Page 25 of Cocky August Rake

And he knew his older brother to be practical. Efficient. Often a little ruthless; he’d have to be to experience such a high level of success.

But the actual profits were… modest.

He was still staring at a line item for a physician’s retainer when a shadow fell across the open doorway.

Reginald looked up sharply.

The enormous man from the drawing room stood there without having made a sound.

Boris.

Taller than a horse. Broad shoulders. Massive hands. And shaggy brown hair falling almost to his collar. He looked as though he had been built for the singular purpose of making scoundrels reconsider their choices.

For one brief moment, Reginald found himself wondering precisely what sort of protection Malum had required while running The Domus.

“My lord,” Boris said from the doorway. “A Mr. Samuel Dyer is below. Says he knows you.”

Some of the tightness in Reginald’s chest eased.

“My first mate.” He straightened. “Send him up.”

Boris nodded once.

A few moments later, he returned with the first familiar face Reginald had seen since entering The Domus.

Sam stopped in the doorway and looked Boris slowly up and down.

“Well.” His grin appeared. “At least I know you’re well protected here, Reg.”

Boris remained exactly where he was.

Sam’s grin widened. “Or am I meant to call you Lord Reginald now?”

“Not if you value your teeth.”

“Good. Thought you might’ve started putting on airs.”

Boris finally stepped aside, though only just far enough to allow him through.

And as Sam entered, almost tentatively, his gaze moved around the room, over the polished furniture and the elaborate bookcases.

“This is different,” he said.

“You have no idea.”

Sam was about Reginald’s age, somewhere around thirty, though the sea had left its mark on him. His face was browned by sun and wind, his dark hair a little too long and touched with salt at the temples. His coat was clean but plainly cut, and his roughened hands bore similar scars to the ones on Reginald’s.

“The Gale?” Reginald asked.

“Aye. She’s sound enough.” Sam came closer to the desk. “But our lady won’t be sailin’ next week.”

Reginald had expected as much.

“The mast?” he asked.

“Sprung.” Sam nodded. “Needs to come down. They have a new spar coming in, but it will need fitting, stepping, and fresh rigging before we can make sail again.”

“And the hull?”