Page 75 of Any Duke in a Storm

“No, you weren’t. I like people,” Lisbeth explained, taking care to express herself as thoughtfully as she could. “Once I know them and…come to care for them, I might find myself wanting to deepen the intimacy when I didn’t before. Whatever their sex may be. Estelle made me laugh and live life to the fullest, and we were happy together until our paths diverged.”

“I’ve never heard of that before,” Bronwyn said, though there was no judgment in her face, only interest.

“It’s me,” Lisbeth said simply. “And I’ve long since learned to make no apologies for who I am and who I want.”

“So you shouldn’t.” Bronwyn nodded and then arched a brow. “Does that mean you’ve come to desire de Viel?”

“Desire isn’t the problem.” Lisbeth coughed, heat swamping her as visions of their last interlude flooded her mind. “He says he’s in love.”

Bronwyn made a soft exclamation of wonder. “And how do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know. It scared me, I suppose. What if itisn’tlove? What if it’s infatuation and his interest will wane?”

Refilling her tea, Bronwyn blew on the hot liquid, her face thoughtful. “Infatuation infers strong feelings of attraction and fixation to someone you might not know well. Love is a deeper experience. Do you believe he doesn’t actually know you well enough for it to be something genuine?Isit lust at first sight?”

“It wasn’t that way for me, and he has always respected my needs and comfort. Certainly, he’s a beautiful man, but as I told you, it’s not purely about the physical. I suppose I liked him slowly at first and then all at once.”

“What do you like best about him?”

She considered the question honestly. “He’s clever and considerate, even when he’s being a buffoon. He makes me laugh, though sometimes I want to lock him in the cargo hold. He respects who I am and never makes me feel like I’m less than. In a way, he’sseenme more clearly than anyone ever has.” Lisbeth paused, so many things coming to her that she could hardly choose between them. “He’s so kind with Narina, too.”

A soft smile lit Bronwyn’s face. “Sounds like a good man.”

He is…and I am too stubborn to do anything about it.

“You know what I do,” she said, lowering her voice toa whisper. Bronwyn was family because of Valentine, and she was one of only a few who could understand Lisbeth’s dilemma. “The truth is he’s part of the group I was tasked to infiltrate, and while he isn’t my actual target, now he’s in custody because of me.”

“Is he…a criminal?” Bronwyn asked.

Lisbeth exhaled and ran her palms over her face in frustration. “It’s complicated. He’s involved, but it’s not the same as the others. His moral compass is sound, but his actions might be construed as less so.”

The expression on Bronwyn’s face was one of understanding. “You know, Lisbeth, you’ve been in this game a lot longer than I have, but I can tell you one thing I have learned—the definitions of right and wrong are not always black and white.” She breathed out. “You’ll do the right thing. You always do.”

Lisbeth was certain that what Bronwyn had meant by the right thing did not necessarily mean blowing a hole in a government building and liberating a prisoner in the middle of the night. But she had tried the diplomatic way and that had not worked. Jenks was nowhere to be found to support her position, though he would hardly approve of her claim that Saint was an innocent bystander, and Carr steadfastly refused to relinquish the only real link he had to Dubois…and the key to making a name for himself.

As head of the customs house and empowered byTreasury Secretary Hugh McCulloch to control seizures, penalties, forfeitures, and goods in transit, Carr held all the cards. And Lisbeth hadn’t wanted to blow her cover to pull rank on Carr. Doing that at this juncture would lose her all the inroads she’d gained with no result. And she did not have time to use her station to contact her handlers in the British Home Office working with the American Treasury Department to authorize Raphael’s release.

The only power she had as the Countess of Waterstone was to insist that de Viel was a peer and should not be treated like a common thief. But all of that was to no avail. Her pleas and subsequent threats of action by the British Crown had fallen on deaf ears. She had one last chance, and that was to blow Raphael out, and get back to Exuma. Only then would she be able to lure Dubois into the trap she’d concocted with Jenks. She only hoped it wasn’t too late.

That would explain why she had in her possession the same explosive that had landed her on this path in the first place—nitroglycerin. Remembering the size of the explosions in Tobago, she’d used less this time. She only needed to blow a hole small enough at street level for a person to pass through. Hearing voices, she ducked into the shadows, but no one came close to where she hid. What she was doing was incredibly risky, not to mention highly illegal. If she were caught, explaining her motives would be an uphill battle.

Don’t get caught, then…

Easier said than done. Stealthily, she inched along the wall and set in place the small vial of nitroglycerin thatshe’d managed to get from one of her old contacts for an arm and a leg. She then moved to the window and peered inside. Through the bars, as her eyes adjusted, she could barely make out the long form on the cot. Her connection inside the customs house had told her where Saint was being held. There was a slim chance that he could have been moved, but it wasn’t likely.

Lisbeth tapped on the glass and then froze, her heart slamming against her ribs. The sound was unnaturally loud to her ears. The lump on the bed did not move. She tapped harder and winced, and the shape sat up. She knew he couldn’t see her well in the darkness, and she was dressed head to toe in black.

“Pirate,” she said, hoping he could hear her through the thick pane.

The shadow moved closer. “Viking?”

She could have cried at the faint rasp of his voice, and determination filled her. “Stand back, I’m going to get you out of here. Turn the cot on its side and get behind it.”

“How?” he asked.

“Earning a spot on the Treasury Department Most Wanted list by blowing up their building. Now go.”

She counted to thirty in her head and then lit the fuse, running as fast as she could to the nearby alleyway. The explosion rocked the ground, the smell pungent and acrid as debris flew. People were screaming and alarms were sounding, but she rushed back to the hole she’d made and gaped.Holy hell. Maybe even less nitroglycerin next time.

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