A Stroke of Luck (4 page)

In his experience, children did not speak to their elders unless spoken to—and certainly not in such disrespectful terms. However, dignity prevented him from answering with any more than a muttered "Hmmph."

As his back was turned, he could not quite tell whether the sound coming from Stump was a chuckle. Too irritated for words, he contented himself with taking a number of measured kicks at the loose stones in his path.

By the time he had trudged back to the small encampment, he was nursing some very sore toes to go along with his bruised feelings.

* * *

Good Lord.

Zara raised her eyes from the fire just long enough to catch a glimpse of the smoldering scowl on the gentleman's face. By the looks of it, he was hotter than the bits of kindling she had been coaxing into flame. Without a word, he dumped the load of gnarled driftwood by her side and stomped off to take a seat upon one of the rocks jutting up from the sand.

And the ungrateful wretch had the audacity to criticize
her
manners!

She frowned as she snapped a branch in two and fed it into the now crackling blaze. Though clearly a gentleman of rank, he was behaving like a beastly boor. Indeed, as he wrestled off what had no doubt been a very expensive boot and began to inspect a rent in his stocking, she could swear that he uttered a word that should not have been said in front of any female, lady or not.

It was, of course, no surprise. Her recent experiences had only confirmed her opinion that privileged peers were naught but a bunch of worthless wastrels. And this specimen whom she had had the misfortune to fish out of the deep looked to be particularly odious. Vain, arrogant, selfish, spoiled—the dratted fellow could not even lower himself to gathering up a few twigs without kicking up a frightful dust, despite all she had done for him.

Like saving his elegant neck.

Giving a slight turn to the makeshift spit, Zara slanted another quick glance at him. The rumpled garments might be still slightly damp and the ruined footwear squishy but there was no denying that he oozed Quality from every refined pore. It was not that he was an overly imposing figure. His shoulders, though broad, lacked a muscled bulk, his chest was lean and his face a shade delicate to be considered a paragon of masculine perfection. Yet there was a certain lithe grace to his movements—despite the pained hobble—that gave him an unmistakable presence.

She found herself studying the downcast features a tad longer than she intended. His nose was a pinch too long, the mouth a touch too arrogant for her taste. But try as she might, it was difficult to find fault with his eyes. They hinted at a surprising depth of character, given the shallowness that she expected. And the color was an unusual shade of blue—a rich aquamarine swirled with sea green highlights. She would have to remember the exact nuance of hue when she had a moment for her paintbrushes and pigment—

"
Ouch!
"

Her lip curled at the sound of the stifled yelp. It served him right, she thought, forcing away any more musings of a positive note on the odious man. Indeed, as she gave a small jab to the roasting meat, she found herself hoping his pampered flesh had been rubbed raw!

"Here you go, ma'am." The gentleman's grizzled companion let the small gathering of sticks tucked beneath his arm slip to the ground. "Ain't awful handy at this sort of chore, but it may help keep the coals going a tad longer."

Zara smiled. "I thank you for your effort, Mr...."

"Oh, forget adding any mister to my moniker." He gave a leathery grin. "Everyone calls me Stump. I have become so used to it I probably wouldn't recognize me own proper name." His words trailed off in an appreciative sniff. "Looks as though you managed to get a right nice meal going here, despite the tad of trouble we had earlier, Miss... "

A "tad of trouble" might be a slight understatement, she sighed, seeing as the loss of the sailboat had sunk the only hope of refilling her near empty purse. Still, as he could not know into what dire straits she had been plunged, she tried to match his own undampened spirits.

"Greeley," she replied, with rather more cheer than she felt at the moment. "I am Zara Greeley. And these are my brothers."

The two lads had just rounded the sheltering ledge of rock, Perry manfully balancing a stack of wood that reached past the tip of his chin while Nonny was carrying a tangle of twine and another freshly skinned rabbit.

Stump gave them a friendly nod. "And mighty resourceful fellows they look to be."

