To be invited here, he was some sort of officer. She hadn’t bothered to learn all the silly little details that marked a man as lieutenant, commodore, or captain. Whatever his rank, he might let slip some useful information about ships in the area, naval movements, this pirate hunter …

Men could be very talkative between the sheets.

Just what was he looking at? She circled behind, peering past him through the window. Ah, the harbour.

“Keeping an eye on your ship?” she murmured, not quite in his ear.

He didn’t jump, but he straightened slowly and turned towards her, brows raised in controlled lines.

Damn, even better face-on. His grey eyes surveyed her and what had looked like such unremarkable hair gleamed in the last rays of sunlight slanting through the window. This angle also revealed a pure white shock at the parting above his left eye. Below that, just crossing into the edge of his eyebrow, a scar traced a silvery line. What was that from?

And double-damn, a lady wasn’t supposed to approach a man like this. She could deal with that, but she also wasn’t meant to just address him out of nowhere without so much as a title. She was out of practice.

She added, far too late, “Ser.”

Her naval gent cleared his throat, gaze falling to the floor. “I’m afraid so, madam.” His eyes wrinkled in a charming wince. “I apologise, I’m afraid it’s been some time since I’ve been in polite society and it’s left me more at home on board a vessel than in a ballroom.”

She couldn’t blame him. The place was so stuffy, not helped by all the layers of clothing polite society demanded. Three petticoats, an overskirt, a chemise, stays, and then an open-fronted gown pulled on over all that and buttoned from bust to waist.

The soft voices of ladies and gentlemen drifted around the huge room—Lords and Ladies, they spoke so quietly, it was eerie. Glasses clinked occasionally, and a pianoforte sat unplayed. But there was no other sound. Not the groaning of timber or the shushing of waves or the whip of sails. Even her legs felt uncertain without the rolling deck beneath her feet.

Down in the bay, it was all movement. The gentle bob of ships at anchor, flags flapping, and the hive of activity—men and a few women at work, all with purpose. The people in here just milled about doing … nothing.

She sighed. “Ballrooms are so still, aren’t they?”

His head cocked, and those steel-grey eyes narrowed for an instant as if he were confused by her comment.

Shrugging, she drank a cool mouthful of sweet punch. At least they had cold drinks here, though gods knew where they got the ice from.