Page 74 of Any Duke in a Storm

A promotion in the ranks of the customs house meant even more moiety benefits.

Raphael took his time getting ready, performing his morning ablutions in the adjacent bathing room of the apartments. He got dressed slowly and took perverse pleasure in making the odious man wait for as long as he could. When he finally emerged from the apartments, only Mr. Carr and the police captain stood there, both wearing identical expressions as if they’d been arguing the entire time. They descended to the entrance hall in silence.

It was early enough in the morning for the hall not to be inordinately busy, though it was bustling withshopkeepers and people using the facilities of the various offices. Raphael paid them no mind as he made his way outside to the waiting conveyance. He was accompanied by the dour Carr, but pointedly ignored the man.

“You think you’re better than me, don’t you?” the agent asked.

Raphael lifted a glacial gaze to the other man. “No, but I don’t accuse men of crimes without factual evidence.”

“You’re a criminal,” he hissed. “Everyone knows about Charles Dubois’s protégé, the mysterious Captain Saint.”

“I think you must have me confused with someone else.” Raphael waved a gloved hand with an idle flick. “Saint is a common name. And sorry to disappoint but I am not in league with anyone called Dubois.”

Carr’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps a little time in a cell will loosen your tongue.”

Raphael remained silent. He did not want to give the man any ammunition to use against him. This had become a personal vendetta now…the potential loss of any commendation from his superiors. Any arrests made in conjunction with the notorious Charles Dubois would be lauded by the Treasury.

When they arrived at the customs house on Wall Street, he ignored the looks sent his way by Carr’s colleagues and was ushered into a holding room on the first floor of the building. A small barred window at eye level showed the street outside.

Compared to the jail cell in Tobago, it was a veritable palace. Raphael sat and blew out an aggravated breath. Ithad to have been Dubois who’d sent in theanonymoustip. But until actual charges were brought against him and he was advised of a trial, he could only wait.

Wait and plot a way to escape.

“Damn it!” Lisbeth gritted through her teeth, reading the missive that had arrived from her contact at the customs house. Alarm filled her with each hastily scribbled word she read.

Bronwyn looked up from her plate at the breakfast table with surprise at the muffled oath. “What is it?”

Lisbeth crumpled and flung the note into the nearby grate, getting rid of the evidence quickly. She would not make the same mistake of leaving incriminating documents around, no matter where she was. It was safe at Valentine’s private residence, but small repeated mistakes became bad habits and she had grown careless before. The papers Davy had found in Tobago still irritated her. That seemed like a lifetime ago, but she had to imagine by now that the boy had discarded or forgotten them. He could not read, so they would not have been of any use to him.

In hindsight, she should have gone back to meet Davy and taken the papers off him then, or at least convinced him that she’d found them somewhere. The boy would have believed her. She could be quite convincing, and he’d been infatuated. Then she would not have had to run in thedead of night or crossed paths with Saint, and everything would have been on track for her to complete her mission.

But you would not have met him…

“Lisbeth?” Bronwyn asked again.

She startled. “My apologies, my mind is spinning. De Viel was arrested for conspiracy against the American Treasury.”

Bronwyn blinked. “The Treasury? Why?” She half stood out of her seat. “Wait, do you mean conspiracy forsmuggling?” Her eyes widened comically. “You said you bought a ship and Narina also said your name is Bess… Goodness, Lisbeth are you on a mission?”

Thankfully they were alone in the breakfasting room. Narina was outside playing in the garden, and Valentine was in his study. “You know I cannot talk about it, Bronwyn,” she said in a hushed voice.

“I know,” she whispered. “I miss it sometimes. The excitement and the illicit thrill of danger.” Bronwyn had never been an official agent of the British Crown, but she had ferried some dangerous documents across the Atlantic, and for a brief stint, had been known as a cunning spy called the Kestrel. It was how she and Valentine had met—she’d been his quarry. In more ways than one.

Lisbeth huffed and glanced circumspectly at the woman. “Bronwyn, might I ask you an odd question?”

“Of course.”

She eased out a sharp-edged breath. “When you and Val were together, how did you know…he was the one for you?”

Blue eyes lit with sly intrigue. “Are you talking about de Viel?”

“Never mind,” Lisbeth muttered, ears heating. “No. Yes.” Her mortified gaze fell to the floor as her face grew even hotter. She inhaled and shook her head, fighting for courage. Despite her embarrassment, it was only Bronwyn, and she might as well throw the entire lot in to get some answers. “How did you know that it was love?”

“Oh…oh.” Bronwyn took a hasty sip of her tea. “I suppose it was the way he put me first.” She gave a wry laugh. “I guess I did run roughshod over him, but I was always his priority, even when I wasn’t because of his strict sense of duty.”

Duty…the very thing that bound Lisbeth in chains.

Bronwyn cleared her throat, a hint of color rising on her cheeks. “I thought you preferred women?” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry if that was tactless.”

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