Page 37 of Any Duke in a Storm

Lisbeth paced a hole in the braided rugs strewn over the cabin floor. Once they’d set sail on theAvalon, a bulkysteamship with a paddle wheel that had seen better days, she’d changed from the dress into a pair of trousers and boots, paired with a loose shirt, vest, and navy sack coat. She felt more like herself, but she still had a part to play and that was as Saint’s shipboard lover. Which meant keeping her head down and acting like a lovesick goose. Deep down, she enjoyed the switch in roles, despite the perceived absence of power, and being an observer instead of a leader. Men acted differently around women they did not consider a threat.

Saint had chosen most of the sailors, so a good portion of them were people he trusted. Should any kind of mutiny occur, he would have the advantage. Together, they’d meticulously inspected the cargo, finding crates of tobacco, salt, coffee, and tea. The goods were hardly perishable, but it was obvious that the entire thing was a farce. Still, Saint had said that he wouldn’t put it past his uncle to plant explosives like the ones he’d used to destroy his ships in Tobago.

Damn and blast. Lisbeth should confess that she’d planted the explosives.

But if she did that, she would have to explain why. And that would compromise her entire mission. As guilty as she felt, her loyalty to her employer came first. She left the cramped quarters she shared with Narina and walked down the narrow corridor to the stairs leading to the deck. At the mouth of it she was stalled by a glinting blade pointing right at her head.

“Ahoy there, wench! Show me your sodding treasure or face my bloodthirsty blade!”

Lisbeth peered up to see Narina, sporting a pair of boys’ breeches, shirt, boots, and a pirate-style tricorn she’d fashioned from an old sailor’s hat, and brandishing a cutlass that was much too large for her. An eye patch covered one eye, her mouth curled in a snarl. Lisbeth bit back a smile, despite her ire at the girl’s unrepentant tongue. Years spent in a tavern full of drunk sailors would do that. Slowly with her palms raised, she edged her way onto the deck. “Language, and who might you be?”

Narina cocked her head. “Pirates always say the worst words. I’m Bonnie Bess, scourge of the Caribbean Sea.”

Lisbeth folder her arms and lifted a brow. “I have it on excellent authority that Bonnie Bess is not a pirate. She’s a smuggler.”

The girl’s small nose wrinkled as she snorted and lowered her voice. “That’s ’cause youareher. What’s the difference?”

“Pirates attack ships on the seas and plunder them,” Lisbeth explained and then hesitated. “Smugglers help get goods to people who need them without paying astronomical duties.”

“So smugglers are good?”

“No, they’re not.” She thought about Saint and his peculiar Robin Hood behavior. She also thought about herself and the crimes she’d committed undercover in the name of the Crown. Over the past few years, she’d smuggled goods into the United States, with and without clearance from the American treasury. If Bonnie Bess was caught and detained by a random customs agent, shewould be arrested, no questions asked. Still, Lisbeth felt the need to defend the gray area of where she stood. “But some aren’t bad either. Some have…reasons.”

Narina thought about that for a moment and then shrugged with a growl as if she didn’t care much either way. “Argh, shiver me timbers, ye bilge-sucking rat sore! I’m Anne Bonny and there’s booty to be plundered on this here ship!”

“That’s a good one,” a deep voice said, tugging on one of Narina’s braids visible under the homemade tricorn. “Bilge-sucking rat sore. Playing at being a pirate?”

Narina scowled. “Blow me down! I’m not playin’, ye festering scabby sea bass of a cockswain.” Lisbeth’s eyebrows shot toward her hairline even as Saint fought not to laugh. “I’ll rip and bugger yer Jolly Roger and then cleave you to the bloody brisket!”

“Nari!” Lisbeth said in shocked horror.

Saint crouched down to be on a level with the girl and tweaked her nose. “I think you mean captain, lassie. Sass me again, and you’ll find yourself swinging from the yardarm with an appointment at Davy Jones’s locker.”

Narina’s face brightened at the creative pirate threats. “Aye, aye, Cap’n!”

“I need you to be on the lookout, savvy?” he told her sternly, though his pretty gray eyes twinkled. “For other ships and the old salts. And all young pirates on my ships use better words.”

“Better words?” she asked, scrunching up her face in confusion.

“We’re gentlemen and lady pirates, lassie. On this ship, our words are our weapons. So no cussing.”

“Bugg—” she started to say and then cut off. “Very well, Cap’n.”

The girl nodded and raced off, threatening boatswains manning the rigging and the paddle as she screamed bloody murder and threats that she had her one working eye on them. There was nary an oath on her lips.

“You’re good with her,” Lisbeth said, watching her with a fond smile.

“She’s a decent nut. A bit rough around the edges, but who wasn’t at that age? She’ll come around. Diamonds never start out as diamonds.”

She glanced up at him, surprised by the poetic sentiment. “I suppose that’s true. Do you have any siblings?”

“No. I’m an only child. You?”

Her lips curled. “Another thing we have in common, it seems.” The scent of him—salt and citrus—curled into her nostrils. The stench of rum no longer soiled his person, and whenever he spoke to her, his speech had lost its customary slur. He was jocund with the crew, however, maintaining the amused mien he’d crafted to perfection.

“Any trouble so far?” she asked in a low voice.

“None since we left.”

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