Page 26 of Any Duke in a Storm

Lisbeth gulped while her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth. “Bloody hell, did we—?”

“No, Viking. Trust me, you’d know it.” Saint sighed. “And I like to have my bed partners awake and able to consent for that kind of thing.” His mouth split into a yawn, his lean body undulating and making the eagle on his chest seem like it was done with its meal of Prometheus’s body and about to take flight.

“Then why are we in bed together?”

He peered at her from beneath his arm with an audible grumble. “Are we doing this? Are we done sleeping? Because God knows I could use a few more hours after all that rowing and not getting us shot on sight. Honestly, why don’t all the novels say that being a hero is exhausting? Being a villain is so much easier. No damsels, no demands, no precious virtue to be ruined, no waking up at ungodly hours and being plied with incessant questions.”

She rolled her eyes at his dramatics as snatches of the past few hours came back to her. Saint finding them. Setting course for the archipelago in a rowboat. Being picked up by a friendly Captain Boisie. Smugglers Cove. She’d attempted to stay awake so that she could memorize the route for future reference, but sheer weariness had won out. Lisbeth didn’t even remember arriving on land, much less being undressed and put to bed.

“Saint, why are we in the same bed?” she demanded again, peering over at him. His mouth was downturned in an extremely disgruntled expression at being awake. “Did you undress me?”

“You begged me to stay. And one of the women lent you her clothes.”

Lisbeth cringed. She’d never do that, would she? Beghim, of all people, to stay? No, that was Saint embellishing as usual. “I don’t beg.”

“Ah, chérie, that you do. Quite prettily, might I add.”

“You’re an ass and it’s still ‘Captain’ to you.” She didn’t dwell on why the tender endearment chafed or why she’d stopped chastising him for calling her Viking. That was neither here nor there. “Did you say that Narina saw a doctor? How is she? Did she wake?”

Gray-brown eyes met hers as his arm slid away. “Dieu, we really are doing this. Yes, fine, and yes. She woke briefly to eat some broth and went back to sleep. She has a bump on her head from hitting the railing, which the physician said would have caused her to be unconscious.”

“But she’s alive,” Lisbeth whispered, eyes stinging with something other than salt.

His voice softened. “Yes, she’s alive.”

Lisbeth shoved down the fear that had risen into her throat. She couldn’t have borne it if anything had happened to the girl, especially not after the exchange when Lisbeth discovered she was a stowaway. The thought of Narina feeling like she was unwanted with no one in the world left Lisbeth cold. Emotions were complicated things. Her ability to compartmentalize them was what made her so good at her job. She wouldn’t make excuses for that, but she felt…regret.

Her gaze flicked to the man at her side once more,instantly noting that the large bulge at his crotch had gone from rest to unrest. “Oh for heaven’s sake, put that away, will you?”

“Put your prudishness away,” he replied easily. “It’s a perfectly natural response for most men in the morning.”

“Well, I’m not a man, am I? So how would I know?”

Saint shifted to prop himself on his elbow, making his tattoo—and the muscles beneath it—flex and ripple. Not that she was noticing. “You’ve never woken up with someone?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t stay long enough to chitchat.” Lisbeth looked away, feeling her cheeks uncharacteristically heat. That was another thing—she never used to blush this much. A benefit of having a choke hold on one’s emotions was not giving in to emotional reactions. But here she was…bloodyreacting. Shoving off the sheets, she stood up and nearly fell over. Her legs felt like jelly as she collapsed back onto the mattress. “What the hell?”

“Take it easy,” Saint drawled. “The doctor said you need rest, too.”

Her gaze flicked to him. Thankfully, he’d drawn one leg up as a barrier to his distended groin and there was no chance of her accidentally falling over onto his prick. A giggle built in her throat, but she thanked the heavens that her stupid thoughts were private. She hadn’t fucked a man in ages, and even that rare coupling had been fast and unremarkable. Intercourse had always been a rarity, not a frequent indulgence.

Christ, why was she thinking about intercourse at all? Or intercourse withSaint?

The man was a menace.

One who rescued you from a watery grave.

She was being uncharitable, wasn’t she? Perhaps that was why her wretched feelings were all over the place. She wasgrateful, and she was confusing gratitude with desire. How could she even be attracted to someone like him? A man for whom life was a constant source of amusement and nothing but a perpetual joke. Then again, someone who took nothing seriously did not risk their own neck…did not stay when people asked them to stay…and did not look at her with eyes that saw through to her very soul.

“I can feel your mind churning like Charybdis from here,” Saint said with a deep groan. “What is it now?”

She hesitated and then blurted out the question that was bothering her. “Why did you really come after Narina and me?”

“Do I have to have a reason? It was the right thing to do.”

But before she could reply, they were interrupted by the thump of boots and a hard knock on the door. A person entered without waiting for an invitation, and Lisbeth’s stomach hurtled to the floor when she came face-to-face with a very well-heeled, good-looking older man. Neat, short golden-brown hair peeked out from beneath a straw hat and framed the kind of face that would make an artist salivate to get him on canvas. She did not find mustaches or side-whiskers particularlyattractive, and yet, this man wore both with debonair flair.

Lisbeth’s jaw went slack. “Who are you?”

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