Theater-goers flocked to see her, so she’d met all the appropriate people in the gilded salons about town. But she hadn’t met him.
Her seamstress and companion, Edwina Fishburn—called Fish by everyone—had taught her about clothes and fashion, so she had a keen eye for style, and he didn’t disappoint.
He was dressed in a formal black evening suit, sewn from expensive material and perfectly tailored to enhance his male physique. His cravat was stitched from the finest Belgian lace and tied in an intricate knot.
Manly odors swirled—tobacco, horses, cologne—but there was another, more subtle scent too, and it tantalized her on an elemental level she didn’t understand. It made her eager to rub herself against him like a contented cat.
It was obvious he was rich, and she always liked to befriend a rich man. As Harry had constantly insisted, rich men were the only ones who had money to toss around.
“Will you faint if I introduce myself?” he asked.
“I’m not the fainting type.”
“Praise be, but how about if I use my Christian name? Will I shock you by being too familiar?”
“I’m unshockable too.”
“Good. I never could abide a trembling ninny.”
“Then you’ll absolutely love me. I don’t have a weak bone in my body.”
He turned slightly, so she turned too. It was a small bench, so they were sitting very close, their arms and thighs crushed together all the way down.
“I’m Lucas, but you can call me Luke.”
She noticed that he didn’t provide a surname, didn’t add a grand title to awe and astound. Briefly, she wondered why not, but she didn’t suppose it mattered. He wanted to be cordial, and she was a very cordial person.
“Libby,” she said, not offering a surname either, and it was refreshing to keep it to herself.
Whenever her identity was revealed, she was peppered with questions about her past, but she barely recollected that terrible time. Most of the information she furnished to others had been invented by her Uncle Harry so she’d seem more tragic and interesting.
“Have we met?” he asked.
“No, I’m sure we haven’t.”
“You look as if I should know you from somewhere.”
She was definitely recognizable. There were often sketches of her on playbills, but she was recognized by her stage name too: Little Libby Carstairs . . . Mystery Girl of the Caribbean!
“I have a good memory,” she said, “and I’m positive I’d remember you.”
“Why is that?”
“You’re a handsome devil who’s probably a great rogue and breaker of hearts.”
“Me? A breaker of hearts?” He laughed. “I can categorically state that I have never broken a single heart.” He paused, then scowled. “Well, there was a neighbor when I was twelve who was sweet on me, but I can’t be held responsible for any amorous misadventures I committed as a boy.”
“You’re correct, and I won’t demand you share the gory details.”
“I didn’t even kiss her. I wasn’t yet intrigued by girls, and I thought the entire episode was silly. I might have given her a rose from the garden though.”
“It would have created exactly the wrong impression, so she’s likely still pining away.”
“If she is, then I will confess to breaking that one heart, but just that one.”
He realized how they’d leaned toward each other, as if their bodies couldn’t resist, and he drew away, but there wasn’t any space to maneuver.
“What brought you to the party?” she asked.
“I was bored, and a friend insisted I’d enjoy myself.”
“Are you?”
“Not really. Why do you imagine I’m lurking out here in the dark?”
She chuckled. “You poor thing. You’re more of a recluse than I am.”
“What about you? What spurred you to attend?”
“My cousin dragged me to it. He’s a social climber who likes to see and be seen. If it had been left up to me, I’d have stayed at home and drunk a whiskey by the fire.”
He raised a brow. “You—a female—would have been drinking a whiskey? What a scandalous admission.”
“I’m full of outrageous behavior.”
“I’ll bet you are.” He snorted at that, then he sighed, sounding as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. “It’s odd for me to be in London.”
“It’s the center of the universe. Why would you declare it to be odd? I’ve always deemed it to be thrilling.”
Most of her life, she, Harry, and Simon had journeyed around the country with a traveling troupe. She’d performed at fairs and on stages in village greens. She’d charmed audiences with her poignant accounts of the shipwreck and her rescue.
It was only recently that she was wallowing in London. There was more money to be made in the city, and she was able to glom onto a richer class of acquaintances.
“I’ve been away in the navy,” he said.
“You’re a sailor?”
“Yes.”
“For how many years?”
“Too many.”
She chuckled again. “Your tale of woe is more depressing by the moment.”
He scoffed with disgust. “Don’t listen to me. I’m in a foul mood. It’s why I’m on this dock. I was glowering at the guests inside—as if I’d never previously been to a ball. My friend claimed I was scaring people.”
“Were you?”
“Probably.”
“I think we’re destined to be great chums.”
“I’m flattered,” he said, “but why have you decided so hastily? What if I turn out to be a grouch and a complainer?”
“I have a special affection for members of the British navy.”
“Why is that?”
The instant she uttered the remark, she mentally kicked herself. She’d been hoping to have a pleasant chat where Little Lost Libby wasn’t mentioned once. She wasn’t about to clarify the reason she was fond of the navy, but she still dreamed about that large, imposing captain who’d found her hiding in that trunk.
She’d only been on his vessel for a few days before he’d
