“It is… bigger than I remember.” Viola stared through the carriage window at the house rising before her.
Not house. Mountain.
Savege Park was a rambling mass of stone, mortar, parapets, and about a hundred chimneys, with dozens of windows to the west reflecting the ocean, and windows to the east mirrors of emerald green hills dotted with sheep and striped with late-summer crops.
The country home of her sister, the Countess of Savege.
Not five miles away, Glenhaven Hall, the manor house of the Baron of Carlyle where Viola had lived her first ten years, was tucked behind a high bluff. But when they had disembarked in Exmouth and Jin offered her the choice, Viola decided to come here first, to meet Serena before again encountering the man who was not truly her father.
Possibly she had made a mistake.
“But I only saw it once or twice, I think,” she mumbled. She was weary from the swift journey, her bones and muscles rattled from the carriage’s constant bumping, but her nerves jittered like a cabin boy in his first squall.
“It’s a pity your friend, Mr. Castle, is not here to enjoy the sight,” the gentleman sitting beside her said pleasantly. Mr. Yale was always pleasant, although slightly satirical, and certainly inebriated. But the latter did not seem to affect his gentlemanly address or the clever glint in his silver eyes. During the long drive he had provided agreeable company. Distracting company.
Jane, the dust-colored-beanpole maid Jin insisted she accept in Trinidad, barely said a word.
Jin had ridden.
For a man who six weeks earlier said that he would not allow her out of his sight until he delivered her to her sister’s home, he’d been conspicuously absent lately. In Trinidad before departing they had a single conversation in which he introduced her to Jane and told her she would be traveling to England with the navy. It seemed he had many influential friends. Like the Admiralty.
During the voyage she’d seen only glimpses of him across the sea. They were two ships strong, and encountered no unfriendly vessels. Captain Eccles’s frigate boasted one hundred twenty guns, and the ship Jin had acquired in Tobago was remarkably fine-not as beautiful as the Cavalier but considerably better than the April. Viola had not been worried, merely perpetually out of sorts.
Aidan’s company aboard hadn’t helped. His announcement at Port of Spain that he must travel back to England to visit his family astounded her. He insisted he could leave the repairs to his farm in the hands of his steward. But his solicitous, appreciative attention on board had swiftly begun to chafe, and Seamus’s company was predictably awful. The naval officers as well as Captain Eccles’s wife provided some relief. But mostly she’d kept to herself reading in her cabin. She didn’t like being a passenger aboard another master’s ship. She wondered how Jin had borne it.
And now he was fulfilling his promise to deliver her home. He had been a shadow for a month. Shortly, he would disappear altogether.
It must be for the best. She could not forget him if he remained constantly in her life.
“Yes, I suppose Mr. Castle would like it,” she replied, shifting her gaze from the sprawling mansion to Mr. Yale. At the dock in Exmouth, Aidan had taken one look at the darkly attractive Welshman who was to accompany her and Jin to Savege Park, and his face went stony. Viola didn’t know why he should bother being jealous. The elegant Londonite was certainly handsome, his black hair, coat, waistcoat, and breeches giving him a decidedly mysterious air. But he couldn’t hold a candle to the former pirate. Still, Aidan had been fidgety about leaving her to see his parents in any case, constantly repeating during the final days of their voyage how sorry he was not to be able to be there for her reunion with her family.
“He’s no doubt accustomed to this sort of thing,” she murmured, “being English, of course.”
“As are you, of course.” Mr. Yale slanted her a sidelong glance.
He hopped gracefully out of the coach, then proffered his hand. She maneuvered her skirts over the steps without tripping. Despite the gentle admonishments of Mrs. Eccles, she’d worn trousers and coat during the voyage. But when Captain Eccles informed her they were to dock, she changed into the dress. She hated herself for it. She hated her weakness.
The cause of that weakness dismounted, gave his horse into the care of a waiting servant-a servant wearing, good Lord, black and gold livery-and moved toward them. His gentleman’s clothes suited him, his garments simple although their quality seemed finer even than Mr. Yale’s.
