Page 20 of A Stroke of Luck
Her chin came up a notch. “It is kind of you to be concerned, but we are quite able to look after ourselves.”
After all, she added to herself, it wasn’t as if there was anyone else to turn to.
The crisp linenfelt smooth against the line of his freshly shaved jaw. Prestwick drew in a deep breath, savoring the subtle scent of his own special blend of bay rum cologne that had replaced the stale reek of seaweed and sheep.
It came out in a slow whoosh, sounding suspiciously like a sigh.
“I wonder how them Greeleys mean to go on,” murmured Stump, as he rummaged around in the dressing table for the duke’s pocketwatch. Finding the oval of crested gold, he slammed the teak drawer shut with a tad more force than was necessary. “I mean, seeing as they ain’t got a feather to fly with on account of their boat being wrecked on the rocks.”
“You are about as subtle as a sledgehammer,” growled the duke. He made a final adjustment to the folds of his starched cravat, then reached for the freshly brushed bottle-green coat that was laid out on his berth. “Did you really think I was going to leave them high and dry?”
His valet hid a sigh of relief with an aggrieved snort. “Didn’t rightly know. After all, you have been in a mighty odd frame of mind of late.”
Odd did not begin to describe his frame of mind of late!
“Perhaps,” he retorted, “it has something to do with the mighty odd physical tortures my body has been subjected to of late.”
“Now don’t go exaggerating?—”
”Hmmph! You call being nearly drowned, nearly starved, nearly crippled and nearly worked to the bone exaggerating?”
Stump scratched at his chin to hide a grin. “Aw, it wasn’t quite that bad.”
“No, it was worse.” Prestwick checked his pocket to make sure the leather purse was safely stowed. “Now, if you will straighten up in here, I mean to go make some inquiries about whether it might be possible to hire a room and a proper bath tub for an hour while Sullerton getsNereidready to sail.”
“A proper bath? That all you can think of after our adventure?” murmured Stump, his greying brows drawing together in a slight frown. “Hmmph.I guess you really didn’t like getting your hands dirty after all.”
“I told you as much,” replied Prestwick curtly, brushing a mote of dust from his shiny new boots. Turning on his heel, he left his valet staring quizzically at the unwrinkled back of his superfine coat.
Once he had descended to the cobbled harborfront, he looked around for any sign of his erstwhile companions. The street, however, was deserted, save for McTavish and another man who were wrestling the barrels of whiskey up from the boat and into a dray cart.
The Scot looked up at the duke’s approach, his expression remaining unchanged at the sight of the elegant set of new clothes and highly polished Hessians.
“Did you perchance see in what direction Miss Greeley and her brothers went?”
The long pause that followed as the man chewed on his pipe was enough to make Prestwick want to dig it out of the bushy beard and fling it into the sea. Finally, with a last chomp and a spit, McTavish cleared his throat. “And what business is it of yours, laddie?”
The duke’s hand clenched around the purse in his pocket. “My business with the Greeleys is none of your concern, you flinty old pirate,” he snapped, his frayed temper causing hisvoice to rise to a near shout. “Unlike you, who have exacted your pound of flesh, I merely want to give them a … parting gift.”
“Money? You’re going tae offer the lassie your money?”
“Don’t think you will be seeing any of it,” muttered Prestwick.
“Auch, I dunna want your money, laddie.” He scratched at his cap. “Dunna think the lassie does either.”
“Thank you for the advice,” he replied with scathing politeness. “No doubt it is the only thing you offer for free.”
The Scot actually chuckled. “Suit yourself.” The pipe stem came out of his mouth long enough to point to low, half-timbered building at the far end of the harbor. “They are having a bite at Campbell’s.”
Prestwick managed a curt nod of thanks before stalking off. The impertinence of the old goat to imply the young lady would not welcome a purse full of gold, he fumed as he hurried toward the inn. After all, she had been quite vocal on the fact that the loss of their boat had left the family destitute. After a few hurried steps, however, his pace ground to a halt.
Hell’s Bells.On second thought, perhaps the man’s gruff comment had a groat or two of truth to it. Miss Greeley, for all her appearance of having thrown the rules of Society to the wind, was still a gently bred young lady, and what he intended was well outside the strictures of propriety.
His mouth gave a rueful quirk. A good deal of what had gone on between them would be viewed as highly improper, from the quarrels to the curses to spending the night together in a shocking state of undress. What he meant to do, while not exactly proper, was merely a gesture of … friendship. Being pragmatic as well as proper, Miss Greeley could surely have no objection to that.
Thus reassured, Prestwick continued on.
As he approached the tavern, he saw that Nonny had taken a seat on the low stone wall facing the sea and was busy scribbling in a small notebook. The lad looked up from the frayed covers at the sound of footsteps and his eyes widened.
