Page 34 of The Captain Claims His Temptress

Diggins scrunched up his nose. “A lot of letters and numbers.”

“So you have no idea what this notebook contains?”

Both men shrugged.

“Are you gonna help us? Except you gotta keep it a secret or that fop’ll kill us all. He don’t want you anywheres near the book.” Diggins sliced a finger under his neck, tilted his head to the side, and rolled his eyeballs to the back of his head. “Dead.”

“Why in bloody hell would Dupont care if I helped you?” He really should use more gentlemanly language. At least he wasn’t in his uniform.

“Maybe he don’t want you seein’ what’s in it,” Diggins said.

Whatever was in that book had nothing to do with Stephen. “I couldn’t help you even if I wanted to. And let me be clear. I don’t want to. Let Dupont chop you into little pieces and bury you in the mud beside the book.”

“Speakin’ of readin’.” Diggins snorted like a pig. “Now, we know ye isn’t gonna be violent with a couple of yer ol’ blokes. And we ain’t got it no more.”

What in the blazes was the fool talking about?

“It ain’t my fault, Diggins left it sittin’ out and then he throwed it in the fire.Puff!Burned faster than a log covered in lard.”

“Cause fertilizer burns like fuel, and I wasn’t carrying no letter covered in Myrle’s business. Shites non-stop. Probably all that food he eats.” Diggins pinched his nostrils. “Big as a bull’s turd and smells twice as bad.”

Stephen clenched his jaw. “I am assuming my sister entrusted a servant with a letter and you intervened before it reached me.”

“Wiped his big arse with it.” Diggins gagged. “I mean the letter, not the servant bloke. Even though Myrle’s as ugly a cockchafer as they come, he likes cunny.”

“I like me some sweet tuzzy-muzzy.” Myrle licked his lips. “Probably just tellin’ ye we visited her. Cause we did, but now we’re here.” A gargoyle’s toothy grin was not something one saw every day. “We didn’t hurt that servant chap or nothin’. Just chased him down, knocked him out, tied him up, and left him by a stream.”

Stephen rubbed at the throbbing ache in his forehead.

Myrle’s eyes widened and he pointed at the door. “Someone’s here.”

Stephen’s defensive instincts took over. He angled his body so that he could keep his gun on both the prisoners and whoever entered.

Sir Saxton and Hugo Adams cautiously peeked into the room. Adams held a pistol in his shaking hand. Men uncomfortable with weapons were the worst sort of menace.

“Steady,” Stephen said.

Sir Saxton moaned. “Captain Eaton, what are you doing here?”

Myrle grinned. “We’ve got ourselves a party.”

While Saxton and Adams were occupied with sending each other knowing glances, Diggins held his finger to his lips, then traced a line across his neck, reminding Stephen not to say anything—a pointless gesture since Stephen did not respond well to threats.

Saxton walked into the center of the room and stood tall, his voice authoritative. “Good news, gentleman. Or mayhap ’tis bad news. I suppose it depends on how you look at it. But I have decided not to contact the constabulary.”

Diggins popped onto his feet. “Ye lettin’ us go free?”

“Nay,” Saxton said. “I have decided to keep you here for the time being.”

“Bloody hell.” Diggins plunked his buttocks back onto his torture rack. “Ye can’t just keep us locked in a dungeon. This ain’t the Middle Ages.”

The fool was correct, causing Saxton’s proclamation to sit heavy in Stephen’s gut. “Is this at the insistence of Pierre Dupont?”

A glowering Sir Saxton held out his hand. “May I have the key please?”

Stephen dropped it into his palm. He would not challenge the baronet in front of two criminals, but he would explain why this was a poor decision in private.

“Are you going to tell me why you were impersonating servants?” Saxton asked.