Page 5 of The Captain Claims His Temptress

Stephen dusted off the unfortunate victim.

“He would have slit my throat for a half penny.” The man’s voice quivered. “I owe you me life.”

After retrieving the knife, Stephen tucked it into his waistcoat pocket so that if the scallywag returned, he couldn’t use it to harm someone else. He put an arm around his companion to help steady him. “Let me walk you home. What is your name?”

“Horace.”

“Horace, I need to check on something on the main road. Walk with me.” Stephen guided the man back to the spot where he’d seen the beautiful woman. Sadly, ’twas as if she was a figment of his imagination because both the carriage and the woman had disappeared.

Stephen scanned the area to no avail. Probably for the best since his cock was once again behaving and he could now concentrate on the injured man.

“Tell me your favorite memory of your wife,” Stephen said.

“She was beautiful. When she was a young miss, her hair was golden like the sun. She healed me heavy heart after the war with the Americas.”

“Were you a soldier?” Stephen asked.

“Aye. I was dedicated to the Crown.”

“She sounds lovely.”

“Aye, she was. And she baked the best pies.”

They chatted about their favorite pies as Stephen escorted him to a third-floor flat in the poorest part of town.

Once the man’s injuries were tended to and he was tucked into bed, Stephen left a few coins on the table, then headed into the chilly night. What a fool he was, still hoping to see the siren-like woman. He stopped short and gave his forehead a goodthunk. Like poor sailors who had been without a woman for so long they turned dolphins into bare-breasted mermaids, his lack of female attention had him hallucinating elegant beauties on dangerous street corners.

By the time he stood in front of Knightmoral House, the streetlights had been snuffed. Since every room in the house was dark, his brothers must be asleep.

Damn. He’d hoped to spend some time with them before morning. He loved his siblings and looked forward to the day he could visit them more often. He chuckled. As a lad, he thought he would live with Alistair, Evan, and Georgie forever.

He was halfway up the front walk when he halted. What had happened to the individuals who had followed him from The Octopus? Had the situation on the side street scared them off?

Despite his unfortunate evening, he refused to accept that pickpockets were overtaking London. He sighed, then entered and climbed the stairs to his old bedroom. After shucking his clothes, he slid between the sheets.

Since he had abstained from a women’s touch for so long that he was now conjuring images of the fairer sex on street corners, he should take care of his increasing need. He grasped his cock and imagined her full bosom, the line of her sensuous lips, those swinging hips. He was instantly hard.

A few unimpressive strokes in, he tucked both hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. ’Twas better to ignore his salacious needs when there were so many other things on his mind.

As of late, visions of war turned his dreams into nightmares, stealing his restful slumber. Unfortunately, his evening’s misfortunes had added to his worries. ’Twas deplorable that men such as Horace, who had bravely fought for their country, spent the end of their lives intoxicated and living in squalor. Hell and damnation, he should do something to help women like Clara. How many war widows were so lonely they’d sleep with an unknown man for company?

The first rays of dawn were shining through his window when he finally drifted off to sleep.

Chapter two

October 2nd, 1817

MadaleneSpencerpeekedoutthe carriage window and exhaled delight. So far, everything about England was perfectly dreamy. She’d accidentally wandered into the wrong part of town a couple of evenings ago, but these things happened when one was exploring a new country. No harm done, and now she sat in front of Herald Hall. With its twin turrets, it was akin to a fairy-tale princess castle. The blazing red, orange, purple, and golden leaves dotting the mountain landscape behind the massive stone structure added to its scenic perfection.

Although this was Maddie’s first visit to England, her aunt and uncle had often visited her family in New York. Her aunt held a special place in her heart, and although her uncle could be gruff, he’d always been kind to Maddie.

She grasped Aunt Henrietta’s gloved hand. “Lady Saxton, it’s lovely. Thank you for inviting me.”

“I am glad you find our home charming. ’Tis close enough to the Port of London that Sir Saxton can make the trip every day if he wishes. But far enough away to escape the city air.” Her aunt’s smile almost touched the corners of her lips, giving her that same subtle expression of pleasure that Maddie’s mother sometimes wore. “Madalene, your uncle and I are happy to have you. However, you must be cautious if you wish to rebuild your reputation.”

Maddie sighed. At six–and-twenty years of age, no woman should have to swear off all pleasure, especially after she had spent years of her life married to a grumpy beast old enough to be her great-grandfather—withered, with paper-thin skin. She shivered.

“I will take care, Lady Saxton,” Maddie said. “Mother explained that thetonis even more unforgiving than New York society.” Not that gossipy American magnates had accepted a wealthy widow who enjoyed parties and the company of men. But how was she to know that Kit McDonald was a married scoundrel? She was simply trying to shake off years of feeble touches from a husband who had been half-living, half-corpse.