She ignored the last comment and asked, “So, we helped you get your hope back?”

 “Aye. It takes somethin’ to change yer life so much ye can finally see that yer days could turn out good-like in the future.”

 Was that why Sutherland wasted all that he’d been given in his life? He threw away so much, and it angered her. She needed to feed that anger, because she’d unforgivably developed soft feelings toward him that made her weak—soft feelings that clung even after she understood how truly despicable he was. She couldn’t seem to think of him without her heart squeezing in her chest, yet for him she’d been merely a…diversion. The heated names she’d called him that strange night while trying to get Chancey to forget the idea of marriage had seemed harsh and overdone then. Really, they were exactly fitting.

 What was so bad was that, deep down, she’d known. She’d felt the danger rolling off him. She’d seen him in that vile tap house and had learned about his exploits even before she met him.

 The only thing that kept her from truly hating Sutherland was remembering that she had been using him as well. She’d needed to appease her desires and curiosity because, until that night, she’d tossed in her bed wondering about passion until she thought it would drive her mad.

 Sadly, she still tossed in her bed, but now it was because she understood what passion was.

 Why couldn’t he be the type of man who would be as affected as she was and feel this longing, too?

 “Nic, ye look like ye’re gonna cry,” Chancey said hesitantly as he relit his pipe.

 “Huh?” She shook her head. “I was just thinking…and I am not going to cry.” She was appalled at the idea. “When was the last time you saw me cry?”

 Chancey thought before answering. “When ye were eight and ye fell outta the riggin’ and broke yer arm. Such a wee monkey ye were.” He chuckled. “I thought yer father was gonna have a fit.”

 The mention of her father brought Nicole’s attention back to where it should have been in the first place. Since she was fairly certain Sutherland had had nothing to do with her father’s continued imprisonment or the ship sabotage, she would just tuck that memory of him way back in her heart and think of him no more. The next few months would be grueling enough as it was.

 “We’ll just have to brazen it out,” Nicole said decisively. “That’s what we’ll do. Father is counting on both of us, even if he doesn’t know it yet. I won’t let a sod like Sutherland put me off course.”

 Lassiter’s imprisonment lasted not one week more, but two. He’d been like a madman when he’d received Nicole’s letter because he couldn’t do a thing to stop her. Within minutes of his release he was in Mayfair, drumming on the doors at Atworth House.

 Jason pushed past the aging butler and marched down to the salon. It was a place he’d always remember. In that room, Evelyn Banning had blamed him for her daughter’s death. She’d called Nicole a savage. And she’d extracted a promise to return Nicole to this mausoleum when she was only twelve. It was the only promise he’d ever broken.

 He froze in midstride as he was confronted with the huge portrait of Laurel above the fireplace. No, he’d broken one other promise. In that steamy night off the coast of Brazil, he’d told Laurel that she would live.

 He couldn’t save his wife, but he could damn well go after his daughter.

 “Nicole has sailed on my ship in the Great Circle Race,” Jason announced without preamble when he stood in front of her.

 Evelyn didn’t raise her coiffed head from her cross-stitching. “She told me she was returning to Paris or elsewhere on the Continent. Not sailing to Australia again.”

 “I need to go after her, and I don’t have a ship within two weeks’ sailing time of here.” His throat tightened. “I…I need passage,” he ground out.

 At this, she lowered her work. “Honestly, Jason! Don’t be so melodramatic. I’m angry, too, but there’s nothing to be done for it now. She’ll be back soon enough. Chit will miss much of the season, though.” Then, in a dismissing tone, she added, “Keep me updated on her whereabouts.”

 “I don’t think you understand me. She is in danger, and I need to go after her.”

 The dowager stood in a huff. “Ridiculous. After all the times you’ve written, assuring me how safe she was, how beneficial sailing was for the girl—don’t go changing your tale on me.” She turned to leave the room.

 “I could make sure she was safe because I was with her,” Jason said as he grasped her arm. She gave him a withering look, but he couldn’t be deterred. “Damn it, I wanted to spare you the realities of this trip, but you leave me no choice. I’ve been investigating a series of strange accidents that have been afflicting several lines. I know that my ship was targeted because Nicole stumbled across a couple of cutthroats sabotaging it. She barely escaped with her life.”

