He settled into the chair across from mine and placed his napkin on his lap, so I did as well. I hadn’t thought this far ahead in my planning and I couldn’t think at all now. As he poured wine, my only thought was to watch his hands and not his face, ’cause Sewel said I had owl eyes that always stared.

He set the wine down. “I am ready whenever you are.”

“What’s your name? Your Christian name. I forgot it,” I added. Then I felt my face warm for no reason I could understand.

“Asa. Asa Lane.”

“How old are you, Asa Lane?”

“Nineteen.”

“And why are you on this ship?” I said, in spite of myself. I needed his help, but I couldn’t bring myself to just ask for it. I didn’t want to appear like a grasping girl trying to rise above her low station—which I was. The clever glint in Asa Lane’s eyes only added to my reluctance.

“This was a condition of my release,” he replied.

“Your release?”

“Aye. I am a privateersman. I was a marine guard on the schooner Stalwart, out of Marblehead, until a few weeks ago. We were cruising to the West Indies, having good success seizing British merchantmen until we grew too brazen and chased after a seventy-four—that’s a very large ship.”

“I know.” I sat up, my curiosity instantly sparked. “How many mounted guns on it?”

“Thirty-two.”

“That must’ve been a sight. Was your schooner coppered?”

“Nay. And she was sailing sluggish, too.”

I shook my head. “Teredo worms, probably.” In my mind, I was underwater, running my hands over the whorls of a worm-eaten hull. “You never stood a chance.”

His lips tugged up. “You’re remarkably familiar with naval affairs, Miss Coates.”

I felt the pull of a smile, too. “Well, my father—Nathaniel Coates? He’s a shipping merchant. This is his ship—the Ambrosia. This table right here’s his table.” I patted it for good measure.

“Of course.” he said, playing along. “I apologize and offer my condolences for your loss.”

“Thank you,” I said, swallowing past the pinch in my throat. I wasn’t mourning Nathaniel Coates, but I was mourning. “What happened after the Stalwart was seized?” I wanted the entire story now.

“Most of my fellow crewmen were sent to Fort St. Mark—a prison in St. Augustine. Some were sold into bondage. A few were pressed into the Royal Navy. But as I bear the name Lane, and the privilege it accords, fate was kinder to me. My father and uncle pooled wealth and power to apply pressure on the magistrate overseeing my imprisonment—or I should say my situation. That was his term, because there was some confusion over whether I was in fact a prisoner.

“To charge me with war crimes, the courts would have needed to recognize America as a sovereign and independent nation. The magistrate chose to view me as an errant British subject instead. But in that view, I couldn’t be detained without being charged with a crime. Thanks to that neat riddle, I was pardoned of any wrongdoings and ordered home.” He tipped his chin toward the cuddy. “That luxurious little hovel is Old Jansen’s idea of ‘private quarters,’ as provisioned for in my release papers. I shall be holed up in there until I reach Massachusetts, whereupon I’ll be officially free again.” He smiled—a real smile. “You seem appeased, Miss Coates. I hope I’ve earned the right to a few bites.”