She shivered as someone hoisted a ghostly white sail through the wispy fog. The white canvas swayed and flickered in the dying moonlight.
And then the clouds passed again, and the ship was gone, swallowed by the black sea.
But Ashley knew it was still out there. She could sense it now: a living thing that pulled at her with the dual promises of adventure and ruin.
The men reached the water and thrust the small boat into it with a splash. They began to strategize, discussing how best to load their belongings and how many trips to make.
She turned and peered behind her. Open beach. If she ran now, she could probably get away. The men might not even notice that she was gone until it was too late. If they chased her, she could hide in the shadows, perhaps find a small cave. In the morning, she could walk back toward Gretna Green and send word to her father when she passed through a village. Perhaps she could find Maddie and Nick’s brother. Or Lord Castleigh, Maddie’s father. He had chased them to Gretna.
Ashley had no illusions about this course of action. If she returned to London now, her life would be in shambles.
But she was no coward. She could piece together shambles. She could repair shambles.
But if she set foot on that pirate ship, she knew without a doubt that her life would be irrevocably changed. She’d always longed for adventure, but had she ever considered the price? One didn’t go pirating on the open sea and then return to the lofty drawing rooms of the ton to gossip and sip tea.
She glanced at Nick. Or did one?
Lord Nicholas Martingale had certainly made his double life work, but Ashley was no good at deception. Ashley Brittany didn’t lie. She might omit, but she didn’t dissemble.
And she didn’t run.
Especially not from the most exciting adventure of her life or the chance to repay the man who had scorned her.
As though sensing her thoughts were on him, Nick turned and extended his hand. “My ship awaits. Are you ready?”
“That, Captain Robin Hood, is a question you should ask yourself.” She smiled and, forgoing his offer of assistance, waded through the water to the bobbing rowboat.
AS SOON AS NICK CLIMBED the first rung of the Jacob’s Ladder, he forgot all about Ashley Brittany—er, Martingale—Gretna Green, and the events of the past week or so. As always, when he stepped foot on his ship, a sense of calm and purpose filled him. When he was on land, in London, he might question his mission and his choices. But there were no questions aboard the Robin Hood. Nick was meant to lead this crew. He was meant to captain this vessel. And he was meant to destroy the pirate Yussef.
Yussef. Thinking of his enemy caused a wave of fury to crash through Nick. He grasped the ship’s railing, waiting for the anger to pass.
Don’t think about the isle, he cautioned himself. Don’t think about her.
He needed all of his wits about him if he were to make the passage to Isla de las Riquezas quickly and successfully. He had no time to waste, no time for mistakes, no time for grief.
“Cap’n, sir?”
Nick turned to see his quartermaster approaching. Nick straightened and clasped his hands behind his back. “Yes, Mr. Chante.”
“The crew is making the final preparations for departure, sir. The tide should turn within the hour.”
“Very good, Mr. Chante.” Nick strolled across the deck, and Chante followed. “Has Mr. Carey sealed the cargo hatches and taken care of all repairs?”
“Aye, sir.”
Nick nodded to his crew as he passed them. They were hard at work checking for rigging stress, hoisting the remaining sails, and swabbing the already gleaming decks. “And has Red seen to the food and water provisions?”
“Aye, sir.”
Nick threaded his way past more men and approached the helm. His second mate was at the helm, and when he looked questioningly at Nick, Nick gave him the sign to remain at his post.
“What course, sir?” Chante asked, though Nick and all aboard knew full well what course the Robin Hood would be setting. But Nick appreciated the formality, the structure, the order of life on a ship.
“Set sail for Isla de las Riquezas, Mr. Chante. Depart as soon as possible.”
“Aye, sir,” Chante said.
Nick spent the next several hours issuing orders to his crew, approving the setting of the watch and the deck chores, and staring at the open sea, now deep blue in the late morning light. The winds were brisk, and the sails snapped as the ship made close to six knots. But Nick gripped the rail and mentally urged her on faster.
