Knigh’s head snapped up. He’d had a tip-off she was nearby, but this early? A thrill ran through him. If they came into port not realising he was here, he’d be able to close off the harbour entrance, trapping them within. His mouth twitched with a suppressed grin. She thought she’d got one over on him—well this would certainly show her. Who knew the notorious Lady Vice would be so easy to capture? Perhaps he wouldn’t need those distasteful contacts after all.

He strode to port, nodding to his first lieutenant. “Stand by for my orders, Munroe.”

The early morning sun glistened on the waves. From the docks, The Morrigan came, cutting through the water smoothly. Already in port? Damn—they must have been better disguised than he’d realised.

Gripping the rail, he turned his head slightly to shout to his men but kept his eyes fixed on the approaching ship. “Weigh anchor, make sail!”

Munroe relayed the orders, and in moments the shouts had rippled to the furthest reaches of the ship, together with men hurrying to anchor and aloft to obey.

Knigh narrowed his eyes—how was The Morrigan moving at such speed? The tide wasn’t even meant to be high enough yet for ships to pass so easily, but here she came and—

Her. At The Morrigan’s rail, dark hair long and loose in the wind—Vice. Unlike last time he’d seen her, she wore a red frock coat, braid and buttons glinting. Ostentatious, fitted well over her waist and bust—she liked to show off. She’d passed off as a lady and yet here, leaning on the rail, dressed as a sailor, she looked … herself.

Her eyebrows flashed up, and she grinned broadly. “Captain Blackwood,” she called, waving. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

His jaw popped with tension. Not just a show-off—cocky with it.

Behind her, The Morrigan’s crew leered at him from their stations. None of them seemed in much hurry.

“Ready port guns,” he bellowed, eyes fixed on her. Not that he could fire in harbour, not without risking others, but she’d hear the command, and it eased his irritation a touch to be doing something.

Almost level with him now, Vice pulled out a pocket watch, making a show of opening and looking at it. “Hope I’ve not woken you too early, Captain.” She slipped the watch away and stretched, giving a theatrical yawn.

That bloody woman. A growl sounded low in his throat, and before he knew what he was doing, the smooth butt of his pistol was in his hand. He pulled back the cock, straightened his arm, and took aim over her shoulder.

Just a warning shot. He needed to take her in alive, after all. She needed to face justice, and those fools who sang songs about her needed to see her hang for her crimes.