Page 31 of Any Duke in a Storm

“It was a prank,” he replied, taking a healthy swallow of his drink. “A terrible one.” He’d nearly broken his neck in the fall, but his uncle had insisted it was a rite of passage and all in good fun. A little shit never hurt anyone, he’d said after hauling Raphael out of the water like a drowned fucking rat.

“I wish I could sail a ship,” Lisbeth said dreamily and glanced up at Dubois with stars in her eyes. “Is it hard?”

Raphael choked on his mouthful of ale, and jerked so suddenly that he dislodged the woman perched on his knee. The boatswain to his right was quick to relocate the giggling chit, but Raphael only had eyes for the woman opposite. “It can be,” Dubois purred. “And I have the biggest ship in the harbor.”

“He wishes he had the biggest ship,” Boisie joked, making the crowd laugh.

Madge guffawed from his place a few spaces down from them and patted his lap. “Why don’t you come over and have a tour of mine, lassie?”

“I’m fine where I am, thank you, sir,” Lisbeth replied primly, which earned her a satisfied leer from Dubois.

Raphael emptied his mug of ale with a grunt. He knew he shouldn’t dull his senses, not with Dubois so close, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to fucking break something. What was shedoing? Bonnie Bess would have an edge with this kind of crowd, but Lisbeth was sweet and ripe for the plucking.

He gritted his teeth resentfully, wanting to shout his claim and demand she return to his side, but he knew that she would refuse. And Raphael would not allow himself to be rejected or ridiculed. So he feigned one of his signature lazy smiles and caught her eye.

“Having fun?” he asked her.

She must have seen something in his face because she blew him a kiss. “Don’t be jealous, dear heart. I’m only getting to know your uncle a little better. He has such an interesting history.”

“Worried I’ll charm her away, Saint?” Dubois asked, lifting a jeweled hand to run his knuckles over her sleeve. “Who knows? She might decide that she prefers an older vintage.”

Raphael laughed. “Not one sour enough to give a person indigestion, but don’t quit on my account. If she’s willing, she’s free game.”

He saw Lisbeth’s lips tighten, and a pinch of disgustrode the heels of the jealousy that had provoked him to be so crass. Lisbeth wasn’t some temporary prize to be traded or won, and heknewthat. Bloody hell, what was wrong with him? Fighting back the flood of shame, he ground his molars together and pretended he wasn’t such a miserable jackass.

“Monsieur le Duc.” Delaney interrupted his pity party, his voice slurring. “Tell us, how did a blue blood like you come into the business of seafaring?”

Those green eyes from across the way landed on him, frosty but inquisitive.

“One, I’m not a blue blood,” he said, knowing the explanation was for her benefit. He could give two shits about what any of the rest of these sods knew about him or his personal past. “My father was landed gentry who fought in the Crimean War. He was awarded the victory title of a dukedom by Louis-Napoléon and became le Duc de Viel.” He kept his voice calm, though he could feel heat simmering in his veins. “Unfortunately, my family fell from grace and my birthright was stripped from me on account of an alleged crime my father committed against the emperor. As I was unsuccessful in clearing his name, I turned to the sea to seek my fortunes.”Along with vengeance.

“Alleged?” That was from Lisbeth.

“Accusations were made.”

Dubois’s expression was one of concern. “It baffles me as to who would do such a thing. My brother was a good man.”

“It remains a mystery,” Raphael said placidly, though his stomach churned.

Who indeed? The very culprit was sitting right there, looking him in the eye, his duplicitous face painted in sincerity. Raphael didn’t even care about clearing his father’s name. He wanted to bring the scheming, lying bastard down. Give Dubois the reckoning he deserved. And he would not rest until the man had nothing, until his empire was in ashes. He knew, deep down, that Dubois had had his own brother killed.

And one way or another, the devil would get his due.

He was so consumed by his thoughts that he didn’t realize that Lisbeth had asked him a question. “Did you appeal to the French court?”

Raphael nodded. “Apparently, the evidence was convincing, especially to the empress.”

“The empress?” Lisbeth frowned.

“Rumor is she had her husband’s ear. And when my father died barely a year after the emperor denounced him, he took all his secrets to the grave, including who had discredited him. I suspect he knew.” He let out a hissed sigh. “It had to be someone close to him, but I never had any proof.”

“Let the past stay in the past, I say,” Dubois pronounced, lifting his glass high, and the other men followed. “But never the memory of our loved ones. To my dear brother!”

“Hear, hear!” others yelled.

Raphael’s jaw went hard, his fingers digging into histhigh to keep him grounded and not vaulting over the fire to throttle his father’s treacherous, silver-tongued sibling. He didn’t bother to lift his mug in the toast, and when he caught Lisbeth staring at him with a strangely soft expression, his chest tightened. She had not lifted her glass either. That brief moment of solidarity—of tender, unconditional empathy—almost had him in its grip, before reality intruded. He did not need anyone’s pity, much less hers.

They might be bound together in a performance of convenience, but Bonnie Bess clearly had her own agenda…and he’d do well to remember that.

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