Chapter 13

"Ahoy, deck," the lookout shouted from overhead. "Vessel identity confirmed."

"Who is she?" A prickle chased along Adrian's spine. He had spent the night at the helm, unable to settle down and get some rest.

"The HMS Prince George ."

The name caused a sharp stab to his chest. Prince George .

"I'll be damned." Thomas clicked his tongue as he shook his head. "What are the odds?"

Adrian directed his spyglass to the southeast. "She's coming up fast." He studied the proud second-rate warship through the rain, observing how she handled herself in the churning sea. She rose to the waves with vigor, her moves agile. "The wind is changing. She's got the draught to her advantage."

"Aye." Judging by the sound, Thomas scratched the beard on his chin. "She'll be upon us by noon. I doubt she has crossed the Chirton's path."

"Likely not, but she'll be seeking necks to noose, mine most of all." Adrian lowered the spyglass but continued to stare toward the British warship.

Wonder who's at her helm.

He knew her strengths and weaknesses as intimately as he knew the lines of his own hand. He knew how many guns she carried, both those whose deadeyes were cut into her hull and those hidden from view. He knew how many crews she sailed, their duties, potential, and limitations. He knew where her powder magazine was, how many tuns fit into it, how nimbly she would turn, and how responsive she was to the officer at the helm.

He knew everything a captain should know about his ship.

He also knew her brig well.

Adrian's fingers clenched around the spyglass. His own life and fate were of little consequence, but his family?

He would never be able to erase the bewilderment clouding his father's eyes the day the Admiralty had hauled him off HMS Prince George down in London's Legal Quays, shackled, bruised, and covered in dirt, with his dignity and pride sunk deep somewhere at sea. His father's disappointment still haunted him to this day, scorched his cheeks and bound him like the chains they had clamped on his wrists and ankles.

Adrian forced his mind back to the darkening horizon. Flashes of lightning heralded a fierce thunderstorm, maybe even a tropical storm.

It was an opportunity too sweet to pass.

"Let her approach," he gritted. "Prepare the crew for battle. Exercise the starboard watch on their quarters."

Thomas hesitated long enough for his subtle challenge to coil around Adrian like a snake. "Lieutenant!"

"Captain, we've got a woman on board," Thomas reminded him.

Adrian spun around on his heels. "Whatever happens has nothing to do with her being a woman."

"That's not what I meant," Thomas countered. "It will be a fierce battle. Just thinking of her safety."

Thomas was right. No matter how well Adrian knew her weak spots, HMS Prince George wouldn't yield easily, but he held the advantage. He knew the enemy, and the Ranger was faster and more agile than the Prince George , and Adrian's guns reached longer.

There was no reason to let this chance go to waste.

He pushed away the picture of Miss Hawthorn's eyes. The woman was a nightmare. Stubborn as a mule and with an assertiveness unheard of for her class—traits he could easily ignore, but she treated his crew with kindness and respect.

He didn't need that from her. He didn't want that from her.

He didn't want anything from her.

"You got your order."

"Aye, Captain." Thomas turned from the stern. "Starboard watch, beat to quarters!"

Adrian descended to the gun deck and inspected the drill, searching for signs of weakness or sloppiness. He nodded as he watched the crew execute their tasks with precision and discipline.

"Well done, starboard watch. Corporal, inspect the guns and the carriages and prepare for battle."

"Aye, Capt'n."

Adrian proceeded to the galley, where Freddie was stowing away the meal. To Adrian's astonishment, Scott lingered in his seat next to Miss Hawthorn.

"Scott!"

Both Scott and Miss Hawthorn jumped in their seats at the sharp call, and Scott scrambled to his feet, his spring-formed curls bouncing about his shoulders.

"Captain?"

"There better be a valid reason why you're still here when the crew has been called to quarters."

Adrian and Scott swayed, adjusting their stances to accommodate the rolling beneath their feet.

"I was simply explaining to Miss Hawthorn what is happening. She is terrified about the battle."

Adrian ignored how Miss Hawthorn's dark, haunted eyes flickered from him to Scott. A surge of resentment filled him at Scott's soothing words to her, but he lacked the courage to examine the reason, and his irritation vexed him further.

"This is a warship, not a merchant ship," Adrian said, voice low and steady but hostile enough to drain the color from Scott's face. "Your duty is to follow my commands and defend this vessel. You're disobeying a direct order and endangering the lives of the crew. Get to your station immediately, or I'll throw you in the brig."

"It is all right, Will," Miss Hawthorn started. "I'm–"

"Now!"

Adrian's bark cut off Miss Hawthorn's words, and Scott dashed for the doorway like a startled animal.

"He was only being nice to me."

Adrian shifted his burning gaze from Scott's disappearing frame to Miss Hawthorn. "He was neglecting his duty and endangering the ship. He should have been at his station, ready to fight."

"Fight for what? For your revenge? For your pride?" The pitch in her voice rose as she spoke, as if her anger made her forget her fear. "These men follow you blindly and allow you to pursue your personal vendetta without question. What about the lives you sacrifice in the process? Your men's lives, some still boys, maybe even mine, a woman. Does that make you proud?"

A pang of guilt stabbed him, and from the corner of his eye, he noticed Freddie scuttle out of the galley like he had Davy Jones himself on his tail.

