Page 1 of The Captain Claims His Temptress

Chapter one

September 30th, 1817

EveryWednesdayevening,CaptainStephen Eaton donned his civilian garb and sat in a seedy pub nursing stale ale from a grimy mug. Luckily, he had a stomach of iron. There were dozens of other establishments he could frequent, but this particular hovel kept him humble and reminded him of Sampson’s Tavern back home in Trent. Moreover, the barkeep, Jacob Monroe, had served in his unit until he took a ball to the calf that led to an infection, then an amputation. Still, the man propped himself behind the bar ten hours a day, a smile on his face. Nary a complaint. Now, that was the definition of a true hero.

“Another, Captain?” Jacob asked.

Stephen held up his hand. “No, thank you.” One small tankard was all he required to take the edge off, especially when the swill came from The Spotted Octopus. Unfortunately, it had been one blazes of a week. Firstly, his new mission weighed heavily on him. Secondly, he needed to relay horrific news to his brothers—and for that he needed his wits about him.

Someone knocked into his shoulder and scooted onto the stool next to his.

“Can I join you, Captain?” A buxom woman smiled at him. She was among the few female patrons at The Octopus with teeth.

“You are welcome to have a seat, Clara. But I’m meeting people.” He motioned for Jacob to pour her ale and plunked down a coin.

“Thank ye, Captain.” She settled her hand on his thigh, then inched it toward his cock.

He grasped her fingers and removed them from his lap.

“Aww, Captain. Ye can’t give us all up forever.” She batted her lashes.

Although she didn’t tempt him in the least, he sent her a good-natured wink. “You make it hard for a man to abstain.”

“Where is the chap with the big blue eyes that’s usually with you?” she asked.

“Second Lieutenant Calhoun has other duties this evening.”

“Good. Then I have ye all to myself. Her gaze raked him over from head to crotch. “You’re as fine a gentleman as they come.”

The woman was relentless. Once a week, she cannonballed to him and rubbed her body against his. Since life was hard for a military widow, Stephen was kind to her. However, he’d sworn off women for the time being. He’d marry someday. But not now, and not with the time and dedication required to be a soldier for the Crown.

“My brothers are in London, and they are meeting me here tonight.” He gently lifted her chin so that she looked at his face instead of his lap. “I am sure you will find yourself a new husband soon. But I am of the opinion that you might get farther if you were a little less…” A gentleman did not use the wordwhorish.

She habitually ignored his well-intentioned advice. Placing her nose inches from his, she asked, “Are your brothers as fine as ye?”

Did she not know his brothers were rumored to be the most handsome men in England? And if that were the case, even after the effort she put into seducing him, she had no idea that he was the second son of the late Earl of Trent and one of The Troublesome Eatons of Trent.

Of course, how would she know? The working class did not spend their leisure time concerning themselves with every nobleman’s whereabouts. Hell, the working class barely had leisure time. Aristocrats, himself included, could be so bloody self-important.

Clara stared over his shoulder, and her eyes widened.

Before he could turn to discover the cause of her shocked expression, a muscular forearm locked around his neck. His mug was knocked from his hand, and the contents splattered. He placed his feet on the floor and instinctively thrust his body weight backward. A fist rubbed into the top of his head as a man chortled.

Recognizing his attacker’s signature move, he relaxed. “Evan, you fool. You owe me a drink.” He chuckled as he embraced his younger brother.

Someone clonked his shoulder blade.

He spun to hug his older brother. “Alistair. By Jove, I’ve missed you two.”

Clara tapped him on the shoulder. “Introduce me to your brothers.” She twirled a strand of blonde hair around her finger.

Alistair should wipe that horrified expression from his face because, prior to his marriage, he’d had a taste for all women, from doxies to wealthy widows.

Always the rakish charmer, Evan took her hand in his and kissed her ungloved knuckle as if she were royalty. “Any friend of Stephen’s is a friend of mine.”

“Well, we ain’t that good of friends.” Hand on hips, she thrust herdécolletagein Evan’s direction. “The captain ain’t interested in ladies. He’s given ‘em up for some nonsensical reason.”

“Honor before women. That sounds like our brother.” Evan smirked.