The hounds bounced around his legs and nipped at his fingers, but he paid them no heed. Prowling toward me, he searched my eyes, and what he saw there made his expression grow dark, overcast, heavy like rain clouds.

I knew that look, and it hurt my heart. “Don’t say it.”

“It’s uncanny how much you resemble her.”

“Please, don’t—”

“It’s true, lass.”

I released a sigh. The truest truth was that he still loved the countess. It was an eternal love, as deep and ungovernable as the ocean.

But she wouldn’t have him. Not when she was carrying his child. Not after fourteen years of letters, in which he offered her marriage, wealth, and undying devotion.

“Do you still write to her?” I curled my fingers around his callused hand.

“Aye.” His gaze slipped to Charles and shuttered before returning to me. “Naught has changed.”

“Maybe she’s not getting your missives?”

“She’s getting them. My courier waits as she reads them, shreds them, and hands back the pieces without response.” Pain flashed in his eyes. “Has she still not given you my identity?”

I shook my head.

She never mentioned his name. Not once. Whenever I asked who fathered me, she punished me with her silence. If she knew about our visits… God’s blood, would she have him marched to the gallows and hanged? I didn’t know and couldn’t risk it.

So I never begged him to stay. Instead, I voiced my usual demand.

“Take me with you.”

His expression blanked, and he released my hand. “No.”

“Please? I can’t go back. Not after what I’ve done!”

“Listen, Bennett. Stealing a horse is one thing. In time, Abigail will forgive you. But pillaging the king’s ships is something else entirely. There’s no forgiveness in my business, and the sea is no place for a child.”

“I’m fourteen!”

“She needs you.” He brushed a springy curl from my face. “I would not steal you from her.”

“Steal me? She’s trying to get rid of me.”

He went eerily still. “You say?”

“She’s arranging a betrothal. If she succeeds, you’ll be visiting me in England. And that’s if I can sneak away from Lord Grisdale.”

His nostrils pulsed with a furious snap of breath. “Who?”

“A marquess of the realm. Deep in the pockets. Gray under the wig. I stole the old lobcock’s horse and—”

“Slow down.” His hands flexed, and the vein in his forehead looked ready to pop. “Did you say gray?”

“Well, I haven’t confirmed that detail because I missed our introduction. But the rest is true! He’s a whole decade older than you!”

In a blink, his eyes lost their humanity, the depths sinking into an abyss of malice and ice.