I Kissed an Earl: Pennyroyal Green Series by Julie Anne Long Page B

rapidly now. What the devil was going on?
    “And I reckon we’ve all manner of vile stinks aboard, but a man gets accustomed to ’em, aye, until dinna notice a’tall. But women, aye, they may get a bit of a shock? Eve if ye’re payin’ a woman, and she’s accustomed to sailors, a stink may surprise ’er.”
    “Perhaps,” Flint allowed slowly. Something was afoot; all of his instincts were on alert now.
    “And you haven’t seen Rathskill at all this morning?”
    “Havena seen ’im today, sir,” Corcoran confirmed. “Wasna in ’is ’ammock this morning. Didna collect his breakfast in the galley. So I think to meself sir, mayhap ’es still in wi’ the hoor. Or mayhap some ’arm ’as come to him.”
    “Thank you, Corcoran.”
    Flint was already striding past him. He all but threw his body down the foc’sle, wended his way to the Distinguished Guest Cabin door, and turned the knob. It was locked.
    And this, in and of itself, was indication that something was amiss. Flint thumped a fist once on the door. “Rathskill!”
    Picturing the crewman with a slit throat, murdered by a prostitute for his money. Picturing Rathskill and the prostitute inebriated, entwined, snoring. Imagining, with relish, running Rathskill through a gauntlet or tying him to the rigging, because he’d honestly had nearly all he could tolerate from the seaman.
    He leaned forward and put an ear to the solid door.
    Was that a shuffling footstep he heard?
    Flint slipped his pistol from his belt and nodded at Corcoran to do the same, then tugged on the doorknob hard enough to rattle the door intimidatingly.
    “Rathskill! If you’re in there and sound, come out or I’ll kick the door down and come in after you.”
    He put his ear against the door again.
    Silence.
    He stood back, raised his arm, and was about to bring it down for a good hard thump when they heard a click.
    The doorknob slowly turned.
    His fist arrested midair. Absurdly mesmerized, he and Corcoran watched the progress of the doorknob.
    Creeeeeak. The door at last creaked open a slow and tentative two inches. An instant later, the crack revealed a pair of long-lashed blue eyes, two slim winged dark brows and a sliver of pale refined nose.
    The eyes blinked.
    They were intelligent, bright, expressive, and admittedly guarded eyes. There was something uncomfortably, deucedly familiar about them.
    “Hoor!” Corcoran announced, triumphant with vindication.
    “I am nothing of the sort,” came an indignant, elegant voice, muffled somewhat by the frame of the door.
    Flint knew that voice. But the memory of it was less sound than sensation for some reason…a warm breath in his ear asking a provocative question…a creamy décolletage…the color blue?
    A woman in blue?
    Why did he know that voice?
    “Madam, I am the Earl of Ardmay and captain of The Fortuna.” It was a voice calculated to quail even the most stalwart of men, and to establish his supremacy. “Are you in any way harmed or unwell? Have you been brought here against your will?”
    A hesitation.
    “No, sir,” she said politely, tentatively. The door remained open just that one stingy inch. The eyes blinked again. It was very nearly an eyelash bat. A reflexively flirtatious gesture. Suspicion mounted.
    “Very well. I must request then, madam, that you open the door and step out. We wish to ascertain that you are indeed sound. You have my word as a gentleman that you are safe in my custody. We’re also interested in the whereabouts of a Mr. Rathskill, as it has come to my attention that he may have been the means by which you boarded our ship. If he is there with you, we need to know immediately.”
    “I am alone, sir.”
    “Forgot ye was an earl now, Captain,” Corcoran murmured cheerfully.
    “I occasionally do, too, Corcoran,” Flint muttered irritably. “Fat lot of good the title’s done me yet.” He raised his voice. “Madam? I must ask that you open the door and exit the cabin now, or I shall