"The men are paid to be here and can leave if they want to. As long as they choose to remain, they obey orders. Furthermore, this isn't a topic for discussion. This is my ship, and I'm in command. Undisputedly."

"He showed me kindness." Her voice had lost its edge, and her eyes glistened as she stood from the bench. Lottie's crying face blended with Miss Hawthorn's, and he almost flinched. "I know you hate me, but I haven't done wrong by you."

He had torn apart her reputation, stolen her sense of security, frightened her, and made her fear for her life. Now, he was instigating a sea battle with her country's navy—all for, as she had put it, his personal vendetta against her betrothed.

The Ranger tilted toward starboard, and he raised an arm to steady himself on one of the beams beneath the deck above.

Miss Hawthorn sniffed, most unfeminine, and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. Lottie's desperate words haunted his mind.

Please don't leave, Adrian! I know you are innocent. You are a gentleman and a hero. I beg of you; please don't leave. I love you!

He had left without looking back and hadn't returned since.

That was three years ago.

He felt a wave coming and braced himself, seasoned and attuned to the shifts in the planks beneath his feet. Miss Hawthorn, on the other hand, lacked the experience of reading the vessel's movements. She took a tentative step, but the oncoming wave lashed against the ship with a thundering roar, sending her sprawling backward. Adrian reacted on impulse and coiled an arm around her waist. He pulled her close, and when the ship came down on the other side of the swell, her body crashed into his.

"Oof!"

She pushed at his chest to regain her balance, her breath brushing his neck like a gentle caress, like at night when she obliviously had nestled into his embrace and bestowed upon him a tranquility he hadn't known for years.

For every rise and fall of the ocean, she pressed against his frame. Dark blue eyes smoldered into his, holding him captive with breathless intensity. His grip on her waist tightened, and his blood raced, a thundering beat that matched the storm outside.

He flexed his wrist, bringing her closer. Her wide eyes held his, and her chest expanded as she drew her breath.

"Captain?"

Adrian relinquished his hold on her as though scalded. He stepped back and jerked around. Thomas stood in the opening to the galley, his gaze gliding from Adrian to Miss Hawthorn and back again.

"Report," Adrian rasped and cleared his throat with a sound he hoped would be swallowed by the splashing sea.

"There is another set of sails on the horizon, approaching quickly from the south," Thomas informed.

"Dammit." Adrian locked gazes with Miss Hawthorn, but her eyes lacked the smug smile he had expected. Instead, her delicate eyebrows knitted over her nose. His guts twisted, but then heat flared through him. So what if he induced fear in her? Her betrothed had caused worse atrocities. "Is she flying her colors?"

"She is British."

Well, hell.

They didn't have to find Miss Hawthorn on board the Ranger to seal his fate—he had chased and provoked the English enough to swing from the yardarm before they reached the nearest port without adding her to his roster of infractions. Besides, he had stuffed his holds to the brim with British weapons and ammunition meant for Fort Diamond Rock.

"Attach the lifelines and take us into the storm," he demanded. "West, wind on the quarter. We'll shake them off in the turbulence."

Miss Hawthorn let out a sigh of relief.

"That'll take us closer to Nassau," Thomas pointed out. "You want to risk that?"

He ached to seize the HMS Prince George and savor the triumph, but two navy ships on his tail was too risky. Miss Hawthorn was worth more to him, much more than defeating the navy vessel where he had once stood proud at the helm.

A smile curled his lips. The weather would reveal the English captain's mettle. A young and eager fool trying to prove himself would hunt the Ranger into the storm and, by all accounts, perish, while a seasoned officer would put the safety of his crew first and give up the chase.

Time would show what the new captain of the HMS Prince George was made of.

"Yes. Unfurl the sails." Adrian let out a long sigh as Thomas retreated down the companionway. "We're heading into squally weather. You had better return to the grand cabin. Secure anything that can move or break, or you might get hurt. It will be a rough ride."

A soft pulse throbbed on the side of her slender neck. "What about Elias?"

"What about him?"

"He is a child."

He suppressed the familiar unease that always sneaked into his mind when he thought about Elias. "As I already pointed out, this isn't a merchant vessel. Elias has duties on board as everybody else, regardless of the weather."

Her gaze held his for a long moment. Deep blue eyes, like the night sky sprinkled with glowing stars. His teeth gritted, and he fought the urge to scold her for her very being, for stirring him in the way she did, and yet, he craved to embrace her, to run his fingers through her hair and let his mouth caress her neck, her jaw, and her lips.

The situation was spiraling out of control with every passing hour.

"Stay in the grand cabin, where I know you're safe. I'll be busy the next several hours."

He turned to leave but hesitated. Adrian opened his mouth to say something. A sting of remorse passed through him, but he pushed the sentiment away and proceeded to look for Elias.

He found the boy on the lower deck, securing Freddie's supplies ahead of the storm.

"Elias. This storm is no insignificant weather front. It will be challenging, and I need you to show me what you have learned."

Elias's head bobbed vigorously. "Of course, Capt'n!"

"You'll report to Lieutenant Barley for the next twenty-four hours. I won't have time to watch you."

"I'll be fine, Captain Hainsworth. I'm ready for this!"

Adrian furrowed his brows in response to an ominous feeling stealing across his skin. "Good."