But she didn’t care about that. Just as that morning in the gray of dawn at Exmouth, she met his dispassionate gaze and the nerves in her belly clumped together in a sticky mass.
The door of the mansion swung open and a woman came to the top of the stair. She was beautifully gowned, elegantly coiffed, and-despite fifteen years-perfectly, achingly familiar. The same thoughtful, smiling eyes sparkled with tears now. The same lovely long fingers spread upon her cheeks. The same wide mouth opened in an O of wonder.
“Vi-Viola?” she uttered. “Viola?” she whispered.
Viola nodded, a few times, tiny quick jerks of her head.
Serena flew down the steps, skirts fluttering, and enveloped her in an embrace. She was half a head taller, and fragrant of cinnamon, and Viola buried her nose in Serena’s square shoulder, cinched her arms about her sister’s waist, and squeezed her eyes shut. She had not known what to expect. But somehow, this had not occurred to her. This homecoming. This love. She thought, perhaps, that she was a very poor prophet of her own life.
Serena loosened her hold only enough to draw back and curve her hand around Viola’s cheek.
“I do not know where to begin.” Serena’s eyes, wonderfully mismatched blue and violet and bright with tears, seemed to drink her in. “I would exclaim what a beauty you have become, but you always were a beauty. I would barrage you with a hundred-score questions, but you must be weary from your long journey.” Her arms tightened. “But mostly I will stare in utter bemusement. I cannot believe it is you.”
“It is I.” Viola spoke in barely a whisper. Now, here, beneath the adoring gaze of her sister, her insides jumbled entirely. Only three further words came to her. “I am sorry.”
Serena’s winged brows tilted. “Whatever for?”
“For not coming home before this.”
The smile slipped from her sister’s lips, but her eyes remained soft.
“Oh, Vi, we have a great deal to talk about, you and I.” She laughed a sweet laugh between sorrow and joy, and hugged her again. “Fifteen years of a great deal,” she whispered. She grasped Viola’s hand tightly. “But first, I must give thanks.” She turned to the men standing back somewhat.
“Mr. Yale, it is a pleasure to see you. I hope you will make a lengthy visit.” She spoke with regal grace and curtsied with perfect poise, her elegant gown and honey hair shimmering in the light of the lamp a servant held to dispel the falling dusk. “Thank you for assisting in bringing my sister home today.”
Mr. Yale bowed. “My greatest pleasure, Lady Savege.”
Serena’s fingers slipped from Viola’s. She walked to Jin, extended her hands, and grasped his. She said very softly and somewhat thickly, “How shall I ever begin to thank you?”
Jin’s eyes glittered as Viola had never seen, with a light powerful and entirely at peace. “You need not.”
“In fact, I cannot. There is nothing I could say or give you to compare.”
The corner of his perfect mouth tilted up ever so slightly. “I am justly compensated.” His gaze shifted to Viola.
She could not breathe. His words and gaze always caused the same state inside her rebellious body-thorough lack of functionality. Only this time, it was worse, because shortly, when the earl paid him, he would leave.
“Miss Carlyle, may I escort you in?” Mr. Yale offered his arm.
Serena swirled around. “Oh, no, sir! I will not allow her one moment in another’s company until I have had at least a sennight to myself.” She circled Viola’s waist and drew her toward the stair, bending her head. “My husband is briefly from home but will return within the week, I hope. When I received Jinan’s note from the courier earlier today I sent off a missive to Alex entreating him to speed his journey. He will be so glad to know you. But I beg of you, do not allow anything Mr. Seton told you about him to predispose you one way or the other. You must fashion your own opinion.”
“Mr. Seton told me nothing of Lord Savege, in fact.”
Serena chuckled. “That is very much like Jinan, of course.” She looked over her shoulder. “Gentlemen, do come in and allow Mr. Button to provide you with refreshment in the drawing room while the servants see to everything.”
Servants were seeing to everything indeed, a veritable army of footmen in black with gold piping carrying luggage or simply standing at duty as Serena led Viola across the three-story entry hall to a sweeping staircase. The floor was tiled with gray and white marble, the stairs carpeted in Oriental luxury, the banister gleaming wood, all lit with dozens of candles. On the wall of the balconied landing above, a portrait hung of Viola’s sister. With an infant.
