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be hurt by my actions. The man who rules the island would be enraged at them if he thought they had helped me leave and did not search him out to keep me. They would suffer. They could be starved, or beaten, or forced into marriage or worse. I cannot escape and leave them behind to face torture.’

      She felt his movement and looked down to her hand. She’d tightened her grip on his fingers. He slowly slid his hand from hers.

      ‘You’re leaving behind a man.’ His words were thoughtful.

      She had to make him understand. ‘Our land doesn’t support my sisters. The rocks only grow more rocks. I care nothing for the man who wishes to marry me, yet his mother often sees that we have food. If I stay, I will have no choice but to wed him. She wishes for it. So does he. He is powerful.’

      Stephanos controlled the island and did so easily. But he had other secrets. He often left the island and returned with goods. One of his shirts was mottled with faded brown stains. Blood.

      She could barely keep the kindness in her words when Stephanos called on her and she had to speak to him. Perhaps, as the others whispered, she truly had been tainted by her English heritage.

      ‘I have promised myself to no one,’ she said.

      Warrington shut his eyes.

      She put her palm flat on his chest. When his lids fluttered up, she could feel the change in his gaze. She wouldn’t beg, or ask again. She didn’t think she needed to.

      He spoke harshly under his breath—the words directed at himself.

      His hand closed at her elbow and he turned away, again taking the lead, only this time, his steps were careful and he watched the wooded areas around them.

      She followed, knowing her sisters depended on her and she risked her life to be able to save them. But it wasn’t a choice. It was what she had to do. She was the eldest and that meant sacrifice. If she died at sea, or at the hands of a stranger, then she would know she did it for her family. Her mother’s last words to her had been Take care of your sisters.

      * * *

      Warrington forced himself not to stare at Melina. They stood hidden among the cragged rocks, watching the longboat and waiting for the sailors to return. The hem of her head covering fluttered in the wind and kept calling his attention to her.

      He wished he could see her chest again. Her birthmark did have an interesting curve to it. He remembered the child’s game of imagining wisps of a cloud as objects and tried to recall the exact shape the mark formed.

      He heard the first mate’s voice before he saw him emerging from the road. Once the men reached the longboat, he hurried Melina to them.

      ‘You ready to heave to?’ Gidley gaped at the woman even as he directed the words at Warrington.

      ‘Yes,’ Warrington snapped. ‘Hurry.’

      Gidley’s voice became butler formal. ‘Will his lordship be having a guest?’

      ‘Launch the damn longboat.’

      Gidley put his forefinger to his lips in a silencing motion and then lowered his hand. He mouthed the word lady.

      Warrington mouthed back words for Gidley that neither would repeat in front of the woman. The other seamen beamed as if enjoying a particularly good scene at Drury Lane Theatre.

      ‘Yes, yer lordship.’ Gidley helped the others push the boat into the waves, then scrambled into the boat, and took the seat in front of her, facing the woman. Warrington made a forceful circular motion with his hand, commanding Gidley to twist around. Gidley’s eyelashes gave an innocent blink as he looked at Warrington, then gazed back at the woman, giving a bow of his head as acknowledgement, and turned in his seat. ‘Beautiful day for bein’ at sea.’ He spoke to no one in particular.

      Warrington stepped over the side and took the empty plank beside Melina. His shoulder brushed hers. He thought he detected the scent of rosemary about her, but he wasn’t sure he even knew what the herb would smell like.

      The other men thumped into the boat, voicing polite comments on the calmness of the sea and the beauty of the island as if speaking in front of their grandmothers. Gidley continued his teatime reminisces as the men rowed, recounting with the other seamen the polite sights they’d seen in their travels.

      Warrington shut his eyes briefly. He had no idea where these dainty men came from.

      ‘Correct, yer lordship?’ Gidley asked.

      ‘Most certainly, my dear,’ Warrington answered. He heard a smothered snort from someone else, followed by a coughing attempt to disguise the sound into politeness.

      Melina gathered the bundle closer. He hated that she felt discomfort.

      Warrington kept his voice calm. ‘The next one of you who makes a sound before we board is going to let the rest of the crew watch him swimming around Ascalon and the first seaman who can bounce a biscuit off the swimmer’s head can give him orders until we’re home.’

      Silence followed, except for the rhythmic sound of oars slapping the water.

      Her shoulders relaxed and he wished he could retrace his steps. Bringing her on to the longboat had been foolish and she was the one being misled. He’d let himself be blinded by a little spot of skin and now she was on a longboat for no reason. They both should have stayed home.

      He didn’t feel he’d had the option, though. The Foreign Office knew of his ship and had asked him for help. The trip had been a worthwhile diplomatic mission, in that he could tell them the Greeks still planned to rebel against the Ottoman rule. He didn’t know if the Turks suspected or not, but he had the information he’d been sent for.

      When the boat tapped against the hull of the Ascalon, the men tied the longboat. The men closest to the ladder left first. Then Warrington or Melina would go on deck.

      Melina stood and didn’t move forward, still holding her bundle and her satchel strap draped over her arm.

      He touched the small of her back and she turned to him. He reached forward, taking the sculpture. ‘I’ll get it on deck. If you dropped it into the sea going up the ladder, we’d never get it back.’

      She released the bundle and gave her shawl and scarf each a quick knot. She picked her way to the ladder, lifting her skirts to step over the seat in front of them. A simple, everyday movement. His mouth went dry. The image of her legs sealed itself around him. His imagination began to fill in the rest of her body while his mind generously unclothed her. Long limbs, smooth, and welcoming.

      He brought himself back to the moment and saw her at the ladder, staring at the ropes.

      ‘Just go up as if you’ve done it every day, quick, and don’t stop.’

      She took a few deep breaths, pulled at the waistband of her skirt, trying to keep the fabric away from her feet, and grabbed both sides of the ladder. She snatched the hemp in a stranglehold and moved upwards. Arms reached out to help her on board.

      And now he held her parcel. He couldn’t risk dropping the rock.

      Warrington looked up and called out to the man who stood at the side. ‘Toss me the end of a rope. I need you to haul something up for me.’

      In seconds, a rope dropped at his feet and Warrington bound the end around the package. ‘Pull it up,’ he shouted and the arm went aboard ship. He shook his head at the waste of effort. The rock would be returning to the island soon.

      The men were good sailors, but not a one of them was of the clergy and it would take at least that to ignore the woman. He’d send a decent crewman back with her to escort her home safely. No, he’d have to make do with a well-threatened one. All the decent ones were on other ships.

      Stepping on deck, he saw the men assembled as if Ben demanded them for a meeting, but he knew the captain did no such thing. The cook sat on an overturned bucket and the cabin boy tangled himself in the rigging like a prisoner in stocks, waiting