How to Be a Proper Lady

Mattie and Matouba too. Her own crewmen were still ignorant of it, though.

Interesting discretion for former pirates.

“What sort of people has he hunted?” Other than her. He had hunted her. The notion still made her heady, in a sort of nauseous manner. The legendary former pirate had hunted her for money. For payment from her brother-in-law, the earl.

But he had not kissed her like he was being paid for it. He kissed her like he wanted to. Like he needed to.

“All sorts,” Billy replied blithely, settling his bony behind into the coil with a grin. The wind was fresh and the men were glad to be nearing the end of the journey, while Viola’s belly tickled with nerves. She ought to be thinking of Aidan. She ought to be thrilled with the prospect of seeing him for the first time in eons. She was. Certainly.

But another man filled her thoughts.

“Oh, really?” she pressed.

Billy nodded. “Sometimes they’s ladies. Sometimes they’s gents.”

“Ladies and gentlemen?” Did he do this regularly now that he had ceased pirating? Did he seek out and drag home people who had been abducted like her? Ridiculous. How many people like her could there be?

“Some,” Mattie said gruffly, peering at her from beneath bushy chestnut brows. “Somes is no-good ruffians.”

“Like them Scots what we gone chasing up north.” Billy nodded, chewing on the stick.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and ruffians? And up north too. You boys have been busy, haven’t you?”

They both nodded.

She was only one of the many. The tingles of nerves in her belly clumped together in a sticky mass.

“I’ll bet you have favorite haunts in every port,” she heard herself say. “And favorite girls too.” She smiled the way she smiled at Crazy and Frenchie when they spoke of their wives.

Billy’s cheeks flamed.

“No, of course not, Billy.” She chuckled. “But do you have a special girl somewhere, Matthew?” She could not seem to halt herself.

His dusky cheeks darkened as well.

“Got himself a right pretty gal in Dover,” Billy supplied.

“Then she is a very lucky lady, just like your captain’s girl, I’m sure.”

“Cap’n ain’t got no girl, ma’am.” Billy scrubbed at the crown of his head. “He don’t never have no girl more’n a night.”

Viola’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Big Mattie’s heavy brow dipped.

“Cap’n don’t go in for holding fast with petticoats,” the hulk mumbled, his gaze fixed on her with peculiar focus. “He ain’t the sticking sort.”

“Ah. Of course not,” she made herself reply, forcing a knowing nod.

She turned her attention to the land, tracing the unfamiliar coast. She’d only visited Aidan once since he purchased the farm. At that time his fields had been cleared, the cane growing in long rows. But for living quarters he hadn’t even a roof over the rough floors of his new house. Two years later now, he must have finished it. No more bedding her in a corner of the kitchen covered by leaky palm branches and infested with flies and mosquitoes.

Although, on that occasion he barely bedded her. He’d been tired, anxious over a squabble between the foreman and the free men who worked the fields. He had satisfied himself in her quickly, then went off to see to the trouble, leaving her aching for more. For something else.

In truth, she knew nothing else. She had first given herself to him at seventeen, when Fionn fell ill and she went to Aidan for comfort, then later a handful of times. He never pressed her for it. He was a gentleman.

Her gaze scanned the rolling coast. Before she left this island two years ago, he had kissed her, told her she was the most important person in his life and that he had always loved her, and vowed to write. Months later when a letter arrived, she read his renewed promises of their future together with mingled confusion and gratification. He still wished to marry her. She must only allow him to settle more firmly into his new life before asking her to join it. He had been a clerk, then a sailor, and now he must accustom himself to the duties of a landowner. Then he would send for her and they would be wed.

Five months passed before the next letter. It mentioned poor weather, fractious laborers, and bothersome taxes, and again the assurance of his love. Six months later the next arrived, much the same in content. Since then she’d had only the quick note indicating he had received the news she would be visiting soon and was eager for it.

Along the coast the island rose dramatically, emerald green beneath the summer’s morning sun. She drew in the scent of verdant land and searched for the nerves in her belly that should be there, the anticipation of seeing him again after so long. But her insides felt empty.

Perhaps she merely required food.

“Matthew, do you know this port?”

The helmsman nodded. “Came in here twice a year, for a spell.”

“Will you take us in?”

“Aye, Cap’n ma’am.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, handed over the wheel to him, and turned toward the stair.

“Always so appreciative.” Seton leaned against the rail at the bottom of the steps, watching her descend. “You are spoiling my men. They will expect me to fawn over them and be crushed when I refuse to oblige.” He grinned, the merest tilt of his breathtaking mouth.

Tingles erupted in Viola’s midsection.

She gripped the rail. This was not supposed to happen. She loved Aidan. She would see him within hours. She should be thinking of nothing else. She could not tear her gaze from her quartermaster’s handsome face.

His clear eyes sobered, the grin slipping away.

“What is it?” He pushed away from the rail and met her at the base of the stair. “Something is amiss. Tell me.”

She swallowed over her tied tongue. “It’s nothing. I’m a bit light-headed, I suppose. I forgot to eat lunch.”

His brow creased. “Small wonder. It is not yet ten o’clock.”

“Then I’d better go see to that.” She turned toward the stairs to below.

“We are nearly in the harbor. You do not wish to remain atop?”

“Yes.” She halted. “Yes, of course.”

He peered at her oddly, a question in his eyes. But her heart galloped and nothing occurred to her that she could say out loud. She pivoted and headed for the bow.

She remained there until they rounded the cape and tacked into the harbor. Then the business of heaving to and announcing their presence to the port officers approaching in a boat engaged her entire crew and there was no time for foolish confusions. She was a respected privateer making anchor in an ally’s friendly port. This she could do with perfect ease.

Seton made it even easier. While Crazy usually ran about directing the men’s every last move, as always the Pharaoh seemed to have perfect control over her crew with an economy of words. The remainder of the time he stood silently at her shoulder, stance solid, hands clasped behind his back, awaiting her orders.

The harbor was not particularly busy, only a handful of ships docked or at anchor. A tattered old sloop and a schooner not worth the price of its rigging bobbed on the calm green water at anchor, both foreign vessels from the looks of it, a mass of fishing boats and a pleasure boat or two.

When the customs documents had been signed, the contents of the April Storm’s hold duly recorded in ledgers so that the appropriate fees could be levied, and barrels and crates unloaded onto carts to the men’s rhythmic chanting, Viola finally went below and collected her traveling case. Few of her sailors were still aboard when she came atop again, a skeleton crew to watch the ship overnight until the morning when she would move the April from dock and drop anchor in the harbor.

Seton sat on a barrel by the gangway, his long legs stretched out before him, gaze on her as she climbed onto deck.

He stood and came toward her. “Are you always the last person off your ship when you make berth?”

“Yes.”