Page 33 of The Captain Claims His Temptress

Diggins shrugged. “Suit yourself. So the day we made friends with that pretty Evangeline—”

“Lady Evangeline. And you kidnapped her,” Stephen said.

“You saykidnapped. We saytook on a lively adventure. Anyway, we buried somethin’ at your crazy sister’s castle and now we can’t get to it. We showed up all —‘hello and good day, me lady’— even though she was wearin’ breeches. Then, she stormed about like a bloody shrew, knocked Diggins on his arse, and threatened to cut off me bollocks.”

Stephen half-laughed, half-snorted. “Do you still have your bollocks?”

Myrle grabbed his crotch. “Hell, yeah.”

“Then you got off easy. She castrates most men she finds disagreeable.”

“Bloody crazy. Dicked in the nob, that’s what she is,” Diggins said. “And that frigging huge arse duke and that prick of an earl aren’t much better.”

“What makes you think that I will help you?” Stephen had ended lives in battle—hence the nightmares, meditation, and chaste life. The point was, he could and would kill.

“Ahh.” Diggins pointed and waggled his index finger. “Ye follow the rules. Ye wouldn’t kill two innocent men.”

True. However, this lot was hardly innocent.

“What did you bury?” Stephen asked as Diggins and Myrle scooted side-by-side on the wooden torture implement as if it was a cozy settee.

“You know that murdering bumfiddle Cartier that we had to save our sweet Evangeline from?” Myrle asked.

Stephen would have pointed out the fallacies in that statement, but he needed them to get to the point. So, he nodded.

“Well, we stole his leather satchel one night when he was asleep.” Myrle’s grin was absurdly toothy.

“Ill-advised since Cartier is a violent brute with no conscience and he works for Dupont,” Stephen said.

“Well, I thought it might have food in it.” Myrle’s bottom lip jutted out, giving his flat face a profile. “I just wanted a bleedin’ piece of cheese or bread. Even an apple.”

Diggins thumbed at his partner. “Myrle’s a big one. He has a hearty appetite, he does.”

The man was the size of conjoined giants and probably required a daily feast or two to keep him sated.

“What was in the satchel?” Stephen asked.

“A bleedin’ book with a lot of notes in it.” A still pouting Myrle slapped his tree-trunk-sized thigh. “But since Cartier wanted it back, and we didn’t want to give it back, ’cause he’s such a bloody shite-fire, we buried it. And we didn’t know ye was going to march us off to Newgate, us bein’ innocent and all. So it’s been hidden for a few months.”

“And why do you need it back now?” Stephen asked.

“Pftt.I could give two shites about it,” Diggins said.

“I could give less than two shites,” declared Myrle.

“So why follow me around and almost get yourself killed seeking out my siblings?”

Myrle gawked as if Stephen had a rat on his head. Considering their location, there might just be. Holding his aim steady, Stephen ran his other hand through his hair. No rats. At least not near his face. What might be skittering in the dark corners was anyone’s guess.

“’Cause that devil Pierre Dupont wants it and is gonna kill us if we don’t give it to him,” Myrle said.

Stephen blinked. Nonplussed, he blinked again. Perchance if he repeated the story, it might make sense. “Let me understand. You stole a satchel from Leroy Cartier because Myrle was hungry. Instead of food, you found a journal. You buried the stolen item on my sister’s property the night you kidnapped my sister-in-law. Since you went to jail, Cartier’s possessions have been underground for a few months. I assume Pierre Dupont had you released from prison so that you can dig up this book and give it to him?”

Diggins huffed. “We keep tellin’ ye, we was on an adventure with Lady Evangeline. There was no kidnapping.”

“What was written in this book?” Stephen asked.

“Hell if I know. I can’t read,” Myrle said.