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“Yas’m. Got here two days ago. Only stayed here but the one night though afore he got invited over to the governor’s mansion along with the Admiral an’ officers an’ other ‘potent people.”

She eased her grip on the ribbons but her face stayed flushed.

“I can send one o’ the stable boys to go fetch him,” Josiah offered.

“ No . No, that won’t be necessary.” She turned and smiled.

“I’m sure he and Governor Cameron are far too busy sharing stories and learning all the news from France to be disturbed.

We can find him later. If there is time.

Unfortunately, we won’t be able to stay more than a night or two ourselves.

We have business to tend to on the other side of the island. ”

Josiah’s face folded into his wrinkles. In the next blink, however, he was smiling again. “In that case, I’ll have Cook prepare your favorite meal. Least we can do. Is it still po’k an’ pineapple or have you gone all fancy on us?”

“I will never be too fancy to stuff my belly with Cook’s pork crackling.”

Josiah grinned, offered a polite nod to Fonteyne, then exited the room, closing the door behind him.

Hearing his footsteps fade away down the hall, Rose expelled a huge breath and threw the bonnet onto the bed in disgust. “Dammit! Ramsey is here. Someone is bound to tell him the Nighthawk was seen coming into port.”

“There are easily a hundred ships in port. I doubt the Nighthawk will draw any special attention. And if it does, what will he do?”

Rose paced back to the window. The sash was up and the breeze was rustling the folds of her skirt. The sun was bright and hot, rendering the silk almost invisible.

“If he finds out that I am here …?” Her hands clenched into fists by her side and she shook her head, running through any number of possibilities. “He would not be happy to see me. Not unless he came with a warrant in hand for my arrest.”

“Or mine,” he said quietly.

She turned away from the window. “Good God, yes. He would be the one person on the island who would know for certain that Terrence Whitticomb is dead. And he knows you by sight.”

“That he most decidedly does. So does Nicholls.”

“Arresting me would only satisfy his arrogance. But arresting you would?—?”

“Would not only give him immense pleasure but it would put a very large feather in his cap.”

“Then we need to leave. We’ve found out what we wanted to know. The fleet is real, it’s here, and it sails the day after tomorrow.”

“We need to relax,” Fonteyne said. He tucked a finger under his collar to loosen it and batted aside a drift of lace.

“It’s mid-afternoon now. The gentlemen at the governor’s mansion will be well into their cups by now.

I would hazard to say it would rouse more suspicion if we leave before we’ve brushed the dust off our boots. ”

She shook her head again. “How can you be so calm about this?”

“One of us has to be.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You can be quite insufferable, you know. You were the one who did not want to come … and now you do not want to leave.”

“Not just yet, at any rate. As for being insufferable, you, Mrs. Terrence Whitticomb are testing my powers of restraint to the limit.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning … when you stand in front of the window like you are now, your gown is as transparent as a pane of glass and I’m about two steps away from picking you up, throwing you on the bed, and ravishing you until you haven’t the breath or wit left to think, speak, or—heaven grant me—argue.”

She blinked. “Is that all you can think about?”

“Not all, but an increasingly intriguing part.”

She watched him take an ominous step forward. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He grinned slowly. “I’m surprised you still question what I would and wouldn’t dare.

You’re damned lucky I didn’t ravage you in the carriage.

Sitting there beside you, with your bosoms about to pop out of that bodice, was the most uncomfortable position I have ever been in.

I half expected the seam of these trousers to slice off one of my ballocks. ”

“I thought you looked like you were eating a sour apple because you knew how ridiculous you looked with a bow in your hair and a stove-top hat.”

He pondered her words for a moment then reached up and unfastened the ribbon that bound his hair. He shook the thick black locks free then took another step closer, forcing Rose to step back against the window.

“Josiah could return at any moment and wonder what we are doing.”

“Does he have a wife?”

“Yes.”

He smiled and reached out, hooking his fingers over the edge of her bodice and pulling her forward. “Then he’ll know exactly what we are doing.”

The first crunch of crisp pork skin brought a soft whimper to Rose’s throat.

She chewed slowly, savoring every delicious crackle and burst of flavoursome grease.

The cook had roasted a whole suckling pig and surrounded it with heaps of vegetables, cheeses, and fruits.

