Page 2 of A Stroke of Luck (Intrepid Heroines #4)

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 had been 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 tailored garments 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.

Still, Zara supposed she could not, in good conscience, simply toss the fellow back into the sea, no matter that he had been insufferably arrogant to her.

Why, there had not even been a dratted word of thanks!

He was probably so used to people groveling at his feet that the thought hadn’t occurred to him.

She kicked at one of the brass cleats. He could sink from here to Hades before she would show him any more deference than she would a slippery eel.

A glance upward showed the clouds were lightening and a faint peek of sun was starting to break through.

Once the fog burned off and wind moderated a few more knots, she should be able to steer closer to the shore.

The few ghostly glimpses she had caught through the swirls of grey showed naught but craggy rocks and towering dunes, yet surely there would be some sort of port up ahead where they might put in and drop their unwanted cargo and replenish their meager stock of food.

The gale had apparently blown them off course, so it also wouldn’t hurt to inquire as to their exact location, and how much farther they had to go.

Her lips compressed. She hoped that they had not strayed too far off course from their final destination.

Their funds were growing perilously low and she wished to avoid spending any more of their precious farthings than necessary for supplies.

There was a journey by coach ahead, once they made landfall.

“Shoals on the port side!” came a high-pitched cry from high in the rigging.

Zara shoved the tiller to the left, swinging the bow of the boat away from the danger. “Can you see any sign of life?” she called up to her younger brother.

“No. Naught but a few sheep.”

“What about any further danger?” she asked.

“The way looks clear if you stay on this course.”

“Then come down for a moment and have a bite of breakfast.”

There was a rapid scrabbling in the tarred lines and a thump as the lad’s bare feet hit the deck.

“Sorry, Perry.” She shrugged by way of apology, needing both hands to steer through a patch of rough water. “A wedge of stale bread and dollop of strawberry jam hardly merits such enthusiasm.”

“Mmmpph.” He brushed a smudge of red from his chin and grinned.

“Remember the time Papa got lost looking for the tomb of Queen Tetishiri? We marched up and down those rocky wadis for two days without a crumb. Even grape leaves and goat’s brains tasted delicious after that.

Though I admit, the eyeballs didn’t look particularly appetizing.

” He took a swig of cider. “We ran out of water, too. And it was hotter than Hell?—”

“Perry,” she warned, though it was difficult to be stern in the face of such good-humored resilience. “That is not a word that belongs in your vocabulary.”

“Parthenon says it.”

“Nonny is not eleven years old.” Seeing the scrunch of his mouth, she quickly added, “However, that’s not the point. A gentleman, no matter his age, should refrain from swearing.”

“Bloody Hell!”

Repressing an oath of her own, Zara whipped around to see the waterlogged gentleman rubbing at the back of his skull, having sat up without looking and cracked his head on the overhanging boom.

“Such language may be acceptable in one of your fancy clubs, sir!” snapped Zara.

“But I shall have to insist you refrain from swearing in the presence of ladies and children.” She was gratified to see the pallor of his cheeks, which until that moment had resembled the underbelly of a cod, darken with a dull flush.

“For despite what you may think, my brothers and I are of quite respectable birth.”

“Your pardon,” he said stiffly, employing the same offensive drawl as he had used before. This time, however, the effect was made rather comical by the fact that the blanket had slipped from his grip as he had grabbed for his head, leaving him bare to the waist.

Seeing his baleful expression, she couldn’t help herself. She began to laugh.

His face now wore a black scowl. “One would not guess your genteel origins from your execrable manners.”

“ My manners!” Zara’s burble of amusement changed to squawk of indignation.

“Why, you pompous prig! You have not deigned to utter so much as a peep of thanks for your rescue! Not only that, you have slept soundly through the night, snug in our only blankets, while my brothers and I have battled gale force winds and raging seas to keep this craft afloat?—”

A jarring thunk and the ominous snap of splintering wood interrupted her harangue.

“Zara!”

As she steadied herself against one of the stanchions, Parthenon’s head appeared in the small cabin hatchway. “Water is coming up through the floorboards! Quite a lot of it.”

“Bloody Hell!” Not wasting time with further recriminations, she grabbed up a nearby bucket and tossed it at the odious gentleman. “Rouse your friend and get him to lend you a hand with the bailing.”

Stump crawled out from behind the luffing mainsail. “I’m afraid a hand is all I’ve got, missy.”

“We are going to need every available one,” she replied grimly while eyeing the distance to shore. “Perry, belay the jib and haul in on the starboard sheet. Then go below and help your brother pack up our belongings.”

Of all the cursed luck! She wrestled with the yawing tiller, trying to steer the listing vessel on a course for the narrow spit of beach she had spied among the rocks.

The unknown gentleman, whatever his true name, had turned out to be a veritable Jonah!

Now they were truly in the suds, and all because of him!

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.