Thomas Thorne has come to London for one purpose: to have his revenge on the boys β now men β who were responsible for having him convicted of a crime and transported when he was just a lad. Through a quirk of fate, he is now fabulously wealthy, and can do as he pleases. But there is one small fly in the ointment: The one woman he wants is the widow of one of his accusers, and the sister of the other. Anguish, dark and intense, ripped through Thomas Thorne when he gazed at number nineteen Hanover Square, the location of his ignominious downfall.
By now, he should be over the incident that had occurred there more than seventeen years before. But his hatred for his accusers still burned, still sizzled like a flaming torch, deep in his gut.
And though it would serve his purpose, murder would be far too easy. It offered nowhere near the satisfaction he sought. While Thomas had helped to prepare the horses to be shown, someone had put several valuables from the house into his pack. The house had not changed in the least. But then the scars on his back began to itch painfully, and his wrists and ankles throbbed as he remembered the weight and shame of his shackles.
Tom inhaled deeply from his cheroot and looked around. It was dusk, and all was quiet now. The air was chilly, but he barely felt it, for his desire for revenge burned in his belly and warmed him far better than any coal fire could do.
But they had surely known what the consequences of their conspiracy would be. Tom would have been hung or transported. He reminded himself that everything was different now. It was a long time since Judge Maynwaring had sentenced him to be transported to the violent and filthy Norfolk Island with its sadistic commandant, Major Foveaux.
