Page 29 of Any Duke in a Storm

Raphael stared at his uncle, marveling at the sheer ballocks on the cocky bastard. The fact that he coveted Lisbeth came as no surprise. The fact, however, that he was demanding aturnas though she were a thing to be passed around the men on the island made him see fucking red.

If Dubois only knew who she really was, Raphael was certain that he’d be running far away and girding his tiny loins from the wrath of Bonnie Bess. But keeping her identity under wraps was safer for both of them…at least until Raphael knew what he was dealing with, and who his allies were in this den of serpents.

The governance of Smugglers Cove shifted over time as fortunes did, though he and Dubois had been its unofficial leadership for several years now. Captains had come and gone, mostly those who had the wealth and power to be influential. Right now, Raphael was partaking of a brandy and cigars with three other men besides Dubois, two of whom he did not know very well. The last was Boisie, a West Indian man who had made a fortune in the silk trade, and was the closest thing to a friend Raphael had here.

While Exuma operated as a safe zone of sorts—nokilling, no stealing, no cheating, and all disputes were to be settled by words instead of blood—it was no secret that any peace hinged on the whim of criminals. And the worst of them seemed to want him gone by any means necessary. Even provoking him to violence by soliciting Lisbeth’s favors.

Though Raphael had no real claim to her, his blood ran hot with rage.

“She’s not a communal object, Dubois,” he said, draining the rest of his excellent French brandy to keep his fingers busy and not around the rotter’s throat. “Perhaps you should invest the time yourself and do the work to actually make a woman interested in you. Looks won’t last forever, Uncle.”

The other men guffawed as Dubois’s face turned white with anger. He sneered. “And what of the sister?”

Raphael leaned forward, violence in every taut line of his body as he speared the odious man with a look that promised nothing but pain. “She’s fucking twelve. Touch one hair on her head and I’ll kill you.”

Dubois tutted, his oily smile returning. “Is that a threat?Here?You know the rules, Saint. We conduct ourselves like gentlemen, not animals, and threats are not to be taken lightly.” The man was goading him, clearly, but Raphael just shrugged.

“However you take my cautionary advice is up to you, Dubois. But I can assure you as a gentleman myself, thatnopeer would ever conduct himself with such dishonor to besmirch achild’svirtue.” That was all horseshit, of course.Peers with privilege did whatever they wanted, even when it crossed legal and moral lines, and aristocrats across Europe courted girls who were barely older than Narina. And in their world, out on the sea, criminals took whatever could be considered part of the spoils. Even bartering women and children.

But Dubois had always fancied himself a blue blood and had carried a chip on his shoulder since he’d felt slighted by Napoléon himself in the matter of being awarded a duchy…hence his infamous moniker of the Prince of Smugglers, his own self-aggrandizing creation. And he hated Raphael with a passion becauseRaphael’sfather, Dubois’s own half brother, had earned the victory title he’d so fancied.

Dieu, Raphael had to find a way to get ahold of one of his ships. At least two of them should have been en route from France, and their crews had been loyal to him for years. At the moment, he was a sitting duck…a captain without a ship. And who knew what angles Dubois had been working behind his back for the last months to turn the tide of power. He seemed rather friendly with these two captains who’d been brought into the inner circle. Normally those things happened with an informal vote, but Raphael hadn’t been back to Exuma in months, attempting to bring his own plans to fruition by buying up his uncle’s debt wherever he could.

An oversight, clearly, because things had changed in his absence.

“Where did you say you were from?” he asked thestout man with a mustache that would require its own shipboard cabin. Calico Madge or some such. The name was as ridiculous as the man’s facial hair.

“Florida. Liquor and cigars primarily.” He lifted a thick Cuban cigar to his mouth with a smug smile. “I work for Mr. Dubois here.”

Ah. There was one tie of loyalty that could not be ignored. Raphael glanced at the redheaded captain whose face reminded him of a fox. “And you? Delaney, right? We’ve met once or twice in passing.”

The man nodded. “Miles Delaney. Born in London but made a name for myself across the Atlantic. Mostly smuggling fabrics from your native Paris.” He grinned. “Everyone in America wants the latest fashions at a fraction of the cost. The taxes levied are bloody astronomical, but I am happy to oblige my New York clientele and line my pockets in the meantime.”

“The U.S. Customs House there has been tightening their focus on levies for goods,” Raphael said, tapping his fingers on his tumbler.

Delaney snorted. “They have agents stationed in Paris now, looking for spending patterns of American women, watching and waiting and reporting back to watch out for my ships. Smuggling is not as easy as it used to be, when it was like catching fish in a barrel. Now, they’ll bankrupt me, if I’m not careful.”

Raphael fought an eye roll as Madge nodded. “Florida, too. Jenks is a pain in my arse in Tampa Bay. Confiscated an entire cargo hold of gin and wine a weekago. TheSeadriftand theMargaret Annwere seized too, and the customs agents kept the liquor for themselves. Bloody criminals.”

The irony of it all: smugglers calling corrupt agents criminals.

Raphael wasn’t by any means innocent, but a large portion of his wealth was redistributed to those who needed it in the islands.

“The women have the right of it,” Delaney said. “This Bonnie Bess captain is making a name for herself with French goods and fabrics. Have you heard of her? My men said theSyrenput into port in Nassau for a day or two before departing for Tampa.”

Raphael froze though outwardly he kept his face calm. Relief that the ship had survived the storm filled him, but his skin went cold at the thought of Lisbeth being recognized as its notorious captain. Dubois might think of her as a mole in their midst, and even if he desired her, his usual strategy was to shoot first and ask questions later. He had no doubt that Bess could handle all of these men, including Dubois, with her eyes closed, but he could not risk it.

“Isshe bonny?” Madge asked smacking his lips with a chuckle. “I like a bit of grit in my women.”

Delaney made a nauseated face. “No, and rumor says she’s likely to cut your ballocks off with her blade and feed them to you, if you take any such liberties with her person. No one knows where the bitch is from. Take your pick—Jamaica, the Middle West, Spain, India. Everyone has a different story. But she’s smart, and bold, and rich.”

“Weren’t you with her in Tobago, Delaney?” Dubois asked, blue eyes flicking to Raphael for a second. “You wanted me to meet her, if I recall.”

The man shrugged. “Yes, but for reasons unknown, she decided to put out to sea an hour or so before you arrived. That boy Davy who arrived on my ship seemed to be close with her. You can ask him.”

“An hour before you say?”

“Aye.”

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