Something Sinful

Chapter 1
"Caine, where the devil are my boots?" Charlemagne Griffin bent to look beneath his bed, flinging up the blankets and groping into the murkiness. His fingers touched a lone book, but no boots.

"They're on their way up, my lord," the valet returned in his light Irish lilt, his expression horrified as he gazed at his master rooting about the bedchamber. "We had some difficulty getting that mud off them after your trip to Tattersall's."

Charlemagne straightened, dusting off his pantaloons. He flipped over the book he'd found to look at the cover. A Hundred Days in Rome. So that was where he'd left the damned thing. "Go encourage them to hurry," he said absently, settling on the corner of the bed and flipping the book open. "I refuse to be teased for being unable to dress faster than a female."

Caine stooped in a bow, backing out the door as he did so. "Right away, m'lord."

A knock came at his bedchamber door just as Charlemagne had begun reacquainting himself with day thirty-seven in an adventurer's exploration of Rome. "Enter," he said, looking up from the book.

His younger brother, Zachary, strolled into the room. "You can't go to a party in your stockings, Shay."

"My thanks. I'd be a social pariah without you."

Zach nodded. "Glad you realized that." He wandered closer. "Rumor has it that you were busy today."

"Is that your way of saying that you heard I purchased Dooley's bay hunter?"

"Aha. As soon as I came across Dooley in White's, and he was practically in tears over letting the horse go at such an abysmal price, I knew it had to be you who bought it."

Charlemagne smiled. "It was a good price, if I say so myself."

"So tell me your secret. Do you use witchcraft to put spells on your opponents? I can't think of any other reason that otherwise sensible men would sell you the entire moon for a stick and a broken wheel."

"I wouldn't have much use for the moon."

The valet scratched at the door and pushed it open. "Your boots, my lord. Good as new."

Looking over Caine's head as the valet knelt to shove on the Hobys, Charlemagne chuckled. "Since you asked, Zach, the secret is patience. Patience and observation. A hunter at any price, for instance, is no good to a man who can't afford to pay his household wages."

"That sounds a bit coldhearted."

"That's why we call it business, and not pleasure." Charlemagne stood, stomping into his left boot. "Besides, Dooley's hunter wasn't my only target for the day. I---"