His brows flashed up, and his gaze flowed down her. He had to be picturing her in full stays and gown, hair brushed and curled and dressed. Gods, when had been the last time she’d done that? Surely not since they’d snuck into that masked ball together. And all night he’d strutted like a duke who owned a particularly beautiful sabrecat and showed it off on a diamond-studded leash.

Her captain wasn’t easily led by his loins, but he did enjoy possessing the finer things in life. And, as he’d once told her, a true lady in a fine gown is one of the finest things a man may possess.

“Very well, Vice.” He rubbed a lock of her hair between thumb and fingertips. “Just try not to get in trouble.”

Oh, she intended to.

Hunting the Huntsman

There was something about a man in uniform. Especially one who wore it so well.

Vice watched his profile sidelong as she poured a glass of punch. He was perhaps a couple of years older than her with mid-brown hair that was short at the sides and long and thick on top, swept back as if he’d run his fingers through it. It was nothing special, except that it framed a remarkably handsome face, all angled jaw accentuated by trimmed sideburns and high cheekbones.

Tall and broad in shoulder and chest, he stood imposing by the ballroom’s high windows, peering out, apparently more interested in the world outside.

She couldn’t blame him. Just like back in Albion, the people here were hypocrites more interested in gowns and etiquette than anything real.

“Oh, won’t you look at those spills on the tablecloth,” a grey-haired lady said at her shoulder. “What are they teaching girls these days?”

Maybe something more interesting than how to pour punch without spilling it? Vice raised an eyebrow and flashed the woman a brief smile. “Quite.” To avoid having to say any more, she sipped her drink.

He was still there, still absorbed by something outside.

Vice had been here an hour and heard no word of the pirate hunter. But maybe this wouldn’t be a wasted trip. Men on shore leave could be persuaded to take a tumble before returning to weeks and weeks at sea without sight of a woman.

His fingers curved around a little punch glass, making his hands look almost comically large in comparison.

Large hands, powerful shoulders that didn’t need epaulettes to exaggerate them, and long, lean legs. He would make an excellent candidate, now the Captain was off the boil.

The lady at her shoulder was saying something about a gentlewoman’s education and now paused, expecting an answer.

Vice rolled her eyes. “Excuse me.” She didn’t spare the lady a look before sauntering towards the uniformed man.