Page 56 of Any Duke in a Storm

With a rough exhale, she kept her gaze on Narina who’d been put to work by Thorin and was carrying a small crate of oranges. “It was because of me we were in that mess in the first place.”

“And I was the one who got distracted.”

“I shouldn’t have gone off on my own,” she insisted.

Raphael shifted, toe tapping lightly on the woodenplanks of the dock. “And I should have trusted in your skills in the first place, not treated you like a damsel in need of protection.”

Unable to bear it, she whirled. Tousled dark hair fell over his shoulders, the corner of his lip kicking up in that half smirk of amusement. Her eyes collided with his, and there they were, pooling in that warm gaze that undid her…all those emotions she was so afraid of. Warmth, humor, tenderness, and blatant affection. All directed at her, like the first rays of sunlight on an overcast sea. Her lungs squeezed as she tore her gaze away, her heart doing tumultuous flips behind her ribs.

“Stop doing that,” she gritted out. “Stop trying to absolve me.”

“Absolveyou?” he shot back. “No, Lisbeth, I’m simply saying that I’m responsible for my own choices, my own actions.” He sat next to her on the bench, the smell of salt and brine and citrus surrounding her. “And besides, don’t you know chits go wild for scars.”

Rolling her eyes, she shot him a dry look. “Good to see your injury hasn’t hampered that ego of yours.”

He chuckled, deep and long, the low rumbles making her skin heat. “You should know by now, Viking,nothinghampers this magnificence.”

Hiding her grin, Lisbeth shook her head, and they sat in silence for a moment before she took the plunge to air her thoughts. “I suppose then it will be goodbye in New York,” she said. “TheSyrenis there, and well, you have your own plans.”

“Is that what you want?”

“It’s what it has to be,” she said. The plain truth was that Lisbeth did not want him anywhere near Dubois when everything went down. As a master spy, she had power, but not enough to save Raphael from prosecution if he was caught. His crimes might be less than Dubois or Madge, but he was guilty of them all the same. A twinge of conscience rolled through her. What would he feel when she took his vengeance away from him? When she stole his retribution from under his nose?

When she betrayed him in the worst possible way…

Because, by God, he would never, ever forgive her.

“When do we leave?” she whispered, her stomach churning with nerves and guilt, meeting his eyes briefly and seeing a flash of something else there. Something that looked too much like regret. Too much like the feelings of need and despair buried deep in her own chest.

“Daybreak.”

In the dark of the moonlit night, Raphael spotted the other ship hugging the coast near Charleston right in front of the lights glinting at Fort Sumter before it sighted him—a much smaller vessel with a side-wheel paddle and a low, narrow frame with two short lower masts. It had the look of one of the blockade runners from the American Civil War with its dark charcoal color, but something told him it was a smuggling ship.

Possibly one of Delaney’s, which meant the cargo might be worth the pursuit. It would be fast, but not faster than theVauquelin, the vessel ship in his fleet with its triple-screw steam engines. Besides, the full armament of this particular ship was something to behold.

Yes, she was unequivocally his pride and joy.

Raphael nodded to Thorin at his side, his longtime friend and business partner, and made the signal that they were going to shadow and then chase. The grin on Thorin’s face was predacious as he jumped to the lower deck to inform the rest of the crew. In the old days when they only had one ship between them, chasing down the worst of the smugglers and divesting them of their cargo had been a lucrative game. Later on, when most of their ships ran legitimate trade, only two had been left to continue the charade with Dubois. Raphael had lost them both in Tobago.

His uncle didn’t know how big Raphael’s business had gotten. He made sure to keep the men who captained the three dozen ships he owned separate from his operations where Dubois was concerned. The less he suspected, the better. And when Raphael finally brought him down, he’d be sure to remind him just how insignificant he was in the grand scheme of things. That despite his father’s ruined name and the loss of their holdings in the Loire Valley, Raphael was not destitute.

He was, in fact, obscenely wealthy…and he was putting every centime of that fortune toward clearing the de Viel name and destroying Dubois. With a secret penchantfor gambling, Dubois was in debt up to his ears, taking more and more risks with his cargo runs just to make money. Raphael had bought up most of the debt, and when the man had nothing left, Raphael planned to offer him a trade for a confession of his treachery.

The game had been long, but it was very nearly at its end.

He sent the message to the engine rooms to slow the ship. “Ready the guns and target the paddle box once we get within range. They’ll slow soon enough.” Raphael nodded to Boisie who had joined the few hundred men manning theVauquelinfor the voyage. “If there’s an uproar, make sure the girl stays down below and watch her! You know how she is.” He thought for a moment. “Take Peppers and Balzac with you.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

Based on the scraps of what he’d overheard in her conversation with Lisbeth, Narina was much too enamored with piracy, and what they were about to do was definitely illegal. Lisbeth would not approve of the girl being part of sacking and plundering another vessel. Normally Lisbeth would be above decks, but she’d gone below to make sure the tiny scallywag of a pirate went to bed—after that little imp had wheedled a promise out of Raphael to man the wheel on the morrow.

He couldn’t help his grin. He’d miss the cheeky little sprite. He blew out an uneven breath. He’d missher, too. But it would be safer for Lisbeth to be back on her own ship. As a consolation prize, he would make sure topresent Bonnie Bess as an inclusion in their ranks once he started closing the net on Dubois. Whatever her reasons were for wanting to be part of the Exuma elite, he would not forestall her.

A slender figure with mussed blond hair in worn trousers, a shirt, and a hastily donned coat ran up the stairs to the quarterdeck. “Why are we slowing?”

Of course she would have noticed. “Opportunity,” he said.

“What?”

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