She stared. In the picture Serena wore an opulent gown of gold, diamonds hanging on her neck and ears and in her hair. She cradled in her arms a tiny child garbed in white. The mother’s gaze rested on her sleeping babe with quiet tenderness.
“Oh, don’t look at that silly thing. Alex insisted. He is an overly proud papa. But I loathed every moment of the sitting, and Maria did as well. She fussed throughout.”
“You have a daughter,” Viola whispered.
Serena squeezed her waist. “Your niece.”
“You named her Maria.”
“After Mama.” She took Viola’s hand. “Now come. Mrs. Tubbs has made up for you the very best chamber, and tea and a hot hip bath both await. Then dinner once you are dressed, if you are able. I cannot complain, but I haven’t a notion as to why Jinan insisted you make that entire journey in a single day. It is sixty miles to Exmouth, if only that, and over hills. You must be exhausted.”
“Not very,” she barely managed. Her eyes were wide as a child’s. The corridor went on and on, turning corners and going up and down stairs before Serena finally halted before a beautifully fashioned oaken door.
The chamber within was not quite as large as the April Storm’s quarterdeck, but nearly if one counted the adjacent dressing room. Partially paneled in warm wood, the walls painted a delicate shade of rose, and appointed in soft gold and ivory fabrics with a sumptuous curtained bed and a delicate gilt-edged dressing table and sparkling mirror, it seemed a fairyland. Like the fairylands Serena had so loved to dream about as a girl.
“Is this your bedchamber?” Viola uttered.
“No, silly. It is yours. There is your bath, and a maid will be here momentarily to assist, although I would like to remain while you settle in, if you will allow me.”
Viola turned back toward the corridor. “I think Jane is-”
Serena took her arm and drew her again into the room, closing the door behind them.
“Mrs. Tubbs-that is my housekeeper, a very excellent person-will see that your maid has dinner and ample rest before she returns to your service tomorrow. For tonight my own maid will be yours.” Her brow puckered. “Will that suit you? I am terribly sorry. I should have asked first, but I assumed that after your long journey…” She bit her lower lip, an action so thoroughly familiar, as though from a dream, but in fact from memory. “Viola?”
“Hm?”
“You are unwell, of course.” Serena’s voice wobbled. “Exhausted, no doubt.” She crossed to the dressing table where a silver tray with a delicate porcelain pot and cups were arranged about a plate of sugar-coated biscuits. “You must have a spot of tea. It will put you to rights, I am certain. Oh, dear.” The china clinked in her hands. “My nerves are a disaster. You would think I have never before reunited with my sister whom all except me presumed dead for a decade and a half.” She turned her face away, the cup and pot suspended. Her shoulders shook.
“Oh, Ser.” Viola’s eyes overflowed.
Serena turned her head, her cheeks streaked with tears. She set down the dishes, and they walked to each other and enfolded each other in their arms. They remained like that for a very long time.
Serena sent their apologies to the gentlemen, and ordered a light supper to be delivered to Viola’s chamber instead. Viola bathed, changed into her usual shirt and drawers, and saw quite clearly Serena’s thoughts on her lovely face. That she had always been able to read her elder sister’s thoughts even when they were children did not dissipate the twisting in her stomach.
“You don’t like my nightclothes.”
“Nightclothes? Oh, I am relieved.” Serena’s mouth tipped up. “I thought perhaps you intended to go about the house like that. It would scandalize the servants, you know.” She giggled.
Viola cracked a laugh. Then she remembered her state of undress when Jin had visited her cabin seeking the sextant, and her amusement disintegrated.
“Forgive me, sister.” Serena came to her and touched her on the cheek, a gesture of feminine intimacy their mother used to make that Viola had never forgotten. “I haven’t any notion of how you have been living. I fear I will be very stupid about it all.” Little creases appeared between her brows, her gaze traveling over Viola’s face. “Jinan says you have been at sea for some time.”
