He was right. Saying the name Luke was like waving a red cape before a bull. Time to shift tactics. “Caroline told me about Clyde Magruder. How he’s going to run for Congress and just keep getting richer as he pumps out more adulterated food. If we can get Good Housekeeping on our side, it might take some of the wind out of his sails.”

News of her presence must have spread, for other members of the crew started gathering outside the wheelhouse, peering through the windows in curiosity. She was glad to see Otis, for he was the only semi-friendly face among the dozen sailors gaping at her.

She ignored the others and turned to Gray, flinching at the seething anger on his face. It hurt. How stupid she’d been to imagine this trip might be a chance to win his forgiveness. He didn’t even look like the same man who’d once gazed at her with such tender affection.

Her lower lip began wobbling furiously, and she prayed she wouldn’t be reduced to tears before all these people. If possible, Gray’s face turned even harder, but he reached into his pocket and thrust a handkerchief at her.

“Oh, for pity’s sake, don’t cry,” he groused. “It’s bad enough having a woman on board, but I won’t subject my crew to sniveling.” He turned to look at the half dozen sailors who gawked at the exchange. “You can all go below,” he ordered.

She was sorry to see them leave. They were a buffer between her and Gray’s smoldering anger, but maybe it was a blessing. She intended to keep pressing for the chance to go to Boston, and it was unlikely Gray would cave before an audience. While the other men filed down the hatch, she scooped up the cat that had crept toward her feet, holding it against her chest for comfort.

“Put the cat down,” Gray ordered, still staring stonily into the distance. “You’re making it nervous.”

More likely she was making him nervous, but she complied. She watched him carefully as emotions continued to play across his face. She dared not say a word. It was time to let Gray process what had happened and arrive at his own conclusions.

Finally he spoke, his voice devoid of emotion. “Haig, have someone escort her down to the starboard crew quarters. She can sleep there. It’s empty.”

Captain Haig looked over in surprise. “Gray, those berths are just hammocks. We could offer her—”

“A hammock is perfectly fine for a stowaway,” Gray said. There was no softening in his face, but at least he turned to look at her. “I’ll take you to Boston, but I expect you to help with meals while you’re on board. First thing tomorrow morning, you are to be in the galley, helping the cook prepare breakfast. I won’t tolerate a layabout.”