Page 83 of Any Duke in a Storm

Twenty-four

The flamboyant capture and arrest of the man most wanted by the Treasury Department was plastered all over the newssheets. Charles Dubois, the Prince of Smugglers, and Mr. Madge, scourge of the seas, were finally in custody.

As was Raphael Saint…who had turned himself in to the Revenue Marine and cooperated with them in exchange for Lisbeth’s rescue. She couldn’t get her mind around that, but Raphael had always surprised her. Even when he hated her, he was still there for her. Smalls and Estelle had explained that his frigate had reached them just in time, though theSyrencould not be saved. The damage to her hull had been too great and she’d taken on too much water. Lisbeth had felt a twinge of sorrow at that, but she’d much prefer the ship be lost than any of her crew. TheSyrencould be replaced. Estelle, Smalls, and the others could not.

But now she had worse problems to deal with, including the release of a man who did not belong behind bars, no matter his past infractions with the law. There were countless historical instances of informants working with different organizations in return for reduced sentences or immunity from prosecution. She had used many of them in previous jobs.

“What do you mean, there’s nothing you can do?” she demanded.

Customs agent Carr stared at her, and she wanted to punch him in his smug, supercilious face. “He’s a criminal.”

“He was working to helpme,” she said, gritting her teeth. “As part ofmyundercover investigation that I have been performing for years. And if we want to pull rank here, Mr. Carr, that can easily be arranged. This ismyoperation.”

“Sitting on your arse playing pirate doesn’t really count, does it?”

Oh no, he didn’t! She nearly flew across the table in a wild rage, but was restrained at the last second by the light touch of the Duke of Thornbury on her right. “Don’t give him the satisfaction,” he whispered urgently. “He aims to discredit you. Easily done when you’re female.”

Fuming, Lisbeth stared at the man seated opposite them, ready to pull her hair out. Carr and his superiors were all congratulating themselves on a job well done, when she had been the one to put her safety and her life on the line for two goddamn years. Carr had it out for her, however. He was convinced she’d been behind Raphael’s daring escape, and the press had dragged the customs agent over the coals for it.

Thankfully, he had no proof that she had broken Raphael out of the building, though he suspected it. He’d been particularly peeved that his only connection to Dubois had been rescued from prison, and while he had no evidenceof Lisbeth’s involvement, her disappearance on theSyrenat the exact same time only increased his suspicions. Now he had a bone to pick and he was out to dishonor her by any means necessary, even sullying her character.

“At least I wasn’t here sitting onmyarse, waiting for someone else to do my work for me,” she shot back calmly, though her insides roiled. “But isn’t that how you prefer to do things? Have other people take the risk and you reap the reward?” She let out a breath and eyed the men in turn, including Carr’s bosses. “If anyone deserves credit here besides me, it’s Harry Jenks.”

Sadly, she had learned that Jenks had been stabbed by unknown assailants at Cedar Key during a random raid. He was expected to live, but his injuries had been substantial. That had explained his absence in the last few weeks. As it was, support for her claims was abysmally thin. Jenks could have corroborated her story and their plan to bring Dubois and Madge in, which, for all intents and purposes, had succeeded. But he still hadn’t awakened from the attack. Jenks deserved the credit, not this rat-faced, bootlicking rantallion!

Narina would be proud of her creative name-calling, though Lisbeth would hardly be the one to explain to a twelve-year-old that that particular designation referred to a man whose scrotum was longer than his cock.

Thornbury cleared his throat, drumming his fingers on the table, his face inscrutable as he directed his address to the most important man from the American government at the table—Secretary of the Treasury Hugh McCulloch.

“Mr. McCulloch, I understand that tempers are high with your…man”—Lisbeth nearly chuckled at the disdain conveyed in that single word, as if Carr’s name was unworthy of even being in a duke’s mouth—“but I do speak for the British Home Office, and the Crown is stating that Her Majesty does not want this to become a public hullabaloo.” Lisbeth hid her smile. She’d mentioned Dubois’s threat on his ship, and now the duke was employing the same strategy, using the power of the press to slam his point home. “Lady Waterstone is our agent and she has the full support of England.”

“Lady? That’s a fabrication,” Carr sputtered, and Lisbeth sent him a cool stare.

“Oh, did someone neglect to mention that I am actually a peeress, Mr. Carr,” she said in clipped tones. “And a decorated servant of Her Majesty, the Queen. Or did you forget to do your due diligence after escorting me to the Duke of Thornbury’s residence a fortnight ago? I suggest next time you do a little research before slinging stones.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but McCulloch cut him off with a sharp glare. “You say that Saint was working with you all along?”

Lisbeth nodded. “He was instrumental in my ability to infiltrate their group. Without him, I would not have gained access, and Dubois as well as Madge would still be at large.” She lifted her chin. “After the hurricane, I nearly died. He rescued me, putting his own life at risk. That alone can tell you of the caliber of the man we’re dealing with.”

“It’s obvious you’re completely besotted!” Carr spatout, earning himself another glare and a clenching of teeth, but he ignored the obvious warning. Lisbeth’s heart hitched at his accusation, but her usual inner disavowals were astonishingly absent. All she felt was a warm kind of acceptance spreading inside. “The man is Dubois’s nephew, for God’s sake.”

Lisbeth leaned forward. “Estranged nephew. Dubois arranged for the murder of Saint’s father, his own brother. It was the sole reason Saint agreed to help me.”

“I won’t stand for these gross misrepresentations!” Carr growled at her. “You’re desperate to save your lover. A fool could see it.” Lisbeth bristled at the personal attack on her character, but before she could reply, the duke rose at her side.

“Carr.” The single, growled word from Thornbury was enough to hush the man. “I would caution you to tread very carefully while insulting a British peeress in my presence.”

“I won’t stand for this,” the customs agent repeated stubbornly.

“Then you can leave,” McCulloch interjected. “I dislike threats, Mr. Carr.”

“Sir!” he spluttered. “I am the lead customs agent on—”

The secretary scowled. “And I do not care. Please be silent or I suggest you remove yourself from this discussion before I have you forcibly removed.”

At that, Carr very wisely shut his mouth, though his gaze pelted daggers at her.

McCulloch’s stare shifted to the duke. “You can corroborate Lady Waterstone’s account.” It wasn’t a question.

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