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France through a neutral port, if they chose. But it was sheer chance that his daughter met and married my cousin. Once the grandchildren started coming along, it would’ve been foolish to take the family back to France—especially since their father’s an aristo.”
    “You’ve embroidered that tale out of all recognition.” In fact, the conference had been a long-planned escape for the Colberts, and it had been Kit’s good fortune that they were willing to smuggle a seriously ill Englishman out of France. As fugitives from the Reign of Terror, they had never intended to return. Dr. Colbert had supported the democratic reforms of the French Revolution, but when the mob went mad he realized his country had only traded one sort of misrule for another. He’d been planning their escape since before Kit had the luck to stumble across Zoe Colbert at a friend’s party, and if he had not, Davy might be poorer by one extremely congenial cousin.
    “It sails near enough to the truth that no one can prove otherwise,” Davy said. “And it’s not as though he’s the only expatriate returning to attend to personal business, or a visitor who wants to see France again. Half the ships we’ve passed have been English sightseers.”
    “And the other half merchants, I know.” Marshall was not reassured. “But if we’re out here, so will Frenchmen be—and I expect they’re as innocent as we are ourselves.”
    “Very likely,” Davy agreed. “That’s why I made such an ass of myself peddling trinkets, you know—that merchantman seemed unreasonably interested in our itinerary.” He rested a hand on Marshall’s shoulder. “Come below and warm yourself for a few minutes. I can light the spirit lamp and make tea—you’re chilled through.”
    “Soon,” Marshall said. “When this wind drops.”
    Davy glanced up at the crackling sail, and sighed. “I’ll bring it up for you, then. This feels as though it’ll blow all night.”
    Marshall nodded absently, his mind on the ship. Night was coming on fast, and Davy was right about the weather. The sensible thing to do would be to find a sheltered cove, furl the sails, and stay put until he could see where they were going. He would have to go below, after all, to have a look at the chart.
    He called Barrow over to give him the helm, and was surprised to find his gloves frozen fast to the wheel, held in place by a thin coating of ice. It broke easily enough, but he had no feeling in his fingertips. “I’m going below to see if I can find a place for us to put in for the night. Call the men down and send them below a few at a time to warm themselves. I don’t want any broken legs or broken heads. We’ve no hands to spare and no doctor aboard.”
    “Aye, sir, thankee.”
    Marshall went below, relieved to be out of the biting wind. As he reached for the latch of the cabin door, it swung inwards to reveal Davy, with his right hand on the door and two tin mugs in his left.
    “Come in, Captain! You look quite thoroughly chilled—but I am amazed you changed your mind.” He held the door open just long enough for Will to enter, then closed it against the draft.
    “I d-did not.”
    The warmth of the cabin set him shivering, and Davy set the mugs down on the folding table by the window, unbuttoning Will’s ice-coated coat and wrapping him in a warm embrace.
    “I only came in to look at the chart,” Marshall protested.
    “And so you shall, when you’ve thawed.”
    He wasn’t about to argue. Davy’s body made him think of tropical sands; being in his arms like this was the warmest he’d been all day. When the shivering stopped, he stepped back reluctantly. “There’s no point trying to sail in this muck, not so close to shore,” he said. “We’ll spend the night at anchor and hope the weather clears tomorrow.”
    Davy handed him his tea. “Good. Drink this, I’ll get out the chart.”
    Will wrapped his cold hands gratefully around the cup, letting the heat seep in