Viola put her palm up to her face. “I am very brown, I know.”
“No. I mean to say, you are not brown. But your skin always glowed so beautifully like this when we were girls.”
“So did yours.”
“Not like yours. You were so full of life. Are you still full of life after all these years?”
Viola blinked. “I-I expect so.”
Serena grasped her hands, but Viola could not withhold it any longer.
“Ser, why didn’t you reply to my letters?”
Her sister’s eyes went wide. “What letters?”
“The letters I wrote in those first years.”
She shook her golden head. “There were no letters. I received nothing.”
Viola’s stomach lurched. “No letters?”
Serena gripped her fingers tighter. “You wrote to me?” she whispered.
Viola’s throat seemed filled with pitch. “She must not have mailed them.”
“She?”
“My aunt. I lived with her and her children. I took care of them.” She fought for breath, but Serena cradled her hands to her cheek.
“Vi,” she whispered, “tell me everything. From the beginning.”
She began with Fionn, comparing her story to Serena’s. Her father had learned the truth of it; everyone thought her dead except Serena, the dreaming girl prone to invent stories of fairies and knights in shining armor and to whom no one listened. But their mother waited on the cliff side all night in the rain. A fortnight later, without ever mentioning Fionn, she died of fever taken that night.
Serena told her of the baron’s second wife, now gone, and the daughters she had left behind-sixteen-year-old Diantha and little Faith-who still lived at Glenhaven Hall. Charity, the eldest of Serena’s stepsisters, had married, and Serena’s stepbrother, Sir Tracy Lucas, held an estate in Essex. Clearly Serena cherished her three stepsiblings and her half sister Faith, but as she related her tale she grasped Viola’s hands even tighter.
In turn, Viola narrated her story, including Aidan’s part in it. In the safety of her sister’s affectionate interest she again felt the comfort of his affection that had borne her through the worst times when Fionn fell ill and slowly slipped away.
“You care very much for Mr. Castle, don’t you?” Serena asked softly.
“I do.” For she did. It was silly to cast away their past together in blame or disappointment when she had never really pressed him to wed. Instead she had pursued her life aboard ship single-mindedly.
“Where is he now?”
“Didn’t Mr. Seton tell you?”
“I have barely seen him to tell me anything.”
“Mr. Castle traveled with us from the West Indies to Exmouth. He has gone to Dorset to be reunited with his family after many years. He said he wished to make a visit here, if you wouldn’t mind it.”
Serena set down her teacup and grasped Viola’s hand. “Of course I won’t.” She squeezed her fingers. “Vi, what do you say to delaying meeting our father and stepsisters for several days while you and I have a holiday here together? Before Alex returns. Only the two of us.”
“What of Mr. Yale and Mr. Seton?”
“Mr. Yale will be perfectly happy entertaining himself, and Jinan will likely be leaving tomorrow anyway. He never remains long here, or anywhere I daresay.” She smiled conspiratorially. “We shall have the house nearly to ourselves.”
Viola’s belly felt hollow. But the warmth in her sister’s gaze filled some of the emptiness.
“That sounds wonderful.”
She slept that night on the divan. There was nothing to be done about it; the bed was simply too large, too soft, and too motionless, and she could not get comfortable. To spare her sister’s feelings, in the morning she mussed up the bed linens, and while her maid fussed with her hair she sat on the laced-scalloped pillow to make it appear used. Jane’s lips remained pursed throughout.
“I have a sore… back,” Viola mumbled.
“Of course, miss.” Jane twitched a few more strands of hair into place.
“Ouch!”
“You don’t think Her Ladyship fidgets about while her maid is fixing her hair, do you?”
Viola glared into the mirror. “Aren’t you supposed to be a servant? My servant? Did you speak like this to Mr. Seton when he hired you? Did he get references?”
“No and yes, miss.” Her lips looked as small and wrinkly as a raisin.
When Jane completed her ministrations Viola peered at her reflection and nearly laughed. Or wept.
