Page 20 of Any Duke in a Storm

“Then do it for honor’s sake,” she snarled, nearlysnatching the rapiers from a grimacing Smalls and tossing one of them toward the sailing master.

“Honor?” Saint asked, pointedly ignoring the thin-bladed sword that skidded to a stop at his feet. “Amongsmugglers? Surely you jest.”

She swung the blade in a slow, wide circle, a twisted, vicious grin on her face. “Then tell me, Pirate, is it that you’re afraid to fight a tiny little woman?”

Fuck if Raphael didn’t want to toss the vicious sharp-tongued Viking over his shoulder and show her a much more enjoyable,pleasurableway to settle things. He also did not want an ax in his back or a sword through his ballocks, both of which were possible in the murderous mood she was in. He should have known his audacious price would have come back to haunt him.

Every captain had a special relationship with his or her ship, especially ones that had ferried them through countless hells on the open seas, and theSyrenwas synonymous with Bonnie Bess. He couldn’t say he hadn’t known exactly what he was doing, however.

Provoking her had become his favorite pastime.

“Afraid of you?” he scoffed with a laugh.

A blond brow arched. “Prove it.”

Slowly, while keeping his eyes on her, he removed his coat and placed it over a nearby barrel. He didn’t miss the way her eyes rounded when he untucked the hem of hisshirt from his trousers. “Why the hell are you undressing?” she demanded, even as the rest of the crew hooted and hollered in bawdy appreciation.

He launched an injured stare in her direction. “God’s teeth woman, this is myonlyshirt. I’d rather it not be in tatters at the end of this.”

“Forfeit, then,” she said. “Save yourself the trouble.”

“And miss the chance to forage through your tightly guarded hold?” Those hot green eyes attempting to incinerate him by the power of her will alone darkened at the rather obvious intimation. “I think not, Viking.”

“It’s Captain, you cockish slouch!”

Even while her eyes flung daggers at him, Raphael tugged the tail end of his bloodied shirt up over his head and threw it onto his coat while flicking at the sword on the deck in front of him with the tip of his boot. He caught the rapier in his hand and sketched a courtly bow. Satisfaction flooded him as her eyes fastened on the ink on bold display over his sternum and right pectoral, a small gasp escaping her lips at sight of the tattoo ofPrometheus Boundby Rubens.

An eagle descended, wings spread and claws extended over a man’s body, the slightest hint of vermillion over his half-consumed liver: an eternal punishment for defying the gods. But that wasn’t all. A curved gold ring was pierced through Raphael’s right nipple, as though connecting to the inked chains that held the Titan in place. He felt her shock—and interest—as her eyes flicked to the metal, a violent blush painting her cheeks scarlet.

“Something catch your eye, Bess?” he asked.

Tossing her head and forcing her features into ruthless submission, his beautiful foe eyed the jewelry and the expansive tattoo that covered most of his upper chest. Both had been intense lessons in pain. She cleared her throat. “That’s different.”

He canted his head. “Reminds me of what’s at stake and the consequences that await each of us.”

Green eyes narrowed with renewed purpose as she circled him, weapon at the ready. “Prometheus also symbolizes the trickster. Is that what you are, Pirate? A man in disguise, hoping to deceive us all?”

“Or perhaps simply a man trying to do the right thing.”

She struck out and he lifted his own blade to block her strike, the sound of clashing steel a harsh chime between them. “For whom? Himself?”

“You wound me,” he said, darting out of the way of a practiced lunge that came much too close to carving a stripe down his exposed torso.

Raphael throttled his focus, the practiced skill of his opponent immediately apparent. He’d seen her in the market square in Bridgetown and the gracefully efficient way she’d pared down her enemies.Withoutweapons. There was no doubt in his mind that Bonnie Bess was as proficient in bladed weapons as she was with bare fists. She wouldn’t have made such a wager if she wasn’t convinced that she would win.

He lunged and she parried, the whine of metal whistling through the air. Three more slashes saw sparks flying as they danced together and flew apart. Every parry shemade, he countered with a riposte. Until she thrust and he spun instead, forcing her off-balance. In a flash, he erased the distance between them. Raphael did not strike, instead going for an arm wrapped around her throat and drawing her supple body back against his, sword arm trapped at her side beneath his. She cursed, spine going rigid.

“Do you submit?” he whispered in her ear, the honeyed orange-blossom scent of her wafting into his nostrils.

In response, an elbow slammed into his gut as she let her body drop with her full weight and wrenched out of his hold. “You wish.”

“Idowish,” he said with a grin. He hadn’t meant to keep her there; he’d only wanted to goad her.

“You are insufferable,” she hissed.

“Careful, Viking,” he taunted and slapped the tip of her blade in a downward arc. “Or I might start to think you’re obsessed with me.”

“In your dreams, you arrogant ass!”

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