The Trouble With Misbehaving. Victoria Hanlen

hells. When they finally released him, he’d a bagful of plaguey battle demons. Now when a memory of any of it crept in, he’d flex his fingers and imagine them locked around Rives’s throat.

      Drawn back by Glyncarn slurping his coffee, Beau peered around the coffee house. “Is it my imagination, or is London crawling with spies?”

      Glyncarn turned his head to follow his gaze.

      At a small table in the corner, a fellow sat scribbling in a journal while pretending to read a paper. Even though the lighting had been dim at the inn, Beau recognized his face.

      “No imagination, my friend,” Glyncarn said. “Plenty of Confederate sympathizers this side of the pond, lots of Union eyes too. Investors clamor to make money on both sides of the war.”

      Beau slid off his stool. As he walked through the coffee house, he veered toward the man, strolled up to his little table, and looked him square in the face. “Weren’t you at the King’s Inn, night before last?”

      The man squirmed and feigned confusion. “I don’t think—”

      “I see you’re reading the London Parliamentary Review.” Beau reached down and slid the paper to the side revealing the London American, a pro-Yankee journal the man had hidden underneath. “Ah yes, keeping up with your fellow Yanks.” He tipped his hat. “Say hello to them for me, will you?”

      As Beau turned to walk back to Glyncarn he heard the man mutter, “Swaggering villain.”

      ***

      Beau strode into Mrs. Arnold’s townhouse under full steam. His little trip to the coffee house had answered more than a few questions and had helped make up his mind. “Jenkins, be a good man. Please arrange for a carriage. I’ll need it in fifteen minutes.”

      “With pleasure, Captain,” the butler sniffed.

      Beau marched up the stairs to his room and started throwing clothes into his trunk. Enough of this tomfoolery. The man he’d been had died when Rives forced him to surrender the Roundabout. It was a miracle he’d survived and still had all his limbs intact. Though tempting, the money C.C. offered would never be enough. Glyncarn spoke the truth. Life and freedom were far more valuable.

      Death had stalked Beau too many times. His near miss with the gallows convinced him he’d used up all his good luck. Captain Mclean had been a better man than he—a man in his prime. His death made a sobering, cautionary tale.

      For a short time Beau had the warmth and love of a family of his own. Millie and Freddie had given him so much joy. He’d been in prison when they needed him most. That guilt would haunt him till the end of his days.

      Events over the last year had sated his urge for adventure, made him reconsider his life. There were safer, more stable ways to make a living. It was high time he stopped taking for granted the privileged world he’d been born into and the good family he still had.

      Thomas had gotten him out of prison, hadn’t he? He should be with them right now, not charging back into a war across the pond. He didn’t need C.C.’s money. If he required more capital to build ships, he’d find his own investors.

      Beau locked the trunk’s lid into place, fastened the straps, heaved it over his shoulder and quickly descended the stairs.

      Jenkins stood in the vestibule at the ready.

      “Please give Miss Collins my regrets.”

      “You can give them to her yourself, Captain.” Her sultry voice echoed down the hallway.

      C.C.’s vanilla and honeysuckle scent wafted over him, igniting memories of her coming to his bed in Grancliffe Hall. He dragged in the fragrance and turned. “I thank you for your hospitality, madam, but I’ve changed my mind and have a train to catch.”