called, laughing. “Are we frightening you? We only wish to speak with you!”
Fear slammed through her. Evelyn lifted her skirts and ran toward the docks, which were now in front of her. And she instantly saw that cargo was being loaded onto one of the vessels—a cask the size of several men had been winched up and was being directed toward the deck of a large cutter with a black hull and black sails. Five men stood on the deck, reaching for the cask as it was lowered toward them.
She had found the Sea Wolf.
She halted, panting and out of breath. Two men were operating the winch. A third stood a bit apart, watching the activity. Moonlight played over his pale hair.
And she was seized from behind.
“Nous voulons seulement vous parler.” We only want to speak to you.
Evelyn whirled to face the two men who had been following her. They were her own age, dirty, unkempt and poorly clothed—they were probably farmworkers and thugs. “Libérez-moi,” she responded in perfect French.
“A lady! A lady dressed as a maid!” the first man said, but he did not speak with relish now. He spoke with suspicion.
Too late, she knew she was in more danger than the threat of being accosted—she was about to be unmasked as a noblewoman and, perhaps, as the Countess D’Orsay. But before she could respond, a stranger said, very quietly, in English, “Do as the lady has asked.”
The farmers turned, as did Evelyn. The clouds chose that moment to pass completely by the moon, and the night became momentarily brighter. Evelyn looked into a pair of ice-cold gray eyes and she froze.
This man was dangerous.
His stare was cold and hard. He was tall, his hair golden. He wore both a dagger and a pistol. Clearly, he was not a man to be crossed.
His cool glance left her and focused on the two men. He repeated his edict, this time in French. “Faites comme la dame a demandé.”
She was instantly released, and both men whirled and hurried off. Evelyn inhaled, stunned, and turned to the tall Englishman again. He might be dangerous, but he had just rescued her—and he might be Jack Greystone. “Thank you.”
His direct gaze did not waver. It was a moment before he said, “It was my pleasure. You’re English.”
She wet her lips, aware that their gazes were locked. “Yes. I am looking for Jack Greystone.”
His eyes never changed. “If he is in port, I am not aware of it. What do you want of him?”
Her heart sank with dismay—for surely, this imposing man, with his air of authority and casual power, was the smuggler. Who else would be watching the black ship as it was being loaded? “He has come recommended to me. I am desperate, sir.”
His mouth curled, but there was no humor in his eyes. “Are you attempting to return home?”
She nodded, still staring at him. “We had arrangements to leave at dawn. But those plans have fallen by the wayside. I was told Greystone is here. I was told to seek him out. I cannot linger in town, sir.”
“We?”
She hugged herself now, still helplessly gazing into his stare. “My husband and my daughter, sir, and three friends.”
“And who gave you such information?”
“Monsieur Gigot—of the Abelard Inn.”
“Come with me,” he said abruptly, turning.
Evelyn hesitated as he started toward the ship. Her mind raced wildly. She did not know if the stranger was Greystone, and she wasn’t certain it was safe to go with him now. But he was heading for the ship with black sails.
He glanced back at her, without pausing. And he shrugged, clearly indifferent as to whether she came or not.
There was no choice. Either he was Greystone, or he was taking her to him. Evelyn ran after him, following him up the gangplank. He didn’t look at her, crossing the deck rapidly, and Evelyn rushed to fall into step behind him. The five men who were loading the cask all turned to stare openly at her.
Her hood had slipped. She pulled it up more tightly as he went to a cabin door. He opened it and vanished inside. She faltered. She had just noticed the guns lining the sides of the ship. She had seen smuggling ships as a child; this ship seemed ready to do battle.
She was even more dismayed and full of dread, but she had made her decision. Evelyn followed him inside.
He was lighting lanterns. Not looking up, he said, “Close the door.”
It crossed her mind that she was very much alone with a complete stranger now. Shoving her trepidation aside, she did as he asked. Very breathless now, she slowly faced him.
He was standing at a large desk covered with charts. For one moment, all she saw was a tall, broad-shouldered man with golden hair tied carelessly in a queue, a pistol clipped to his shoulder belt, a dagger sheathed on his belt.
Then she realized that he was also staring at her.
She inhaled, trembling. He was shockingly attractive, she now realized, in both a masculine and a beautiful way. His eyes were gray, his features even, his cheekbones high and cutting. A gold cross winked from the widely open neck of his white lawn shirt. He was wearing doeskin breeches and high boots, and now she realized how powerful and lean his tall, muscular build was. His shirt clung to his broad chest and flat torso, and his breeches fit like a second skin. He did not have an ounce of fat on his hard frame.
She wasn’t certain she had ever come into contact with such an inherently masculine man—and it was unnerving somehow.
She was also the object of intense scrutiny. He was leaning his hip against the desk and staring back at her, as openly as she was regarding him. Evelyn felt herself flush. He was, she thought, trying to see her features, which were partially concealed by her hood.
She now saw the small, narrow bed on the opposite wall. She realized that this was where he slept. There was a handsome rug on the planked floor, a handful of books on a small table. Otherwise, the cabin was sparsely appointed and completely utilitarian.
“Do you have a name?”
She jerked, realizing that her heart was racing. How should she answer? For she knew she must never reveal who she was. “Will you help me?”
“I haven’t decided. My services are expensive, and you are a large group.”
“I am desperate to return home. And my husband is in desperate need of a physician.”
“So the plot thickens. How ill is he?”
“Does it matter?”
“Can he reach my ship?”
She hesitated. “Not without help.”
“I see.”
He did not seem moved by her plight. How could she convince him to help them? “Please,”
