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dim light of the evening. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Captain Carter,” she mumbled from the seat of the wagon, her gaze not quite lifting to meet his.
    Josiah studied the woman openly, noting other signs of mistreatment in the dried blood decorating her lip and dotting the front of what appeared to be a pale blue frock. She certainly did not appear to have planned this trip, owing to the formal nature of what should have been a traveling garment. Had he not evidence to the contrary, Josiah might have guessed the woman was en route to a wedding at the cathedral rather than to a ship awaiting her at the docks.
    “Does your father know of your intentions, Miss Dumont?”
    Dark eyes widened, then shut completely. A second later the young woman recovered and offered him a weak smile, her partly swollen lip quivering. Her gaze fell on him a moment, then flitted past him to settle on the painted mural above his head, the advertisement for warehouses owned by the Dumont family. “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else, sir. I have no father.”
    A lie and he knew it. Viola Rose Dumont was the apple of her father’s eye. Two of the ships in the Dumont merchant fleet were named after the girl, and another half dozen had been sent to sea with her likeness carved into a figurehead decorating the bow.
    He knew this personally, having been indentured to the elder Dumont aboard the Viola at the age of fourteen due to his father’s fury over some minor indiscretion, long forgotten. Dumont had been fair but tough, a mentor in some ways and a scourge in others, demanding hard work and giving little compliment in return.  
    The first year had been the closest to the fiery pits of hell Josiah had come, the second only marginally better, but he’d learned to fend for himself quite well aboard the Viola and other Dumont vessels. Taking this woman aboard his ship would be the best way to draw his father’s ire, given that his father and Dumont were thick as thieves and lifelong friends.
    A sane man would end the nonsense and send the women packing. He allowed his gaze to fall on the taller of the Gayarre sisters, her ramrod straight backbone and pinched expression giving away the lack of courage hidden just beneath the blustery veneer of confidence.  
    Behind the imperious Emilie, the Dumont woman trembled visibly as she gathered her cloak to hide her face once more. This one held no pretense save the lie she told regarding her parentage, a character flaw that would not bode well for her should she make good her escape.  
    Finally, he beheld the exotic Isabelle.
    Something about the woman set his well-honed sense of danger on guard and made him want to flee her presence. Something else bade him lean forward and push away honey-colored curls to whisper sweet words of comfort and assurance in her ear.  
    Good sense required he do neither.
    “Take you responsibility for these women?” he spoke against the warmth of her skin. He felt her tense. She feels fear at my touch. An advantage I must not lose.
    Eyes the color of the green seas off the Florida Straits regarded him almost without blinking. A storm brewed behind those eyes, of this Josiah felt sure.  
    In that moment, with his knees as week as a baby’s, he knew he would give chase to brave that storm and tame those waves. For this one, he would span the seas to do her bidding.
    Herein, he realized, lay the danger. It is I who feel the fear.
    Josiah covered the shock of his discovery with anger. Had he the words, he would have lashed out at the fair-haired siren and her entourage, telling the vermin in petticoats exactly how he felt about taking women aboard the Jude .  
    Rendered mute, however, he settled for a glare that would have sent the worst of his crew scurrying below decks in fear. Unfortunately, his best work of intimidation went ignored among the feminine group.  
    “Don’t just stand there gaping, Isabelle. You’ll swallow a fly.” Emilie’s