Free Her Master and Commander by Karen Hawkins

the coaches and wagons down that treacherous road. Besides, the horses are spent, and—” He looked at Tristan. “I wonder…My lord, would you allow us to stay for a day or two? We’ve traveled far and are a bit weary. Our horses need rest, especially after pulling so much weight up that horrid road.”
    If Reeves knew how to locate his brother, then Tristan would be foolish to let the man out of his sight. “Stay. I am afraid I don’t have much room—”
    “We will make do in the stables,” Reeves said, as if anticipating just such a suggestion.
    “The stables?” Mr. Dunstead blinked. “But…how—”
    “We will do very well,” Reeves said smoothly. He bowed to Tristan. “Thank you for your consideration. Once the horses are rested, we will, of course, be on our way.”
    “But—” Dunstead said.
    Reeves took the solicitor by the shoulders and turned him toward the door. “Lord Rochester, thank you! I hope to speak to you again soon, once you’ve had time to digest the new things in your life.” With that, the butler steered the solicitor into the hallway and closed the door softly behind him.
    Tristan stood staring at the closed door for the longest time, scattered thoughts raging through him. His father, dead. His brother, perhaps found. A fortune to be won. And a title, all his. Lord Tristan Llevanth, Earl of Rochester.
    What a horrible, horrible joke.
    If he was to digest all of that, it would take an entire bottle of brandy. Or ten. Shaking his head, he sank back into his chair, reclaimed his glass and took a long gulp. He was an earl. For some reason, he wondered what his starched-skirted neighbor would think of that. Would she be impressed? Or merely demand yet again that he keep his sheep out of her garden?
    Lifting his glass in her general direction, he silently toasted her. Not only was she delectable, but she was brimming with good sense—he could almost smell it on her. That was the kind of woman one avoided at all costs; the marrying kind.
    Sighing, he laid his head against the back of the chair. Truthfully, he’d trade his earldom for one night in the lady’s bed. One long, passion-filled night, filled with scented skin, and the silk of her hair…
    The thought made him shift uneasily in his chair. Damnation. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He was an earl. A bloody earl. An earl with a bad leg and a cottage filled with broken sailors. What good was the title without the funds?
    Even from the grave, his father still had the power to irk him. Teeth clenched, Tristan tried to focus on Christian. On hope. Thoughts swirled round and round as Tristan drank his way through the bottle, the hours slowly passing. The sun would be breaking over the horizon before he managed to calm his thoughts enough to stumble to bed. But even then, one distinct image lingered behind his alcohol-fogged eyelids; that of his lovely neighbor, curtsying low, displaying her bosom for his earl-like approval.
    It left him with one thought before he sank into a deep sleep…Maybe being an earl wouldn’t be such a hardship, after all.

Chapter 5
     
     
    A proper butler never, ever interferes with his master’s Personal Matters. Unless, of course, his efforts will make his master’s life better in some measure. For some, this can justify a large amount of interference, indeed.
     
    A Compleat Guide for
Being a Most Proper Butler
by Richard Robert Reeves
     
     
    “Y ou, sir, will remove your sheep from my garden,” Prudence demanded, her voice a bit shivery, as if she was cold. She found that odd, to be cold AND dreaming.
    The captain turned, apparently unaware that he was but a figment of Prudence’s slumber. He was standing on the bluff, as he’d been the other day, the wind whipping his cloak about him, his broad chest displayed by a thin white shirt open at the neck, his black breeches tight about his thick, muscled legs.
    Prudence had to fight for breath. This was the best dream she’d ever had. His