Page 49 of Any Duke in a Storm

Because what he’d said was true.

He did see her. And she fucking hated it. Hated that her usual artifices didn’t work, that he kept coming, that he wasn’t deterred by her insults. That he was so bloody unyielding with his shrewd words and those penetrating eyes boring through to the fragile truth of her. She’d always been an island onto herself, and that strategy had worked to keep everyone else at bay.

Until him.

She felt like an exposed nerve, but oddly, there was no real fear.

You’re safe with him.

The minute her mouth softened, Raphael groaned an approving sound low in his throat that made her skin tighten with longing to hear it again. He turned them so that her back was to the wall, lifted her by the waist and wrapped her legs over his hips. Hell, if that didn’t make the hardest part of him prod deliciously through her petticoats, right to her needy core. The moan that left her mouth was indecent, but she did not care who heard her.

Lisbeth yanked her lips away. They tingled, feeling swollen and bruised, even as they mourned the loss of him. His weren’t much better, red and puffy like a wild animal had savaged them. Their breaths were harsh in the silence. Her nipples were peaked against her bodice, sensitive and wanting, and the space between her thighshummed its own throbbing heartbeat. “Perhaps what we need to do is fuck this out of our systems,” she said.

He eyed her, pupils blown out with desire. “Have you ever done something like that before?”

“No,” she answered before she could think twice. “I don’t shag indiscriminately. My body doesn’t work like that. I have to…”Bloody hell.She ground her teeth and slammed her mouth shut at the word that had been about to slip out.

“Care?” the lousy man finished with a smug curl to his lips. Of course he’d guess, she realized sourly. Apparently, he was the patron saint of esoteric women.

“Yes, like I care for my crew,” she said. “Of which you are a part.”

“Does everyone on your crew make you whimper and writhe?” he drawled, punctuated by a slow punch of his hips that made her gasp.

Unable to dignify that with an answer that wasn’t a complete fib or throw another spiteful, reprehensible, and patently false jab about female lovers just to hinder him, Lisbeth closed her eyes. “You are unendurable.”

He kissed her nose. “Good thing youcareabout me.”

Groaning, she shook her head in defeat, opened her eyes, and looked around as the haze of passion cleared slightly. Where the hell were they? It was a narrow, seedy alley like the one at the back of the milliner’s shop, though not as filthy or smelly, thank God. Belatedly, however, she took stock of the fact that they had an audience.

“Raphael.”

At her urgent whisper, he glanced over his shoulder, his body going on instant alert at the sight of the group of men closing ranks around them from the other side of the street. She counted eight of them, but there could be more lurking behind.

If Gibbons and Balzac hadn’t gone ahead, four on eight would have been a quick fight. Two versus eight was a different matter.

The arrivals were shoddily dressed, their faces mean and haggard. Petty ruffians from the look of it, but a group that large at once could cause trouble. Clearly, they meant to, since they were blocking any avenue of escape as if this was a net they’d cast before on unsuspecting victims. They were equipped with various weapons including a few sharp cutlasses. Lisbeth exhaled and rolled her neck.

Oh well…she had a lot of energy racing around her body with no outlet.

“Are you armed?” Raphael asked softly, peering at her.

“A knife in each boot, daggered hairpins, and a pistol strapped to my thigh.”

His dark chuckle and look of frank admiration made her blood heat. “Why am I not surprised? Then again, I could hardly feel a thing through your petticoats. I have plans for those dastardly layers later, involving a knife and my bare hands.”

An unholy shiver wound through her at the scintillating thought of him cutting away her undergarments. “Not the time, Pirate,” she warned as the men cinched closer.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Raphael said, turningaround fully to face them and keeping her shielded with his back.

It was strange that a voice had whispered that she was safe with him when they were alone, and now, Lisbeth felt even more so…while on the cusp of mortal danger. She hadn’t felt so secure with anyone at her back since Thornbury and they had trained for years together. Raphael was no slouch, but this felt like more. An intuitive knowledge that he’d never leave her open and exposed. That he had her…no matter what…whether they were kissing or fighting for their lives.

The biggest of the men stared them down, baring teeth to show missing spaces and the glint of gold. “Give us your money and the woman.”

“I can do the first, but not the second,” Raphael replied as though they were having a polite conversation over brandy and cigars. “Unfortunately, she’s spoken for.”

The man spat a wad of phlegm to the side. “I don’t care if she’s owned by the fuckin’ president. Your purse and the woman, or you can die being a hero.”

Lisbeth’s tinkling laughter drew their attention. “Oh, that’s cute that they think you’re the hero in this story.”

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