Lord Of The Privateers. Stephanie Laurens

of Royd’s behavior eight years ago, her emotions—her feelings—hadn’t yet seen the light.

      Hadn’t yet let go of their entrenched resistance, much less lowered the shields she had, for nearly a decade, deployed. In time, that might come, but meanwhile, she still felt very much on guard around him—still instinctively kept her heart shielded.

      She’d once been utterly open to him, and he’d hurt her. That was a truth, too, one her emotions hadn’t yet accepted could be excused and forgiven.

      Rescripting emotions appeared akin to resetting a building’s foundations—difficult, and once done, other things needed to be changed to keep the building stable. Similar to altering a ship’s hull and having to change structures throughout the vessel to compensate. In short, such a change was not a simple one.

      And Royd was rarely patient, not over anything he’d set his mind to achieving, but presumably, he, too, would be struggling with similar inner difficulties.

      As Ramsgate harbor came into full view, and Liam swung the wheel and called for the wind to be spilled from the sails and for all canvas to be lowered, she turned to look back along the deck—and saw Royd pacing toward her. His eyes were fixed on her; although his features told her little, the intensity of his gaze suggested he’d already moved past any difficulties he might have had.

      For an instant, she felt bathed in the force of his will, the invincibility of his intent. It took effort to drag her gaze from his—to look to where the crew were readying the tender to swing it over the side.

      To remember how to breathe.

      He halted beside her and looked at the tender. “I had them load your bandbox and the brown trunk. That was the right one, wasn’t it?”

      Surreptitiously, she cleared her throat. “Yes.” Where did this fluster come from? She knew this man, had for years, yet... She glanced around. “Where’s Duncan?”

      “By the winch.”

      The sight of her son—their son—calmed her. He was standing beside Jolley, listening intently to the bosun’s crisp orders and avidly watching every move the sailors made.

      His gaze on her face, Royd said, “I told him he couldn’t go in the tender—not this time—but that he’d have plenty of opportunity to ride in it and learn to row while in Southampton.”

      As usual, their minds traveled on similar lines. “No telling who might be on the wharf to see him farewell us.”

      “Indeed. But in Southampton, the wharves will be so crowded it’s unlikely anyone will pay much attention to one boy, even if he’s with my crew.”

      “Even if they did, they’ll assume he’s a cabin boy.”

      The tender had been swung over the side and steadily lowered; it landed in the sea with a small splash. Four sailors slid down the ropes to land in the bobbing vessel, followed by Williams, Royd’s quartermaster. In the gap where the ship’s side had been opened, Jolley—assisted by Duncan—sent a rope ladder unrolling toward the tender.

      Together, Isobel and Royd walked to the gap. Isobel peered out and was relieved to see that the end of the ladder reached the tender’s side; she could drop the last yard easily enough.

      She turned to Duncan—and he flung himself at her and hugged her.

      “Goodbye, Mama!” He tipped his head back and looked into her face, and the delight that radiated from him slayed any whisper of worry that he was secretly bothered by them being parted, however temporarily. He grinned exuberantly. “I’ll see you in Southampton!”

      Her heart twisted a little as she smiled back, then she hugged him close and bent to press a kiss to his forehead—the only sort of public bussing he would currently permit. “Be good.” She released him and stepped back.

      Royd briefly met Isobel’s eyes, then hunkered down beside Duncan, bringing his head level with his son’s. He caught and held Duncan’s gaze. “Remember—on board ship, the captain’s word is law, and Mr. Stewart is captain while I’m ashore. If you break the law, then you won’t be able to remain aboard. If that happens, we”—with a brief glance, he included Isobel—“will be forced to send you back to Aberdeen with an escort.” He returned his gaze to Duncan’s now-sober dark eyes. “That’s what happens when someone breaks ship’s law. They don’t get to board that ship again.”

      Entirely serious, Duncan shook his head from side to side. “I won’t break ship’s law.”

      Royd grinned—man-to-man—and rose. “I know you won’t—you’re too clever for that.”

      Duncan’s brilliant smile bloomed again. “Goodbye.” He held out his hand.

      Royd grasped it, but instead of shaking hands, pulled Duncan into him. He hugged Duncan’s slight body and ruffled his hair, then when Duncan squealed with laughter, let him go. “As your mother said, be good.”

      With that, he turned to Isobel. “Let me go down first.”

      He suited action to the words. She’d elected to wear an ivory carriage dress, severe and form-fitting. When they met in office or shipyards, she routinely wore darker colors, most likely to better withstand the inevitable dust and grime. Although no hue could mute her vivid coloring, certainly not in his eyes, the ivory outfit, with its matching hat, gloves, and half-boots, made her a cynosure for all eyes, male and female alike. And although he knew she could swim, he would rather she didn’t get dipped in the drink; his men wouldn’t be able to catch her, but he knew her weight and could.

      He dropped into the tender, caught his balance, and looked up. She was already more than halfway down.

      Accustomed to going up and down ladders, she knew the knack of accomplishing the feat in skirts. He’d never worked out how she did it, but her skirts never flared, nor did they tangle her feet.

      She slowed as she neared the end of the ladder and stopped on the last rung, leaving her swinging just above the tender’s side.

      He reached up and grasped her waist. She clung to the ladder for an instant—whether to allow him to adjust to their combined weights or simply from surprise—then she released her grip on the ropes, and he swung her inboard and set her on her feet before the middle bench.

      “Thank you.” She looked down, brushing her skirts.

      Royd glanced up at the deck and saw Liam Stewart looking down, a grin on his face. Royd sketched a salute. “Command is yours, Mr. Stewart.”

      Liam snapped off a salute in reply. “Aye, aye, Captain. We’ll see you in Southampton.”

      The opening in the ship’s side rattled back into place. Duncan’s face appeared over the top edge. He waved energetically. “Goodbye!”

      Royd grinned and waved back. He glanced down and saw Isobel, seated on the middle bench, smiling and waving, too.

      One set of hurdles cleared.

      At his nod, Williams, at the tiller, barked an order, and the four sailors seated on the benches fore and aft bent to the oars. Royd sat beside Isobel, and the tender came smoothly around and set off for the harbor and the inner basin beyond. “We’ll use the water stairs before the Castle Hotel. It has the best stables in town—we’ll be able to hire a carriage and four there.”

      She nodded. A moment later, she murmured, “What you said to Duncan—that was...clever, too.”

      His gaze on the hulls ahead of them, instinctively plotting the course Williams would take through the maze, he replied, “As we both know, there’s no point hoping he won’t have wild impulses. The best we can do is teach him to think through the consequences—that there always will be consequences—before he gives in to the wildness.”

      She snorted softly. “Spoken as one who knows all about wildness?”

      He nodded. “Just like you.”

      *