“No, of course not!” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “But you are a woman on a ship full of men, and not all of them are good men.”

“Clearly.”

His lips tightened. “This is why the Belonging isn’t a passenger ship. I can’t have eyes on you all the time.”

“You don’t have to. I can take care of myself.”

“And what if there’s more than one?”

She met his livid gaze with cool hauteur. “There won’t be.”

“Sarani, don’t be stubborn.”

Her breath caught at the same moment as he realized his slip and the soft use of her given name. Those unreadable eyes softened for the briefest of seconds, and time fell away.

They could have been anywhere—the ship, the river in Joor, reading to each other on a hillside, dancing in the palace ballroom like they’d never left it, his eyes on hers and brimming with desire. Brimming with something other than bitterness. Sarani’s ears felt hot, her brain a muddled mess. Ribbons of heat chased through her veins as an eternity of memory passed between them. An eternity of pleasure, pain, love, rage, promises, and betrayals. Ending in heartbreak.

The story of them. Told in a handful of heartbeats.

Rhystan exhaled, and time resumed. His eyes were pieces of flint. Empty of emotion, hollow of anything that had to do with her.

“I’ll see to it you have a guard.”

She shook her head to clear it. “That’s not necessary.”

“I’m the captain, Lady Lockhart, and this is my ship. Remember that. I’ve better things to do than worry about you, like dealing with the fact that we’re probably being followed by the British navy. Or worse.” He cursed softly as though he hadn’t meant to divulge that, but then sucked air through his teeth. “My cabin needs scrubbing. See to it.”

Without another word, Rhystan turned on his heel and walked away. But Sarani was too busy trying to calm her galloping heart as she peered out on the horizon to find the telltale speck in the distance. The minute she saw it, fear prickled over her skin.

It could be anything. A trading vessel. A navy ship. A passenger ship bound for England, just as they were. But she knew. She knew exactly who was on that ship.

And they were coming for her.

Eight

Sarani stood at the railing again, wishing she could steal the captain’s spyglass. It wasn’t to memorize the sun’s descent into the waiting cradle of the ocean or to appreciate the spectacularly gorgeous sunset that blazed across the sky and cast orange and pink swaths over the glasslike surface of the sea.

No, it was for the black speck on the horizon.