Page 21 of Good Duke Gone Wild

“Bless you.”

“That’s my name,” his voice rumbled like a thundercloud around her.

“Oh.” She tucked some nonexistent hairs behind her ear, hoping she covered her shock well enough. “Nice to meet you, Sprat.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come aboard the ship as Ju—the Captain’s guest.” Thinking it might not show due respect to refer to his Christian name, she defaulted to his title.

“His guest?” Sprat eyes her. Her and her mermaid-looking gown. “As what? His mis—”

“His nothing. I’m his guest. I’m working on a piece about life. Around the world.” She had no peace in her mind. Only needed something to fill in the ginormous gaps that were clearly forming.

“Piece of what?”

“Writing.”

“Like a story?”

“Something like that.”

“Got any good ones?”

Well…the once wary eye of the giant was looking at her with quite a bit of intrigue now.

“I certainly hope I do. Might you care to hear one?”

“I would,” a voice shot up in the crowd, and another large entity stepped forward. Big John. His voice matched the one through the door last night, and his name matched his build. The man was a beast.

“All right, I can tell you all a tale.”

“Sit over here,” Big John patted a crate for her.

Though they might look like an unruly bunch, she supposed they still bore the mark of humanity, a curious soul. They were privateers after all.

“Which story are you going to tell? Better not be a love one.”

“Shut up, Bruno,” Sprat said, slapping Bruno on the back of the head. “She’s the Captain’s guest. Let her tell whatever tale she likes.”

And that was how she found herself telling a love story, of which she had little to no firsthand knowledge, to a band of lethal privateers, all the while hoping that they would be more receptive to her stories than the last publisher she had submitted them to.

Chapter 11

WHAT THE HELL WAS that pounding against his head? It felt like the devil and an entourage of his minions were trying to plow a field through his brain. Jude could barely bring himself to sit up right with the weight of the banging on his scalp.

And the dreams that had flashed through his mind last night. Oh, they had been of the worst variety. Dancing like an ogre at a ball. Embarrassing himself. Kissing a lady. The worst kind too, the sort that lied about who she was. And then there was a weird and awkward carriage ride in which he had caught her trying to sneak away with him.

That was the worst dream of his adult life, despite the thickest cockstand he had between his legs as he thought about the Siren he had mingled with in his dreams. He needed to wake up so that he could forget every second of it. He was not the kind of man to fall for a woman, certainly not the kind that plagued his dreams last night.

Gradually, his eyes creaked open and his hands found balance hoisting himself at his hips. He leaned against the headboard and rubbed his temple.

God, how much had he imbibed last night? He hadn’t felt this sick since…well, ever. He had never once ever felt an ounce of this megrim. If this is what women meant when they referred to a megrim, he would no longer balk at the excuse. Any woman who had undergone a megrim of this magnitude—

Any woman? No. His thoughts jolted in place. Not just any woman. That woman from his dreams. Oh my God. It was all real and not a dream. This was terrible. She was real. A single woman was now visually marching across the space of his mind not even vying for purchase, just simply taking it as if she was entitled to it. Having gained her position and securing her foothold, she was planted in his mind. A permanent fixture now.

That damn Siren.

His head thrummed loudly. He had been with her last night drinking at the ball, in the library.

---