She’d never thought herself the sort to admire a man’s musculature and physical prowess. But she had to admit, watching him move, that his able form ignited a purely animal response inside her. Not surprising from a biological standpoint, of course. It was the attraction to the fittest that allowed them to survive, by Darwin’s theory. They were the ones to attract a mate, to reproduce, to pass their superior traits along to the next generation.

Her cheeks warmed. She’d examined such theories aplenty, but never with the thought that she was the mate to be attracted. It made it entirely different.

And entirely irrelevant just now. She was being every bit as silly as Lottie, thinking of a man’s handsomeness when she should be worrying over his grandparents. She gripped her oars firmly and, the moment he dipped his, matched him.

Only the slip of wood through water spoke now, and the cry of birds overhead, out for their breakfast. It would have been a serenade if not for the circumstances. Determined to prove herself to him, she matched him stroke for stroke, stridently ignoring the burn that soon scorched her shoulders. A bit of aching later would be worth it if they could find Mr. Gibson and Mrs. Tremayne.

Soon they were knocking against the hull of Tas-gwyn’s boat—built, no doubt, by his son-in-law. Oliver stowed his oars and leapt gracefully to the larger craft, a rope in hand to lash them together. “Stay here for a moment, Libby, if you would.”

If he kept calling her Libby, she’d obey most any dictate. “All right.”

A moment later, he was shaking his head. “He’s not on here. Perhaps that’s good. If he were, but the boat were drifting, it wouldn’t be a good thing. Given the current, I’m guessing it drifted from Samson for some reason. Let’s sail it back over there and see if there’s any sign of them. We’ll tow the gig.”

She wasn’t exactly eager to make the same climb from one boat to the other, but he was there, hand held out to help her, so what was she to do but agree? And though even with his help she was far less graceful than he’d been, she didn’t make an utter fool of herself. Her feet were soon planted on the elegant wood planking of the small sailboat, which freed Oliver to tend to the sails and get them moving in the direction he wanted.