As the lemon-yellow sun made its descent to the western horizon, I toiled away, my gaze flitting to the windows, my ears perked for the sounds of an approaching ship.

Hope was a dangerous investment. I couldn’t control Priest’s decisions or the outcome of my faith in him. I could only govern my own actions, right here, right now.

Woman’s work.

I sighed. Within three or so days, I would have a functional gown and thenceforth a ticket out of this cabin.

With my head down and another finger bleeding, I lost myself in the task. As dusk mantled the chamber in darkness, I lit the lanterns and pushed on.

Around two bells of the first dog watch, the exterior door opened. From my position behind the desk, I glimpsed the same young soldier setting the evening meal on the table in the dining cabin.

The hearty aroma of baked meat and vegetable lobscouse reached my nose, beckoning me to eat. And I would, after I finished this hem.

Bent over the fabric, I wove the thread in a steady rhythm, listening to the departing footfalls of the soldier. The door shut. Silence settled in. But something niggled.

I looked up and gasped as my gaze tumbled into the gulf of Ashley’s dark blue eyes. He stood a cabin away, watching me from the dining table, with his hat pinned beneath his elbow.

Honest to God, he had the smoothest brow and hardest expression of any aristocrat. And with such an innocent-looking face? Remarkable.

Perhaps it was the wide, pillowlike fullness of his pink lips. Or the large, round, ocean color of his eyes. Or that perfect, youthful skin that had not a freckle nor a blemish nor a whisker upon it.

His black hair, trimmed by a meticulous hand, fell in tousled, windblown lengths on the crown of his head. It faded perfectly into shorter, more tamed strands on the sides, defying the expectations of his exalted rank and stature.

Longer locks were a status symbol while thinning hair and baldness came with great humiliation. Most noblemen opted to spend a gross amount of coin on bombastic, powered perukes—yet another scheme to flaunt wealth.

But Ashley had been blessed with thick natural hair, the confidence to show it off, and the resources to keep it trimmed.

Today he wore a white cravat about his neck and a black waistcoat over the silk shirt. His usual blue frock stretched across his shoulders, matching the blue of the fabric I was hemming.

As his eyes widened with the realization of what I’d done, I held my breath, anxious to finally coax a reaction from his impassive mien.

Wait for it… Wait for it… Any second now he would turn crimson and explode.