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eyebrow in the direction of the interested cook, hurriedly poured a glass from the decanter he’d already filled and set it on the tray. “Anything else, Captain?”
    “There was a salami,” Cosimo said. “A particularly tasty one, I recall. Cut a few slices, will you, Silas?”
    “Aye, sir.” Silas lifted the fat, glistening sausage from its hook above his head. “’Tis a very toothsome one, I grant you, sir. Those Frenchies know what they’re doing when it comes to sausage.”
    “And a good few other things,” Cosimo remarked, thinking of their spectacular success at war over the last couple of years. Austria, Rome, Switzerland . . . all had fallen to Napoleon. What the little Corsican lacked in true blue French blood, he certainly made up for in his ambitions for France, not to mention for himself. Which brought his reflections full circle. Napoleon was the object of his present journey, and if he was to adapt a now ruined plan that had seemed as near to foolproof as such plans could be, then he needed to take this tray of food to Miss Meg Barratt.
    He hefted the tray on the palm of his hand in the manner of an experienced waiter and made his way down the corridor to his cabin. He knocked loudly three times. Gus cackled an invitation and he heard Meg say, “Oh, do be quiet, you infuriating bird.”
    The door was opened by Meg, who gestured wordlessly that he should come in. “I’ve brought you luncheon as promised,” he said cheerfully. “I still think you’d prefer to eat it on deck, but you are your own mistress.”
    “That’s nice to know,” she said. “I wish someone would tell this bird that.”
    “Oh, you can’t tell Gus anything,” Cosimo declared, setting the tray on the table. “I’m surprised you don’t find him a kindred spirit.”
    Meg gasped at the effrontery of this and then she laughed. This wretched man made her laugh. Very few people could do that. Oh, she had a disgraceful tendency to discover things to laugh
at
on occasion, but very few people could totally engage her sense of humor. It was a trait she and Arabella shared and fostered in each other.
    “You have a very engaging laugh, as I’m sure you’ve been told many times by many men,” Cosimo observed, feeling the return of his own good humor.
    The amusement froze in her eyes and her laughter died. “Thank you for the tray, Captain,” she said in a dry and neutral tone.
    Cosimo cursed himself. This lady was not one to respond to lightly given compliments. She would see impudence where another woman would see flirtation. Or would she? He regarded her thoughtfully. “What’s your opinion of flirtation, Miss Barratt?”
    The question so surprised her that for a moment she was unable to respond. Then she said smartly, “In the right place and at the right time, I have no objection to it. But I don’t care for clumsiness on any occasion.” On which note, she sat down at the table and began to slice the apple as if her companion was no longer there.
    Cosimo recognized that he was bested and swept her an elaborate bow. “I accept my congé, ma’am.” He left the cabin but was unable to prevent himself from closing the door with the hint of a slam.
    Meg smiled to herself before she realized that she was contemplating further such engagements with Captain Cosimo and the amusement they would afford. She had already resolved that there would be no temptations in this strange and troublesome situation, however attractive they might be. For a minute there her resolution had faltered.
    She sipped her wine and absently passed a slice of apple to Gus, who was sitting expectantly beside her plate.
    “Thankee . . . thankee,” he said, tossing the fruit into the air before catching it in his beak.
    “You grow oddly endearing,” Meg observed, offering him another piece. She caught herself wondering if that could be true of the bird’s owner and mentally slapped her wrist. The problem was that she enjoyed the game of