Scowling, she splashed herself clean and started dressing. Barnacle watched through one eye from her spot on the bed. Vice’s heart melted just a touch at the sight of the little cat.

Knigh lurked by the window, peering out through a crack in the curtains. He still wore the same shirt and breeches that he’d worn all night, thoroughly rumpled.

But he didn’t seem to care, attention fixed outside where it was still dark. When he turned to help lace her stays, his brows were knotted.

“What’s the matter?” she asked as he tightened the cord far more gently than Perry ever did.

Her stomach twisted. Perry. Where was she? Had they been captured at Plymouth or had the plan only ever been for her?

Urgh, and she hadn’t even asked Knigh. She rubbed her face. Once they were safely on his friend’s ship, there’d be plenty of time to talk. “Knigh?”

“Those patrols we saw last night …”

“Right. What about them?”

He made a noisy exhalation, and she could picture his mouth in a straight line. “That’s not normal. Not so many of them, anyway. I just saw another group pass—they checked the alley over the road.”

“Just like that group last night did.”

“Exactly. I’m—I have a theory, and I hope it isn’t correct.”

“Spit it out.”

“Because they hadn’t sounded an alarm, I thought your escape had gone unnoticed.”

Cold seeped through her, almost as bad as the chill that iron cage had set deep in her bones. “You thought?”

“If I were Vice Admiral Yorke, I wouldn’t want to publicise the fact my prized prisoner had got away. Especially not after crowing about such a great victory. I’d try to recapture you quickly and quietly, say with patrols of marines searching alleys, stables … maybe even houses and inns.”

“Wild Hunt, you’re a sneaky bastard, Knigh.” She shook her head as he tied off the laces. “No wonder you caught Jack.” And me. A shiver crept through her.

“I’m hoping Yorke isn’t as sneaky. But I fear I’m right.” He twitched the edge of the curtain and peered out again, shoulders squared, body tensed, as ready as a sabrecat on a hunt.

She clenched her jaw, gaze tracing over the muscles of his back, visible where his shirt skimmed them. He was still whole, still strong. Her body had failed her, her muscles stripped away. She hadn’t been able to look at herself naked as she’d bathed last night—that was the main reason she hadn’t even tried to resist when he’d brought out the sponge and soap. His reaction when he’d undressed her had told her enough.

Horror. Disappointment. Pity.

She spun on her heel, ignoring the wave of dizziness that blanketed her, and snatched the petticoats he’d bought.