“Can I fetch you a glass of water?” he asked.

“No. No thank you. I am perfectly fine and composed.”

“Not hot, then?”

He looked at her impassively, but the slow sweep of his eyelashes fanned her inner flames, making her wonder whether Lady Armitage would mind terribly if she smashed the window in order to get a spot of fresh air.

“It’s only that you seem to be glistening—just here.” He reached out, drew a finger gently down one side of her throat. He watched himself do it, then raised his eyes to hold her gaze without a word, without a breath between either of them.

“Oh my heart,” Cecilia whispered. Then she realized what she’d said and blinked furiously. “I mean my aunt. If I am perspiring somewhat, it is merely because I am worried about my aunt.” This justification strengthened her wits, and she nodded primly. “Besides, I thought I had explained to you that it’s indecorous to mention any condition of a woman’s—a woman’s—”

“Body? I beg your pardon. But I must say”—he leaned close, whispering—“if I was truly to speak indecorously about your body, you’d not be thinking of your aunt afterward.”

His breath brushed her ear, but she felt it in her wrists, her heart, and certain other unmentionable places—hot, flickering, like the memory of his kiss. She tried to summon a response but he stepped back, turning to look out the window. “Don’t fret about Miss Darlington,” he said. “It’s only been one day. Well, and another half day. And a full night. And we won’t be able to go anywhere tonight either. But really, they will be fine. Perhaps uncomfortable in his dungeon, that’s all. There’s no need for panic.”

“A lady should never panic,” Lady Armitage said, sweeping into the room. Her bulging, old-fashioned skirts scraped the edges of the doorway and reverberated with a twang of steel from the crinoline beneath. Although garbed entirely in black, as befitted a widow, she glimmered with crystal sequins like stars, since she was after all a merry widow. A diamond tiara was wedged into her hair. “A lady stays tranquil and poised under all circumstances. Instead of panicking, she squares her jaw, protects her heart, and ensures that she has enough ammunition to gun down everyone in her path. I say, is this glazed ham?”

They sat at the table—pirate matron, evil mastermind’s daughter, and the man hired by the former to murder the latter. “Please pass the beans,” Lady Armitage said.

There being in fact no beans on the table, Ned passed her the asparagus, and she began forking them onto her plate. Cecilia watched her, since it meant looking in the opposite direction from Ned, and as Lady Armitage stabbed asparagus, sawed at ham, and ripped apart artichoke hearts, she felt herself grow calm once more. Captain Lightbourne was a wicked flirt, that was all, and she would ignore him in a perfectly dignified manner.

“Could you pass the salt, please, Cecilia?” he asked.