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it. He traced his fingertips over her palm in a light, sensual fashion. Even through her gloves she could feel the sparking fire of his touch. Without warning, heat flared through her whole body, centring directly between her thighs. This time, wetness flooded her. Heavens, it was going to soak through her shift and petticoats. Thank God she was wearing her cloak.
    She’d known her own tendencies to be a wanton. It had been a secret covered by the darkness during nights in her own bed. But she’d never suspected herself capable of such immediate, intense responses just to be touched by some strange man.
    “I sympathise,” he said. “My father expected that I’d attend Harvard and be a model scholar. But at thirteen I wasn’t of a mind to waste my time with my nose pressed in old books, reading about dead men. I signed on to a privateer instead.”
    Her mouth dropped open. He’d said that so casually. How could anyone throw away the chance of a higher education?
    Something burnt through her. Envy. At thirteen, with her schoolmaster grandfather newly deceased, she’d been made to put aside her studies. She’d been trapped under her grandmother’s watchful eye and forced to concentrate on insipid things. Needlepoint, bland watercolour paintings of sedate sunsets, the proper way to serve tea and make boring, polite conversation.
    She’d have given anything to be able to study at college and continue the stimulating education her grandfather had introduced her to. This man had thrown it all away to muck about with mariners.
    For a sun god, he wasn’t very wise.
    “Oh? And how did life at sea suit you?” she asked coldly.
    “At first I found it very exciting.”
    His tone didn’t match his words. It sounded as if he was speaking of attending a funeral. She looked up. His beautiful eyes gazed past her, tortured, as they peered into some distant yet well-remembered hell. He grimaced—a mask of anguish so intense that she sucked in her breath. An echoing, piercing pain blossomed in her chest, followed by a bone-deep ache to know him, to be able to understand what had caused such torment.
    She arched her back, leaning forward, laying her arms on the table, wishing she could get closer to him. Wishing that she dared to touch him. “Where did you sail?”
    He picked up his wine glass and appeared to make a study of its contents.
    “During the war, we captured fat British merchantmen throughout the Caribbean, then afterwards we traded with Europe.” His voice sounded flat, disconnected from those experiences.
    She bit her lip, wondering what the right thing to say would be. Anything to keep him talking. “How exciting to see the world like that.”
    The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “Exciting, eh?”
    Something in his tone made her feel like a child. “I’ve never been outside of Philadelphia.”
    He set the wine glass down and looked up, his pale eyes remote, as if he still didn’t really see her. He nodded slightly. “Oh, I certainly got to see some of the world.”
    Then he chuckled, a sound so hollow and empty that it gave her sudden chills. She peered hard into his handsome face, trying to catch a glimpse of those distant, exotic places calling. All she saw was the self-mockery that quirked his lip upwards.
    “After several years, I came home. In my absence, Father had sickened and he was having a hard time keeping his affairs in order. He was running himself into bankruptcy. I immediately took over the business. However, instead of enjoying some respite, he died the next spring.”
    His voice resonated with such guilt that Emily’s heart gave a pang. She couldn’t keep herself from reaching out to touch his arm. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
    He looked down at her hand and he compressed his lips. He pulled his arm away, then glanced at her, all that suffering and the faraway look gone, replaced by the same glib charm he’d displayed for the majority of the evening. “Well, thank