Page 14 of Any Duke in a Storm

Then again, Raphael had been betrayed by his own crew. Admittedly, that had been his fault. Cholera had spread onboard, taking out half his men, and then a bout of yellow fever had near decimated the rest, and he’d had little choice but to employ replacements in Bermuda to get to Tobago. Looking back, it wouldn’t surprise him if some of those men had been loyal to Dubois and had mutinied on his uncle’s orders.

Not for the first time, he wanted to kick his own arse.

“Not a talker, eh?” he said to Smalls, sticking his hands in his pockets. “How long have you known the captain? From what I saw, the crew seems cheerful and content.Always a good sign of first-rate leadership, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.” The words were half-exhaled, half-growled, a big palm coming up to wipe the sweat from Smalls’s brow. Short blond hair stood up in tufts as a pair of light-blue eyes found Raphael and glowered before flicking away in antipathy.

“Didn’t what?”

“Ask,” Smalls grunted.

Well, the man was talking, if three words could be called talking, which was better than the alternative. And he sounded irritated, which was even better. In Raphael’s experience, people tended to give away a lot more when they were vexed than when they were calm. An emotional response meant words weren’t considered as carefully in the heat of the moment.

“How did you get the name Smalls? Seems…a bit absurd for a man of your size. My friends have given me many names over the years, some of them I’m quite fond of. Saint is the most common and seems to have stuck.” He thought for a moment and caught a telltale irritated intake of breath from the man at his side, as if hopeful that he would stop speaking. Raphael had long since learned to read people’s reactions. “Then again, itismy last name, so that likely doesn’t count as a nickname.”

Smalls sighed loudly and Raphael could practically hear the man’s molars grinding together. He opened his mouth to continue his monologue when Smalls let out a noise. “Two years. Long enough. It’s my name. Deceive her and nothing on earth will save your wretched hide.”

It took Raphael a second to realize the growled reply provided answers to the three questions he’d asked. The last, obviously, was a not-so-subtle warning.

“I have no intention of harming a hair on the head of your magnificent captain. In fact, I think I might be in love with her. Or lust. They can be interchangeable, you know.”

Smalls stopped so quickly that Raphael nearly crashed into him. “I don’t like you.”

“Tiens tiens!” Raphael gasped theatrically, a hand to his chest. “And here I thought we could be the best of friends. At least for the next four days.”

“You’re no sailing master,” Smalls snapped through his teeth. “Aye, you’ve knowledge of the ocean and guided theSyrenthrough the reef flats, but it’s not your job. You’re not fooling anyone.”

After a solid minute of glaring on Smalls’s part and wide-eyed innocence on his, they resumed walking back toward the ship. “And what do you think my job would be? Boatswain, gunner, cabin boy, perhaps? I am rather excellent at all three, particularly the last. Put in a good word with the captain for me, will you? Her cabin is…to die for.”

That was one step too far as Raphael found himself slammed up against the nearest wall, an enormous fist wrapped in the collar of his shirt. Despite his situation, he wasn’t too worried. Smalls was a big man, but size could be a disadvantage in certain spaces. Raphael had scuffled with bigger men and survived. But besides holding him in place with a savage glower on his face, Smalls didn’t move.

“Dieu, you could snap me like a twig,” Raphael saidwith his customary smirk that never failed to get a rise out of people. The fist at his throat tightened. He lifted his own hands on either side of Smalls’s thick shoulders. “You’re loyal and protective, I get that, but no need for the manhandling. All I want is safe passage to Nassau, mon frère. What you and your captain do after that is no business of mine. What kind of business is that, if you don’t mind me asking for posterity’s sake? Are you and she…?” Hell, he nearly bit off his own tongue that those words made it past his lips.

Smalls released him as quickly as he’d attacked, a look of horror crawling over his features. “I’m not your fucking brother, and I should thrash the living daylights out of you. She’s like a daughter to me.”

Raphael let out an inaudible sigh, his lungs compressing with…something. Was that relief flooding through him? Yes, definitely relief that he wouldn’t have to fight off some overzealous, jealous lover while he plied the captain for information.

That was his new plan after all.

A ship outfitted like hers could come in handy, and despite her fearsome reputation, Bonnie Bess was no match for him. And besides, Raphael wasn’t above a bit of commandeering.

Whether that was of the ship…or her vicious, sultry captain.

Five

Lisbeth’s nape itched as her gaze prowled the gently rocking horizon from her position behind theSyren’s helm. The prickly sensation had warned her of peril more times than she could count, but now she was back on her ship that was filled with food and provisions, plenty of coal as well as anthracite, which made no smoke in case they ran into trouble, and more than enough ballast and powder for the ship’s twelve cannons. They had departed port quickly, and two days into the journey at a steady seventeen knots, there was no other vessel in pursuit.

Not yet.

Still, something didn’t feel right. Though the skies were clear and the seas calm, the hairs on her arms were standing at full attention. Was a storm in the winds? It was possible. The weather had been unpredictable in recent months, but theSyrenwas built to endure fierce squalls and her speed more often than not kept them out of oncoming perilous storms. No, it wasn’t that. This was something different. Something aboard the ship.

Or someone.

Her gaze instantly flicked to her sailing master, who stood on the aft deck, his tall form hard to miss, legs planted wide on the deck and a thoughtful expressionmarring his starkly beautiful face as he, too, scanned the horizon. And despite her considerable dislike,beautifulwas an apt word to describe him, especially now that he was clean-shaven.

Objectively, Saint was handsome—dark hair whipping into a broad brow, his features elegant yet boldly hewn. Prominent cheekbones and that square jaw should have been too angular a combination, but both were softened by a pair of plush lips and eyelashes any lady would envy. Though he was rangy, it was obvious he was strong, and his ease on the boat decks suggested he’d been sailing quite a long time.

Why, then, had he gone ashore, disobeying her direct order? A captain’s word was law and the overt insubordination rubbed. Was it because she was female? Then again, if he hadn’t defied her wishes, she would likely be dead or dying from a close-range gunshot wound. Her thoughts pulled her in two different directions. Lisbeth still didn’t trust him, even if he had saved her life. Trust in this world had to be earned by blood and toil.

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