Pineapple had been grilled over an open fire with honey and tamarind and was sweet enough to make her teeth ache with happiness.

There were meat pies and flummery, and wonder of wonder, scraped ices flavored with lemons and limes.

Josiah kept their glasses filled with wine and fussed around them like a hen with chicks.

Each time she glanced up, with her mouth stuffed full, she found Sebastien watching her, smiling.

He had seen her eat before and was well aware that she did not nibble at tiny ladylike tidbits.

He had even heard her belch with the enthusiasm of a dockworker.

A lady’s maid had swept her hair up and pinned it into a mass of shining curls.

She had changed into another of her mother’s dresses, one with a whisper-thin shawl of lace around her shoulders to hide the pink, chafed skin between her throat and breasts.

Each time Fonteyne glanced at her and each time his gaze fell to her bodice, she knew he was thinking about the past hours spent in the bedroom and she could feel her cheeks warming and her belly shimmering.

For two people who had declared they should not let themselves become distracted by such things again, they had certainly thrown all good intentions out the window.

She had also forgotten … or deliberately pushed out of her mind …

the pleasures of sitting at a table that was not bolted to the floorboards, or the simple ease of drinking wine out of delicate crystal glasses that one did not have to catch if the ship rolled into a wave.

At sea, she did not miss all the frippery and formality.

Not really. She had made her choice and was happy with it, but even as she reached for her glass of wine, her gaze was drawn to the thin white scar that ran from her thumb to her wrist, a reminder of an encounter with a Spaniard who objected to her crew boarding his ship.

There were other scars in other places, each marking a day, an adventure she would not have missed for all the wine and cracklings in the world.

Her thoughts were pulled back to the present when she heard a commotion out in the hallway. She drew her hand back and reached instinctively for the pistol that was not currently strapped to her hip.

When the double doors were flung open, Sebastien pushed to his feet and sent the chair rocking back on two legs.

Both gaped at the open doorway where Ramsey St. Clare stood, his arms wide apart, one hand clutching the edge of a door, the other holding his walking stick.

“I’ll be double damned,” he said quietly, his very cold gray eyes staring first at Rose, then at Fonteyne.

“I did not believe my ears when I was told that my sister and her husband were on the island. I felt sure the fellow had been chewing too many banana leaves. Yet here you are and here I am bearing witness to a second unholy resurrection.”

Rose folded her hands tightly in her lap. “Hello Ram. How lovely to see you after … how long has it been? A year? Two?”

He held up the hand that was wrapped in a tight fist around his walking stick. “No. No, you do not get to make polite, civil conversation.”

Sebastien reached back to straighten his chair but the cane came swiftly around to point in his direction. “Stay exactly where you are, Fonteyne.” He said this without taking his eyes off Rose. “My mind needs to adjust to the sight of one phantom before trying to absorb a second.”

Josiah melted into view behind him. “Shall I set another place at the table, Mr. Ramsey?”

“No, you should not.” Ramsey turned and rather rudely shut the door, cutting off whatever Josiah was about to say next.

“The veins on your forehead are throbbing,” Rose said. “Perhaps you should sit and have some wine before your eyes start to bleed.”

A sound very much like a snarl came from Ramsey St. Clare’s throat.

He was tall and lean, handsome in a sharp-edged way, with a shock of dark auburn hair molded into a fashionable pompadour.

His eyes were less blue and more gray than Rose and his nose was slightly tilted off centre.

A scar tracked across his forehead from hairline to eyebrow, then continued down his cheek to his collarbone, a token from the same battle that had taken half his left leg.

Without saying anything, he went to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of wine, draining it in a few swallows before filling it again.

This time when he turned around, he had eyes only for Sebastien Fonteyne. “Your ballocks must be the size of cannon balls. I am surprised the weight of all that arrogance has not carried you to the bottom of the sea before now.”

Sebastien smiled and offered up a polite bow. “A pleasure to see you in good health as well, Ram.”

The color remained high in Ramsey’s cheeks, but it was obviously taking a tremendous effort to temper the fury down to a mere rage.

“May I ask why? Why the devil are both of you here? And what unconscionable game are you playing to pretend you are husband and wife?”