T wo days later, when the Nighthawk sailed into the wide harbor of Nassau, she was flying the Union Jack on her masthead and below it, in bright scarlet and green, the enormous flag bearing the crest of the Dante-St. Clare Shipping Company.

Her gun ports were closed. Her crew was dressed in white shirts and red striped trousers with red kerchiefs around their necks.

The decks were scrubbed clean and her yards were trimmed with fresh sails.

Standing on the fo’c’sle, Sebastien Fonteyne wore a black felted frockcoat over a crisp white shirt with a fount of lace spilling beneath his clean-shaven chin.

His boots were polished to a mirror shine, his hands were gloved, and the unruly waves of black hair had been trimmed and tamed into a neatly gathered tail at the nape of his neck.

The fancy clothes, borrowed from one of Alexander St. Clare’s sea chests, were constricting across the chest and shoulders and the lace at the throat was an outright annoyance, but he tolerated the discomfort for the sake of looking like a perfectly aristocratic gentleman.

Beside him, almost as uncomfortable, Rose wore a softly flowing empire gown of watered silk, the blue complimenting the silver-blue of her eyes.

The slightest movement, the smallest breeze molded the silk to the shape of her body which had caused Fonteyne’s tongue to freeze to the roof of his mouth when he first saw her walking toward him.

She had managed, with the magic of creams and powders, to lighten the tone of her skin from that of a bronzed sea urchin to that of a slightly sun-kissed traveller.

Delicate lace gloves held an equally delicate lace parasol over a ruffled bonnet that hid all but the smallest scattering of fine red tendrils that framed her face.

Her lips were rouged and her lashes darkened; an emerald the size of a robin’s egg drew attention to the soft, deep cleft between her breasts, which were plumped and pushed up enough to threaten the confines of the silk.

“I thought the idea was to avoid drawing attention,” Fonteyne murmured as he smiled and returned the waves from some sailors on a ship they were gliding past.

“The wrong kind of attention,” she corrected him with a smile. “Our family has owned land in New Providence for over a hundred years. I have visited here several times.”

“With your husband, I presume?”

“Heavens, no. Terrence rarely ventured off his family’s sugar plantation.

I warrant he never even set foot on New Providence, since sailing from port to port was not something he enjoyed.

If ever he did find himself on board even just to supervise the loading of cargo, he tended to spend most of the time emptying the contents of his belly over the rails. ”

“The Cygnet was an odd choice for a wedding gift, if that was the case.”

“The ship was always mine. Making it a wedding gift was the only way Father could release it from his fleet. Plus, I believe he held out hope I could turn Terrance into a sailor. I failed in that, quite miserably, but he had no objections to letting me enjoy my ‘hobby’.”

“In other words …”

“In other words, I very much doubt anyone in the town of Nassau would even know what Terrance looked like. Indeed, it is equally unlikely that anyone knows of his unfortunate demise. He had no immediate family and both Mother and Ramsey were too mortified to admit to anyone that I had taken over the captaincy of the ship. Especially Ramsey.”

She wriggled and adjusted the fit of the empire gown. Subsequent sea chests had revealed a wealth of silk and satin gowns Alexander was carrying home from London for his wife. While similar in height to her mother, Rose’s body was more muscular and she felt like a monkey wearing party clothes.

“Stop fidgeting,” Fonteyne said out of the corner of his mouth. “This was your grand idea.”

She gave the dress a final tug then slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and pinched him hard through the layers of linen.

When they disembarked, a carriage was waiting for them on the wharf, the polished mahogany doors stamped in gold with the imprint of the Dante-St. Clare Shipping Company.

Speaking over the clatter of hooves and wheels, Rose pointed out buildings and warehouses along the waterfront that bore the Pirata Lobo signage above their doors.

The carriage moved slowly, weaving through the bustling traffic until it was free of the main thoroughfare and where the crush of buildings gradually turned into well-spaced homes and elegant manors.

They slowed a mile past the city limits and pulled into a wide half-circle of white crushed stone, halting before a stately two story home with whitewashed columns supporting verandas that wrapped around both levels.

Massive clusters of bougainvillea climbed up the columns and across the railings in varying shades of purple, red, and orange.

Neatly groomed plantings of fragrant oleander grew between rows of tall palm trees that surrounded the house and provided shade from the searing heat of the tropical sun.

Before the large-spoked wheels came to a full stop, there were servants spilling out of the front doors.

