Page 2 of A Stroke of Luck
“Hell’s teeth!” he sputtered
“That did it, Zara! Looks like he’s finally coming to!”
The duke unscrewed his eyelids enough to catch a peek at the face hovering over his.
Good Lord.He blinked, then ventured a second glance. With windspun tresses framing her delicate features, the young lady appeared as ethereal as a Nereid. However, she certainly packed the wallop of an Amazon.
A quick flinch allowed him to narrowly avoid a second blow.
“Finally awake, are you?” She leaned back slightly, her sea green eyes studying his dripping features and bedraggled locks with an unsettling intensity.
“S-Stump,” he choked out between coughs. “S-Stump.”
“If you are referring to your companion with the missing hand, he is safely aboard, too,” she replied.
Prestwick was suddenly aware of the pitch and rock beneath his waterlogged body.A boat.So, he was not buried in a watery grave, but alive and afloat. And though a cursory glance showed it was not nearly as fancy as his own polished yacht, the little craft was at least keeping its deck above water.
“We fished him out right after we had hauled you up over the gunwales.” The duke thought he detected a slight rippling of her gaze, as if she did not entirely approve of what she was seeing. “What in the name of Poseidon were the two of you doing out for a midnight swim in these conditions?”
“It was not exactly a planned pleasure dip.“ Unused to such blunt words, especially from a female, he responded in his most haughty ducal tone. “We, er, suffered an unfortunate slip.”
Her brow arched slightly. “Ah. No doubt you were thoroughly foxed. In my experience, gentlemen usually are when they do something exceeding stupid.” A pause. “Like fall overboard.”
Prestwick would have liked to snap an equally caustic retort, but found his chattering teeth would not allow for further speech.
“Well, you might as well have another draught of spirits to warm you up,” she continued briskly. “Nonny! Help the gentleman to a slug from the bottle, then hurry and give Perry a hand with the mainsheet.” Above the howl of the gusting gale, the distant pounding of surf against rock could be heard. “The wind looks to be shifting to the southeast, and if we trim the sails, we may be able to weather the cliffs without changing course.”
The fiery liquid did indeed send a lick of heat spiraling through his icy insides. Prestwick breathed a sigh and shifted upon the rough planking. As the brush of bristly wool rubbed up against his chin, he realized that part of the reason he was feeling marginally more comfortable was the fact that he hadbeen relieved of his own wet garments and a blanket had been tucked around his still shivering limbs.
Hell’s Teeth!It was not the smell of stale sheep that had him squirming beneath the less than pristine covering. To his relief, he found that his breeches—though stiff with salt and encrusted to his thighs—were in their proper place. At least the impudent chit had not stripped him of all his dignity. Drawing the blanket up to the bridge of his nose, he sighed again.
Amazon, repeated the duke to himself, as he stole a furtive look at the young lady in action. Feet planted wide on the pitching deck, head tilted into the gusting squall, hand battling the twisting tiller, she certainly resembled some mythic warrior queen. Her waving hair, a wheaten blond sparked by red-gold highlights, snapped in the wind like a naval pennant, only adding to the martial appearance.
He had been wrong to think her an unearthly water nymph. She was much too tall, much too angular and much too outspoken to lay any claim to sprightly beauty.
Hoyden, he added to himself with a slight curl of his lip.A loud, ill-mannered?—
A feeble groan from close by made him feel rather ashamed of such churlish thoughts. No matter that the chit had a tongue that could flay a man raw as a cat’o nine tails, she had managed to pluck two unconscious bodies from a storm-tossed sea. Even with a veteran crew it would have been no easy task. And Nonny looked to be hardly more than a lad ...
“Sir?” Stump’s croak interrupted his musings.
Prestwick grimaced and gave himself a silent tongue lashing before answering. “Aye, Stump. I’m here.”
“Thank the Lord.”
And a certain young lady, admitted the duke. What had the young man called her? Something peculiar—Susanna? Serena?
“Though we was sunk for sure,” mumbled his valet.
“I’m afraid that in another few minutes we might have been, had our rescuers not spotted us among the whitecaps.”
“Owe them ... a debt ... of thanks, that we do ...” Stump’s woozy words were swallowed in a snore as he fell back into an exhausted slumber.
A debt indeed, reflected the duke. Well, that would prove easy enough. After all, he was a very rich man. With the image of gold guineas raining down upon a tangle of gold curls, he, too, drifted off into a fitful sleep.
The finely tailoredgarments and polished patrician accent left little doubt that the younger fellow they had fished out of the raging sea was a Gentleman of Quality, reflected Zara, her brow furrowing as she frowned. In other words, just the sort of person she loathed. Since the death of her father, she had come to discover that such men, who paid lip service to the notions of duty and honor, were as much charlatans as the gypsy fortunetellers who promised true love, or the medical quacks who peddled eternal life in a bottle.
Perhaps more so, seeing as the others had a certain raw honesty about their greed.
