Page 8 of Any Duke in a Storm

Raphael had taken a look at theSyrenonce the sun had started to rise on the horizon. Much like some of his own, it was a ship built for invisibility and speed with its slate-gray color, side-wheel steamer, two steam engines, andlow hull. The forward deck right below him was built like a turtle’s back to combat rough seas, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the ship itself was constructed from a much lighter-gauged but reinforced steel. Right now, her engines used normal coal as fuel, the plumes of dark smoke rising from its funnels visible as the sun rose.

TheSyrenwas a beauty. Svelte, sharp, and most definitely deadly for a frigate. Much like her captain. His gaze drifted back to the woman in question, who was standing on the quarterdeck and looking nothing like he’d been led to expect. Stories had a way of doing that, he supposed.

In the light of the budding dawn, tangled sun-streaked hair blew in the wind, a sennit hat tarred with black fabric to make it waterproof keeping the longer tendrils out of her face. She was deep in conversation with her quartermaster, her boots planted wide on the deck and one palm flicking over the pommel of a cutlass at her hip. An open, worn frock coat and loose trousers hid her female form, but tactile memory was a devil of a thing. His palm warmed and balled.

Bonnie Bess might have delightful curves, but the risk was much worse than any fleeting reward. Raphael huffed a low laugh. That knowledge had gone a long way toward stifling the bolt of desire he’d felt at first. Though he still thought she was striking, now that his brain had caught up with his senses, she was definitely the kind of beauty one might admire from afar. Like something that would snatch up a prey when it got too close and devour it with relish.

Raphael had no doubt she’d be a woman of her wordand toss him overboard if she thought for one second that he was a threat to her ship or her crew. And he was, which was why he’d climbed to the crow’s nest to get out of the way and avoid extra attention. He’d felt the press of her guarded gaze on him over much of the night as if he were a dangerous wolf in drunken sheep’s clothing.

If sheep drank rum and sang off-key sea shanties.

He chuckled to himself, the sound drifting down on the wind. A pair of eyes snagged his as Bonnie Bess looked up, directly to where he was. Of course she would know his exact position. Nothing escaped her notice. Raphael kicked up his lips in his practiced, flirtatious smile and waved. A scowl overtook her face as she turned back to Estelle, dismissing him though it was clear she had eyes in the back of her head. If he moved, she’d undoubtedly know it.

Whowasthis Valkyrie really? How had she become involved in the smuggling world? Not that there weren’t women smugglers… They just didn’t have dreadful reputations like hers. Or captain ships with such a noticeable number of fierce female crew as she did. He’d only ever cared enough about other ships to know who his enemies were inside his uncle’s circle, of which Bonnie Bess wasn’t a part.Not yet.She was the kind of sea captain Dubois would have his eye upon.

Not just for her looks. Her reputation was formidable.

For some reason, the idea of his uncle getting his claws into her rankled.

A prickly sensation warmed between his shoulderblades. Taking her to Nassau might be a mistake. He could disembark and melt away in Barbados. He had contacts there, but that may not be the best solution either. Dubois would certainly know of his escape by now, and Raphael needed to get back to men who were loyal to him as soon as he could. She was heading to Nassau anyway. Her reasons had nothing to do with him.

“Land, ho!” one of the boatswains called out.

Raphael glanced over his shoulder as the speed of the frigate reduced. Sure enough, the darkened coastline of the island came into view. He took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the golden sun rising over the rocky shoreline, naturally curved inlets, and green-tipped crests of Barbados. Maybe itwouldbe better to slip away here. Wash his hands of Bonnie Bess and her shrewd, too-discerning eyes.

Raphael finished his mango in two messy bites and tossed the seed over the side before taking a sip from the rancid bottle of rum he’d procured from the galley. He swished the bitter liquid in his mouth and splashed some on his clothing for good measure. It never hurt to bolster the sotted face he showed to the world.

For now, he had a part to play.

As a longtime spy working for the British Crown and now on special assignment to the American government, Lisbeth had long learned to trust her gut. Without it, shewould have been compromised or killed several times over. She was usually a good judge of character, but as she watched her new sailing master deftly climb down from the crow’s nest and saunter—no, nearly stagger—across the foredeck, her steadfast instincts guttered.

Was the man bloody drunk?

Raphael Saint appeared to be unthreatening, but everything about how that long, lean body moved conflicted with the way the man smiled or smelled. He acted like a house cat but prowled like a hunting tiger. Until he’d made it down to the deck, his body had descended the mast with an ease that belied his current unsteady, rolling gait. So which was the act? The grinning buffoon or the powerful, skulking brigand in their midst? No amount of staggering or stumbling could hide the fact that he wasn’t weak, and that in itself felt like a deception.

And yet…Lisbeth had allowed him to stay.

She should cast him off in Bridgetown. Take her chances with Nassau on her own.

Lisbeth composed her features into a blank mask as he approached. The stench of sour rum preceded him. Bloody hell, the manwasfucking foxed! “I have a person here who can get us ammunition and weapons,” he said, his face the soul of amiability.

Her brow vaulted. “Why should I trust you?”

“Not expecting you to, just making an offer,” he said easily, that mouth quirking upward. Hell if it didn’t make her want to punch it off that too-affable countenance. She clenched her fist around the hilt of her blade instead.Eyes tracking the movement, he cocked his head, something astute glimmering for a second in that hooded gaze before it was blinked away by a fringe of sooty lashes. “But he’s fast and cheap, which means we can be on our way once we refuel the coal and supplies. I gather you want to leave soon.”

Grimacing, she snagged her upper lip between her teeth. The rogue had a point. Faster was better, considering she had no idea who would be coming after her following the stunt in the harbor. It’d been seven or eight hours since their sly flight from Tobago, and no one had been on their tail through the sea. Other ships had been spotted, but never one on the same route as theSyren. Lisbeth would never let her guard down, however. Out of sight did not mean out of mind. Being vigilant and on her toes had kept her crew safe for years.

“I don’t need your help,” she said.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“Stay with the ship.”

“Whatever you say, Captain.”

If he was bothered by the curt command, he showed no sign of it…apart from that unctuous smile that dug under her skin like a relentless thorn. There was something infuriatinglyoffabout him that she couldn’t quite identify. As she hurried down to her cabin for a pouch of money, she shook her head. She’d tell Estelle to look for a new sailing master while in town. If they found someone capable thatwasn’thim, then all the better.

Lisbeth changed out of her clothes into fresh trousersand a clean high-collared linen shirt. A jet-black, tightly fitted corset went on above that, pushing her breasts to the heavens. She tucked her hair up under a wrap, and then darkened her eyes with kohl and painted a scarlet stain on her lips. A bold beauty mark went above the corner of her left upper lip.

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