Page 30 of Any Duke in a Storm

For a tense moment, Raphael wondered if the man would put the two together, that his nephew had escaped with the captain of that very same ship, but Dubois shrugged. “Women who run their own ships are trouble. They can’t be controlled. They don’t understand the order of things.” Hard blue eyes settled on him. “Women are only good for one thing.”

Raphael nearly snorted. If the ignorant prick only knew.

Lisbeth let out the breath she’d been holding as she stared down at a sleeping Narina. Some color had returned to the girl’s face, her tawny-brown skin no longer sallow and pale. And those harsh rattling breaths in the boat had evened out. She looked much younger than her scant decade of life. Lisbeth felt a twinge of pity at how much the girl had weathered in her life for one so young—loss, harassment, coercion.

She’s not your burden…nor can you give her what she needs.

That logical inner voice was quick to remind her that she wasn’t cut out to be anyone’s guardian, much less Narina’s. Her life was too unpredictable. Too dangerous. Case in point…barely a day after being on theSyren, the girl had nearly died. If that wasn’t a sign, Lisbeth didn’t know what was. And now, the windfall that was Charles Dubois had finally landed in her lap. After months of undercover toil in less than ideal circumstances, success was so close she could taste it. But as much as she wanted to arrest the man for an arm’s-length list of crimes against the American treasury, she required reinforcements.

Slumping into a nearby chair at Narina’s bedside, she put her head into her hands. She needed a ship to get to New York herself or get word to her contacts there. TheSyrenshould have been in Nassau by now, but she was no longer Bonnie Bess. She wasLisbeth—the harmless, meek lover of one of the captains. It chafed, the switch from powerful woman in her own right to one who needed the protection of a man, but Lisbeth was no stranger to acting. She could play the role of Saint’s woman without blinking an eye.

A shiver coursed through her at their interaction earlier that morning. Lisbeth couldn’t recall the last time she’d slept a full night inanyone’sarms. She never left herself that vulnerable. Apart from her annoying mounting attraction to him, she grudginglylikedthe big blockhead. And even worse, she was beginning to trust him. Sure, fate had shoved them together into impossible circumstances, but he’d saved her life. Saved Narina’s life. It did not escapenotice that he could expose her at any moment. Tell Dubois who she really was.

Though would he?

Lisbeth had spent enough time observing him to know when that jovial mask appeared, it meant he was hiding something. And that morning with Dubois, the mask had been hammered into place. She suspected Saint mistrusted his uncle. Disliked him even. But blood wasn’t something that could be ignored, not even bad blood.

“Bess?” Narina whispered.

She launched up when the girl’s eyes flicked open. “Oh God, Nari. I was so worried. How are you feeling?”

“Like I swallowed the fucking sea.” Narina gave a weak giggle that turned into a rasping cough. Lisbeth handed her the cup of water on the nearby table, not bothering to chastise her for the moment. “Where are we?”

“An island with Saint,” Lisbeth replied.

“Sailing master Saint?” she asked with a soft, infatuated smile. Lisbeth wasn’t sure she was that far behind infatuation at this point either. “He saved us?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“We should keep him,” Narina whispered, her eyelashes drifting back down as she gave a small yawn.

Frowning, Lisbeth moved closer to the bed and leaned down close to the girl’s ear. Who knew when she’d have the chance again and right now they were alone in the room, though she could hear someone bustling around in the adjacent chamber. “Nari, wait,” she whispered. “You need more rest, but I don’t know if we’re safe here. Fornow, I’m Lisbeth, not Bess. If they ask you anything, we’re sisters and friends of Saint.”

“Sisters,” Narina mumbled sleepily. “I like that…Lisbeth.”

It’s not real, Lisbeth wanted to say, but emotions clogged her throat at the sweet smile that settled on the girl’s lips.Don’t break her heart.Don’t make her into you. Jaded and cynical, and walled off from affection.

Lisbeth waited until Narina’s soft breaths fell into the even rhythm of sleep before slipping out. She could not afford to get attached. Attachments were weaknesses that could be exploited, and besides, she had to stay focused.

Her first—and only priority—was to catch the elusive Prince of Smugglers.

The bonfire on the beach blazed high, leaving long orange shadows on the sand. The sounds of fiddles and guitars filled the air. It was a Smugglers Cove tradition, when the spoils of victory and their successes were celebrated. Sailors, both men and women, drank and caroused and fucked, and it was usually a blazing good time to be had by all.

But Raphael was preoccupied. A muscle hammered in his jaw as he watched Lisbeth flirt with Dubois on the other side of the fire. What the hell was she doing? Didn’t she know the man was a snake? That he was dangerous?

Earlier, she’d sauntered down to the beach, dressed in a loose blouse and a wrapped, frilled skirt in the localstyle. Her hair had been unbound, framing her striking face in white-gold wisps, and she’d looked like a barefoot sea sprite. Unlike Bonnie Bess who was made of blades and thorns, Lisbeth seemed to be made of melody and moonlight. Hell, when did his inner thoughts become so pathetic? Devil take it, he was a smuggler, not a poet!

He emptied his mug of ale and was instantly brought another by a pretty black-haired chit, whose midnight eyes were bright with invitation. Before he could think twice, he took it and pulled her squealing down into his lap. She was a beautiful girl and certainly someone he wouldn’t hesitate to have warm his bed before a certain wild Viking stormed into his life. Had Lisbeth noticed that he was no longer sitting alone like a sullen boy? That a gorgeous woman who desired him lounged in his lap?

If she had, she gave no signal of it. Her cheeks were puffy with a wide smile instead of her usual scowl, and she appeared to be having the time of her life. She nursed the drink she held in her hand and listened intently to Dubois. Not once had her gaze flicked to Raphael’s. The distance between her and Dubois on the log grew smaller as his uncle inched closer with a smarmy grin that Raphael wanted to beat off his face. Lisbeth let out an uninhibited laugh, delighted by whatever it was the bastard was saying.

“Saint?” she called out. His brows dipped at the merry tone of her voice but when he glanced up, the look in her eyes was pure ice. “Is it true that you fell off the poop deck the first time you sailed with Captain Dubois?”

“Charles, my dearest,” Dubois corrected her, his gaze full of challenge.

Smiling agreeably, Lisbeth patted his knee, and Raphael’s fingers balled. “Charles, of course.”

Oh, she’d noticed Raphael’s companion all right. Suddenly, he had the urge to plant the chit into the lap of the nearest sailor instead of his. He didn’t play these games. He didn’t get jealous, if that was what this feeling was. He went with however life rolled. If Lisbeth wanted Dubois, so be it. Her choices would always be her own. She wasn’t some shrinking violet who needed to be rescued, and as much as he enjoyed the idea of being someone’s hero, he wasn’t a shining knight. It was too much work.

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