Page 4 of The Captain Claims His Temptress

Eventually Lord Fudgie acquiesced. “I will contact Saxton and acquire invitations for you, Major Reginald Blythe, and Second Lieutenant Benjamin Calhoun.” He’d drummed his fingers on his desk. “I suppose I can make up some sort of story about the 1st Life Guards having an interest in the ships that transport their goods.”

Perfect. Blythe was a class act and Calhoun was one of his best mates. The three of them had been to hell and back together.

“But, if you cannot bring me proof, then you must let go of this paranoia and accept that Pierre Dupont is a friend to the Crown,” Lord Fudgie had said. “He has already complained to everyone who would listen about the way you treated him when he last visited London.”

All of the fussing and whining because Stephen had questioned the motive of the arse? The only response he had to that nonsense was an epic snort.

However, if he kept an open mind, and stayed sharp for the week, he could surely discover what Dupont wanted with Saxton’s shipping company. Of course, making merry with a man he was certain had no qualms about selling state secrets to the highest bidder, did not sit well with him. Then again, over-indulgence and making merry in any situation left him with lashings of guilt.

But, if day after day, Jacob Monroe could stand behind a bar on one foot, Stephen could spend a sennight amongst capitalists, opportunists, and thenouveau riche. Moreover, the estate probably had lovely gardens to explore.

He was almost to the edge of the rookery when he noticed an extra shadow had attached itself to his. Damnation. He was not in the mood to confront a pickpocket.

He walked faster.

The ominous shadow stayed with him, morphing into multiple shapes.

Double damnation. There was more than one pickpocket.

Hoping to throw them off his trail, he was about to turn into an alley, but stopped short. An elegantly dressed woman was stepping out of a carriage. The streetlamp and moonlight silhouetted her curvy figure and stunningly beautiful profile. Stephen’s cock came alive, dancing some sort of silly jig. He needed to concentrate. Damn his unruly, lecherous prick to hell.

This sophisticated woman did not belong anywhere near a rookery, and he was probably being followed by pickpockets. What if he led them to her? He should remain vigilant and lead her to safety. Just as he stepped in her direction, shouts echoed through the alley.

About twenty yards in front of him, a stocky man wearing a black coat cornered a rail-thin, gray-haired gentleman against a building.

“Give me the rest, or I will cut out your heart.” The aggressor pressed the sharp point of a knife into the older man’s neck.

“But that’s all I got.”

Stephen’s large physique did not detract from his stealth, earning him his reputation as the “Invisible Soldier.” These same skills also made him a formidable opponent in the boxing ring and fencingpisteand, more importantly, allowed him to sneak up on the men without detection.

He stepped in between them and sliced his arm upward. The knife flew from the perpetrator’s hand and clattered to the ground. In one swift move, Stephen locked the scoundrel’s arms behind his back and pressed his face against the wall.

“Let me go,” growled his prisoner.

“So, you like to target those weaker than yourself?” Stephen whispered in his ear. “Odious. I shall deliver you to the constable myself.” However, it might be more satisfying to smash the blighter’s face into the brick or rip an arm from its socket.

“He is a useless old drunk. Look at him,” the prisoner growled into the brick. As if being elderly or drunk gave him the right to hold a blade to a man’s neck and pilfer his belongings.

Stephen’s gaze traveled to the injured man whose eyes struggled to focus. Blood trickled from his nose and his lip was cracked. His frail frame swayed as he held up his hands.

“Me wife passed away a few days ago. I’m just tryin’ to drown the pain.” Tears trickled.

Stephen swallowed the lump forming in his throat. The poor widower needed medical attention and a friendly ear.

Unfortunately, Stephen could not squire his prisoner to the constable, tend to the grieving man, and chaperone the woman to safety all at the same time.

“You are maggot pie,” he whispered in his prisoner’s ear. “I am going to let go of you in a moment. Leave your knife where ’tis and take yourself far away from me before I change my mind.”

The thief grunted.

“Do you understand?” Stephen asked.

“Yes,” the man said.

“Good.” Stephen let go, turned him around, then gave him a shove in the direction he wanted him to travel.

The thief peered over his shoulder. “Damn you to hell,” he yelled as he sprinted into the dark.