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‘And you’ve made me proud on the voyage. Not of you, of course. Of myself. I’m a fine captain to be able to have an old melancholy miss like you on board and still keep from throwing you over the side.’

      ‘You’ve sailed us to an island that doesn’t even have the comforts of hell.’ Warrington used both hands, pushing back the hair from his face, and then he rested clenched fists on the railing of the ship.

      ‘You do not give me the respect due me,’ his brother said, shaking his head in exaggerated dismay. ‘I saved our lives by steering us here when the ship caught fire. You may have the title, but an earl drowns just as quickly as a mere captain when a ship sinks.’

      Warrington didn’t speak, hoping to let Ben have the last word and himself some silence.

      He’d had to leave England—he’d thought his memories would be easier to bear at sea. He’d been wrong. His wife’s face wouldn’t appear in his mind, but he could see the letters of her name carved on to the crypt.

      He leaned into the rocking of the boat, letting it numb his mind from the endless days of sameness broken only by tribulation aboard the Ascalon. He wanted dry boots, freshly blacked, and not covering sodden stockings. Sea-misted trousers dried stiff and looked no better than a stable master’s discards.

      Across the water, he saw the longboat returning from shore, and hoped the Ascalon could cast off with the next tide. With the crew back and the repairs almost finished, surely they would leave soon.

      In minutes, the longboat thumped against the side of the ship. Gidley, the first mate, reached his gnarled hands to the top of the ladder. His face came into view. The mate’s eyes twinkled and he’d not yet moved on to the ship. ‘We have us another one of them problems yer so good at solvin’, Capt’n Ben.’

      Warrington watched his younger brother take a forceful step forward.

      ‘If anyone has stolen a goat this time, I’ll personally throttle them until they are unconscious.’ Ben straightened his shoulders and stared at his second-in-command.

      ‘Not goats, Capt’n.’ Gidley pulled himself on to the deck, his face showing a barely reined-in pleasure at whatever news he was about to speak.

      ‘What, then?’ the captain asked.

      ‘It be a woman.’ Gidley spoke slowly and stepped aside to give the other three men from the longboat a chance to board. They rushed in behind him, feet thumping on to the deck, faces anxious to hear the response.

      ‘A woman?’ Ben straightened and strode to Gidley. ‘The island is practically afloat with whores.’ He spat the words out. ‘Why can’t the men understand how to handle a simple transaction and be done with it?’

      ‘Well...’ Gidley gave a demure smile. ‘This one claims she be savin’ herself for the capt’n.’ He stepped back against the railing, one arm resting on the wood, and with the other hand pulled his gangly chin whiskers. ‘I tried to give myself to her in yer stead, but she’d have none of it. Capt’n, she said. Kept insistin’ she had a treasure for the capt’n.’

      Ben smiled, his even teeth too white in the sunlight. ‘Is she lovely?’

      Gidley shrugged, but his grin flashed back hearty approval. ‘She’s some kind of mark here.’ He touched above his breast. ‘The birthmark...’ he smiled ‘...pulled my sight right to her breasts.’

      Not a ripple of emotion passed behind Ben’s eyes. He turned to Warrington, indicating the shoreline with a quick tilt of his head. ‘Go ashore and see what the woman wants.’

      Warrington could not believe his brother’s words. He examined Ben’s face and took a step towards him. ‘No.’ Warrington shook his head.

      Ben’s eyes lost all familial ties. ‘Captain’s orders.’ The smug words slashed in the air.

      ‘I’m an earl.’ Warrington’s voice was tight.

      ‘In case you’re unaware, we’re not on English soil. Captain ranks higher—here.’ His brother bit out the commanding words and adopted the cocksure stance he’d perfected by five years old. ‘And my crew does obey me. See to the woman, or I will have you left on the island when we haul anchor.’

      ‘Like hell.’

      Ben smiled. ‘You’re going to have to have a go at another woman some time. You might as well get some use out of your little man as to let it wither up and wash overboard.’ He raised a hand, summoning three other seamen who’d stilled to listen.

      Seven men were ready to toss Warrington on to the longboat should he not go on his own. He stared at his brother’s face. He would kill him.

      ‘So go ashore.’ Ben crossed his arms. ‘Take care of the matter for me—and you might be able to return to England on this vessel.’

      ‘I—’ His hands clenched.

      ‘No. No,’ Ben interrupted, head dropping but his hand still high. ‘Trust me. Once you’ve been called captain by a woman in that breathless moment—you’ll fashion yourself a captain many times over.’ He waved his hand in the air. ‘Correct?’

      Seven male heads quickly gave assent, eyes flashing amusement and watching Warrington.

      ‘Fine,’ Warrington snapped out, moving to give his brother a shove from his path, but Ben moved aside—the man was nimble as an eel—and Warrington strode to the port side, stopping to give Ben a bitter glance.

      He grabbed the railing and turned, scrambling down the woven ladder. He saw the first mate’s boots next on the rope rungs. They would see him to the woman.

      * * *

      When the men reached the bank, the boat’s bottom grated into sand underneath. Warrington jumped from the longboat into the water. He stopped for a moment. The immobile land beneath his feet jarred him. He’d been at sea too long.

      He sloshed to shore. The others splashed behind him, then pulled the boat free of the waves, showing no more effort than moving a child’s toy.

      They started on the path. Water sluiced from Warrington’s boots. Gidley slogged beside him. ‘She’s near the town. Said we’d find her ’fore we reached Castro.’

      The blowing wind pushed whiffs of the tainted egg smell that lingered at the base of the island. The shoreline reeked as badly as a demon’s breath—a scent Warrington supposed left over from volcanic eruptions centuries earlier.

      Warrington nodded sharply, but gave no other acknowledgement. He trudged up the path and soon the sand gave way to a coal-hued surface. Glass-like shards of earth now crunched beneath his feet. The unusual land piqued his interest, but the scent didn’t. Warrington wished they had risked another island to recover from the ship’s fire, which had nearly cost them their lives. This one stank.

      Gidley expounded on what a woman such as the one he’d seen could do for a man’s pleasure. He described the mark at her breast in fifteen different ways and each one included more details of skin than he could possibly have seen.

      The mate spoke so earnestly and with such conviction, he’d convinced at least one of the other seamen the woman was a descendent of some goddess. Warrington wasn’t certain Aphrodite herself would be so free with her charms as Gidley recounted. The sailor loved his mythology—but it was all Gidley’s tales, not the ancients.

      The road disappeared into a growth of olive trees and brush.

      Warrington wondered about the woman—this bold woman who shouldn’t disturb an earl who’d been a month without a decent mattress, longer without a decent night’s sleep and even longer without a deliciously indecent tumble.

      Meeting the woman might be interesting, he decided. He would return and tell his brother what it was like to bed a goddess in the flesh. No matter how the events unfolded, Warrington would manage a supreme tale of unsurpassed passion.

      Gidley stopped