Luc went to the door. “I will see you in port, gentlemen.”

“All plans to make a sojourn to that lovely little chateau of yours are off, I suppose,” Cam said with a sigh of regret.

“Deuced shame. But old Luc’s got to take up his responsibilities after all.”

That, and avoid further private audiences with a beautiful little copper-haired servant. He would send her on to Saint-Reveé-des-Beaux and be rid of the temptation.

“DR. STEWART, WHY is the Royal Navy escorting us into port?” Arabella stood at the day cabin window, watching the ship keeping easy pace with them across the water.

“ ’Tis a great honor, lass.”

They would be at Saint-Nazaire shortly and she would be leaving the sea behind. But her nerves were stretched. She told herself it was because she was now within reach of her new position—within a day’s ride from the port, Dr. Stewart had told her. It was most adamantly not because she would be obliged to speak to Captain Andrew before disembarking. They had not spoken since he went aboard the naval ship the night before, and she was glad of it. Her dreams had not been of churning seas and thunder, but of him touching her.

She had never wanted a man to touch her before. That she dreamed of him doing so—and woke breathless, with her skirts in a tangle and skin hot—was preposterous.

“I am grateful for the care you took of me while I was chilled, Doctor. I wish I could offer you suitable compensation.”

“Ye needn’t be thanking me.” He chuckled. “And there’s no need for compensation.”

She dug into her pocket and withdrew her largest coin. “Will you accept this?”

Gently he pressed her hand away. “There be no shame in accepting charity, lass. Nor sin.”

“The sin lies in the pride that leads one to reject charity.” Captain Andrew filled the doorway to the cabin.

She was not prepared to see him again. She probably would never be. It had not been the brandy or sleep or the young sailor’s attack that muddled her when he was near before. It was rather him—simply—his strangeness and destroyed beauty and intense gaze that gentled so abruptly and grew hard again as swiftly.

“Are you a theologian now, Captain?” she said.

“I dabble in many endeavors, Miss Caulfield.”

His glimmering gaze made her want to tease too. She mustn’t. But after today she would never see him again. She would return to work and determination and her goal. “Like what?” she let herself say. “Other than sin, that is.”

He leaned a shoulder against the door frame and crossed his arms over his chest. “A bit of this, a bit of that. You know . . . apprehend jewel thieves, rescue damsels . . .” He waved a negligent hand. “The usual sorts of things.”

Dr. Stewart cast him a slanted look and went out.

Arabella drew a steadying breath. “I did not steal the ring.”

His brow went up. “I did not say that you had.”

“Why do you mistrust me about this? Have I given you any special reason to?”

He assessed her with that odd intensity that made her knees feel watery. “You are not what you appear, Miss Caulfield. The ring you bear suits your character better than the governess’s gown. Will you deny it?”

She wanted to. It was on the tip of her tongue. He spoke foolishness. She was a poor girl from a poor family. An orphan. A servant.

But when he looked at her, he made her feel like . . . a duchess.

She grappled at reality. “Why is the British Navy escorting your ship? In French waters, no less? Have you done something wrong?”

“Ah, the little duchess believes she may ask any question she wishes while refusing to answer those put to her. Interesting, though to be expected, I suppose.” He nodded toward the gun deck. “We will shortly come into port. Perhaps you would like to take in our arrival from atop.”

He gestured her through the doorway, and she went before him. But he stayed close, too close, and as she climbed the steep stair to the main deck, his hand brushed hers upon the rail.

He grasped her fingers, halting her ascent. The breeze twining down the hatchway whipped around her cloak and their joined hands.

“Sir,” she whispered, but her throat was constricted and the wind snatched away the sound.

He released her and she hurried the remainder of the way up.

The wind was strong on the main deck, and the Retribution’s sails were full like those of the naval ship close by. Sailors were active on deck.

“Have you lost your gloves, Miss Caulfield?” The captain spoke at her shoulder, low and intimate, as though they were not standing in broad daylight surrounded by dozens of men.

She turned. Color shone high upon his cheekbones and his lips were parted.

“In Plymouth,” she said, “I sold my gloves for food.”

“Food for those children you found.”

She nodded.

He stared at her mouth and his chest rose sharply, and she feared he would kiss her here before his crew in the light of day, like a man might kiss a woman of ill repute—where he wished, when he wished. For all his talk of governesses, he must believe her to be what he had first suggested in Plymouth. She was traveling alone and in possession of a ring that only a wealthy man would own. Captain Andrew had no reason to think her other than a fallen woman, or any other justification for staring at her with undisguised desire.

“I am not what you think I am.” She bit her lip. She had not meant to speak. She needn’t justify herself to him.

“I don’t believe you have the faintest notion of what I think of you. Now look behind you.”

She turned.

Arrayed like a bride on her wedding day, the estuary shone bright and sparkling in the sunshine, broad across and festooned with vessels. The near bank stretched gold and white with long, lazy beaches giving way to rows of docks cluttered with ships, banners proclaiming them from every nation on earth, it seemed.

Tucked beyond, inside the mouth of the river, the town of Saint-Nazaire was little more than a collection of quays and shipyards, with a church spire poking above the cluster of buildings that rose from the shore.

“Here amidships you are unlikely to fall overboard, duchess,” he said quietly at her shoulder. “You can release the railing now.”

She started. Her knuckles were white around the stair rail. “I . . .”

“I noticed,” he only said. “Welcome back to land, Miss Caulfield.” With a bow he strode across deck and to the helm.

Chapter 6

Two Louis

“Je suis désolé, mademoiselle,” the innkeeper said without a shadow of desolation on his narrow Gallic face. “Mais, there is no carriage in the carriage house. And one cannot fabricate a carriage from the air like the magician, can one?” His lips pursed.

Arabella’s fingers gripped the coins she had shown him, every penny she had. “This is because I am not offering to pay you more, isn’t it?”

He shook his head. “Je vous ai dit, the horses and coach, they are not available until jeudi.”

Thursday. Two days away. She could not afford to stay even a single night at the inn and also hire the carriage to Saint-Reveé-des-Beaux.

“Is there another place I may hire a carriage in town?”

“Non non, mademoiselle.” He shook his head again as though he were filled with sorrow over her plight.

“But I passed a stable walking here, and I saw a perfectly good carriage and two horses doing nothing at all,” she said firmly. “How do you explain that, monsieur?”