Page 12 of A Stroke of Luck (Intrepid Heroines #4)

A sound—something between a sigh and snort—escaped his dripping lips.

All the other young ladies of his acquaintance were proper, well-mannered misses.

They would not, in their wildest dreams, think of saying or doing anything that might rock the boat, while the confounding Miss Greeley kept him constantly off balance.

Wiping at the rivulets of water streaming down his cheeks, he peered into the swirling fog and wondered how much longer it would be before they reached terra firma.

There, at least, he might feel on solid footing.

“Auch, just a wee bit further, around yonder point, an we’ll be there,” said McTavish, as if reading the duke’s mind.

He shifted his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other so that he could take a small nip from his flask, then added, “Now, if the weather had been bad, it mighta become a mite rough.”

Stump gave a low groan. “Sir, if I ever suggest a sea voyage again, I give you leave to drown me in your bath tub.”

Prestwick’s hand shot out and grabbed hold of his valet’s collar just in time to prevent a repeat of their earlier mishap.

“Trust me, I shall not require a second invitation,” he replied dryly.

The slam of a swell forced a pause as a shower of seawater shot up in their faces.

“The sooner we are off this cursed craft and can arrange for more comfortable transportation, the better.”

He and Stump would continue their journey to Uncle Aubrey’s estate, while the Greeleys …

Where were they headed? The duke realized he had not thought to ask.

Just as well, he assured himself. It wasn’t any of his concern.

They had made it this far on their own, so no doubt they would manage to reach their destination, even if a lack of funds forced them to wash a few more dishes or wield a few more spades.

He meant to smile, but his lips instead formed a harried frown.

“Land dead ahead!” Perry, his normal exuberance restored by a night of rest, had climbed up into the rigging and was clinging to the bucking spar.

“Do come down from there,” called his sister. She was sitting in the lee of the whisky barrels, the canvas bags containing their few possessions stacked neatly at her feet. “I would rather not risk yet another nautical disaster.”

Prestwick noted that she did not so much glance in his direction as she spoke, which only caused his expression to grow grimmer. Like the blisters on his toe and fingers, she was a niggling irritation, a constant prickling against his skin. But like them, she would soon be gone, he assured himself.

And his shout of relief would echo up to the very summit of Mount Olympus!

The small craft rounded the jutting rocks and with one last pitch and roll sailed into calmer water. A small wharf materialized from out of the mist, along with the silhouettes of several other boats and a cluster of whitewashed buildings.

“Hell’s bells!” exclaimed Stump, shading his eyes with his hand. “Do you see what I see?”

“Land. Not quite dry land, but it will do.” The duke forced a quip though he was not really in any mood for joking.

Hell’s Bells, he repeated to himself. It made no sense.

His spirits should be as light and airy as a Handel chorus, yet for some reason they felt as dark and stormy as a Beethoven symphony.

“No. Over there,” said Stump.

He peered to where his valet was pointing. After a blink or two he was able to make out two masts, then a sleek hull, its polished brass fittings winking brightly despite the hazy light.

“It’s Nereid , sir!”

Indeed, it was his private yacht that was tied stem and stern to the barnacled pilings. McTavish maneuvered his own boat in between the graceful ketch and a fishing dory, and made the mooring ropes fast to a pair of rusting cleats.

“Here you be, lassie.” He held out a hand and helped Zara scramble onto the weathered wharf.

“Thank you, sir. I?—”

“Auch, no need te be thanking me. A deal be a deal, an you all worked herd for your part of it.” He gave a wave of his pipe at Prestwick. “Even His Majesty, I reckon.”

The two lads were quick to follow, the canvas bags clutched in their arms. The duke and valet took a bit longer to navigate the slippery stones.

“What a corker,” murmured Nonny admiringly, his eyes running over the rake of Nereid’s masts and the graceful lines of her hull. His elbow poked into his brother’s ribs “Look at the tuning of the rigging. I’ll wager she can do over twelve knots under full sail?—”

His words were drowned out by a loud clatter as a uniformed captain and several of the crew raced down the yacht’s gangplank and surrounded the duke.

“Your Grace!” The man’s voice was awash in relief as he sketched a low bow.

“Thank Heavens! We thought … we feared …” He ceased fumbling with the brass buttons on his navy coat long enough to take a deep breath.

“Good Heavens, sir, let us escort you to your stateroom, where we can see to laying out hot water, a razor, fresh linen, a proper meal …”

Prestwick, feeling as if there were still a storm-tossed deck beneath his feet, let himself be carried along on the tide of his captain’s concerns.

“Come along, boys,” said Zara, glad to note that her voice sounded a good bit steadier than she actually felt. “We have more important things to do than stand gawking at a gentleman’s fancy toy.”

“That’s it? He’s gone?” asked Perry, staring rather forlornly at the deserted deck of the yacht.

“What did you expect?” she replied, then instantly regretted her acid tone on seeing the crumpling of his expression.

“I—I don’t know.” The words were barely a whisper. “He seemed … different, that’s all.”

“Well, he’s not.” She took the bag from his unresisting grip and slung it firmly over her shoulder. Turning quickly, so that neither of them could see the disappointment etched on her own face, she surveyed the narrow street.

The sight did nothing to buoy her spirits.

There was no sign of a coaching inn—not that they had the blunt to pay for even an outside passage.

But usually such an establishment was busy enough that there was some sort of menial work to be had.

A few coins would at least get them started.

And after that? Her hand fingers tightened on the drawstrings and she took a step forward, refusing to think that far ahead.

“Lassie.”

Zara looked around.

“Are you going south, then?” asked McTavish.

She nodded.

“Best head to Mulltyre for a coach. It’s three miles that way. ” A wave indicated the direction to the right.

She nodded again.

“Happens I be going there. If you like, you and the laddies can ride atop the barrels of my Bruichladdich.”

A wry smile tugged at her mouth. “I haven’t got the fare.”

He scratched at his beard, then allowed a tiny twitch of his lips. “Auch, I know. But you are a hard worker, lassie. I reckon I got the best part of the bargain yesterday, so we’ll just call it even, shall we.”

“Thank you.”

“It will be near an hour before I’ll be leaving.

” Another waggle of his palm was directed at a small tavern at the end of the street.

“Tell auld Campbell I sent you and he‘ll see that his missus gives you and the laddies some tea and a bite o’ scones.” He cocked his head.

“You gonna be alright on your own, lassie? Tis a long way to the border and beyond.”

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 linen felt 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 gets Nereid ready 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.