Lord of Devil Isle by Connie Mason

was concerned and he was glad to see the indifference was mutual.
    Lust was an exceedingly pleasurable thing, but once it burned out, it left nothing but dead gray ash in the heart. Not terribly satisfying, but easy to sweep clean.
    “Good.” He turned to leave the room, then had a second thought and snapped his fingers. “Oh! Since they lost everything in the wreck, my guests will need something to wear. I ask, of your kindness, that you spare them a few necessaries from your wardrobe.”
    “Of my kindness? Why, you bastard!” She launched herself across the room and pummeled his chest. “You’d take the clothes from my back and put it on your new tarts.”
    He grabbed her hands and held them behind her back. She stopped struggling and pressed her breasts against his chest, peering at him from under her long lashes.
    “Is this a new game, Nick? Trying to get me angry so you can hold me down?” One corner of her mouth tilted up. “All right. I’ll play.”
    “But regretfully, my dear Magdalen, I won’t.” He would miss her. She was as adventurous in bed as she was conniving of heart. But he’d never be able to swive her again without hearing her wish three innocent strangers dead so she might have a few more things. “Be gone before my guests arrive or you may forget about my generous congé. I suspect you have less than a quarter hour.”
    He released her and strode from the room without a backward glance.

Chapter Six
    Being alone with three strange women would normally be enough to turn Peregrine Higgs into a stammering puddle.
    Thanks be to God for Reggie Turnscrew, Higgs thought as he drove the wagon through the narrow and increasingly steep streets of St. Georges. Perched on the seat beside Higgs, the lad twisted around to face the passengers in the wagon bed. He kept up a steady stream of conversation, entertaining the ladies with tales of the islanders’ doings, telling them who lived in which houses and where the likeliest handouts were to be had.
    As if ladies would be interested in such things!
    “And as near as folk can figure, there be about one hundred seventy islands in the Bermudas all together, give or take,” Reggie was saying. “O’ course, some of ’em ain’t hardly big enough to set your foot on, but if it ain’t touchin’ another bit o’ land, I reckon it counts, don’t it?”
    Like the ladies they obviously were, they listened politely and made appropriate comments whenever Reggie gave them half a chance.
    Which meant Peregrine didn’t have to utter a single syllable. Good thing, since single syllables were about all he suspected he was capable of at the moment.
    Had there ever been a finer flower of English womanhood than Miss Sally Munroe?
    He swallowed hard. And him not trusting himself to say a bloomin’ thing!
    They’d left the main streets of the village and started up the narrow track that led to the captain’s house. A gig with a single horse came flying down the hillside toward them. The driver plied the whip to its withers with a heavy hand. Peregrine reined his team to the far left side of the road to allow them to pass.
    The driver was a woman, her dark hair streaming behind her, a scowl making her face an angry mask. Peregrine hid his smile and doffed his tricorne as she flew by. She didn’t give him a second glance.
    Looks as if the captain sorted things out like he promised. He chirruped to the team with a light heart and they jolted into a trot. Peregrine had never much cared for Magdalen. She lost no opportunity to make fun of his stutter whenever the captain wasn’t about.
    “Oh, I say!” Miss Munroe exclaimed. “Who was that?”
    “That’s Magdalen Frith, that is,” Reggie supplied helpfully. “Off on a right proper tear, too, by the looks of it. She’d be Lord Nick’s regular lady.”
    Reggie winked hugely as he pronounced the word “lidey,” but Peregrine wasn’t in a position to throw stones at the lad’s unschooled speech. By gum, he