He craned his neck, scanning each person's face as they approached. A pair of young men. Definitely not. A middle-aged gentleman followed by a weary-looking couple each holding the hand of a small child. Robert smiled at the children and received gap-toothed grins in response. Returning his attention to the passengers, he clicked off mental "no's" as a clergyman, a portly gentleman, and a gaggle of chatting matrons passed by. Where was Mrs. Brown? It seemed almost everyone had disembarked.

His gaze flicked over a woman swathed head to toe in mourning black, and another mental "no" quickly formed in his brain. Although Elizabeth had told him Mrs. Brown was a widow, her husband had died years ago. She'd no longer wear mourning clothes.

Still, there was something about the woman's face that brought his gaze back to her. Those wide-spaced eyes, and that intriguing dimple in the center of her chin… and the way she was looking at him, as if she recognized him.

Confusion assailed him, and he lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the sun. This couldn't be the right woman. Where was the bright smile? The radiating joy? The sense of laughter and mischief? Sadness and seriousness surrounded this woman like a dark cloud. He gazed beyond her, but the only passenger behind her was a plump matron struggling down the gangway with a trio of small, yapping white dogs.

He returned his attention to the woman in black. She walked toward him swiftly, her eyes scanning his face. He caught a brief glimpse of an errant brown curl that escaped her black bonnet. Recognition slapped him, and although he realized she was indeed Mrs. Brown, his mind struggled to equate this woman with the sketch Elizabeth had given him. They were precisely alike… yet nothing alike at all.

"You must be Lord Robert Jamison," she said, stopping several feet away from him. "I recognize you from the sketch Elizabeth gave me."

I wish I could say the same. Surely she did not still mourn her husband? Yet that must be the case as Elizabeth had not mentioned that Mrs. Brown had suffered a more recent loss. Sympathy for her washed over him. Obviously she'd adored her husband, as his death had tragically depleted her. Her eyes, the color of fine, aged brandy, appeared haunted and anxious in her pale face. How sad that mourning had taken such a toll on her. How unfair that a man she so clearly loved had been stolen from her, taking all her laughter and joy with him. She looked tiny and frightened in her stark clothing, as if her state of grieving had literally swallowed her whole. He shoved aside the disappointment and pity he hoped didn't show on his face, then offered her his most charming smile and a formal bow.

"I am indeed he. And you must be Mrs. Brown."

"Yes." Not even a ghost of a smile touched her lips. Her expression grew even more grave as her gaze darted about their surroundings. He watched her, feeling uncharacteristically short of words. He racked his brain for something to say, but she surprised him into further silence by stepping closer to him. So close, in fact, that the tips of her shoes touched his boots and her black skirt brushed his breeches. So close that her scent drifted over him, a tantalizing combination of sea air and-he inhaled deeply-some sort of flower. Before he could identify the delicate, elusive fragrance, she rested her gloved hand on his sleeve and rose up on her toes, leaning toward him.

Egad, she meant to kiss him! Was this how things were done in America? The only other American he'd ever met was Elizabeth, and he couldn't deny she possessed a forthright, friendly manner, although not quite this forthright. Still, he didn't want to hurt Mrs. Brown's feelings by rebuffing her very un-British greeting.

Lowering his head, he brushed his lips over her mouth. And everything in him stilled. For the space of several heartbeats, he couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything save stare down into her shocked eyes while two impossible words pounded through his brain.

At last.

A frown yanked his brows downward, and he stepped back from her as if she'd turned into a pillar of fire. At last? Bloody hell, he'd gone mad. The next stop for him was Bedlam.

Two bright crimson spots stained her cheeks. "What on earth are you doing?" she asked in a voice that trembled with unmistakable outrage.

Now he'd done it. Whatever she'd been about, clearly she hadn't intended for him to kiss her. And he wished to hell he hadn't. His mouth still tingled with the hint of her taste, and he barely resisted the almost overwhelming urge to lick his lips. Or lean down and lick hers.

Undeniably unsettled, his gaze roamed her face, taking in her becoming blush, the dark lashes surrounding her golden-brown eyes, the pert nose painted by a smattering of pale freckles, the dimple gracing her chin, and then her mouth… such a lovely, plump mouth. Moist, deliciously pink, the bottom lip lusciously full, and the top lip, impossibly, even fuller.

