From the pulpit, Mr. Scott’s monotone rang out over the silent audience. The bishop of Victoria had asked Mr. Scott, as a visiting reverend, to give the sermon today. The zealous man was taking the opportunity to admonish the brides to remember their religious duties, as well as their duties to their husbands and employers, so that they might prove to be a credit to their country and to God.

“And I beseech you, kind people of Victoria,” Mr. Scott said, “to look well to the precious charges who have been placed in your keeping to the praise of His glorious name. I pray and hope that all the women here will soon be comfortable as English wives and mothers.”

Joseph wanted to shake his head in protest. He didn’t want Mercy to soon be comfortable as a wife and mother. It was selfish of him, he knew. She wasn’t his. And yet the idea of another man pulling her close and kissing her about drove him mad every time he pictured it. His nerves tightened again so that when Mr. Scott asked the congregation to stand for the benediction, he shot up from the pew. With the final amen, everyone began filing out into the center and side aisles.

As Mercy turned to follow the other women, her sights snagged upon him. Like yesterday, he was struck by her loveliness. He’d never thought her anything but beautiful, even when they were both grimy from months at sea. Now, with her hair and skin glowing from a recent scrubbing, she had a fresh innocence about her like that of a spring blossom.

As if sensing his admiration, she glanced away shyly, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink before darting another look his way, a look that sent a sharp, almost painful need for her through his heart.

Joseph nodded toward the outer aisle, which was slightly more shadowed. It might not be private, yet it was a better place to speak with her than in the open.

He hurried from his pew without waiting to see if she was following and moved past the arches and pillars. At the sight of a darkened doorway of a side room, Joseph didn’t hesitate. He stepped inside.

A moment later, Mercy entered. “Lord Colville,” she whispered.

He reached for her and tugged her deeper into the shadows of what he guessed to be a prayer room or small chapel.

She offered no resistance, readily coming to him, smelling of sunshine and sea. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms as the memory of their shared kiss burned within him.

“Mercy,” he said, embarrassed that his voice came out so raspy, revealing his need of her.