He was still giving her that odd look as if she were something puzzling he’d found wrapped around an anchor. She swept her glass to indicate the room. “No creaking planks, no snap and furl of sail, no touch of salty breeze or spray, no sun on your skin.”

The faintest of controlled smiles touched his lips.

What would they feel like if she touched them with hers? He wore no wedding ring, not that that always stopped sailors far from home, but with a little luck, it would make him more susceptible to her advances.

“Have you sailed much, madam?”

She laughed. What a question to ask a pirate. But she wasn’t meant to be a pirate in here. She was a lady. “Only here from Albion. My family was terribly seasick the whole time.” Just like he’d been all those years ago. He’d complained, and even when he’d stopped throwing up, he’d moaned and groaned in their bunk.

Lords and Ladies, how had she ever imagined they were a good match? The poor man dragged halfway across the world by her foolishness.

Blinking, she shook off his spectre. “But I found it most … exhilarating.”

“Exhilarating?” The officer raised an eyebrow, the rest of his face still. Gods, did the Navy teach men to drill their facial expressions as well as everything else? “There aren’t many young ladies who’d think that of cramped life on a boat for weeks and weeks.” He glanced out towards the bay, but those steel eyes quickly returned to her. “Your family? So, your husband or parents or …?”

Checking if she was married or under the protection of a wealthy father. Ah, so he was interested. Excellent.

She smirked. “My aunt and cousins. My husband died some years ago.” That bit was true—the best lies came from a seed of truth, after all. And being a widow said she was available and had no virginity to fret over losing. “Oh, I am sorry, here I am having leapt upon you in your moment of solitude without so much as an introduction.” With a little luck, she’d be leaping on him later, literally. “Lady Lyons.”

His name. Technically it was hers since she’d ceased being a Ferrers when they’d married, but it had never felt like her own.

Maybe that had been her subconscious trying to warn her childish self. Their little game of romance was doomed from the start. She should have listened, rather than playing the idealist.

Ah well, that was an age ago. At least he’d been a better choice than the pathetic Villiers boy Papa had betrothed her to.

“Captain Knigh Blackwood,” the officer said with a stiff bow. “My condolences for your loss.”

“A pleasure, ser.” She bowed in return. “And it was long ago, but thank you.”