Ben turned to follow his gaze.

Monstrous, the wave towered over the Sparrowhawk.

The little boat lurched again. Below deck, the dogs howled, Lotti screamed. Up above Frank froze with fear, but Ben didn’t hesitate. He pushed Frank out of the way, seized the tiller and drove straight into the wave.

Chapter Twenty-One

The Pride of Kent passenger ferry had seen many storms in her time, and this was definitely one of the worst. Most of the passengers in the first-class lounge had spent the Channel crossing groaning in their club chairs. As the coast of France hove into sight, the swell of the waves grew to the size of a townhouse. A small girl was sick in an ice bucket. Her brother followed, then their governess. Two elderly gentlemen gagged and staggered out to the deck, only to be swept back in seconds later by the howling wind, one of them without his hat.

Seated at the bar before a cup of coffee, only a splendid young man with hair the color of newly ripened chestnuts and a patch over his left eye remained unfazed. His name was Captain Henri de Beauchesne, and in his four years of war service in the French navy he had seen much worse than people being sick in buckets. He spent most of the voyage reading the newspaper, but glanced more and more often toward the deck, where a young woman stood peering over the railings.

She had been there since the Pride of Kent set out. Henri had assumed at first that she was seasick, but about halfway through their journey she had looked up and he had changed his mind. The woman wore a deep frown, and even from a distance he saw that she was chewing her lower lip. It was not the look of someone about to heave their lunch into the Channel.

Intriguing, thought Captain de Beauchesne, sipping his coffee. It did not occur to him to interfere. But then the swell that had undone the small children and their governess grew again. Henri’s coffee flew out of his cup, the saucer crashed to the floor. The children threw up once more, their governess screamed and inexplicably sprinkled them with lavender water, and one of the elderly gentlemen lurched toward the bathroom with his hand over his mouth.

Out on deck, the woman was flung to her knees.

Henri raced to help her.

The Pride of Kent rolled one way. Henri reeled the other. The heavy deck doors swung back in his face, but with a nimble twist he avoided them. The sea spat salt spray at him. He ignored it and skated elegantly across the rain-slicked deck toward the young woman.

By the time he reached her, she was already back on her feet and leaning over the railings.

“Madame, come away!” he shouted. “It is not safe!”

She turned toward him.