Lords and Ladies, if she wasn’t an even prettier prospect close-up. The planks of the hull had been hewn smooth and flush, all butted together and painted black until it almost looked like one piece.

Just above the waterline, the hull gleamed, metallic. Copper-sheathed. That must have cost a pretty penny. Then again, the Navy could afford it, and she’d heard how much it helped with speed and avoided the need to careen so regularly.

Now she was closer, a couple of male voices in soft conversation drifted across the water.

Moving slowly to avoid splashing, she scaled the Venatrix’s hull. Here at starboard, she was in shadow, and once she reached the shrouds, she’d just appear a deeper shadow in the darkness. If she climbed up the port side, she’d end up silhouetted against the distant lights of the town, and even a careless watchman would spot her right away.

Foot over foot, hand over hand, the motion of climbing came easily after all these years, and her muscles sang with the movement, despite the weight and chill of her wet clothes.

This was what she needed—action. This was what had been missing in that former life—‘ladylike’ had no room for climbing or night swimming. Hells, ‘ladylike’ had no room for anything she did now.

Grinning, she climbed up onto the foremast’s ratlines—she’d sweep fore to aft, so methodical even Perry would approve. Eight men dotted the deck—the night watch—but they all looked towards the wharves, backs to her. After all, who’d be approaching from the open sea?

The creak of ropes under her hands and feet merged into the chorus of a ship at rest—the breeze, flexing timbers, the sighing sea. Still, Vice breathed as quietly as she could with the exertion of climbing aloft. The night air cooled her wet clothes and the sweat forming on her brow.

Almost there.

Her heart thundered as she passed twenty feet above the heads of the men on watch. Their lamps on the forecastle shone, almost as distant and small as stars from up here. And then she planted her hands on the yard and clambered onto the footropes.

So far, so good.

Up here the slight bob of the deck on the near-still water felt like a swell, but she’d developed the sea legs for this long ago. Within seconds, she side-stepped across to the first roband that lashed the foresail to the yard.

It was a shame to do anything to damage such a fine ship, but the sails could be lashed in place again easily, no permanent damage done. Although her best attempts at persuading the Captain to agree to capture the Venatrix had only received a non-committal response, that didn’t mean she’d never have the vessel.