Free To Tempt the Devil (A Novel of Lord Hawkesbury's Players) by C.J. Archer

if need be.”
    James peered inside the sack. “Did you steal all this?”
    “No, little brother. I sold an old sword I don’t use anymore.” The lie rolled off his tongue easily enough and James accepted it with a shrug and bit into an apple.
    “Everything well here?” Rafe asked, keeping one eye on the big prisoner. Their gazes met and the other man’s held steady. That alone set him apart. Usually the cocky sort saw the warning and backed down. Even the big ones. Either this oaf was too stupid or he was throwing out a challenge.
    “Everything’s perfect here,” James said with obvious sarcasm. “I only got bitten two hundred times last night by whatever is living in this pallet and I’m fortunate to be able to see the feet of passersby through that window. Sometimes they even throw us little presents through the bars, like mud or rotten fruit.”
    He was lucky that’s all they threw in.
    “Has anyone been to visit you?” He considered telling James about Barker but decided against it. James had enough troubles of his own.
    “No. Nobody but you knows I’m in here.”
    “Good. And don’t worry. I’ll get you out.”
    James sighed and rubbed a hand through hair not yet as dirty as that of his fellow inmates. In another few days it would become greasy and itch like the devil. “Thank you, Rafe, you’re a good brother. Always have been.” He offered up a weak smile then looked quickly away, but not before Rafe saw the tears in his eyes. There was no need to ask what they were for. They both knew.
    “I could have been better.” Should have been better. “I could have been here more.”
    “You think I wouldn’t be in prison if you were around?” All trace of sentimentality was gone. Defiance flashed in James’s eyes where before they’d swum with despair. “I am not a child, Rafe.”
    “I never said—”
    “You didn’t have to. I know what you meant. You think I’m not capable of taking care of my own affairs.”
    It was no use arguing with him. James was a young man, angry at himself and the world. More than anyone, he knew that a few days in prison wouldn’t be long enough to knock that out of him. It would take time and perhaps a few life-threatening events. Or a woman. Lizzy could do it. She’d be good for James. A sensible, leveling influence.
    He rested his head back against the wall with his eyes closed—a bad idea because it brought memories of the way Lizzy had felt against him when he’d shown her how to hold the sword. She’d been soft, her skin smooth, and she smelled of honey. Even now, amid all the filth of the prison, he could conjure up the scent of her.
    “Rafe? Are you all right?”
    He opened his eyes to see James frowning at him and guilt swamped Rafe. For God’s sake, she was his brother’s intended! “Yes.”
    “You seem a little unwell.”
    “Don’t worry about me.” Rafe tried to force every last thought of Lizzy away but his efforts failed. He worried about her. The situation between Gripp and Style looked volatile and the company’s ruin at the hands of Gripp seemed inevitable.
    Rafe couldn’t believe two grown men could be so antagonistic and not actually fight each other. Perhaps if the players had let Style attack Gripp, they could have gotten it out of their systems and it would all blow over. Then again, perhaps not. Neither looked like they’d give up on their feud so easily. Which brought up the question—would Style kill Gripp?
    Rafe didn’t think so, but he might hire someone as he’d implied. It was that suggestion that had turned his blood cold. Not the fact that he’d thought Rafe was the type capable of killing, but more the reactions of everyone in the room. Thesharp intake of breaths. The tension stretching tighter and tighter as they waited for Rafe to explode in anger.
    The fear in Lizzy’s eyes.
    She’d backed away from him like she would a vicious dog. The frightened doe had returned and he didn’t like it. He wanted to see the