Scrunching up her nose, she snatched out every pin from the tidy coiffure, took up the brush, and tore through her hair. When the mass of waves was once more thoroughly distressed, she bound it in a queue, poked her nose in the air, and passed Jane by to march from her chamber and descend to the breakfast parlor.
She got lost. Along the way three different footmen had to give her directions. She finally arrived a bit dizzy and without any idea of how she had gotten there. But it was a very pretty chamber. Two footmen flanked it and glimmers of sunlight twinkled in through the tall windows.
“Good morning, Miss Carlyle.” Mr. Yale set down his newspaper and rose from the table to bow.
Standing by the window, Jin turned to her and nodded in greeting.
A cloud took up residence in Viola’s head. He did not bow now when they were in an earl’s house, but he had aboard ship? He was a detestable tease, and simply seeing him again after weeks of his absence was like being marooned upon an island, then slaking her thirst on fresh water.
His gaze flickered along her shirt, waistcoat, and breeches, and a ghost of a smile lifted the corner of his mouth. She got weak all over. On the outside, except for the weapons sash she’d packed away, she still looked like a sailor. But inside she felt like one of those French cream puffs Serena had pressed on her after dinner the night before. And, oh, God, it felt good to be a cream puff. For so long she had toughened her insides to iron, but she had never truly liked it. It was not in her nature.
It was in her nature, however unfortunately, to fall in love with men who did not love her. He must go away. He simply must. Then she might enjoy this sojourn among the lives of the rich and powerful much better.
“I thought you would have left by now.”
He lifted a brow. “I intend to shortly. I hoped I might take breakfast first.”
She felt shaky. Foolish foolish foolish. “Where are you going?”
Mr. Yale chuckled. “That is rather like asking a shark what he plans to eat for dinner. Mr. Seton ever goes where he will, Miss Carlyle, and none of us is ever the wiser for it. Isn’t that right, my friend?”
Jin moved to the sideboard and took up a cup. “Hoping to track my movements, Yale?” He poured a cup of coffee. “I imagined you finished with that sort of thing.”
“Old habit.” Mr. Yale waved it off. He drew out a chair for her. “May I command one of these fine fellows to make you a selection of delicacies, Miss Carlyle?” He gestured to the footmen.
Viola’s stomach was in knots and a little queasy from all the cream puffs the night before. Rich, sticky cream puffs that could not possibly be good for a stomach accustomed to hardtack and weevil-infested biscuits.
“Tea.” She sat, aware that all four men were watching her. She cleared her throat. “How do you come to know one another, then?”
“An old friend introduced us,” Mr. Yale replied.
“Who?” She stood up to take the teacup and saucer from the footman. Their hands collided, tea sloshed, and her cuff and his white glove turned brown. “Oh! I’m sorry!” She snatched up a napkin and dabbed at his hand.
“It’s nothing, miss,” he mumbled, his cheeks fiery red.
“Oh. I should not have- But I’m so sorry.”
The servant bowed and retired from the room. Mr. Yale moved to the sideboard and poured from the teapot. “Viscount Gray made us known to one another. A serious, responsible fellow, but a good sort nevertheless. And as he allowed me the acquaintance of our seafaring friend here, he has indirectly given me yours, for which I can only be grateful.” He placed a steaming cup beside her, smiling kindly.
“I can’t imagine your flattery is sincere, Mr. Yale,” she mumbled.
“Perfectly sincere, Miss Carlyle,” he rejoined. “It is not every day a man has the good fortune to admire a lovely lady who has done something useful with her life. Your delightful conversation about your ship yesterday positively sped the journey along.”
“Thank you.” She flickered a glance at Jin. He seemed to be staring into his cup. “I must admit I am not even certain of what we conversed, although I liked that story you told about how Lord Savege’s sister met her husband while trapped at an inn in a snowstorm. But… I was tired, I suppose.” Rather distracted, thinking of the man riding behind the carriage and how she might purge her heart of him.
“Ah, yes. We did take the journey at an unusually speedy clip. Our mutual friend here is a punishing fellow, with very little regard for the wishes of anybody else, let alone a lady.” Mr. Yale spoke in his perpetually amused tone. “Beastly, s’truth.”
