking for. You'll simply die, Caleb."
    Well, now. Byrnes took his chair again, resting his elbows on his knees. "You know who's behind it."
    Debney shook his head. "Don't. I beg of you. If they find out I told you about it—"
    "How are they going to find out? Nobody knows of the connection between us." A connection he'd be quite pleased to keep quiet forever.
    "They'll find out. They always do," Debney protested.
    "Who are they?"
    "Caleb—"
    "If you think I'm going to leave this alone, then you don't know me very well," Byrnes replied. "I can make your life hell, Francis. Besides..." His eyes narrowed to thin slits. "You owe me."
    "I always bloody owe you," Debney snapped, pacing the room. "When will it end? You cannot keep calling in this debt! Do you think that if I could go back and change things, then I wouldn't? I would. I swear, I would. I'd have sent word to the Council that his craving virus levels were high. Or I'd have... stood up to him—"
    "If you could go back, you'd cower behind your mother's skirts the same way you did then." An abrupt slice of the hand cut the young lord off in his tracks. "Let's not pretend any different."
    "He always—"
    "We're not talking about your father," Byrnes countered, and the crack of his voice startled Debney into silence. "Not now. Not ever."
    Sullen and starting to shake now, Debney stared at him belligerently. "Unless you want something," he said, "and use him to browbeat me into complying. And he's your father too! This is the last time, Caleb. The last. I do this, and I don't owe you anything else. Do you understand?"
    "Perfectly. Tell me what I need to know and I'll never bother you again."
    Something about Debney's eyes caught his attention. A sudden, stricken expression.
    "What's wrong?" he demanded.
    "It doesn't matter." The viscount collapsed on the bed. "It's not like you'd care anyway, or as if I mean anything to you."
    Byrnes stared at him.
    Debney saw his perplexed look and laughed. "Look at you. Not even a hint of consternation. You just want to know about your precious black flag. It wouldn't bother you to walk away and never look back, would it?"
    For the first time, Byrnes felt some stir of emotion, hot and bloody. He'd been trying not to think about it, but this house—and all the memories it contained—disconcerted him. "No. It wouldn't."
    Debney looked away. "They're called the Sons of Gilead. Don't ask me why. I'm hardly in favor at the moment."
    S.O. G. Everything inside him lit on fire. "Who are they?"
    "A group of disgruntled Echelon lords who