Good God, what sort of cad was he to entertain even the hint of a lustful thought toward her? The woman was in mourning. Not that he'd had a lustful thought. Certainly not. That inexplicable tingle he'd felt had merely been… surprise. Yes, that's all it was. She'd surprised him. And that jolt he'd felt? Nothing more than embarrassment. Yes, he'd simply made an ass of himself. Not the first time, and unfortunately, most likely not the last.

Relieved that he'd settled everything back into the proper perspective, he took another step backward. "My apologies, madam. I meant no offense. In truth, I thought you'd meant to kiss me."

"And why would I possibly want to do that?"

Amusement, rather than offense at her question and tone, nudged him. "Perhaps an American greeting custom?"

"Absolutely not. I'd merely intended to ask you something, in a discreet manner."

"Ah. You wished to whisper in my ear."

"Precisely."

"And what did you want to-"

" Alberta! There you are, my dear."

Robert turned toward the high-pitched voice. A short, plump, fashionably dressed matron walked crookedly toward them, trying without much success to control three small white dogs that seemed intent upon jerking her in three different directions. Even if he had not recognized the formidable Lady Gaddlestone, there was no mistaking her dogs, those mischievous little charmers he clearly recalled from the last time he'd seen them when he'd mentally dubbed them Sir Piss-a-lot, Sir Bite-a-bit, and Sir Hump-a-leg.

"Tedmund! Edward! Frederick! Cease at once!" The baroness pulled back on the leads, barely halting the trio before they dragged her past him and Mrs. Brown. One of the beasts promptly lifted its leg and watered a weed that had sprouted between the cobblestones. The other two pranced about, one eyeing his ankle as if contemplating a nibble, while the other regarded his calf with an unmistakably lustful gleam.

Raising his brows, Robert intoned, "Sit." Three canine bottoms instantly hit the cobblestones, and three sets of shiny black button eyes gazed up at him.

"Marvelous, Lord Robert," the baroness said, her breath puffing in exertion. "Although I must say it is quite vexing that the boys will listen to a near stranger rather than their mama."

"Ah, but Teddie, Eddie, Freddie, and I are old friends, are we not?" Robert crouched down and tickled his fingers over their silky fur and was promptly presented with three tummies to rub. "We enjoyed several invigorating strolls during your last visit to Bradford Hall." He arose, much to the boys' dismay, and made the baroness a formal bow. "A surprise and pleasure to see you again, Lady Gaddlestone. I was not aware you'd sailed on this ship. I see you are already acquainted with my sister-in-law's friend, Mrs. Brown."

"Indeed. Alberta proved a wonderful traveling companion. A stroke of genius on my part, hiring her."

Hiring her? What was the baroness talking about? He glanced at Mrs. Brown and noticed that although a blush stained her cheeks, she lifted her chin and regarded him with an expression that would have done Prinny proud, almost daring him to look upon her with disfavor for undertaking employment. Which he did not. Still, the fact that she had, surprised him. And whetted his curiosity.

Before he could think upon the matter further, the baroness continued, "I would have been utterly inconsolable if she'd drowned this morning."

Robert stared at the baroness. "Drowned?"

"Yes. La, it was frightful!" A shudder shook Lady Gaddlestone's ample frame. "The dear girl was hit in the back with a runaway winch, and over the side she went. Thank heavens the boys saw the entire incident. They nearly barked themselves into apoplexy. Captain Whitstead performed a brilliant maneuver and the crew pulled dear Alberta from the sea. Bless the saints she can swim like a fish."

The baroness waved her hand in front of her face, and Robert prayed she wasn't about to swoon. He recalled that the baroness was not prone to draping herself artistically over a fainting couch and ringing for her hartshorn-thank goodness-and true to his memory, she rallied. Once assured that she was steady on her feet, he turned his attention to Mrs. Brown. "I'm sorry you suffered such a terrible ordeal. Were you hurt?"

"No. Just frightened."

"Oh, but you never would have known she was!" Lady Gaddlestone interjected. "She was utterly marvelous, remained perfectly calm, bobbing on the surface like a cork. Heavens, I would have screamed like a banshee, then sunk like a rock. Captain Whitstead was most impressed. As for me, I'm certain I'd have succumbed to the vapors for the first time in my life if I hadn't needed to rescue one of the other passengers from the boys. All three of them quite inexplicably threw themselves upon Mr. Redfern's ankles! Oh, such snapping and snarling as I've never witnessed from my babies! Luckily Mr. Redfern was very understanding when I explained that all the excitement had adversely affected the boys' delicate constitutions. Of course, his trousers will never quite be the same, I'm sure."