She met his gaze and something other than sardonic teasing colored it. Then, with clear intention, he slipped it across the chamber to Jin.
“There you are!” Serena swept into the parlor wearing a wide smile and a gown of sea blue muslin trimmed in lace. She grasped Viola’s hand and peered at her damp sleeve. “What have you been doing, Mr. Yale? Throwing tea at my sister? You knave.”
“I like the medieval ring of that.” He grinned, narrowing his gray eyes. “Miss Carlyle, if I claim the role of knave, would you consider playing the part of the damsel in distress? You might reform me, you know, and then your sister will look upon me with greater mercy.”
She wished she could smile, but it would not come. “Mr. Yale did not spill the tea, Ser. I did, of course.”
“It doesn’t matter in the least who did it, but you mustn’t be made to wear it for a moment longer. Come, darling.” She drew Viola from her chair. “You will change, then we will take our breakfast on the terrace. It has the view of the sea and the breeze is lovely this morning so we shan’t be overly warm.” She tucked Viola’s damp arm against her side. “Jinan, Mr. Button tells me you have ordered your horse brought around already. Must you leave so soon? At least remain until Alex returns from London.”
Jin bowed. “I regret, my lady, that I have business to attend to in town.”
Viola’s heart clenched. He sounded so English. And so strangely formal.
“Always business,” Mr. Yale murmured, “despite vows and pronouncements.”
“I beg your pardon, Yale. I do not recall making any pronouncements.”
“You noticeably fail to include ‘vows’ in that denial.”
“That I do. But you are no doubt boring the ladies with this line of speech. Lady Savege, if you please, convey to your husband that I shall return when I am able, and look forward to it.”
“Excellent.” Serena squeezed Viola’s hand. “Shall we go then?”
Viola nodded. He was looking directly at her. That he said he would return meant little; he could intend a sennight’s absence or a year’s.
This was good-bye.
She made her tongue form words. “Have a safe journey,” she only managed.
He bowed now, but said nothing, his bearing quite still. Tears gathered thick at the back of her throat. She dragged her gaze away and went with Serena.
“Ser,” she said when they were ascending the steps to the upper story. “I would like a new gown. Perhaps a few gowns. Is there a shop nearby at which I might purchase some?”
“But of course. Whatever you wish. But I won’t hear of you going to a shop. We will have the modiste in from Avesbury. She makes the loveliest frocks in Devonshire. It will be great fun dressing you up as I used to do when we were children. You never did care much what clothing you wore so long as you could run about comfortably in it.”
Viola took a deep breath. “And I should like you to teach me how to be a proper lady.”
Serena’s brow knotted. “But, Vi, you already are a-”
“No, I am obviously not. If I ever even learned the things a lady must know I have forgotten all of it.” She set her shoulders. “But I should like to learn how to be one and try it out before I decide whether it will suit me.”
“Whether it will suit you?” Serena’s voice hitched. “Are you planning to return to America then? Soon?”
Viola grabbed both her hands. “No. No. I don’t know for certain. Really. Though I do wish to remain here with you. But, you see I have left my entire life behind, my ship and crewmen and- But never mind that. Ser, you must teach me to be a lady. I promise I will be an apt pupil.” As she had learned to hoist a sail and rig a boat, she would learn this. Fifteen years ago throwing herself into mastering sea craft had been the only way she’d borne the loss of her family and life at Glenhaven Hall and the knowledge of her mother’s death.
Now she would throw herself into becoming a lady that Serena could be proud of, not one who slept on a couch, dressed like a man, and doused servants with tea. And in busying herself with this monumental task, she might occasionally forget the crystal blue gaze and devastating embrace of the beastly man to whom she had very foolishly given her whole heart.
“She is astoundingly pretty.” Yale spoke beneath his breath, staring at the empty doorway through which Lady Savege and Viola had disappeared. “Quite.”
Jin caught the footman’s eye and gestured him from the room.
