Page 32 of Any Duke in a Storm

Ten

“I need my deuced ship,” Lisbeth said, pacing back and forth on the white-sand beach that was strewn with shells.

She hissed as one cut into the softness of her bare sole. The coastline was gorgeous to the eye, but untold dangers lay where one could not see them. Just like the turquoise water that hid the sharp, deadly coral reefs below the gently ebbing waves, a pretty shell could be an unforeseen danger. A ship would breach its hull upon those reefs before even getting close to this island. And the gunners hidden in the hills would finish anyone off who dared to enter.

It was a miracle that they had been picked up by an ally of Saint’s and not blown out of the water, but as she was quickly learning, the Duc de Viel was a powerful ally on these shores. She didn’t quite know how to feel about that or what she’d discovered about his past or the fact that their backgrounds were eerily similar.

He’d been granted a noble title, just as she’d been. They’d both received their elevations in station resulting from service to their respective crowns. His, via his father’s efforts during wartime, and hers because of her undercover work with Thornbury who’d been the Earlof Waterstone when they’d been briefly married. That union had been little more than a facade for the sake of their partnership, but the title had been hers to keep after the marriage had been dissolved, by the queen’s mandate. What were the odds that she and Saint would have something so unusual in common?

They were more alike than she’d expected.

And even if he wasn’t a spy, it was more than obvious that he had an ax to grind…and all her well-honed instincts screamed that their target might be a commonality as well.Dubois.Were their goals aligned? Could she get Saint on her side? He obviously wanted vengeance against his uncle and she wanted justice. Those two weren’t mutually exclusive.

Having someone watching her back in a place like this would have its advantages. Even while she was attempting to glean information from Dubois at the bonfire, she could sense the cunning and the brutality running through the man. There was a reason he’d evaded the authorities for so long, and it wasn’t because he was lucky or gullible.

She frowned. She hadn’t expected Dubois to be older either, but he was in his forties at least and old enough to be her father. And yet, the lascivious way he looked at her made her flesh crawl. She had no doubt that without her relationship to Saint, as vexing as the pretense was to her pride, she would not be off-limits to Dubois’s whims. Even now, she was taking a risk walking alone with Narina on a deserted seashore, but the girl had needed some fresh air, and Lisbeth had wanted to clear her head.

She muttered a blue streak under her breath as another shell bit into her toe. “Blast these accursed things!”

“Here,” Narina said with a giggle, taking Lisbeth’s arm as she hobbled painfully on her heels and pulled her over to the trunk of a coconut palm that had grown sideways. “Sit and let me see.”

“I should be taking care of you.” Lisbeth winced as Narina picked out a tiny piece of cracked shell from between her toes, staring down at the girl’s own bare feet. “How are you not impaled every ten seconds?”

“Been running around barefoot my whole life,” she said. “You get thicker soles. These dainty princess feet you have are like sodding paper.”

Lisbeth let out a playful growl and tugged on one of her braids. “Language! I’ll have you know these princess feet have served me well.”

Narina’s nose wrinkled. “Why do you need to find your ship?”

“The crew needs to know I’m alive.”

“You’re Captain Bonnie Bess so of course they’ll know you’re alive,” she said and then clapped a hand over her mouth, looking around with alarmed eyes. There was no one there to hear her slip so Lisbeth wasn’t too worried. “Bloody hell, sorry, I mean Lisbeth.” Narina’s brows shot together, but before Lisbeth could chide the child, Narina went on. “Why did you change your name?”

“They can’t know who I am,” Lisbeth replied in soft tones, rubbing the sting out of her sore feet. The small cut had already stopped bleeding and she stood to walkgingerly to the water’s edge, beckoning Narina to follow. She bent to roll up the cuffs of her loose trousers. A good dose of saltwater would help keep the tiny scratch clean. “As you can tell, the men on this island aren’t very good men.”

“But Saint’s good, right?”

Lisbeth opened her mouth to reply yes and then hesitated.Washe? Would he betray them the first chance he got if it served his ends? It wasn’t as though he owed them anything. In fact, the reverse was true.Theyowed him. But Lisbeth also hadn’t kept herself alive this long by blindly trusting people. Everyone was an enemy…until her job was done. Loyalties and alliances were too capricious in the smuggling world.

“I suppose he is,” she murmured, the balmy waves lapping at her ankles.

“He saved us,” Narina said.

“True,” she said. “Butwhydid he? Motivations aren’t always clear.”

A low chuckle reached her ears making her swing around, hand at her waist for the dagger she’d snatched from one of the drawers in the cabin. But the readiness to inflict damage leached from her as the object of their conversation strolled down the sand. “After all this time, you still don’t trust me?” Saint drawled, scrubbing at the layer of dark scruff on his jaw. “What do you need? A blood oath to convince you of my allegiance? The promise of my firstborn?”

“Don’t take it personally. I don’t trust anyone. And Idon’t require blood or innocent children.” Lisbeth eyed him. “Did you just awaken?”

Saint was garbed in a rumpled shirt that gaped open at the neckline as if he’d put it on in a hurry and tousled hair that tumbled over his shoulders in a wild, inky mass. The feathered wings of the eagle peeked out of the collar, the sight of the ink doing unwelcome, untoward things to her. It made her want to see the chains that led to that curved gold nipple ring again. Run her tongue over it.

Oh, stop.

His trousers were fastened at least, but his feet were bare and big like the rest of him, the intimate view of them making a strange heat unfurl in her abdomen. Lisbeth refused to admit how delicious he looked with the remnants of sleep still dampening his features.

Wait, were those his clothes from last evening?

Had he just rolled out of bed? Someone else’s bed. The hour was early after all, and the festivities had gone late into the night. Lisbeth had retired early enough, but Saint had stayed. So had the gorgeous brunette with the legs for miles who couldn’t stop eye-fucking him. The one he’d pulled onto his lap. It was obvious that they were familiar with each other in the way that lovers would be. Not that it was any of her business. Despite their fake arrangement, Lisbeth had no say in what he did. Or who he bedded. Or what he revealed about his past.

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