“Well, that and I’ve spent far too much time around Aunt Tilda.” She grinned and tugged on his waistcoat, starting for the door. “Come along, to Portsmouth with you.”

Groaning, he raked his fingers through his hair, but he followed. “I have a horrible feeling you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” She took his hand and patted it. “We’ll soon have you mended, big brother. And then you can come to Lunden with me to help fight off all the rakes vying for my hand.”

He snorted. “You’re clever enough to run rings around them. I fear they might be the ones who need protecting from you.”

Chatting about her plans for Lunden, Is led the way upstairs to help pack his bag. Although his tread on the stairs was heavy, his heart and limbs were far lighter than they’d been in weeks.

He’d return to Portsmouth, get the Admiralty to grant him a meeting with Vee—Vice. Then he’d get the closure some traitorous part of himself so badly needed.

Yes, he had a plan to rid his thoughts of the notorious Lady Vice. Soon he would be free of her once and for all.

Interference

Scowling, Knigh stomped down the stairs of the Admiralty Offices. There was no reason for them to deny him a meeting with Vee unless someone had interfered.

And there was only one person likely to have done that.

FitzRoy was staying in an upmarket inn closer to the edge of town, and within a few minutes, Knigh was on the right road. Despite the chilly air misting his breaths, his cheeks burned. What had that bastard said to the Admiralty? Did he not understand he could ruin his career? No, this was FitzRoy—he knew exactly what he was doing.

Knigh paused at the inn’s door and drew a long breath of chilly air. He’d quite happily wring FitzRoy’s neck, but he was an officer of the Royal Navy and as such represented Queen and country. He would not enter an inn and start a brawl. He wasn’t an animal.

Nodding, he clenched his jaw. That was far more the sort of behaviour he’d expect from a pirate like FitzRoy.

There was no sign of the man within, but after eyeing his uniform, the innkeeper pointed him towards a private dining room. Even better—he’d catch him alone.

When he threw the door open, FitzRoy’s dark eyebrows shot up over the rim of his wine glass. “Knighton Blackwood!”

Knigh stilled in the doorway, veins throbbing with an intense need to punch him in the nose. He swallowed and took a long breath, forcing his arms to his sides.

FitzRoy grinned and swept his glass to the side in an expansive gesture. “My old friend. I didn’t expect to see you back here—I thought you’d be off enjoying your reward like I am.”