Page 20 of Barbarous

“The Battle of the Douro and—”

“Mr. Philbin calls it the Second Battle of Porto,” Richard corrected.

Lucien rolled his eyes. “That’s because he’s a curate and he has to be stodgy.” He cut Hugh a quick glance. “Isn’t that right, sir?”

“Which side are you?” Hugh asked, dodging the issue of stodgy curates altogether.

“I am Wellington and Richard is Soult.” Lucien sounded smug at being on the winning side. Probably not for the first time, Hugh guessed.

Richard appeared unperturbed at being assigned the role of the unfortunate Soult. Hugh wouldn’t be surprised to learn the quiet twin had a trick or two hidden up his sleeve for his more gregarious brother.

“Is it true, Cousin Hugh?”

“Hmm? Is what true, Cousin Lucien?”

“Caswell said your ship is the Batavia’s Ghost? That is the ship that saved the Agamemnon. She’s also taken more vessels under letter of marque than any other.” He bit his lip and squirmed. “If that is your ship, then—”

“You are Captain One-Eyed Standish,” Richard said with cool certitude. At that moment he looked exactly like his mother—other than his eye color.

“You are correct, Richard, that is my ship.”

“One-Eyed Standish,” Lucien breathed, savoring the words as if they were a magical talisman.

Hugh chuckled. “But you must continue to call me Hugh, Cousins.”

They did not seem to hear him and hero worship blazed in their eyes. Hugh shook his head. Bloody hell.

Lucien was the first to recover. “Rowena says the Ghost is anchored off Eastbourne.”

“That is true.”

“Sometimes Papa would take us into Eastbourne to see the ships. You can watch them from the Pig and Whistle. They have splendid lemonade,” he added helpfully.

“Is that so? I am partial to lemonade.” Hugh paused, as if something had just struck him. “Would you care to come and inspect my ship today and perhaps have some lemonade afterwards?”

“Yes, please!” The boys leapt up, soldiers forgotten at their feet.

“Lucien, Richard.” The admonishment came from behind Hugh and he turned. “I told you not to pester Lord Ramsay and—” She stopped in mid-scold, her eyes dropping from

Hugh’s face to the V of his silk banyan, a garment designed for comfort rather than concealment. As if on cue, a treacherous red stain began its painstaking journey up her neck. She was wearing another atrocious gown, this one a dreary gray the texture of tree bark.

Hugh decided he liked her eyes on his body. “Good morning, Daphne.” He also decided he liked saying her name first thing in the morning.

Her eyes jerked up, and she blinked, as if surprised to find a head connected to his body. Her rigid posture and flushed countenance gave away her unease but her expression was as cool and rippleless as a frozen pond.

“Lucien, Richard, please gather your soldiers, it is time for your breakfast.”

“But, Mama—”

Daphne raised her eyebrows and Lucien heaved a pained sigh but began collecting his toys, muttering beneath his breath.

She looked anywhere but at Hugh, her compressed lips and stern expression only making him harder. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the door frame, the movement causing his robe to open wider. “I’ve offered to take the boys to see my ship today.”

Her eyes flickered up at the statement and became stuck on his chest.

She cleared her throat. “That is very kind of you.”

Hugh grinned at the almost imperceptible tremor in her voice. “I would welcome your company, if you have the time.”