Page 64 of Any Duke in a Storm

The duchess laughed. “You’re a countess. He’s a French duke, and Thorin, well…”

“Count me out,” Thorin said jovially. “I have plans with a lovely modiste.”

Raphael scowled. Ah yes, the modiste whose illegal gowns had nearly gotten them in hot water and attracted the attention of the most notorious customs house in the United States. His irritation spiked again.

“Speaking of,” Thorin said, standing as if he could feelthe waves of malevolence directed his way. “I should be taking my leave. Lisbeth, Saint, Your Graces, a pleasure.”

“What about me?” Narina demanded, her mouth full.

He stopped to ruffle her curls. “You too, Beastie. Keep out of trouble.”

“Does a pirate shit in the sea?” she shot back, and Raphael caught Bronwyn struggling to hide a snort even as Lisbeth looked utterly mortified.

“Nari!” she muttered.

The girl had the wherewithal to blush. “Sorry, Bess. Er, I mean Lisbeth. Er, Countess Your Highness.”

“Who’s Bess?” Bronwyn asked, unable to hide her grin, and Raphael realized that Lisbeth’s friends might not know about her secret identity. He kept his mouth sealed shut, but the cat was let out of the bag anyway.

“She’s a smuggler,” Narina said. “A good one, but also bad. Like Saint. Because they’re stealing things. And stealing is wrong. Very bloody wrong.” She said the last emphatically. It was obvious that she was trying to make up for the earlier embarrassment, unaware in her childish innocence that she was only making it worse.

Bronwyn’s eyes rounded with delight. “Smuggling? Do tell.”

Lisbeth sighed, but her spine snapped tight as though she was alarmed about something. “Too long a story for tonight. I’m quite tired, in need of a proper bath, and I have to get that one to bed before she gets it in her head to teach your staff pirate lexicon. The Rose Rooms will be perfect. Are you certain it’s not an imposition?”

Raphael couldn’t help noticing the meaningful, pleading gaze she sent to the duke and duchess as she spoke, almost as if they were privy to something that he was not a part of. Or perhaps he was inventing things because of all the territorial feelings that Thorin had elicited, and she was simply tired and did not want to get into her shenanigans as Bonnie Bess.

But something about the silent communication bothered him. What else was his beautiful Viking hiding?

“Of course not,” Thornbury said smoothly. Raphael did not miss the warning glance he shot his wife as she opened her mouth to protest with a look of disappointment. “Barnaby, can you instruct Mrs. Barnaby to have the staff prepare the Vanguard Suite for Monsieur de Viel?”

The butler appeared in the doorway like a silent wraith. “At once, Your Grace.”

“I thank you, but I have accommodation elsewhere,” Raphael said.

Lisbeth whirled. “You do? Since when?”

“Nonsense,” Thornbury said. “You will be on another floor if you are worried about propriety, and there are more than enough staff around to act as chaperones.”

He blinked. For Narina? She was a child. At his baffled expression, Lisbeth cleared her throat, cheeks going pink.

Oh.

For him. Andher. He almost smirked and pointed out that they had been sleeping within feet of each other for weeks. But decorum was a proclivity of haughty upper-class drawing rooms, not out on the sea where modestypropriety played second fiddle to power. However, right now, they were part of the very society he scorned and rules had to be minded.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Your Graces,” he said. “I must respectfully decline.”

The more distance from temptation the better.

“Have you brought trunks or clothes, Lisbeth?” Bronwyn asked brightly into the heavy silence and then frowned, considering there was no sign of any. “If not, you can always wear some of mine. We’re about the same size except for our height, but I can have the maids alter any of the hemlines. And there’s also a dressmaker here who should have some ready-made items for Narina. We can go tomorrow.” Her face was earnest. “And don’t worry about the ball. I have several unworn gowns that will suffice in a pinch.”

Thornbury stood and finished his glass of brandy. “Would you join me for a cigar in the study before you leave, de Viel?”

Raphael stiffened. It did not sound like a request, and he couldn’t very well deny their host. Lisbeth’s panicked gaze flew to his, but he smiled reassuringly, letting her know that any of her secrets were hers to divulge. He was used to interrogations and treading the fine line between fact and fabrication.

“Of course.”

“Good night, Saint!” Narina chirped, cheeks flushed and practically vibrating from all the sweets she had consumed. He did not envy Lisbeth the task of getting her to sleep with all that energy running through her bloodstream.

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