Page 67 of Any Duke in a Storm

And the queen, Mrs. Astor, presided above it all on her red velvet couch. Lina had been pleased to see Lisbeth, happy to add more peers, even—gasp—divorced ones, to her grandiose party. True to form, the gold and silver plates were present. The silk-lined walls of the ballroom were so opulent, beautiful art decorating its backdrop. Everything else had been painted and draped in hues of her favorite color,royalpurple. Feathered rugs dotted the space, and servants in formal livery trotted around to anticipate every possible need of the guests, even before they knew it themselves.

Lisbeth sipped her glass of champagne, wishing she had something stronger to take the edge off her shivering nerves. Why she was nervous, she had no idea. Though it likely had to do with the man who occupied all her thoughts. Her gaze slid to him. Raphael was dancing with Bronwyn, and the two of them made quite the picture.

“So,” a low voice said behind her. “You’re in deep.”

“It’s all under control,” she told Valentine. He wouldknow. After all, she’d gotten some of her information from reports he’d compiled about Dubois while he’d been undercover in France years ago. “You know I like to play with my food before I eat it.”

“I was talking about de Viel.”

Her breathing stuttered.Him, too, the wicked voice in her head wanted to say. But the truth was, when it came to Raphael Saint, she was well beyond games. She had learned a thing or two from her time with Valentine, and she remained silent. Less was more in many cases, and with someone as astute as her former partner, a decorated, retired spymaster himself, it would be impossible to prevaricate.

“Does he know what you intend for Dubois?” Valentine asked when she did not speak.

She exhaled. “No.”

“I suspect he has his own plans, and a man driven by personal vengeance can be impulsive.” He shifted and she sensed him looking at her. “Do you know what you’re doing, Lisbeth?”

“I am no novice, Val,” she said coolly.

“I meant with him.” He let out a breath. “When someone you…care about is involved, the mind can become muddled. Unclear. Leading to mistakes. I should know.”

“I am not you,” she said softly. “And we are not involved, don’t worry.”

Not after tonight, anyway.

The music ended—and, by default, their hushed conversation—as they were rejoined by their respectivepartners. It wasn’t long before Bronwyn and Valentine disappeared out on the terrace, and Raphael asked Lisbeth to dance. It was a waltz and one of her favorite dances. Lisbeth should have been in her element. But the conversation with Valentine had rattled her. Was she unduly influenced and making different decisions because shecaredabout Raphael?

“Why the grim look?” Raphael said softly as they danced, the steps of the waltz coming back to her with each three-count of the music. “Tell me something true, Viking.”

She closed her eyes, the words like bittersweet kisses on her skin. “I don’t know who I am anymore,” she whispered.

“But I do,” he told her. “You’re the fiercest, most compassionate, most loyal, most intelligent, most capable, and most decidedly deadly”—they both laughed at that—“woman I have ever had the honor of knowing. It doesn’t matter what face you show to the world, Lisbeth. Those who love you see you as you are.”

Love… He couldn’t possibly mean what she thought it could be.

That he might love her.

But hope was a dangerous thing…the tiniest spark to dry, unlit tinder. Despite a thin thread of alarm, her feelings grew bright and buoyant. With each beat of the music, their intensity grew until she felt fit to burst, and surrounded by hundreds, only the two of them existed in that moment. Her eyes collided with his silvery brown-fleckedirises, and she let out a shudder as his strong hand flexed at her waist. God, how she wanted him.

Raphael was consuming and forceful, a storm she could either sail around or sail into.

She wanted to brace and batten down the hatches.

She wanted to scream into his winds.

“Monsieur de Viel,” she told him as the music came to a close. “I need some air.”

With a faint smirk at the address, as if he knew she was holding on by a thread, he escorted her outside, the crisp evening breeze caressing her overheated cheeks. Lisbeth breathed in huge gulps of air, but nothing cooled the need brewing in the pit of her belly. They were standing much too close at the balustrade facing the gardens, her arm grazing his, the heat of his body fueling hers to greater heights. She had absolutely no intention of moving. The gossip would be hitting the rafters, but Lisbeth did not give a flying fuck who was watching.

“Pirate,” she said.

Thick lashes lifted to reveal those eyes that branded her soul. “Yes, Viking?”

She leaned in closer, her arm pressing against the length of his. “Where have you been staying? On theVauquelin?”

“No, the Fifth Avenue Hotel.”

“Is it close?”

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