Page 87 of The Captain Claims His Temptress

Palpable anger and frustration hung in the air. Sweat coated Stephen’s brow and dripped from his armpits. Why was hisbloodyuniform so blasted hot?

The prince sighed. “Too bad this mystery journal is lost. It would halt this nonsense and might have some fun tales in it.”

Madalene spoke for the first time since entering the room. “I read the entire thing three times, and I remember what was in it word for word.”

Stephen didn’t want to call her out in front of the men since she was simply trying to protect him. Or, perhaps, she was confused. But this meeting required full transparency.

“I didn’t think you read French?”

“I don’t need to understand it to remember it.” She bit her lip. “Stephen, do you remember I told you I am good at something, and it is boring?”

Of course, he remembered. He’d assumed it involved making love and pleasuring a man. But on second thought, those things were hardly dull, and they didn’t seem to be what she was alluding to as she worried her lip.

“I remember words and numbers. Eventually, they fade, but they are like pictures in my mind for a week or two.” Her cheeks flushed a brilliant crimson. “That is why I like to look at beautiful things. They make much more interesting images in my mind.”

With that alluring blush, Stephen knew precisely whatbeautiful thingsshe referenced. He pushed those thoughts from his mind since it would not do to get a bloody tent in his trousers while at the palace.

The prince snapped his fingers. “We need paper and a half dozen quill pens. Don’t forget the inkwell. Also sandwiches and fresh tea.”

“And a French translator,” Madalene said.

Within moments, she sat at a table scribbling while a half-dozen men peered over her shoulder.

Madalene wrote ferociously, only occasionally pausing to stare at the wall. Then she would nod as if recalling what she searched for and begin again. Meanwhile, her finished work was carried to the translator, whohummedandharrumphedas he scratched out passages. The English version was handed to the prince, who delighted in the excitement of it all. From there, the pages traveled to Stephen, William, and the secretary of state.

At length, Maddie put down the pen and stretched out her fingers. The last pages were carried to the translator, who scrawled away.

How utterly amazing his Madalene was. If men did not surround them, Stephen would grab and kiss her until they both saw stars.

“What a memory?” The prince looked up from his reading. “I believe we have proof in Dupont’s own words. He states right here”—he held up one of the pages—“Captain Stephen Eaton of the 1st Life Guards is not as gullible as the rest of his countrymen. He approached me today and told me he knows I also sold secrets to the French government. Ha. Let him prove it. I will dig into the captain’s past. Everyone has something to hide that can be used for blackmail. If he dares insult me again or gives me any cause, I will use this information against him.”

Stephen winced at thegulliblereference. However, he had tried to warn those in charge. “I suppose the need arose when I showed up at Saxton’s,” he said.

The secretary of state groaned. “On this page, he wrote,Ha! The brave captain does have skeletons to hide. It seems he helped break the Duke of Astleyshire from prison in December of 1816.”

“Pfft.” The prince’s lips vibrated. “We could not have the king’s nephew locked in a local gaol, now, could we? Besides, ’tis exciting and we have established the captain’s leave was approved.”

Displaying a toothy grin, William Harrington gave the pages in his hand a good shake. “Here he states thatSaxton, the fooltrusts him, and made an error on a ledger that he asked him to help find.” William read, “The naïve imbecile transports weapons on his international ships.I have no designs on war. However, they will fetch a high price on the black market.”

“Hah!” Stephen knew weapons played into this farce from hell somehow.

“I fear my uncle has been making errors with his record keeping,” Madalene said. “I believe he needs eyeglasses and is being quite stubborn about it.”

William exhaled as he shook his head. “And here he states that he has a man working for him who he does not trust. And guess who that was?” His gaze panned the room. “Leroy Cartier.” His thick black brows bounced about with his playful winking.

“He is the man that originally stole the journal from Dupont,” Stephen said, although he was certain no one needed an explanation, he gave one anyway. “He is currently in Newgate.”

“A bloodthirsty criminal of the worst sort,” William said, a satisfied quirk in his lips. “It seems that my brother-in-law is innocent of any wrongdoing. I believe our work here is done, and I shall head home to Lady Astleyshire.”

“Balderdash! I was having such fun.” The prince handed Madalene a copy ofThe History of Tom Jones: A Foundling.“I took the liberty of sending to my library for this. ’Tis one of my favorite stories. I shall give you ten minutes to read it. Then let us see how much of it you recall.”

Madalene was not some parlor trick. “Sir, she has been writing for over two hours. Might we do this another time?” Stephen asked.

“Stephen”—she touched his forearm—“I do not mind.”

“How about three minutes?” the prince asked.

“Of course.” She beamed at the prince, and his eyes clouded over. American heiress Madalene Spencer had cast a spell over HRH.