I Married the Duke by Katharine Ashe Page B

twining down the hatchway whipped around her cloak and their joined hands.
    “Sir,” she whispered, but her throat was constricted and the wind snatched away the sound.
    He released her and she hurried the remainder of the way up.
    The wind was strong on the main deck, and the Retribution ’s sails were full like those of the naval ship close by. Sailors were active on deck.
    “Have you lost your gloves, Miss Caulfield?” The captain spoke at her shoulder, low and intimate, as though they were not standing in broad daylight surrounded by dozens of men.
    She turned. Color shone high upon his cheekbones and his lips were parted.
    “In Plymouth,” she said, “I sold my gloves for food.”
    “Food for those children you found.”
    She nodded.
    He stared at her mouth and his chest rose sharply, and she feared he would kiss her here before his crew in the light of day, like a man might kiss a woman of ill repute—where he wished, when he wished. For all his talk of governesses, he must believe her to be what he had first suggested in Plymouth. She was traveling alone and in possession of a ring that only a wealthy man would own. Captain Andrew had no reason to think her other than a fallen woman, or any other justification for staring at her with undisguised desire.
    “I am not what you think I am.” She bit her lip. She had not meant to speak. She needn’t justify herself to him.
    “I don’t believe you have the faintest notion of what I think of you. Now look behind you.”
    She turned.
    Arrayed like a bride on her wedding day, the estuary shone bright and sparkling in the sunshine, broad across and festooned with vessels. The near bank stretched gold and white with long, lazy beaches giving way to rows of docks cluttered with ships, banners proclaiming them from every nation on earth, it seemed.
    Tucked beyond, inside the mouth of the river, the town of Saint-Nazaire was little more than a collection of quays and shipyards, with a church spire poking above the cluster of buildings that rose from the shore.
    “Here amidships you are unlikely to fall overboard, duchess,” he said quietly at her shoulder. “You can release the railing now.”
    She started. Her knuckles were white around the stair rail. “I . . .”
    “I noticed,” he only said. “Welcome back to land, Miss Caulfield.” With a bow he strode across deck and to the helm.

Chapter 6
    Two Louis
    “J e suis désolé, mademoiselle,” the innkeeper said without a shadow of desolation on his narrow Gallic face. “ Mais , there is no carriage in the carriage house. And one cannot fabricate a carriage from the air like the magician, can one?” His lips pursed.
    Arabella’s fingers gripped the coins she had shown him, every penny she had. “This is because I am not offering to pay you more, isn’t it?”
    He shook his head. “ Je vous ai dit , the horses and coach, they are not available until jeudi .”
    Thursday. Two days away. She could not afford to stay even a single night at the inn and also hire the carriage to Saint-Reveé-des-Beaux.
    “Is there another place I may hire a carriage in town?”
    “Non non, mademoiselle.” He shook his head again as though he were filled with sorrow over her plight.
    “But I passed a stable walking here, and I saw a perfectly good carriage and two horses doing nothing at all,” she said firmly. “How do you explain that, monsieur?”
    “There is no arguing with innkeepers in this country, my dear,” a languid voice came from behind her. “Now that they have tasted revolution, the French have little respect for anything but avaricious acquisition. Pity, really. They used to be so delightfully ingratiating.”
    Golden like a god, with wavy hair and warm brown eyes, dressed in dark velvet, with draping lace at throat and cuffs, and boots that shone with champagne polish, the man standing in the doorway looked like a prince out of a storybook.
    But no prince would peruse a lady from brow to toe. In