Page 58 of Any Duke in a Storm

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you lying to me, bucko?”

“I would never dream of it, miss.”

They all stood there in a silent staring contest as a ferocious twelve-year-old on the verge of a temper tantrum held them hostage. Eventually she huffed when Lisbeth growled her displeasure, clearly having had enough for the evening.

“Fine,” Narina conceded and turned that fiery glare on each of them. “But I take the helm tomorrow and you’ll all address me asCaptainNari, savvy?”

Thorin winked. “Savvy.”

Seventeen

He stole money only to give it away.

From. Other. Criminals.

Lisbeth couldn’t reconcile the information in her head. She’d thought him a modern-day Robin Hood before, but seeing him in action sprouted a whole host of conflicting emotions. It was morally gray behavior, and to any agent worth her salt, still punishable to the full extent of the law. The American Treasury agents would argue that it wastheirproperty, and recompense along with a trial would be due.

In their eyes, there was no difference between men like Dubois or Delaney and one like Raphael. Even if the people he robbed were thieves and lowlives themselves. And he hadn’t harmed them. He’d given those sailors a choice and let them live. None of that made it right. But the lines of right and wrong were becoming more and more muddied.

Was that because of her feelings for him? Or were real lines being crossed and she was simply refusing to see that because of her own bias? Now that they had arrived in New York, shouldsheturn him in? No, he wasn’t her mission. Dubois was. But then again, Jenks had salivated at catching three elite smugglers.

With a snarl of frustration, she scrubbed at her face.Damn it!

“Lisbeth!” The object of her muddled thoughts burst into her current very well-appointed quarters. The room was quite spacious and luxurious, even though she knew it wasn’t the master cabin. Everything about this steamer screamed extravagance. Even the guns were well polished and the crew’s quarters immaculate. Narina had reported back on that.

She lifted a brow at Raphael. “What is it?”

“We need your help.”

“What’s happened? Is it Nari?” She bolted to her feet, thankful that she was fully dressed in a canary-yellow gown she’d found in Thorin’s quarters. He’d insisted it was new, but Lisbeth hadn’t cared if it had been worn by someone before. She wasn’t going to arrive in New York City in rags, especially if she hoped to maintain her cover, and the dress had been lovely enough, if a little tight.

“No, she’s well.” Raphael’s eyes widened on said gown, his gaze sticking on the creamy expanse of décolletage exposed by the off-the-shoulderen coeurneckline and the tight boning below, and Lisbeth felt her blood heat. His nostrils flared, his eyes burning over her from the tips of her shoes to her cinched-in waist and back to her overflowing bosom. He looked like she’d just waved a red rag in front of a bull…and she was its prize. “Fucking hell,” he whispered.

“Stop gawking, Saint. What is the emergency?”

“I can’t help it. You’re bloody stunning.”

Pleasure bloomed though she ignored it. “You’ve seen me in a gown before.”

“Nothing likethat. You put the ladies at court in Paris to shame, Viking.” He blinked and shook his head as if emerging from a trance. He took one last lingering sweep of her body as if committing it to memory before speaking. “We have trouble and need your help. Agents from the customs house are demanding to see the ship’s passenger log and cargo.”

Her stomach took a nosedive.Whichagents? And would she be recognized or inadvertently exposed? “So? Didn’t you say the cargo was cleared in Nassau? Give them what they want and let them check.”

Groaning, Raphael ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Not all of it, apparently. Thorin, that fool of a libertine, left a few chests of Parisian gowns that he meant to off-load to one of his current lovers here. A well-known dressmaker.”

Lisbeth almost laughed out loud. It was a common enough ruse for smugglers, especially women. Estelle had been known to smuggle a few gowns in her time and had told Lisbeth stories of dressmakers and milliners who pretended to be highborn ladies wearing the fashionable costumes. Others traveled back from Europe with frills and accessories stitched into their petticoats so they didn’t have to pay the exorbitant tariffs. They would then, of course, recreate the fashions or sell coveted accessories to their clients.

The demand by New York upper-class women for Parisian fabric, buttons, feathers, ribbons, lace, flowers, and entire gowns was astronomical. And after theAmerican Civil War, prices had doubled, not to mention the stiff levies on imported goods. In fact, Lisbeth could recall whole exposés being written about the fashionable smuggling phenomenon in theNew York Times. That racket had caused the New York customs house to hire a slew of female inspectors to avoid a spectacle of impropriety if a passenger claimed the property was hers and refused a search by a male inspector.

Despite Lisbeth’s defense of her fellow agents, Raphael hadn’t been wrong in his assertion that there was corruption in the ranks of the customs house. The moiety system meant that those employed there would enjoy a piece of the profits of all taxes and penalties levied. Bribery was also rife, with dishonest inspectors accepting money to look the other way. While Lisbeth could not condone Raphael’s actions fully, she did understand where they stemmed from.

Not that her superiors would view it that way, however.

He’d be lucky to escape unscathed.

“Let me guess,” she said eventually. “The duties on those gowns will be exorbitant.”

“Correct. We need you to say they’re your private belongings, or we are all going to be detained.” He shot her a wry expression. “And I’d rather not draw too much attention, if I can help it.”

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