 He continued over the woman’s horrified gasp, “She’ll travel through the fortieth parallel, known as the Roaring Forties, where some of the worst weather on earth manifests itself. Thirty- to sixty-foot rogue waves, large enough to swallow a ship of much more tonnage than mine, are not unheard of. The path where they are charted to sail has literally thousands of shipwrecks on the sea floor. And if I know Nicole, she’ll probably even maneuver them into the Screaming Fifties, which are much, much—”

 “I don’t want to know!” The cross-stitching she’d been clutching dropped to the floor. “For God’s sake, why have you taken her there in the past?” she cried in outrage.

 “We never sailed the more extreme course. But Nicole came across her competition’s planned route. It was next to suicidal. Now that she knows how far into the Forties he’ll go, she’ll sail even farther south.”

 “I do not believe this.” She grasped the high collar at her throat with shaking fingers. “This is your fault. Again!”

 Lassiter drew his eyebrows together in an agonized expression. “It’s usually not so dangerous. And even now, I wouldn’t overly worry about her because she’s in capable hands. Hell, she is a capable hand. But before there was no doubt about our ship’s integrity—now I don’t know if those thugs could have been successful. It would be a deadly combination if they timed an accident to occur in the strongest tossing of the ship.”

 His look was beseeching. “I’ve got to get to my daughter, because if she hasn’t already, she could soon know a living hell.”

 Chapter 11

 This is embarrassing,” Nicole heard one of their midshipmen mumble from the deck.

 What an understatement. Just hours ago, they’d lost their rudder, and the Bella Nicola had become completely incapacitated. Their beautiful, regal ship with its American flag pennants had been flailing around, out of control—a menace to the fishing vessels dotting the waters off the coast of Brazil.

 After several hours, they’d managed to rig a makeshift rudder that would help them get closer to land and help. More important, they’d been able to get out of sight before the other gaining ships in the race had any chance to see them. Nicole knew it was shallow—but she would simply have to drown herself if Sutherland saw them like this.

 She shook her hung head, only to cringe again when she looked up to the bow. They’d certainly found help.

 The Bella Nicola was being towed by a fully stocked guano freighter.

 Even in the turmoil of the Bay of Biscay’s continuous storms, which Derek secretly believed was the best part of sailing, his mind had been constantly on Nicole. Evidently, she’d been spying on the competition. All of the competition, if he was part of some list.

 Hell, he’d seen her studying his chart. And now that she’d learned how far south he planned to go, they’d try to beat it. He in turn would have to sail closer to the Antarctic than he’d ever anticipated.

 When he found Nicole he would…bloody hell, he didn’t know what he’d do.

 For not quite six thousand miles, he’d followed patiently behind the Bella Nicola, rarely varying from his south-southwest course. He’d already passed other competitors and was comfortable with his position, even though Nicole led, and he was most likely steadily losing ground on her. He didn’t doubt he’d make it up in the Southern Ocean—no ship was stronger than his in those seas.

 As they neared the easternmost tip of South America and the waters took on the emerald green cast so common over the reefs in this area, his crew spotted some local fishing vessels about sixty miles off the coast. Anxious to confirm his second-place position, Derek closed in and signaled them. The locals approached in their log raftjangadas and related that the Desirade had already passed.

 Silence claimed the deck. Word of Tallywood’s lead stunned everyone. Even though the Desirade was an extreme clipper, Tallywood had never attained half its potential speed. With his superior airs and his negligence in captaining, he’d become a hated figure in the shipping community.

 Tallywood’s lead was surprising news in itself, but then Derek learned that the Bella Nicola had been towed into port at Recife, Brazil.

 Towed?

 He thought of his own strong position, of the ships he’d passed in the Bay of Biscay and down the trades. It would be a close thing to take the lead from Tallywood as they continued south, then turned east toward Africa and the Cape of Good Hope, but Derek could afford to stop. It wasn’t as if Nicole would be cutting a larger lead in the meantime, and she was his main competition. Or at least, her ship was. After ordering his crew to Recife, he went to his cabin to change.