The Welshman sighed affectedly. “Ah, we are not to chat about pretty girls, are we, but get right down to business. More’s the pity.” He settled back in his chair, a lean, dark portrait of elegant indolence. Jin knew better than to be fooled by this posture.
“You will have ample opportunity to flirt with Miss Carlyle once I am gone.”
“But it would be much more fun to flirt with her while you are still here. I like to see wealthy men suffer.”
Jin didn’t bother denying it. Yale’s perception of others remained acute as always. It was one of the reasons he trusted the Welshman, and one of the pair of reasons he was leaving Savege Park so quickly. The other was less comfortable and had everything to do with his inability to be in the same room without wishing to touch her. But he could not touch her again, and he did not like his every thought spied upon.
He had elsewhere to be. His other goal to achieve now that this one was settled.
“Still in the suds, Wyn?”
“Why else do you think I responded to your summons from across the ocean so swiftly? Hoping you’ll lend me a pony, don’t you know.”
“I don’t, in fact. You have never before asked me for a pound.” He leaned back against the sideboard. “Constance wrote to me. She is concerned about you.”
“Of course she is. She must be concerned about someone, and she hasn’t got Leam to worry over any longer. Colin, Lord Commander and Chief of All, doesn’t give a fretful woman anything to work with, and is in any case so busy teasing Lady Justice that he is perpetually cheerful. And you, of course, have been absent for so long the rest of us barely recall what you look like. So I suppose it must be me.”
“Quite a speech.” Jin took up his coffee cup. The brew was cold now, but outside the day was already turning sultry and he would be warm enough on the road. The road that would take him away from Viola Carlyle, finally and permanently. “Constance is hardly a fretful woman. Does she have reason for her concern?”
Yale swiveled to him, his eyes slightly narrowed and his usual half smile thin. “Can’t you determine that yourself, old friend?”
“I haven’t got anyone following you, if that is what you are suggesting.”
“Ah.” Yale nodded. “That must be a first.”
“It was, of course, only that once that I set a trail upon you.”
“And I suppose you will claim it was Leam who most concerned you on that occasion.”
“I will. And it would be the truth.”
Yale assessed him thoughtfully. “You never lie, do you, Jinan?”
“Can I help you with anything, Wyn? Do you need money?”
The Welshman tapped his fingertips on the gleaming tabletop. “Rather, I need a drink.”
“Thus Constance’s letter to me.”
The Welshman’s gaze flashed up. “Do you know, I have just had the most marvelous idea, Jinan. Constance needs a man to worry about, and you are a fellow who truly lives his life dangerously. Why don’t you marry her and get her off my back?”
Jin lifted a brow.
“No. Listen,” Yale persisted, the light of deviltry in his silver eyes. “An heiress wed to an adventuring Midas. The perfect pair. Then she could worry over you from now until kingdom come instead of me. Why not?”
“Why not, indeed.”
“What? Extraordinary beauty and an enormous dowry are insufficient enticements?” He crossed his arms in a pensive attitude. “I suppose a lady must also know how to captain a ship to be truly appealing to the Hawk of the Sea.”
Jin pushed away from the sideboard and moved toward the door.
Yale chuckled, then said more soberly, “Colin wants you and your ship in the Mediterranean. Malta, apparently.”
He paused at the door. “Malta?”
“I believe so, yes. Something about a plot to oust we Brits and some heiress or other who eloped and her parents disowned her but now she must be unearthed before she is caught in the crossfire. He’s asked me to go and wishes you to do the driving, as it were.”
“I will let you know.” He went to the foyer, then onto the drive where his horse awaited him, his traveling pack strapped to its haunches. Without another glance at the house or the terrace where she might now be taking breakfast, Jin mounted and set off.
He had not lied. In London he had a bishop to meet and a small casket to purchase. He would put up in the rooms he kept in Piccadilly, pay a call on Colin Gray and an admiral or two, and pursue his goal of retrieving his mother’s box.
But the pressure in his chest insisted otherwise. It said that now he rode nowhere, to no purpose, and with no aim. As the distance stretched between him and the woman from whom he must remove himself, for the first time in twenty years Jin felt like a man truly at sea.