“No’tin’ would take me away from missus.”

“Good man.” He gestured to Divana. “This is my cabin boy, Davy.”

Msizi’s reddened eyes shifted to the lass. “A lad ye say?” He chuckled. “Anyone who look like dat aren’t no lad.”

Leave it to Msizi to take one look and uncover the truth. The man was the only real seer Kennan had ever known. Changing the subject, he patted the butler’s shoulder and gestured inside. “Is Mistress Evans in?”

“Ya, ya. I reckon she’ll be keen to hear the sip sip from England.”

“But I’m Scottish.”

“Ya, ya, boss.” He gestured to a settee in the modest entrance hall. Helen ran her trading company from her parlor, and trade partners never saw more of the house than that.

Kennan followed Divana to the seat. “I want you to wait here whilst I have a word with Mistress Evans.”

“She’s married?”

“Widowed.”

Divana crossed her arms and her legs, her bare foot swinging to an unheard tempo of a snare. “Are ye certain ye will not need to keep a watchful eye on me whilst ye’re chatting with the widow?”

“You’ll be safe here, but if you venture outside, I’ll have Lachie Mor take the cat-o’-nine-tails to your backside.”

She gaped, her lips forming a lovely O. “Ye wouldn’t.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“The missus will see ye now,” said Msizi as he stepped into the entry.

Kennan arched his eyebrow at Divana before he stood.

“Do not ye worry, Captain,” she said, her voice deep enough for an adolescent lad, while somewhere at the rear of the house a door closed. “I’ll be waiting right here.”

He gave a curt bow of his head. “I’ll see you anon.”

In the parlor, Helen sat in her wing-backed chair and raised her hand as Kennan entered. “Will wonders never cease? I thought I’d see snow in Nassau before you set foot in my house again.”

He grasped her fingers and applied a well-practiced kiss to the back of her hand, her skin chilly. Not a stunning beauty, the woman regarded him with icy blue eyes—a gaze holding a world of secrets—wicked things that should be locked away for eternity.

“I was just about to enjoy a glass of sherry.” She removed the stopper of a crystal decanter. “Do join me.”

“Sherry would be lovely, thank you.”

Helen smirked. “There’s no need to be formal, Kennan. And do have a seat, you’re making my neck sore.”

He obliged. “You’ve never been one to stand on ceremony.”

After she poured, she handed him a dainty glass. “If I were, I never would have left England.”

“Cheers.”

“Hmm.” The widow watched him over the top of her glass while she sipped. “Msizi tells me you have a cabin boy tagging along with you.”