Page 2 of The Captain Claims His Temptress

’Twas not as if Stephen enjoyed being chaste, but he was responsible for men’s lives. He bloody loved women. This meant libations in excess were also off-limits because they addled his mind around the fairer sex. And the older he got, the more time he spent quietly contemplating his priorities.

Alistair wrapped an arm around Stephen’s shoulder. “Come on. Let us get a table and talk.”

Stephen held up two fingers and tossed coins onto the bar. “A couple of rounds for my brothers.” He also placed a coin in front of Clara. “Take a carriage home. There are ruffians on every street corner.”

“Thank ye, Captain.” She tucked the money into the tight fabric of her bodice. “Like I said, as fine a gentleman as there is.”

Alistair and Evan grabbed their drinks, and the three of them snaked through patrons until they reached the table in the far corner.

“Still saving the world?” Alistair inclined his mug toward Clara, who had moved on to new prey.

“The poor woman is quite lonely. Her husband died at Waterloo.” Stephen shook his head and sighed. “How is Grandmother?”

“Dotting on Evangeline and anxiously awaiting the baby.” Alistair beamed.

Who would have guessed that the once upon a time libertine Earl of Trent would become a besotted husband? Undoubtedly, he would also be one blazes of a father.

“How is Jimmy?” Stephen asked.

Jimmy Clayton was Alistair’s ward. All of the Eatons and the staff at Trent Castle adored him.

“Absolutely brilliant. Mr. Lutkins says his tutoring sessions are going well. He will be ready for Bedford by the winter session.”

“His fencing is also coming along well,” Evan added. “The lad is starting to make me sweat.”

“Wonderful,” Stephen said. “And how is Georgie?”

“Making Harrington’s life a living hell,” Alistair said. “Although the fool seems to enjoy being bossed around by a woman.”

The brothers chuckled.

Georgiana, the new Duchess of Astleyshire, was Stephen’s twin sister and best mate. She was also hell-on-carriage wheels feisty.

He had not asked her to meet him because it would be hard enough to keep Alistair from unsheathing his sword when he received the bad news. Stephen did not need his sister—or her infatuated duke who was undefeated in the fencingpiste—raging about England. Not that Georgie, a skilled swordswoman and pugilist in her own right, required the powerful men surrounding her to back her in a fight.

“Enough chitchat,” Alistair said. “Do you want to tell us why you made us ride for two days to meet you in a shite hole of a tavern? I doubt ’twas to get a rundown on the family since you write to us every other day.”

How did he tell his brother that two bootlickers who had once worked for Alistair’s sworn enemy, the now-imprisoned Marquess of Birmington, were no longer locked away?

Stephen grabbed Alistair’s mug, gulped, then slammed it on the table. With newfound courage, he placed a comforting palm on the earl’s forearm. “You need to remain calm.”

“Out with it,” Alistair grumbled.

“Myrle and Diggins are free.”

Alistair’s jaw dropped.

“What in the hell are you talking about?” Evan asked.

Stephen rubbed his forehead. “Free. Not in prison. Running amok.”

“How? Why?” Alistair smashed his palm against the table and leaped from his chair. Ale splashed. “But we escorted them to Newgate ourselves.” Fists clenched at his side, he paced the crowded room.

And there was the other reason they were in a “shite tavern.” The ale was supposed to calm his brother. But if Alistair’s temper flared, as it sometimes did, he would fit in with the foxed patrons.

“Is our family in danger?” Evan whispered.

“They would be fools to approach any of us,” Stephen said. “But we must be vigilant. And you need to seek out William Harrington. He must keep Georgie from chasing them down and slitting their throats.”