“Not at all.” He shifted back to motion so quickly she had to wonder if it was a lie. He took a few steps toward his boat, then pivoted and strode back to her, not stopping until the toes of his boots were nudging her rain-wet shoes. Leaning down, head angled.

She sucked in a breath, too surprised to leap back. Or smack him, as she should have done.

But he halted a few inches away and grinned that wicked little grin at her. “No. Next time, Mabena Moon, you’re going to be the one to kiss me.”

She stormed away with a growl. And then, at the top of the hill, cursed herself for not at least leaving him with a parting barb. There will never be a next time. Or That’s as likely as me growing a tail and becoming a mermaid.

Insufferable man. Conceited, arrogant oaf. And her—what was wrong with her, letting him get to her like that, render her speechless?

She pushed into the cottage minutes later, flinging her mackintosh onto a chair and kicking off her sopping shoes with a bit too much force.

“Mabena! What’s wrong?”

What was wrong? She spun toward Libby and waved at the door. “That man!”

Libby sat on the sofa again, the stupid cat curled against her shoulder. “The one you followed? He didn’t hurt you, did he? Or—”

“No.” Blast it. She pulled the tie from the bottom of her braid so she could redo it. The wind and rain and hood had surely done a number on her hair. “No, that bloke just got on the ferry.”

“Then who?”

“Casek Wearne.” She meant to say it with frustration. But she hadn’t expected the exhalation would leave her feeling suddenly shaky. She pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and slumped to a seat.

Libby was there in the next moment, pulling out one of the others. “What did he do?”

“What did he do?” She squeezed her eyes shut and abandoned the braid in favor of rubbing a hand over her face. “Only all but confessed he was in love with me and then very nearly kissed me, that’s all.”

“Ah.” Libby’s tone was every bit as bemused as her expression, when Mabena dropped her hand and could see it. “How . . . terrible of him?”

“It was!” With a groan, she slumped against the table. Never in her life had she imagined having this conversation with Lady Elizabeth Sinclair. Her employer. But then, who else could she ever have told this to? “He kissed me once before. When we were seventeen.”

Libby’s brows pulled tight. “I thought it was the brother you were engaged to. Mr. Gibson mentioned it,” she added when Mabena sat up again.

He never could keep a tale to himself. “It was. This was before.”

“And . . . you didn’t like it?”