Page 9 of Any Duke in a Storm

Reaching into her trunks for the bold burgundy frock coat with gold buttons and lace-trimmed cuffs, she slid into the garment and donned a straw hat with inventive wine-colored plumes. It was ostentatiously gaudy…but people remembered flashy. Finally, she buckled the thick belt with her weapons holstered and sheathed in place, including a curved ax strapped to her back, and drew in a breath at the image in the mirror.

Bonnie Bess stared back at her.

Ruthless. Forbidding. Everything she needed to be.

By now, Bess was known in most ports. The reputation she’d cultivated across the Caribbean and the United States had been vicious and hard-won. Oh, Lisbeth knew of the bloody stories told about her, each one more terrible than the last. She made no attempt to correct any of them. A delicate woman would drown in this world, and she had no intention of disappearing under treacherous seas. Shewasthe fucking storm.

“Are you certain about this?” Estelle asked, meeting her in the corridor, voice low.

Lisbeth blinked. “Going to Nassau?”

“If Davy says you were near the ships and they catch you, your fate will not be kind.”

Lisbeth rolled the sudden cold from her shoulders. “No one besides Davy heard me down on those docks.” Brow wrinkling, she pursed her lips and brushed imaginary lint off her coat sleeves. “It will be my word against his. Look for a new sailing master if you can,” she added. “I cannot abide having that man on my ship.”

Estelle’s brows flew high. “It’s been seven hours, and he got us here in one piece in the dark of night. Those flats in Tobago have wrecked dozens of ships manned by sailors stupid enough to sail without line of sight. He’s more than competent, if not the best we’ve had.”

“He’s lying about something,” Lisbeth replied.

“Aren’t we all, Cap’n?”

Her quartermaster wasn’t wrong, but Lisbeth refused to ignore her intuition. “If you cannot hire someone, find out what you can from the locals about Raphael Saint. I’d rather be prepared than blindsided by a pretty face hiding ill intent.”

She turned to climb the stairs to the deck when Estelle stopped her with a palm to her elbow. Dark eyes glittered down at her, fondness and care swirling in her gaze. In the past, Bonnie Bess and her quartermaster would disembark in the various ports and leave gold coins and chaos in their wake at the local taverns. The owners loved and loathed them in equal measure. Bess’s generosity went in hand with her bloody reputation—blood was just as expected to be shed as money. It accomplished two things: fortified her status and made sure that she was remembered. Conjecture went a long way in building reputation.

The last time they’d kicked over the traces had been six months ago. She’d perched in Estelle’s lap and their nights had been wild and pleasurable. The recollection of intertwined limbs and replete satisfaction flitted through her brain. Those memories were mirrored in her quartermaster’s stare. Perhaps in her loneliest moments, Lisbeth regretted ending things.

They had been good together and Estelle had been an unselfish lover. But Lisbeth had needed her mind clear for her mission, and besides, Estelle wasn’t one to settle down with one partner, whereas Lisbeth was a one-at-a-time kind of person. She’d never ask Estelle to change, but possessiveness ran deep in Lisbeth’s blood. Being resentful of other paramours was not her style, and so they’d parted, but that didn’t mean they didn’t look out for each other.

A pair of flecked pewter eyes framed in dark lashes flicked through her vision, and Lisbeth very nearly changed her mind and took Estelle up on the silent offer that was always on the table. Perhaps a thorough bedding was exactly what she needed to get that rogue out of her head.

If not with Estelle, then any willing lover in port would do. Relationships were one thing, but from time to time, a rousing round in the sheets with no strings attached had its appeal.

“Be careful,” the quartermaster said, her fingers flexing.

Lisbeth winked. “Always am.”

“Just because we didn’t see anyone doesn’t mean no one is here. Word travels fast on the sea.”

“All will be well, Estelle,” Lisbeth said. “Smalls will stay close. And you know that I am more than capable of defending myself.”

With that, they climbed to the foredeck where Smalls stood near the ladder and descended into the waiting rowboat that took them to the crowded harbor. Lisbeth glanced over her shoulder to her ship, noting the tall presence of the man she’d commanded to remain aboard. Even halfway across the bay, it felt like his gaze sought and imprisoned hers.

Her breath hitched, fingers clenching on the expensive fabric of her trousers as she wondered whether leaving a stranger on her ship had been the best idea. Half of her sailors remained aboard as well. What if he convinced them to leave? Lisbeth ground her teeth together. TheSyrencrew was loyal. And besides, no one would be daft enough to steal that particular ship. Its reputation was just as vicious as hers.

“So you think he’s pretty?” Estelle said slyly as the crew rowed toward the shore. There was no need to clarify who thehewas. Lisbeth clenched her teeth at her earlier slip about his pretty face.

“I’m not interested in a shipboard relationship, Estelle,” she replied stiffly. “Especially with a man I know nothing about thatyouhired without my approval.”

The quartermaster chuckled. “That doesn’t answer the question.”

“Just because something is pretty enough to be admired doesn’t mean that it should be plucked. Sometimes it is best left to wither on the bush.”

“Ah, so you have thought of…pluckinghim,” Estelle said, glee in her voice and an infuriating emphasis on the second-to-last word. It was obvious she did not mean plucking, rather something that rhymed with it.

“You are not amusing.” Lisbeth’s gaze narrowed on the object of their discussion whose focus hadn’t shifted from the rowboat since she’d left the ship. “I’m not blind when it comes to beauty, but that scoundrel is nothing but trouble.”

“I seem to recall you like a bit of trouble.”

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