Page 61 of The Captain Claims His Temptress

“I’m not afraid.” With a coquettish grin, she stepped back and turned in a circle. “Do you like my new riding habit?”

It fit tight across her voluptuous bosom. The burgundy hat sported a peacock feather that was the height of fashion, and the rich color of the suit complimented her skin tone.

“You look quite handsome. But we have to ride quickly.”

There was no way that a woman could keep up—except for his twin sister. Clad in his cast-off britches, Georgie had beaten him in many a race, often winning his dessert.

But the alluring Madalene Spencer was not Georgie. Although right now, she had his twin’s same determined jaw and intense eyes. Georgie kicked his arse whenever he excluded her, and she would surely plant an uppercut to his jaw if he left a human behind because she lacked a penis.

However, Madalene could not ride quickly in a side saddle. He pressed his palm into his forehead and moaned. “You need breeches.”

Madalene’s brow furrowed. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You.” Lady Saxton grabbed one of the stable hands. “Out of your clothes now.”

The young lad’s eyes went wide.

“Hurry.”

He reached for his waistband.

Waving her hand at a pile of hay, Lady Saxton yelled, “Behind there.” She thrust her index finger at the ruffians, who were still sulking from their earlier rebuke. “Close your eyes and do not open them until I tell you to.”

“Yes, me lady.” Their lids dropped, and their palms slammed over their eyes.

Livery flew from behind the hay, landing at Lady Saxton’s feet. She picked up the garments and tossed them to Madalene. “Into the stall and be quick about it.”

Following Myrle and Diggins’s example, Stephen closed his eyes and slid his palm over them. He tried not to think about Madalene’s shapely legs bared in a barn.

He was a sick blighter indeed because he was in one blazes of a hobble, yet he was still picturing those legs. The trail he’d kissed up them. Her creamy inner thighs. The dark curls covering her quim. The sweet taste of her desire…. Hell, if the tables were turned, and he was the one naked, Madalene Spencer would peek at him through her fingers, and that taboo was hellishly appealing.

The ache in his balls threatened to knock him to his knees. He could not continue like this. He needed a release. And soon.

Hatless, clad in men’s clothing, her satchel hanging over her shoulder, Madalene grabbed his forearm, jolting him to the here and now. “Help me up.” She pointed to his gelding.

There was no way he could share a mount with her. His cock would jab her arse for the next two days.

“Hurry,” Lady Saxton yelled for the millionth time.

He sighed and assisted Madalene Spencer—tight breeches clinging to her peach-shaped arse and full hips—onto Stormy.

Lord, give him strength.

Since Pierre Dupont desperately wanted the book, the chances that he, or one of his entourage had followed them were great. Therefore, they rode hard and fast, stopping only long enough to care for the horses and feed the gargoyle and troll. Madalene had reached into her satchel, and then presented them with biscuits and dried dates. The men had stared at her with so much affection, the green-eyed monster crept into Stephen’s heart. ’Twas an excessively absurd emotion that he shook off when she asked him to share her last biscuit. Thereupon, they’d taken turns nibbling on it. ’Twas the best damn biscuit he’d ever eaten.

Stephen had ignored their dilemma all afternoon, but as the sun set, he faced reality. Working the animals through the night was cruel, and it was too cold to ask Madalene to sleep under the stars. There was an inn about fifteen minutes away. Hopefully, there were three vacant rooms because the break would do them good.

He’d spent hours in the saddle talking his cock down as he sniffed Madalene’s hair. He’d insisted it was awkward to control Stormy with her in front of him. Of course, it was hard to do much of anything with his prick engorged. He’d suggested they change places. Not that it had done any good because now she clutched his waist, her bosom pressing into his back, and her breath blowing across his neck. Hour upon hour of inconvenient erections—how much could one man take?

Myrle and Diggins prattled incessantly. Thankfully, since they argued with each other, they ignored him and Madalene. He exhaled and shortened the reins. The fools were so busy debating whether redheads, blondes, or brunettes were the better tup, that they didn’t realize Stormy slowed.

He peered over his shoulder. “We need to find a place to quarter the horses and rest for the night.”

In her excitement, Madalene’s words ran together. “Shall we stay in a country inn? I read a delightful tale about a duke who fell in love with an innkeeper’s daughter.” She sighed. “It was so romantic.”

The Rustic Lantern was quite close but nary a place that an heiress might find romantic. However, it had a roof, beds void of bugs, edible food, and stables nearby. Considering their circumstances, that was the best he could offer.

“’Tis hardly fancy,” he said.