A houseman and three neatly dressed maids stood ready to welcome them.

Speculative frowns watched Fonteyne step down into the sunlight, but their expressions soon broke into huge smiles when they saw him reach back to hand Rose down.

The major-domo hastened forward, his teeth gleaming white in a wide grin. He was tall and thin, his skin as black as Duardo’s, wrinkled into folds and creases that bespoke his seven decades of living on the island.

“Why, Miss Rose!” He laughed and clapped his hands. “A real special pleasure to see you again!”

Tossing decorum to the wind, Rose ran up to the old houseman and threw her arms around him, hugging him so tightly his eyes bulged and he feigned a strangled sound in his throat.

When she released him, they both laughed.

She took his ancient hands into hers and felt a genuine surge of happiness. “How have you been, dearest Josiah?”

“Still wakin’ up on the right side o’ the grass, Miss Rose. And ain’t you lookin’ fit n’ fine! Lord save me, Mr. Alexander was just here three weeks gone, an’ never breathed a word you was comin’.”

“I suppose he wanted it to be a surprise.”

“That it is fo’ sure.” Josiah looked at Fonteyne and nodded courteously.

“Welcome to Rose Hall, Mistah Terrance, Suh. A pure pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, though I’m of half a mind to take this young lady to task fo’ waitin’ so long to bring you ‘round, and fo’ surprisin’ us like this. ”

Rose’s jaw dropped open. “Oh! Oh, no, Josiah?—”

Fonteyne cut her off. “The pleasure is all mine, Josiah. My dear wife is full of surprises these days it seems.”

Rose gave him a look that would have drilled through stone but he only smiled and took her hand under his arm. “Shall we go inside, dear ? I could use a tall cool glass of lemon water if some can be found.”

Josiah shooed the three maids inside with orders to prepare food and drinks.

He ordered one of the lads to fetch the cases from the carriage and carry them inside.

Rose declined the lemon water and ran up the broad staircase to the second floor then along a corridor to the rear of the house.

She half expected to find the furnishings in her old bedroom covered in dust sheets but everything was polished and clean, the bed linens looked as fresh as if they were newly laid.

Moreover, there were vases full of fresh flowers everywhere.

The explanation came clear when Josiah and Fonteyne came through the doorway behind her.

“You here fo’ the Admiral’s Ball tomorrow night?” Josiah asked. “Whole town’s been buzzin’ an’ fussin’, all excited to have a real navy hero in port. Some say Admiral Nicholls stood as close as you an’ me to Bony-part when he surrendered. Wouldn’t that’ve been somethin’ to see?”

“Something, indeed,” Rose said, exchanging a glance with Fonteyne. “How long has the admiral been in port?”

Josiah screwed up his face for a moment of calculation.

“Seven days now. No, eight, that or thereabout. Got here nigh on a week after Mr. Alexander left and we’ve had two Sunday services since then.

Touched in to take on fresh water an’ supplies before he goes to join the war in America, so they say.

Heard tell it was a bad crossing, sailed through some fierce storms. Lost one o’ his ships but claims he still has more’n enough to sail on up the Mississippi an’ level New Orleans to the ground. ”

“I didn’t see any warships in the harbor,” Fonteyne said casually.

“Likely anchored in the naval bay, further along,” Josiah said. “Ten of them, so I hear, survived the storms.”

Rose crossed over to the window and gazed out at the manicured lawns and gardens below. “I suppose they will have to ship out soon if they hope to join the war efforts.”

“Yas’m. Day after the ball, I heard tell.

Can’t come soon enough, you ask me, an’ thank the Lord fo’ that.

Proper folk can’t hardly walk down the street without gettin’ pushed aside by redcoats.

Most o’ them are drunk on whores an’ rum.

Respectable menfolk be keepin’ their women to home, to save them bein’ insulted or put upon.

I keep our girls here behind locked doors fo’ that same reason.

Not safe fo’ them to go wanderin’ out by themselves. ”

“A wise decision,” Rose agreed.

“Yas’m. Whole town has gone hero crazy. Mr. Ramsey even sent a wagon to fetch some o’ Mr. Simon’s good wine from the cold cellar.”

Rose was in the process of untying the ribbon from her bonnet. Instead, she jerked the ends so tight she nearly sliced off her ears. “Mr. Ramsey … my brother is here ? In Nassau?”