“But considering the nature of the attack,” Lassiter continued, “you were probably better off doing what you did. Still, didn’t you wonder why he would help you? The man’s a reprobate—hardly a knight in shining armor.”

 “I know, and I’ll not make the same mistake again,” she promised, her words a mix of raspy exasperation.

 “I can’t believe you stayed with him overnight,” he said to himself, and turned to her, “Are you certain you weren’t compromised?”

 Unbelievable. Nicole glared at him. “For the last time, Father, I was not compromised and Sutherland didn’t harm me.” When he looked to be about to say more on the subject, she asked, “What I want to know is, after last night, with those men damaging the ship…we’re targeted now?”

 He paused, as if deciding whether he’d allow her to change the subject. Then, nodding gravely, he answered, “They’d been going to work on the Bella Nicola before you surprised them. But those two were just lackeys to someone directing the damage.”

 Her father sat down on the edge of his seat, though he would just get up in seconds anyway. “The contact I met last night wouldn’t give me names, but he made it sound as if the leader was a man of some importance. Possibly a peer. He also assured me that I am a prime target. Chancey and I have narrowed the suspects down to a handful of men, but I never expected violence like this out of any of them.”

 She looked up as a thought occurred to her. “What happened to the guards?”

 “They were knocked out. Believe it or not, they look worse than you do.” Lassiter sprang out of his seat and began pacing again. “They feel horrible about what happened.”

 She nodded absently, becoming lost in her own thoughts.

 “Nicole, you’re not thinking about Sutherland?”

 She jerked her head up, her face heating in a guilty flush.

 He sat down again, heavily this time, as he opened his mouth to speak and then closed it. He ran a hand over his face before explaining in halting tones, “Sutherland is the worst sort of man. I understand you were scared—you had a hell of a night—but from now on you have to stay away from men like that. You’re not a little girl anymore.”

 “Of course, Father.”

 Lassiter took a deep breath and rose to walk over to her. He placed his hand on her head and spoke in a tone others might think was calm, but really was only camouflaging his emotions. “Now, get some sleep. I’ve got half the crew guarding your cabin, including Chancey, so don’t worry that those men will come back.”

 Because he didn’t have any viable leads into who’d hired the thugs, she didn’t doubt he’d go and deal with Sutherland soon. She rose and faced him, trying to keep the concern out of her eyes. “What will you do to him?”

 Her father acted as though he didn’t understand what she meant, but when she frowned up at him, his expression changed until he smiled benignly down at her. “Nic, I’ll simply talk to him and make sure he understands he shouldn’t bring young ladies like yourself to his ship.” The smile vanished as if never there. “And that there will be…repercussions if he ever comes near you again.”

 As he stormed out of the cabin, she thought of all he’d said. She wasn’t stupid. Her father’s idea of “talking” with Sutherland meant insulting him between punches. He was a hotheaded man, her father, and she fretted that Sutherland would hurt him. Whether anyone wanted to admit it or not, he’d saved her life last night, and she didn’t want him hurt either. Unfortunately for her father, Nicole didn’t believe that to be the likeliest scenario.

 There’d be no rest today, she thought as Chancey got up to cluck over her, to convince himself that she was all right. His concern was so obvious, the creases in his leathery face deepening, that she attempted a reassuring smile. He knew her well enough to know it was forced, but she was nervous now and would remain so until her father returned. Her mind drifted as she pictured what might happen—until she became aware of Chancey staring at her feet, at the huge socks spilling out of her stuffed boots.

 “Good God, Nic! Whose socks have ye?”

 Chapter 5

 Derek stepped across the threshold of the Mermaid and, as he had hundreds of times before in places just like this, made his way up to the bar.

 The barmaid didn’t have to ask what he wanted. “Well, ’ow do, luv?” she said with an aggressive wink before setting a mug and a corked bottle of whiskey in front of him. He pushed down a nagging irritation that not only had the woman recognized him and his drink, even though he could swear he’d never seen her in his life, she’d also easily assumed he would get falling-down drunk. Hell, why shouldn’t she?

 He looked over his shoulder around the lively room. For the past four years, when not at sea, he’d usually end up in one of these waterfront holes impotently railing against fate.

