Page 17 of Any Duke in a Storm

“You cut it first,” he countered. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead and clenched her jaw, her lips forming words—numbers, it appeared—as she counted herself back to equanimity. Raphael squashed the urge to grin, and lamented the loss a bit more, throwing all his acting ability into it. “Ilovedthis shirt, you know.”

“It’s a bloody shirt. I’ll get you ten others. Just stop talking, for mercy’s sake.”

Hiding his mirth, he lounged back in his seat, crossed one booted ankle over the other as if he didn’t have a care in the world, and obediently mimed locking his lips shut with a key. She pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. Raphael knew she had to see right through his game. She was much too astute not to, but he enjoyed playing the part of the oblivious scamp more than he’d expected, if only to see her so deliciously riled.

“Good,” she ground out through translucent lips when she’d calmed enough to speak without skewering him. “Dubois.”

“Is that a question?” he asked innocently. “Am I allowed to speak now?”

“Yes, speak.” She leveled a cool look in his direction that meant business. “Tell me about him.”

Caution slicked through him even as his own interest in her motives perked up, but he feigned indolence. “Surely you must know about the so-called Prince of Smugglers? Much like yours, Bonnie Bess, his reputationprecedes him.” He lifted his left hand and started with his index finger since she seemed partial to counting. “A man coveted by the customs houses. Rumored to be for smuggling countless shipments of lace, velvet, and silk into New York, avoiding millions in duties. Known to be callous and powerful. Fancies himself the leader of Smugglers Cove near Nassau. Will betray others without a qualm, including his own blood.” When he ran out of fingers, he paused. “What more do you wish to know, Captain?”

“Smugglers Cove,” she said, unable to quench her eagerness. “Where is that exactly?”

Ah.Raphael kept his expression blank. Bonnie Bess wanted what most other smugglers wanted…a way into the so-called smuggling elite. Smugglers Cove was an actual place, but it was also more of a community than a location. A select society of thieves, where Dubois longed to be the only sovereign…a feat he could only accomplish by getting rid of his biggest competition. Raphael. And he’d very nearly succeeded.

“Near Nassau,” Raphael said, cataloging her reaction.

Her brows flew together in frustration. “Can you be more specific?”

“Why would you want to go there?” he asked curiously. “Do you wish to be part of Dubois’s fleet?”

A narrowed green stare met his in challenge. “And if I did?”

“Then I would warn you to guard your back.” His lips quirked. “And other parts of you that might not be on offer.”

“I’ve gelded men for less,” she replied and moved around to the other side of her desk, propping her hands on the surface. The excitement she had shown was throttled now as she considered him. Raphael guessed that she was working through scenarios in her head and the likelihood of whether he would lead her there. Or rather how to convince him to. “I’ll pay you to take me.”

Dieu, she made taunting her much too easy. He lifted a brow and smirked. “I’d take you any way you wanted for free, chérie.”

“To take me to the cove, you concupiscent deviant!” she snapped, but a blush crested her cheeks as if she wasn’t quite unaffected.

“My mistake.” He grinned. “Alas, I am no ferryman and I have enough coin.”

“You barely have a shirt and you’ve lost your ship,” she said. Something like desperation flew across her eyes before it was buried. “Surely you are in need of money.”

“I will have plenty once I get where I’m going.”

A frown marred her brow. “Then what do you want in exchange?”

Raphael stalled, observing her carefully, waiting to see justhoweager she was. And she had to be—he hadn’t misread the excitement that he’d glimpsed earlier or the subsequent fear of having something she desired slip from her fingers. He’d spent enough years watching the clues and changes in demeanor of people to know she wanted in badly. Buthowbadly? He licked his lips and saw her eyes flick there, a shadow of ferocity limning her features.

“No,” she snapped, hand hovering over that bloodthirsty, razor-sharp cutlass of hers.

His brows shot up with mock innocence. “I haven’t said a word.”

“You didn’t have to,” she said. “You’re not my type.”

“And if I were interested in what you think I am about to propose, mistakenly might I add, whatisyour type, Captain Bess?”

“Not you.”

He leaned forward with a grin. “I think you’re lying to yourself. From the blush on your face, I wager I might pique your interest a little, my lady.”

The slightest jerk passed over her shoulders at his insincere address, but Raphael caught that, too. Had she been a lady at one time? She certainly carried herself with the innate poise associated with the aristocracy, though he couldn’t imagine any British peeress willingly becoming a criminal and captaining a frigate on the high seas.

Prison would be a cruel place for a woman, much less a highborn one. Still, he was a tarnished French duke and here he was. Little more than a modern pirate himself. He could not throw stones from his own glass house without damaging himself. And besides, what did it matter? Out here, titles held no value. Power, influence, and fearlessness did.

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