Between the Devil and Ian Eversea Read Online Free PDF Page A

began again.
    If he wanted it to.
    The notion of that made him restless, too.
    Polly returned with ales and thunked them down.
    “Chase is paying,” Ian told her. With a brook-no-argument eyebrow lift in Chase’s direction.
    Chase gamely produced the proper coinage.
    “To large baubles and willing actresses!” Ian toasted his brothers cheerfully.
    They hoisted their tankards “To large bau—”
    Their smiles froze. Their gazes locked on a point over his shoulder.
    “What?” Ian swiveled his head to look.
    “To large baubles!” the Duke of Falconbridge said easily.
    Bloody. Hell.
    How did he get in here? It was a wonder the entire pub hadn’t fallen silent, the way singing birds do when a stalking cat is spotted in the garden. But no: everyone was drinking, talking loudly and making broad, ale-fueled gesticulations, as usual, and Culpepper and Cooke were at the chessboard, and Jonathan Redmond was throwing darts at the board with his usual alarming precision. No one had noticed that an infamous duke wended his way into the Pig & Thistle.
    Ian knew firsthand that the man could be stealthy.
    His sister Genevieve loved Falconbridge, that much was clear. She had married him, throwing over Lord Harry in the process. And Ian loved Genevieve.
    But it was damnably awkward to be tangentially related to someone who had once ordered him at gunpoint to climb out of his erstwhile fiancée’s window.
    At midnight.
    Naked.
    It was a testament to Ian’s fortitude and general pleasure in risk that he was able to walk all the way home wearing only one boot (the duke had thrown the other one out the window, along with his clothes) and the shreds of his dignity and one half of his shirt, the only other clothing he was able to retrieve in the dark. His turn on the battlefield had prepared him to stoically confront an infinite number of eventualities.
    Then again, Falconbridge ought to thank him for climbing into this fiancée’s window if it stopped him from marrying the wrong woman and brought him to Genevieve.
    He was fairly certain the duke didn’t see it that way.
    He wasn’t known as a forgiving man—nobody liked him, apart, it seemed, from Genevieve—and he was known to have a long memory for any perceived wrongs perpetrated against him and for righting the balance no matter how long it took. Genevieve had fervently assured Ian the duke hadn’t murdered his first wife, as popular rumor had it, and though in all likelihood he would refrain from murdering Ian for Genevieve’s sake, one just never knew.
    Ian was hardly proud of the episode. If he’d known he’d wind up related to the man, he would in all likelihood have never climbed that tree to Lady Abigail’s window.
    The three Eversea men clambered to their feet and bowed to their brother-in-law, with cheerful and polite greetings, and then when they sat again, Colin extended a leg and used it to push out the empty chair next to Chase in an invitation.
    Ian shot him a filthy look.
    Colin fought back a grin.
    Colin, who was the only other person (besides perhaps Genevieve) who knew about his midnight exodus from the window at gunpoint.
    The duke settled into the chair, his shoulder within inches of brushing Ian’s.
    Ian contracted all of his muscles.
    Polly appeared as if by magic.
    “Try the dark, Falconbridge,” Chase recommended.
    Chase claimed to actually like the man. But then Chase enjoyed a number of things Ian found questionable, including goose liver, and puppets made him nervous. He might be a fellow war hero, but his judgment wasn’t sacrosanct.
    Polly slipped away to do His Grace’s bidding.
    “What brings you to our humble pub?” This came from Colin.
    “I was out for a stroll and when I saw the Pig & Thistle, I seized upon it as an opportunity to see my brothers-in-law in their native habitat.”
    They all laughed politely, giving him the benefit of the doubt that it was meant to be a joke.
    “Chase has been promoted,” Ian told