 Turning to give the barmaid a wilting look, he slapped down some coin. He grabbed the dully clinking bottle and mug and made his way through the crowd. As was his habit, he found a corner table where he had an unblocked view of the door, and poured a drink. Once again, he thought of his prostitute.

 This morning he’d awakened to a feeling that something was not right. But he was hung over, it was daylight, and he was alone in his own bed. Everything was as usual. Then the events of the night had rushed into his foggy brain.

 The girl had slept with him the whole night. He was sure of it. When he woke, he could smell her sweet scent and see the indentation she’d made in his pillow. But she’d disappeared. He told himself he should be glad that there’d been no difficulty in getting rid of her.

 Most of his crew had been on deck when a party of sailors retrieved her. A few thought they recognized the men as Lassiter’s. The thought of him ordering a search for her was too much. And she really shouldn’t have left without a word to him. Admitting that he’d done the same for all of his adult life didn’t make him feel any better.

 Of course, he had yet to bed her, and he’d never found out who’d chased her. He’d had a good idea that she would only lie, which would have infuriated him. So he’d decided to let it go until after he’d had her. Now he struggled with the idea of who would want to hurt her.

 And just how involved was she with Lassiter?

 Worse, he didn’t know how to find her again. He hoped she’d return here tonight.

 Derek looked down at his drink and shook his head. There was one other thing he couldn’t get over, one thing that baffled him more than all the other questions swirling around her. He’d woken up to find that she’d crossed out his navigation numbers and replaced them with her own calculations. Correct calculations.

 He pictured the graceful, feminine script, and winced when he remembered the patronizing tone he’d taken with her the night before. How the hell had she mastered navigation? It was a coveted knowledge that not just any sailor learned, and captains guarded it like a secret handshake. When the crew no longer depended on their captain to guide the ship, they could mutiny and dispose of him. Knowing this elite skill meant power, and he’d never met a woman who’d garnered it.

 He pondered this question and poured another generous draught from the bottle. He’d wait here until she returned. It was the best he could come up with. Faces changed throughout the night before blending all together as one bottle became two.

 Grant Sutherland’s hope that his brother would not be among the patrons of the Mermaid, for bloody sakes, died when he found Derek ensconced at a corner table. Derek saw him immediately and glowered. Grant pushed through a crowd of doxies, his eyes widening when a couple pinched him, and joined him anyway.

 “I was hoping I wouldn’t find you here.”

 “Likewise.”

 Grant gave him a sardonic smile. “I wouldn’t have come here, but something’s come up.”

 “Handle it.” Derek drank, not looking at Grant. “You always do.”

 “Not this time. This is none of my affair.”

 Derek turned to him then, not hiding his surprise. “Anything concerning me concerns you. You run the estates. You own half of Peregrine—”

 “Lydia’s looking for you.”

 Derek set down his mug. Damn it, Grant had wanted to tell him over coffee, not spring it on him amid the commotion of this tap house.

 “What’d she want?”

 “She—” Just then a man went flying over a neighboring table. Ale sloshed high and splatted, barely missing Grant. “That’s it.” He rose, grabbed Derek’s arm, and pulled. “We’ll talk about this on the way home.”

 Derek yanked his arm away. “I’m not leaving.”

 “Why the hell not? You haven’t tried enough to kill yourself tonight?”

 “I’m looking for a…woman.”

 Grant made a sound of disgust. “As much as it pains me to say this”—his gaze swept the room—“couldn’t you have found one among the, if not clean, at least the varied assortment here?”

 “No, she’s not here yet.”

 Grant sat back down. “Who is she?”

 “Redhead. Beautiful.”

 “Or so says the liquor.” Grant flicked an empty, overturned bottle and sent it spinning on the table.

 Derek shook his head. “I was sober.”

 “I wasn’t aware you still did sobriety.” At Derek’s scowl, Grant said, “Well, you’re not now. What do you think you could do if you found this girl again? Drink her under the table?”

 Derek almost chuckled. “I’m fine.”

 “Then stand up.”

 “I will not—”

 “Humor me.” Grant rarely brought up the fact that he managed all of Derek’s estates and investments. But all that was about to change, and Derek would find out soon enough. Grant pinned his brother with a look. “It’s the least you could do.”