Page 20 of The Captain Claims His Temptress

Aunt Henrietta hardly seemed horrified, and she had not berated Maddie. Was there finally someone not ashamed of her?

“My dear,”—her aunt pointed green-tipped bristles at Maddie’s canvas—“please paint.”

They worked in comfortable silence. Maddie’s circles and lines did not remotely resemble flowers, but it felt good to create.

At length, Aunt Henrietta stood, then peered over her shoulder.

“I know. I paint like a child,” Maddie said.

“I love it. May I hang it in my chamber beside my bed?”

Maddie laughed so hard she snorted.

“Madalene, I am quite serious. There is something unique about the way you combine your colors.”

Unique?Hardly. The painting was beyond a disaster. But her aunt seemed sincere. This might be one of the happiest moments of her life.

“Aunt Henrietta, it would be an honor to have my painting in your chamber.”

“Fabulous. I am tired of all of the bland white in Hastings House. Let us enjoy a cup of tea and discuss our plans for the rest of the day. Oh, and next week, after our guests depart, you can help me choose new fabrics for the drapery. This house needs some color. I dare say, this house needs you.”

“Truly?” Maddie asked.

“Truly.”

Maddie beamed. At last, she belonged somewhere.

Chapter nine

October 4th, 1817

Stephen’suniformwascrisp,and his mind was focused. Back in control, indeed he was. All it took was quiet contemplation and reestablishing his priorities. He simply needed to avoid Sir Saxton’s niece. He’d defeated one of the greatest generals of all time, so a beautiful woman would not be his undoing.

He sauntered into the ballroom, then froze mid-stride.

Grinning men surrounded Mrs. Madalene Spencer. Her emerald gown clung to her luscious hips and full bosom. Sparkling jeweled hair clips held her intricate updo in place, and her creamy neck and shoulders taunted mercilessly. She smiled at him, and all of his meditation was for naught. He was doomed. Defeated. Lost. Thank the Lord, his red coat hung past his crotch. Still, he could not strut around the room with a tent in his trousers.

He averted his gaze. A jealous husband. A duel at dawn. A bullet in his heart.And just like that, his bulge deflated.

Since they were dressed in red, his companions were easy to spot. Unfortunately, he had to pass by Madalene and her exotic perfume to reach them. Ignoring her was an arse move, so he sent her a half-smile accompanied by a subtle nod. Then he strolled past her, pretending as if she didn’t turn his brain to mush and make him hum with need. Perchance, if he stood between his men, with his back to her, he’d be immune to her charms.

Unfortunately, even from afar, her heat incinerated skin, blood, and bone to reach his soul.

He struggled to focus on Blythe and Calhoun.“How was the hunting party?”

“Enjoyable,” the major said. “Although we did not shoot anything.”

“Unless you count a few hedges. There was too much Port involved.” Calhoun held up his hands. “I did not imbibe, and I prefer not to shoot an unarmed animal for sport.” He winced. “However, the unfortunate vegetation.”

Stephen chuckled.

“Were you able to finish your correspondence?” the major asked.

“Yes, sir,” was not a lie since he had written a letter to Alistair’s ward, Jimmy Clayton. He perused the room, his gaze skimming over Madalene, who smiled at one of the Americans. “Still no Dupont?”

“I have asked around. Apparently, he likes to arrive late and make a spectacle,” Blythe said. “According to Lord Lionel, he wore a parrot on his shoulder and had yellow feathers dangling from the bottom of his tailcoat at Lady Lionel’s last ball. Lord knows where the yellow feathers came from because the parrot was purple and orange—and stuffed.”

“And Lord Fudgie trusts the fool,” Calhoun said around a grunt.