Page 4 of A Stroke of Luck
Not one to give in to despair, Zara gripped the varnished wood more tightly and raised her chin, telling herself the wetness on her lashes was salt spray rather than tears.
Somehow she managed to navigate the treacherous crosscurrents and avoid being smashed to smithereens upon the nearby cliffs. With a grinding shudder, the keel hit bottom in shallow water and the craft lurched on its side.
“Abandon ship!”
After shouting the warning, Zara grabbed both her brothers and shoved them into the breaking surf. Snatching up the last bag of their meager belongings, she dove in after them. Not that it was any concern of hers, but she did note out of the corner of her eye that the two gentlemen had heeded the cry and were scrambling to safety.
As she waded ashore, she turned for one last look at the shattered hull, praying that all her carefully laid plans were not sinking along with it.
Two
The smell of the wood smoke wafting over the undulating dunes had a pungent peatiness to it. Odd, but not unpleasant, thought Prestwick. And the aroma of roasting meat added a decidedly welcome spice to it, seeing as he had not had a morsel to eat since the previous afternoon, when his chef had served up a stew redolent with succulent oysters and cream, along with tournedos of beef and …
Swallowing an oath, the duke gathered up another piece of driftwood. The growling of his stomach gave loud enough voice to his own foul mood. Of all the cursed luck! Things could be worse, he admitted. But not much. He and his valet might be feeding the flounder at present if not for the intervention of Fate in the form of a feisty young lady. But in some ways, he felt as if he merely jumped out of the proverbial frying pan and into the fire.
After all, here he was, stuck with a hot-tempered harridan in the middle of nowhere. No decorated Adam ceiling over his head, no cosseting servants to fix a steaming bath, no plump eiderdown quilts warming his toes, no soft linen sheets drawn up to his chin.
No wonder he felt like swearing!
It was all her fault. He was, as a rule, much too much of a gentleman to resort to vulgar language, yet in the past few hours he had uttered more expletives than he had in the last decade.Hell and damnation!It was telling testimony to just how badly his usual placid temperament had been stirred. Talk about waves?—
“You all right, sir?” Stump paused in tucking a scrap of old planking under his arm to fix his employer with a look of concern. “That lump on your skull looks right nasty. Is it bringing on a headache?”
“An incipient headache is the least of our troubles,” he snapped.
“I know, sir. And I’m heartily sorry.” The valet ducked down to reach for another piece of flotsam, but not before Prestwick saw the look of remorse etched on the other man’s face. “A fine kettle of fish it has come to, when a duke has to look after his servant, rather than the other way around. I should have been discharged long ago, seeing as I ain’t fit to perform the simplest duties?—”
“Do stop apologizing, Stump,” he said quietly. “I will be the one to decide when I no longer have need of your services. Unless, of course, you have grown weary of playing nursemaid to a quiet, cowardly fellow like me, who finds his pleasure in music, literature and the arts rather any more manly pursuits.”
The valet gave an aggrieved snort. “Ha! You have plenty of pluck and backbone to go along with your cultivated learning, sir, though you seek to keep it hidden under all them fancy togs.”
Prestwick’s jaw tightened, but Stump chose to ignore the subtle warning and continued on.
“I suppose it was cowardly instinct that prompted you to plunge into a raging sea to haul out a clumsy old fool.”
“No, it was pure self-interest. I told you, I enjoy my morning coffee much too much to risk the loss of its recipe.”
A grudging bark of laugh sounded, then quickly faded into a sigh. “In all seriousness sir, maybe it is time for me to step aside and let a real valet take my place. One who can tie a proper cravat and manage the buttons of a waistcoat.”
“I am not quite so helpless that I cannot dress myself.” The duke paused to give a shake of his sodden boot, trying to dislodge a pebble from between his toes. “However, the idea that I have been sent off by some flaming female to forage for firewood …” The rest of his words trailed off in an inarticulate grumble.
“An unusual young lady. Got a bit of spark to her, unlike them London lasses.”
“Spark? The chit could light up the skies over Vauxhall Gardens with her display of pyrotechnics!”
“Nothing wrong with a little show of spirit,” murmured Stump. “Rather than appear no more animated than a marble statue.”
In his present state of mind, Prestwick found the words rubbed as raw against his skin as the chip of granite. “If that thinly veiled show of sarcasm was in reference to the Marquess of Ellesmore’s daughter, kindly keep such snide opinions to yourself. Lady Catherine is considered by the ton to be a paragon of perfection. Not only is she a Diamond of the First Water, but her manners are impeccable and her behavior is beyond reproach.”
“Aye, she is polished so perfectly all you can see is your own reflection. Trouble is, in havin’ any rough edges buffed off, she’s lost any bit o’ real character. Might as well be carved from a block of stone.”
“Stump—”
“Well, it’s true! Has the lady ever expressed an opinion of her own, or disagreed with a word you have said, or laughed as if she truly meant it?”
“Hmmph. I should certainly hope not!” retorted Prestwick. “A well-bred female does not give rein to unbridled thoughts or serendipitous feelings. She defers to a gentleman’s judgment, as is proper.”
The duke was aware that he was beginning to sound rather shrill, which only irritated him further. How dare his companion imply that the lady in question possessed the slightest flaw? The accusation, however oblique, was confoundedly unfair, and a righteous indignation ratcheted his tone up another notch.
