Even when he wasn’t tending passengers, Mercy was nowhere to be seen.

With this being the last day the women would be aboard the ship, he’d decided he must seek her out, even if that meant going to her cabin and pleading with her to give him one last opportunity to see her.

Perhaps now, while the passengers and crew were occupied with other matters, he could finally speak with her and offer his overdue apology.

“Excuse me a moment, gentlemen,” Joseph said with a slight bow. “I shall be back momentarily.”

He wound through the clusters of people while maintaining an air of nonchalance. As he started in the direction she’d gone, he guessed she was heading back to her cabin. He veered down a different passageway, hoping he could catch up with her before she reached the cabin.

His footsteps thudded against the damp wood of the deck. As he neared the corner that would lead him to the starboard side near the bride rooms, he halted and listened. The steps drawing nigh were soft but quick.

Before she could pass him, he moved from the passageway.

At the sight of him, she halted abruptly and gasped. “Joseph. You scared me worse than a creeping tomcat.”

“Forgive me. I didn’t intend to frighten you.” Up close, he feasted upon her lovely features—her high cheekbones, elegant brows, and the long lashes framing her blue eyes.

She dropped her attention to the deck, breaking the connection so that everything he’d tried to ignore and escape came rushing back. She was leaving the ship. She would soon find a husband. And she would belong to someone else.

He’d lose her forever.

He was well aware she wasn’t his and therefore he couldn’t truly lose her. Nevertheless, an ache swelled in his chest that he couldn’t explain, which made him feel suddenly desperate.

Drawing in a breath, he forced himself to complete the task he’d come here to do. “I’ve longed for the occasion to speak with you again so that I might apologize for my behavior the last time we were together.”

Her lashes flew up, revealing confusion in her eyes.

“For when we—when I—” he stammered, embarrassed now to speak of their encounter.

“You’re sorry for kissing me?” Her question contained a note of hurt.

“No. I’m not sorry for . . .” He glanced around, making sure they were alone. Then he lowered his voice and finished, “Of course I’m not sorry for kissing you, Mercy. I’d kiss you again in a second if I could.”

A flush flared in her cheeks. Did her question and that look mean she’d enjoyed kissing him as much as he had her?