A Gentleman 'Til Midnight. Alison DeLaine

the railing. By the time she took the spot next to him, his breathing had gone shallow.

      “Do sound the alarm if you spot anything, Lieutenant Barclay,” she said. “I’d like to think I may benefit from your vast naval experience.”

      Her smile alone had alarm bells clanging painfully, but only he could hear them. “It’s gratifying to know you consider me of potential value, Captain. Shall I notify you of possible targets as well as threats? Perhaps you could engage in a bit of last-minute marauding before we approach England.”

      She laughed, and the wind whipped a strand of her hair into his face. He brushed it away and felt his control slip a notch. “Clearly the depth of my ruthlessness has been overstated. I’ve never been one to maraud entirely unprovoked.”

      “What a pity I won’t get to see that famed cutlass arm in action.” He hadn’t failed to notice that the British flag had replaced her colors flying at the stern.

      “You have only to displease me, Lieutenant Barclay, and you shall see it firsthand.” She closed her eyes to the wind and tipped her face back. He let himself notice the way her hair shone in the sunlight, the fine sculpture of her cheekbones, the sensuous curve of her lips. She was, without a doubt, the most alluring woman he’d ever seen.

      “I shudder to think of the terrifying woman Anne will become with you as a model.” Except that sweet, vulnerable Anne would never be able to defend herself with a cutlass. It crushed him to watch her navigate the cabins by memory, patting her way from one chair or table or wall to the next with those tiny hands. He’d noticed that under no circumstances was any piece of furniture to be moved. Every critical door remained open, held in place by heavy anvils that would not budge. Textured tiles marked each room, mounted outside each door at just the right height. “She is a remarkable child,” he said.

      “Yes, she is. She’s had to be.” Worry shadowed Captain Kinloch’s eyes, and it annoyed him a little that he wanted to ease it.

      “Already she shows signs of your deviousness. I suppose you are aware that your keys are not the only objects whose hiding place she has discovered.”

      A smile touched Captain Kinloch’s lips, and he watched the way it softened the lines around her mouth. Under other circumstances, would she smile like that more often?

      “She’s found the doll,” she said. “Yes, I could tell. Do you suppose my lower drawers are not the most effective hiding place for a birthday gift?”

      He could tell by the laughter in her eyes that she’d meant for Anne to find that doll. “I think she enjoys the search more than anything,” he said. Against his better judgment he’d thought of an idea for a gift for her, but he would need access to the ship’s carpenter in order to find the necessary materials.

      “The doll I let her find, but I’ve a small mandolin hiding elsewhere that she won’t receive until her birthday arrives.”

      “A mandolin is an excellent idea.”

      “You may not say so after listening to her endless practicing.” She laughed.

      “Oh, I imagine I can tolerate it.” It was hard to imagine what he wouldn’t tolerate for Anne’s sake.

      Captain Kinloch looked at him. “The attention you’ve shown her has been much appreciated.”

      “She’s an endearing girl.” And that was the problem. All the plea rolls in England did not contain enough parchment to list the reasons why it would be a mistake to form any kind of attachment with Katherine Kinloch’s daughter.

      “I’m told you are an accomplished storyteller,” she said.

      “Hardly.” He had to laugh at that. “I never told a story before in all my life—except to the governess.”

      “Never?”

      “Not many children aboard a frigate.” The hypnotic lure of Captain Kinloch’s eyes snared him. Mysteries lurked there—dark ones likely rooted in her years as a captive, and softer, spicier ones that suggested she was aware of him as a man. The possibility had an unwelcome effect on his baser instincts.

      The remainder of the voyage taunted him with the prospect of interminable weeks of temptation. It was a prospect that would change very quickly if she somehow discovered his identity.

      “Captain.” Her Moorish boatswain called from the top of the stairs, and James caught himself a heartbeat before he responded to the title. The boatswain waited with his arms crossed and his gold earrings and shaved head gleaming in the sunshine. A string of beads like the one William wore was tied around his neck. All the crew had them. It was their mark, he’d learned, fashioned by Anne.

      Captain Kinloch stepped away from the railing. “Excuse me a moment, Lieutenant.”

      “Of course.” It took all his willpower not to watch her hips sway in those damned trousers as she walked away.

      * * *

      KATHERINE FORCED HERSELF not to look back as she left Lieutenant Barclay standing at the railing. But she hardly needed to look when her body still hummed with his presence. “What is it, Rafik?”

      “Young rigger Danby wants to see you.”

      “Send him up.”

      “He will not come. He is afraid.”

      Katherine frowned. “That’s ridiculous.”

      Rafik only regarded her with that expressionless stare that silently let her know he thought he would make a better captain than she.

      Katherine brushed by him and descended the stairs, finally allowing herself a glance over her shoulder. Lieutenant Barclay stood with his eyes on the horizon and the wind toying with the hair at his temples. She forced her attention away. “Did he give you no hint of his concerns?”

      “It is best for you to hear it from him, Captain.”

      Fears of returning to England had plagued the crew since the moment they’d set their sails north. No doubt he feared the impressment gangs, but there was little she could do to protect him from that. Perhaps he wanted permission to go ashore before they reached England. That was out of the question.

      They made their way toward the stern, where Danby was partway up in the rigging. The moment he saw her he climbed down and whipped his hat off his head.

      “What is it you have to say, Danby?”

      His hat crumpled in his hands. “I—I should have told you before. I know that. But I was afraid...well, I was afraid you wouldn’t hire me.”

      “Told me what?”

      “That I was aboard Captain Warre’s ship. When we put in at Gibraltar, I snuck away. I know it was wrong, Captain, and I’d never do such a thing to you. I swear. I’d die first.”

      “I believe you. But why tell me now?”

      “I’m afraid, with him here—him what we pulled aboard.”

      “Lieutenant Barclay?” Her thoughts filled with his smile—the creases at his eyes, the lines around his mouth, the subtly wicked angle of mustache above his lips. White teeth against sun-browned skin. If she were a different kind of woman—

      Danby frowned and looked past her toward the upper deck. “Aye, but...that ain’t Lieutenant Barclay, mum.” He gripped his hat in his hands. “That’s Captain Warre.”

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      CAPTAIN WARRE.

      Katherine stared toward the upper deck where he stood laughing with William. William, who surely knew the truth about their visitor. Captain Warre looked her way, caught her watching him.

      An accomplished storyteller, indeed. Her blood began to pound. “Danby, are you