Memories of Rhystan lying half-naked on his cot when she’d first climbed aboard his ship burst into life in her head. They were quickly followed by flashes of him in his copper tub—large, wet, and glistening—and then him on his knees before her again… She lifted her fan, employing it briskly to ward off the sudden flare of heat. Oh, her thoughts were ungovernable!

Air, she needed air.

Hurrying toward the balcony along the border of the ballroom, Sarani slipped outside to the less-crowded terrace. The change in location didn’t make her imaginings any less filthy, but the cool evening breeze helped.

She needed to stop thinking about him.

It wasn’t as though she intended to have any husbandly prospects after she and the duke went their separate ways, and Sarani still had an assassin to contend with, though as the days went by, she was less and less sure that they had been followed on the high seas. Perhaps it had been a coincidence. Perhaps Vikram had given up and let her go.

“Pardon the intrusion, my lady,” a quiet male voice said, a glass of champagne appearing before her. It was attached to a man she did not immediately recognize, though he was well heeled and undoubtedly titled. One had to have been invited to this particular ball.

Sarani was desperately parched, but she knew better than to accept drinks from strangers, even at exclusive parties, and he was breaching decorum in the worst way by approaching her without an introduction. She shot him a pointed look. “We have not been introduced, sir.”

He gave a slow nod. “Forgive my trespass, then. I’m quite new to town, you see. New to all this, really. We rarely come to London for the season as my wife prefers the country.”

Sarani stared at him, at a loss for words. “Is there something I can help you with, Lord…”

“Beckforth.”

Heart in her throat, she turned to stare at him more fully, but nothing registered beyond the fact that he was about a decade older than she was and had a stern if handsome face.

He bowed. “The Earl of Beckforth at your service, my lady.”

Good heavens. Her lungs squeezed behind her ribs. This man was her family. Only a distant cousin on her mother’s side, but still. Family. And he had sought her out on the balcony, which meant he obviously knew who she was. But why?

She could barely formulate a reply as he offered her his card. “It would please me if you called upon me at Lockhart Manor sometime.”

His manner wasn’t overtly friendly, but it wasn’t curt either. In fact, the whole exchange was remarkably bland, albeit unexpected, like a bolt out of the blue. With an awkward nod, he took his leave, and Sarani tucked the calling card into her reticule.

What were the odds that he would seek her out? And again…why?