“I wasn’t talking about me.”

Her chin jutted up. “I’d hate to hear who was your unfortunate target. Though if that was directed at me, having Red spitting in your tea all these weeks will have been worth it.”

Gideon guffawed, and Rhystan blinked. Was the chit jesting? Then again, he wouldn’t put it past her. He had been awful lately. He frowned at the tea on the tray as though the trace of the boatswain’s saliva would make itself known, and she smirked. “You should see your face.”

“Don’t you have ropes to mend?”

“Finished. I was heading to the fo’cs’le.”

Rhystan’s lips twitched. She even sounded like the rest of the crew now. She sauntered off the way she’d come, but not before his gaze snagged on the threadbare stretch of fabric hugging her taut behind as she climbed down the steps.

In a flash, he was hurled back in time into a memory of a much younger girl draped in a tunic and a near-transparent sari—a length of deftly draped and pleated cotton—climbing up the banks of the river one sweltering afternoon to collapse beside him on the grassy slope. The wet fabric had clung to her legs after her lengthy swim, hiding nothing.

As a gentleman, he’d averted his gaze from the slim outline of her legs and the gentle flare of her hips, though his lower body had already been at excruciating attention. He’d practically thrown his discarded coat over his lap to hide his raging erection.

When she’d entreated him to read a paragraph from his book to her, he had, though his arousal had not waned in the least as she gripped his sweaty palm in hers. Hand in hand, they’d stared at the clouds, him reciting the words and her listening in thoughtful silence, interrupting only when she had an opinion on the author’s narrative.

Which was often with those particular volumes.

“Thackeray is a condescending cynic.” She’d huffed in outrage, quoting him, “‘To be despised by her sex is a very great compliment to a woman’? He doesn’t seem to hold females in much esteem, does he?”

Rhystan had laughed. “His narrative is tongue in cheek. And he does have some worthier gems, like ‘Revenge may be wicked, but it’s natural.’”

“Revenge is rather a waste of emotion and effort.”

“Who said that?”

She’d shot him a plucky grin. “I did.”

Even back then, she’d defied convention, not one to hide her quick, clever mind, unafraid to use her intelligence. She pushed every limit, exceeded every expectation. She’d lived according to her own rules. A laughing girl with mischief and fire in her eyes. The fierce, rebellious spirit who had stolen his heart. He’d thought he had hers in return. But that girl was gone. Just like the boy he’d been was long gone.