Page 27 of Any Duke in a Storm

The man smiled as if well accustomed to the effect of his face. “Charles Dubois, at your service.”

“Holy hell, can’t a man get some peace in this godforsaken shithole?” Raphael moaned as he straightened to prop his back against the headboard. He noticed Bess’s stunned expression as her fingers flexed convulsively at her hip for the hilt of a cutlass and a brace of weapons that weren’t on her person. Strange. Why would she have such a visceral,furiousreaction to Dubois?

Normally, women sighed and swooned, but if he wasn’t mistaken, the cold purpose brewing in those eyes had nothing to do with appreciation. Her body bracing for action, his fierce little Viking looked like she was about to surge forward and declare war. Before she could move, he wrapped a long arm around her body and drew her back to him. She stiffened, jaw going rigid when he drew his nose down the column of her throat just below her ear.

“Play along,” he whispered.

It was a toss-up as to whether she would yield or punch him in the throat, but after a moment, she relaxed slightly against his hold, one hand going to his bent knee that was encased in thin linen. Raphael exhaled, the erection between his legs showing no sign of disappearingnow that the press of her fingers lightly stroked over his leg. He’d slept in a near-constant state of arousal as she’d sighed in her sleep, her rounded bottom nestled against him any chance she’d gotten. Which had been often and pure fucking torture. Hence the iron bar he was sporting.

All of her hard edges had been softened in slumber, her trust in him absolute. It had floored him. When hadthathappened? Or better yet, how? Bonnie Bess would have slept with one eye open and a hand on her blade, and yet, she’d asked him to stay with her and slept comfortably all night wrapped in his arms. She must have been drained from her ordeal…and it stood to reason that a man who’d jumped into an ocean to rescue her would not do anything to cause her harm. It had to have been intuitive and involuntary.

Nimble fingers danced down his thigh, and he swallowed a gulp. “Turnabout is fair play, Pirate,” she murmured. Perhaps Raphael hadn’t quite thought this through. Then again, maybe it would help convince his nemesis and others here that she washis. It was the only way she would be safe in this haven of reprobates.

“What the devil do you want, Dubois?”

“Nephew, you’re like a cat with nine lives,” the man said, removing his hat and perching his body at the edge of a chair. Raphael sensed Bess’s glance on him for a scant second.

“Said the man who tried to have me captured and executed.”

Dubois’s blue eyes widened with false innocence as he clasped a hand to his chest and gasped in outrage. “But Iwould never. We are family, you and I. You must know that I spent days and many men searching the seas for you, my boy. I heard about what happened in Tobago with your cargo. How tragic!”

Raphael’s eyes narrowed at the false words, rage coursing through him. They were only related by blood considering Dubois was his father’s half brother—a fact he resented with all his being. “And I wager you have no idea what happened to my ships in that harbor or why they exploded.”

Dubois sniffed, his long nose tilting with haughty disdain. “Why would I do such an ill-advised thing? I would have emptied the holds of valuables first, but then what a waste of two perfectly good ships. We might have our trivial rivalries and diversions, Saint, but credit me with a little more frugality.”

A slight tremor ran through the woman in his arms, but Raphael was too busy searching Dubois’s face for truth. To his surprise, he found it. They had known each other much too long for him not to know when his uncle was lying. On the subject of the explosions, he seemed to be sincere. So then, who had had the audacity to blow up his ships? That was a mystery for later. Now, however, he needed to put Dubois in his place.

“Nephew, you say? Would any true blood relation of mine conspire to have my crew mutiny and lock me in a jailhouse?” He waved an arm. “Yes, yes, we both know what you’re capable of. But as you can see, I am quite healthy and hale, and back home with a well-sated beauty in my arms.”

Dubois’s eyes lit with interest, not for any other reason than coveting what Raphael had. “And who is she, might I ask? My men informed me that you arrived before breakfast with not one but two females. Ever the overachiever, are you not, Monsieur le Duc?” He said the last part with no small amount of mockery and malice. “Those days of courting and frippery are well behind you, wouldn’t you say?”

“We both know my title is barely worth a fart in the wind.”

Thanks tohim, not that Dubois would ever admit it.

Raphael felt Bess’s surprise, but she let nothing show of it on her face. Instead, she turned her chin up to feather her lips over his jaw, making him freeze at the light contact.

“I’m Lisbeth,” she said in the sweetest voice Raphael had ever heard come out of her mouth, then turned back to his fascinated relative. “And the girl is my much younger sister. We met Saint in Barbados. Sadly, the ship we were on ran into a dreadful storm, but somehow, my wonderful hero here managed to get us to safety.”

“Your ship sank?” Dubois asked.

Bess—no—Lisbeth sighed. “I expect so. That storm was truly a monster.” Her eyes went wide. “You haven’t seen any other survivors, have you?”

“No, and if there were, trust me, they would not run aground on this island alive,” he said and then slapped his leg with a derisive laugh. “Saint here, however, has the luck of the devil. By God, man, barely a week ago you were in irons, and now you’ve managed to rescue a woman—anda beautiful one at that. And then you’re rescued by Boisie from a strange rowboat without the proper flag and aren’t shot on sight. Your good fortune continually astounds me.”

Raphael hid his smile. More likeconfoundedhim. Dubois, despite his pleasant countenance, was positively seething with frustration. With a nod, Raphael nuzzled his nose into Lisbeth’s hair, his teeth nibbling the side of her ear. Christ, she tasted like salt and honey. “You know what they say about passion—it strikes when one least expects it.” Her fingers, hidden by the crook of his knee, dug mercilessly into the meat of his thigh at his liberties, making him wince. There she was—the cruel Viking who would only allow the pretense to go so far.

“Welcome to Exuma, Miss Lisbeth,” Dubois said, gathering his hat. “I’m sure Saint will see to your comforts, but do let me know if there’s anything”—he paused with a sly grin—“anything at all to make your visit more…pleasurable.” The bastard sounded like a deuced aristocrat hosting a country house party instead of the stone-cold killer he was.

Lashes dipping demurely, she offered up a shy smile in response, and fuck if he didn’t feel jealousy boil in his gut. “I will, thank you. Mr. Dubois.”

“Do call me Charles,” he said.

After his uncle took his leave, Bess-turned-Lisbeth spared no time in bolting from the bed and stood glaring at him. Her eyes flashed, vacillating between disbelief, vexation, and fury. “That’sCharles Dubois?” When Raphael nodded, she paced back and forth. “He looks nothing like I expected.”

“What did you expect?” he asked.

“Not some dratted dandy! Who’s your bloody family?”

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