“Excellent.” She put her arm through his and started forward as if this were a jolly stroll rather than a rescue mission. Her shoe crunched on shards of porcelain. “Really, some people are so careless.” She shrugged and smiled at him, then led the way out.

It took half an hour to walk down to the cove neighbouring the docks. The further they got from the mansion, the more Knigh’s arm relaxed beneath her hand. A large bonfire pinpointed the location of The Morrigan’s crew. Their songs and shouts reached across the beach, calling to her.

That was more like it. The sound of people—raucous, fun, unrestrained. Real. She tugged Knigh along.

His breathing was steady again, his expression calm, controlled as usual.

Once they left the cobbled street, her dainty heels sank into the white sand, forcing her to pause and slip them off. Perry was playing her fiddle, the high sound snaking towards them on the breeze. Excellent—she knew the best tunes to dance to, and Saba’s beat on the drum was the perfect complement.

Knigh watched her dusting off her shoes and shoving them into a pocket. He huffed out a long breath and nodded. “Thank you.” His first words since they’d left the ball.

Hitching up her skirts to free her legs, she looked at him with raised eyebrows. “For?”

“I think”—his eyebrow twitched in a way that made her want to smooth her thumbs over the troubled expression—“I think you realise I was somewhat … agitated earlier. Mercia …” His chest heaved as if summoning the words was a battle.

What had the Duke done to cause the most unflappable man in Albion such torment?

“You don’t have to explain.” She gave him a half-smile. Gods, she itched to know, but … “I’m not so cruel that I’d—look, just come and dance with me and I’ll call it even.”

His eyebrows shot up, and he shook his head. “I don’t dance.”

“Oh, well.” She shrugged. His tension had faded, so she’d take that as a victory. “You can watch me, then. Just keep Rogers away—he gets a bit handsy, and I’d rather not spoil the fun by breaking his nose again.”

He cocked his head, eyes narrowed as if he were trying to work out whether or not she was joking. Scoffing, he offered his arm. “Very well, madam, I’ll be your escort. Not that I think your modesty needs protecting—you clearly have that covered.”

She grinned and slid her hand into the crook of his elbow as they set off across the sand. “You already know me so well.” Her heart faltered as the words came out. He was Navy. A pirate hunter. And yet …