I knew I was tired but hadn’t comprehended the extent of my exhaustion until I fell asleep at the dining table while Lieutenant Flemming treated the abrasions on my wrists.

He woke me with a hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently. “Madam? You should lie down.”

His soft English accent matched his demeanor. White strands streaked the roots of his blond hair, making him appear older than his forty years. That was my guess, anyway. He didn’t talk much.

Ointments and bandages gathered, he stepped out without another word, leaving me alone in the dimly lit cabin.

I ate some roasted meat and biscuits to appease my grumbling stomach. Then I padded into Ashley’s sleeping quarters.

Behind the privacy screen, I removed Priest’s shirt and held it to my nose. It no longer smelled like him, but I couldn’t bring myself to discard it.

Using the soap and water in the basin, I scrubbed the blood from the linen and hung it to dry.

Various supplies filled the cabinet, such as fragrant oils for hair, ambrosial salve for skin, an oxbone brush with horsetail hairs for cleaning teeth, and cutting instruments for whiskers. Did Ashley actually use the latter? After a full day, he still had naught a bristle on his unshaven face.

I washed my hair and body with his cleansers, taking care with the jade stone at my throat. Then I donned the gentleman’s nightgown, swimming in the linsey-woolsey as I crawled beneath the counterpane on his bed.

The stuffing was soft enough, the distance between sides wide enough for two. But I felt more secure tucking myself against the wall of the alcove and pulling the blankets up around me.

The ship rocked lazily, lulling me into the space between sleep and wakefulness. But I couldn’t turn my mind off. Couldn’t quell the churning in my stomach. Couldn’t ignore the cedar scent of an unfamiliar man embedded in the mattress.

Slumber came and went in restless fits. The passing hours chased the moon out of the frame of the open balcony.

Whenever Priest arrived, what would I hear first? The hissing sails of his ship? The battle drums of HMS Blitz? The command of Ashley’s voice from the speaking trumpet?

Something sounded in the dining cabin. The click of the door. Then footsteps.

My breath stalled, my entire being straining, listening to that gait. I recognized it—the confident, unhurried heel to toe rhythm.

How unnerving. I barely knew this man. He wasn’t the highlight of my life, something I looked forward to seeing. He’d been the darkest part of one day. So why was I lying here, focused on the cadence of his approach as if I’d been awake all this time, waiting for him?