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not a good thing to go meddling in other people's affairs."
    Prudence smiled. Genevieve was glad to see her smiling again. "Never mind. We're still the best of friends, are we not? Truly, I think fate brought us together on this ship. Roarke has promised we'll see each other often."
    Genevieve frowned at the way his name trilled on Prudence's lips. "You really don't mind, do you?"
    "No." Prudence fingered a small gold locket on a thin chain that had been concealed inside her gown. "I've not been able to simply wash my hands of Edmund, but in time, I think, I'll put him from my mind."
    Hesitantly, Genevieve asked, "And what of Roarke Adair?"
    "There now, I know you don't like him. But you mustn't judge him. He only suggested what he thought best for you." Prudence gave her a canny glance. "Much as you did for me, Genevieve, in speaking your mind to the Brimsbys."
    Chastened, she nodded. "But he seems such a rough, wild sort."
    "He's been ever so kind," Prudence insisted. Her hand strayed to her midsection. "He'll be a fine father."
    Genevieve stared. "He knows, then? He understands?" Somehow she couldn't imagine Roarke Adair welcoming another man's child.
    "Oh, no." Prudence said quickly. "I dare not tell him now. Later, after we've been married some weeks, I'll surprise him."
    "Prudence! Bloody sakes, you mean you'll let him believe the babe is his?"
    "Of course. It'll come early, but that often happens, I'm told."
    Quiet laughter issued from behind them. Prudence's face drained of color as she and Genevieve spun about to find the source. The brash yellow-haired woman from the docks was lounging at the rail, picking absently at a bit of dirt under her fingernail and grinning broadly.
    "Mornin'," she said in a husky voice. "I'm Nell Wingfield." She stared at Genevieve and Prudence until Prudence fell back against a grate, looking faint. Nell laughed again and wandered off, swaying her hips so audaciously that one of the sailors in the rigging nearly lost his footing.
    "She heard," Prudence whispered faintly. "That woman heard us talking."
    "There now, and what if she did?" Genevieve replied.
    "You're right," admitted Prudence, relaxing visibly. "Roarke would never believe a tale told by the likes of
her
. Besides, in a few weeks he'll be too excited about the baby to listen to gossip."
    Genevieve shook her head slowly in disbelief. She'd always thought Prudence above deception. "I've no great compassion for Roarke Adair," she said, "but still, I think the poor sod deserves to know—"
    "Never," Prudence said flatly. "I don't want an innocent child to suffer for the mistakes of others. Actually, it was Mrs. Brimsby's idea. She forbade me to tell the truth and warned me what it could do to the child."
    Suddenly, unexpectedly, Genevieve pitied Roarke Adair. What a convenient dupe he'd been, arriving at the perfect time to save the reputations of the Brimsbys and Prudence Moon.
    "I must go," Prudence was saying. "Roarke has secured a cabin for us, and I'd like to get settled. Where will you be staying, Genevieve?"
    She grimaced. "Below, with the other women. I suspect Mr. Piggot has plenty of Mr. Culpeper's money, easily the four pounds for private quarters, but he's not about to part with it for my sake."
    "Poor Genevieve. Please, if you need something—anything—do call on us. Roarke is exceedingly generous."
    Genevieve turned away. There was nothing hard about refusing the generosity of Roarke Adair. Spying some of the other women descending a narrow ladder, Genevieve decided to follow them, to see where she would be spending the next several weeks.
    The women's quarters were small even by Genevieve's standards. Eight narrow bunks lined the sides of the lower deck. There was a tiny area for stowage beneath each one and not enough headroom to stand. Six of the women had claimed bunks, and Genevieve took a seventh. She looked bleakly at the damp, lumpy mattress. It smelled of mildew and was probably crawling with vermin.
    Then