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green baize around his ample waist, hurried busily down the center of the wharf, and here and there an Indian with feathers in his hair or a frontiersman in rough buckskins sauntered through the shifting colorful crowd.
    An elegant carriage pulled by a pair of high-stepping bays suddenly swung onto the wide wharf and Jonathan said, “Ah, at last, there they are! My family have come to greet us.”
    A little knot of nervousness formed itself in Fancy’s stomach. She knew it was silly. There was no reason in the world why she wasn’t going to like Jonathan’s family, or why they should take a dislike to her and Ellen. She took in a deep, steadying breath. She needed to remind herself that she wasn’t just plain Miss Merrivale without fortune or in need of a guardian or husband anymore and hadn’t been for a number of years. But old habits died hard, and fiercely she reminded herself that she was
Lady
Merrivale, the widow of a peer of the realm, and that she had a nice little fortune safely invested in the funds in England. If Jonathan’s family proved obnoxious and inhospitable, well, so be it! She and Ellen would do just fine without them!
    Ignoring the flutter in her chest, Fancy watched as a tall gentleman, his hair powdered and tied in a black silk bag under a black ribbon bow, politely helped a woman in a gorgeous creation of green figured silk from the carriage. She guessed that the gentleman in the tan cloth coat trimmed in silver braid was Jonathan’s half brother, Samuel, and that the woman was Jonathan’s mother.
    Beside her, Jonathan quickly confirmed her guess as the pair made their way toward the ship. They made a distinguished couple. The gentleman, though over seventy,walked straight and tall, and even from a distance Fancy could see that in her youth Jonathan’s mother had been quite lovely. Constance Walker was still an extremely attractive woman, even if she had celebrated her fifty-third birthday in May. Her figure was perhaps a trifle fuller than when she had been a young woman, but she moved with the grace of a maid. As was the fashion, her hair was curled and powdered beneath a charming calash of a darker green than her gown, her full skirts swaying gently as she walked beside her much older stepson.
    Intent as she was on Jonathan’s relatives, as the minutes passed, Fancy became aware of a prickling sensation, an unease that she couldn’t explain, almost as if someone were watching her and not
kindly.
She glanced around, seeking the source of her discomfort, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Surely Simmons’s presence behind Jonathan didn’t bother her? Of course not! She shrugged her slender shoulders, deciding that she must be letting the coming meeting with Jonathan’s family disturb her, and she wondered with sudden amusement if for the first time in her life she was going to suffer a fit of the vapors.
    A faint, rueful smile curved her generous mouth. What a ninny she was being! These people weren’t going to bite her, for goodness’ sake!
    Still, the sensation persisted and, becoming irritated, she took another impatient look around her. It was then that she saw him. . . . He was on the wharf, standing almost directly in front of them, an expression of amused contempt on his handsome face as he stared boldly back at her.
    Fancy’s heart gave a funny little start. From his garb, fringed buckskins and calico shirt, she took him to be a rough frontiersman, and he was certainly staring at them, her, in the rudest manner! Her chin lifted, but she couldn’t seem to stop staring at him, something about those fiercely chiseled features and that tall, powerful body holding her mesmerized. His thick black hair was unfettered and waved freely about his dark face and broad shoulders, giving him a feral, untamed air. A lion, she thought giddily, that’s what hereminds me of, a black-maned lion. A lion, leashed but ready to spring on its hapless prey in an instant. Fancy gave herself a shake