Page 3 of Any Duke in a Storm

Stupid, stupid,stupid!

Lisbeth had underestimated the boy’s fascination with her. At first, she’d tolerated it, using him to get information on the movements of the men on the island—and thanks to Davy, she’d known that the mysterious captain who called himself the Prince was en route here—but lately, the boy seemed to be everywhere. Even in her room, apparently, snooping through her private belongings.

“Bess! Where are you?” came the familiar high-pitched voice from the end of the dock.

“God damn my hide,” Lisbeth snarled under her breath. If that infatuated goosecap died in the explosion because of her, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself. He might be a pain in her arse, but he was just a child. The fuse would give her a handful of seconds to run down the wharf to safety, but if he remained close, he would be hurt. Clearly, the besotted fool had followed her.Again.

“What do you want, Davy?” she replied, though not loudly. The two ships were unoccupied as far as she knew, but she didn’t want to attract attention. Destroying illicit cargo and thwarting pursuit were one thing; killing people in cold blood was another.

“Cap’n Delaney is looking for you,” he called back.

Could mean anything, she told herself, though a slither snaked down her spine.

“Very well. Tell him I’ll be along shortly.”

She strained to hear any footsteps but none came. “Cap’n said now,” the boy insisted. “He wants to talk.”

Christ up a ship pole.That could mean anything, but an urgent summons was ominous.Think, Lisbeth!

“Yes, I know, Davy. I’m just getting a surprise for you. A special treasure for a good friend. Wait for me near my quarters, will you? I want you to be surprised. I won’t be long, just a couple of minutes for me to get it ready.” She could practically hear his brain ticking over. “I promise it will be worth it and then we can both go to the tavern.”

“A treasure for me?”

“You bet. A splendid one.” Lisbeth swallowed the knot of guilt in her throat. Playing on his fixation was a shitty thing to do, but she had no choice, not if she hoped to make it back to her ship and save his life in the process. “You’re going to love it.”

She crossed two of her fingers and held her breath.

“I’ll wait there.”

Thumping footsteps faded away and she exhaled a sigh of relief. She counted to a hundred silently in her head, giving the boatswain enough time to get out of range. She truly didn’t want any harm to come to him. He was barely seventeen—a grown man by many standards, but green just the same.

It was now or never. Lisbeth lit the fuses, threw up a hasty prayer to the heavens, and took off running. Her muscles burned, her lungs ached in her chest, but she had to get as far away as possible before they ignited.Explosives weren’t her favorite, especially since another agent and friend had lost an entire hand with a similar concoction some time ago.

Breathing hard, she raced to the other end of the dock, counting the seconds. She grabbed the stuffed rucksack she’d left in a hollow at the end of the dock with her clothes, notes she’d compiled, and a stash of maps she’d drawn. The rest of her belongings were on her ship…which hopefully Estelle had ready to depart. Her quartermaster was unfailingly precise with orders.

A small trickle of unease made Lisbeth frown as the seconds mounted with each stride. The chemical in the small vials should have exploded by now, unless somehow the fuse went out. No, they were long and maybe they were damp from the sea air. She’d miscounted the time, that was it. But the further away she got, the more her stomach dropped.

Curse her miserable luck!

It didn’t matter. She still had time to get away. They’d come after her once they realized her ship was gone, but that could not be helped. She’d lose any pursuers on the sea. She’d done it before and she could do it again.

Her eyes darted to the far end of the dock where her ship, theSyren, was a sight for sore eyes. At the very least, she’d get back to New York and convince the Treasury Department to give her another chance. Time was running out and she would be extracted from her current post if she didn’t have something tangible to show for her efforts. Twenty-three months was a long time, but she was in deep.

Too deep with too much to lose.

Her reputation. Her career. Everything she valued.

The whole point of this assignment was to capture one of the most disreputable smugglers in American history—Charles Dubois, the Prince of Smugglers—and bring him to justice. She wassoclose, and now she could feel nearly two years of toil slipping away like sand through her fingers.

Maybe she should stay and brazen her way through it.

Lisbeth gnawed her lip. It would be Davy’s word against hers. And besides, the documents didn’t have her fake identity—Bonnie Bess—on them. They cited the Countess of Waterstone. If push came to shove, she could say she found the letter on the street and thought it was important. She was accomplished at spinning a good lie if she had to.

With a snarled curse at her indecisiveness, Lisbeth slowed and glanced over her shoulder. Three minutes and counting, and the fucking fuse appeared to have failed. Perhaps she should return? Try again? Every instinct in her body cautioned against it. Someone could have seen her near the hulls of the ships. Turning back would only draw attention. Her heartbeats hammered between her ears like the sound of crashing waves. No, she couldn’t risk it.

Stick to your plan.Escape, recover, reconsider.

Upping her pace, Lisbeth frowned as she closed in on theSyren. Shit! The ship was already leaving the dock. It must be minutes after midnight. Those were her instructionsafter all, and her quartermaster was, if anything, compliant to a fault. At midnight, sail out of port, even if she wasn’t onboard. Lisbeth huffed a dark laugh. The one time she hoped the strict, rule-following Estelle wouldn’t listen.

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