"Oh, aye, we are used to doing a bit of foraging. And a good thing it is that
some
of us don't mind working for our breakfast," said the younger of the two, shooting a dark look at the duke as he staggered under the weight of his load "Otherwise we would all be going hungry."

Though Zara gave an inward chuckle at the pointed jibe, aloud she voiced a gentle rebuke. "That is hardly the proper way for a young man to address his elders." Stump's haughty companion might display the manners of an ill-bred mule but she would not give either of them reason to think her own family had been raised in a barn.

Perry ducked his head in contrition. "Sorry, Zara."

"Your words should be directed to Mr... er, Stump."

She was gratified to see her brother manage to murmur a handsome apology, which the valet acknowledged with a broad wink. "I can't say I blame the nipper. I always feel a bit peckish on an empty stomach."

The mention of food drew a look of longing from Perry. "Hasn't that rabbit been roasting for an age? Any longer and it might turn to shoe leather."

"It has been no more than ten minutes," smiled Zara, noting that the peevish peer gave a pained wince at the mention of footwear. She added a last basting of seawater, then pricked at the trussed haunch with the tip of her knife. "By the time you finish stacking that wood in a neat pile, it will be ready."

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, the lad fell to the task.

As she began slicing off chunks of the fragrant meat, she saw the gentleman finally raise his eyes from the perusal of his boot. The breeze had shifted, and his nostrils gave an involuntary twitch.

It
did
smell mouthwatering. She had managed to forage a bit of wild thyme, and used with a judicious splash of brine, the combination had added a piquant spice to the wild game. Threading the juicy morsels onto the wooden skewers she had carved, she handed them out, one by one—first to Perry, then to Nonny, then to Stump. After an exaggerated pause, she offered a share to the duke.

He drew back, a puckered frown on his lips. "Have you no plate or proper utensils? I have no intention of gnawing my food from a deuced stick!"

"Suit yourself," she mumbled while taking a large bite.

Perry stopped chewing long enough to make a face. "I guess he is used to being served with the family silver, fine china and cut crystal."

Prestwick bit at his lip.

Rapping his knife sharply against a stone, Nonny mimed the ringing of a bell. "I say, have the footmen bring in the next course. And decant another bottle of that fine claret."

The other Greeleys dissolved into laughter at the uncanny imitation of the duke's clipped tones.

Even Stump allowed a small smile though he swallowed it quickly, along with the last of his rabbit. "A most delectable repast, Miss Greeley," he remarked, seeking to deflect any further teasing of the duke. "How did you come by such finely honed culinary skills?"

"Out of necessity." Zara deftly removed the remains of the first rabbit from the spit and slid the second one in place over the coals. Setting what was left of the cooked meat on a flat stone, she fell to dividing it up into equal portions.

"You sure you won't try some of this, sir?" The valet offered a share to Prestwick. "It is really quite tasty. And besides, who knows when the next opportunity for a meal will present itself."

He crossed his arms and shook his head, prompting Zara to mutter, "Oh, don't be an ass. Your man Stump is right—would you rather starve rather than put aside your precious propriety long enough to enjoy a simple repast?"

"I assure you, it would
not
be enjoyable," replied Prestwick with a haughtiness that set her teeth on edge.

Did the pompous prig have any idea of how insufferably ungrateful he sounded? she wondered. Well, his stomach could go and turn cartwheels across the strand for all she cared.

"Kind of prissy, aren't you?" observed Perry, as if he had read her own thoughts. "Haven't you ever been on an adventure before?"

"Oh, and I suppose you have a goodly number of them under your belt?" retorted Prestwick.

"Aye, quite a few," answered her brother, standing up with laudable aplomb to someone more than twice his height and age. "My father was a great one for exploring, even if it meant eating meals without the proper utensils. We once had a picnic on the top of Mount Parnassus, and then there was the time we cooked squid on a beach on Delphi."

"Oh, I remember that," mused Nonny. "We had been chased by Corsican pirates from the harbor at Mykonos, and it took some tricky maneuvering between the islands to lose them."

An animated recounting of some of their more harrowing travel experiences followed, along with fond remembrances of the more peaceful moments.

"Papa and his adventures." A smile ghosted over Zara's lips at the mention of camping out in an ancient temple on Delphi. "It was never dull, was it? And despite the dangers and discomforts, many of them were quite fun."

"Fun? Only a complete Bedlamite would consider being cast up upon these ghastly rocks fun," snapped Prestwick.

"And only a complete Bedlamite would think that I am enjoying the present predicament," she shot back. "However, when you are tossed into deep water, sometimes the only way to keep your head above the churning waves is to maintain a sense of humor. I must be able to laugh, for the alternative is simply not an option. Not if I wish to survive."

"I see." His tone had a stiff formality that only provoked her to greater indignation.

"No, I doubt that you do. I doubt you have ever had to cope with a problem more distressing than salt water stains on your fancy Hessians." It was not a smile playing on her lips, but rather a quivering she was finding difficult to control. "Contrary to your supercilious sarcasm, sir, we did not embark on this journey as a lark. My parents perished in an epidemic of typhus that swept through Crete, leaving the three of us high and dry on distant shores. For the last six months, I have spent a goodly amount of effort and every last farthing in seeing to it that my brothers and I arrived safely back to England. Only to find that our relatives are trying to cheat us out of—"

Zara bit off her words in mid sentence, angry that she had allowed his snide comment to goad her into revealing such personal details. "Not that it is any of your concern."

He had the grace to color under the heat of her retort.

"Do you mean to say, you sailed that small boat all the way from the depths of the Mediterranean?" asked Stump.

"Good Lord, no. We only, er, acquired it recently."

At the rather halting explanation, the duke's brow shot up in sardonic skepticism. "A rather odd choice of terms. Do you, perchance, mean to say you neglected to pay for it?"

"Zara earned every penny's worth of that boat!" exclaimed Nonny hotly, his hands curling into tight fists. "And I'll punch the deadlights out of any man who implies otherwise."

The youngest Greeley was also quick to pipe up in defense of his sister. "That's naught but the truth. The smarmy tavern keeper in Falmouth saw his patronage double for the month that she cooked for him, and then refused to pay her the wages that were due."

"Aye. So Zara came up with the idea to take the boat instead," explained Nonny. "It was a corking good plan, too. It gave us a means of transportation north, and once we reached Lytham, we planned to sell it in order to have the funds to travel inland to our final destination."

Zara knew the prudent course of action was to quiet her siblings and leave it at that, yet the dratted man and his condescending attitude had stirred her to such indignation, she found it impossible to stay silent herself.

"So you see, while my personal travails may not be any of your concern, the loss of my boat is!" she snapped. "I have lost my last tangible asset, and all because of you!"

"Because of
me
?" The duke looked rather stunned.

"It's all your fault that we came to grief on the rocks!"

"It was
my
fault?"

"Stop sounding like a parrot!" she cried. "Yes, your fault! If you had not been so jugbitten as to fall overboard, I would not have been forced to veer off course in order to pluck your pickled carcass out of the seas. If you had not been so rude as to swear, I would not have been distracted from the shoaling reefs. If you had not—"

"Er, begging your pardon, Miss." Stump cleared his throat. "If you wish to ring a peal over someone's head, it ought to be mine. I was the clumsy fool who slipped over the gunwales. Prestwick felt beholden to dive in after me, not on account of a surfeit of spirits but because of some misguided notion that my scarred old hide was worth the risk of his own neck."

Zara found it was her turn to blush. In the heat of her anger, it appeared she was guilty of misjudging the dratted man—at least on that account. He might be arrogant and ill-mannered but if what his companion said was true, then underneath the foppish clothes and stiff speech he possessed a good deal more character than she had given him credit for. Her accusations had been unfair, and much as it pained her to admit it, she owed him an apology.