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errant strand of hair, wishing desperately for a bath and fresh clothes.
    The gesture must have betrayed her thoughts.
    “In a day or two, we’ll be stopping for supplies. I’ll see what I can do about finding you something to wear.”
    She raised her chin and looked into his face. “I have all the clothes I need—in my cabin on the Lady Anne. ”
    The captain’s jaw hardened. “Unfortunately for you, you are no longer aboard the Lady Anne. ”

Four
    T wo more days passed. Grace sat on the captain’s wide bed in her rumpled aqua gown, Schooner nestled in her lap. The big orange tabby purred loudly, an oddly comforting sound. She was trapped aboard what could only be called a pirate ship, sailing God knew where, her fate as yet undetermined.
    She couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t more afraid.
    Grace sighed as she absently stroked Schooner’s fur. Perhaps it was because she had survived thus far unharmed and her treatment had not been too ill. Wearing the man’s cotton night rail that Freddie had brought her, still unwilling to trust her captor, Grace had fallen asleep each night as she had the first, sitting in the straight-back chair behind the captain’s desk. Each morning she had awakened in his bed, curled on her side beneath the covers. The only difference was, each of those mornings, she had awakened alone.
    Grace knew he had been there, sleeping next to her as he had that first night. She could see the indentation of his head on the pillow, smell the faint, masculine scent of him, something that reminded her of the sea.
    Her real fear lay not in what the captain might do, but what would happen if he returned her to London and handed her over to the authorities. So far, the ship continued a course that carried her away from the city and as long as they weren’t sailing to London, there was always a ray of hope.
    At least he had been decent enough to loan her a brush and comb. It was an exquisite set, silver inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Probably a gift for one of his paramours. Grace was simply grateful to be able to brush and braid her hair.
    In the past two days, she had rarely seen the devil captain. She was grateful for that, as well. With his hot glances and cool disdain, the man was hardly fit company. Still, even with Freddie and Schooner to help pass the time, she felt restless and confined. She paced the cabin, feeling as if the walls were closing in, her irritation building. The cabin wasn’t a prison cell and yet it felt like one.
    The next time she saw him she was going to demand he take her up on deck. She was used to a good bit of exercise, walking along the shops on Bond Street or strolling in the park. During the day, she cracked open one of the portholes above the bed, but it wasn’t the same as being out of doors, feeling the salt spray against her face and filling her lungs with brisk sea air. If it weren’t for the motley crew aboard the ship, she would have gone up by herself.
    Grace made a turn at the foot of the bed and started pacing back the other way. She heard the light knock, recognized Freddie’s small hand and went over to open the door. Surprise hit her at the sight of the steaming copper tub being carried by two men in the crew, one of them the dark man with all the tattoos.
    “’Tis rainwater, miss.” Freddie stumped out of the way so the men could bring the tub into the cabin. “We hit a squall last night. Gave us a chance to refill the cisterns. Capt’n thought ye might like a bath.”
    She nearly sighed at the notion.
    “Where ye want it, miss?”
    “In front of the fire would be nice.” She hurried that way, stood back while the men set the tub on the floor in front of the low-burning flames.
    “There’s linen towels in the cupboard just there.” Freddie pointed. “Shall I get one for ye?”
    “I’ll get it. Thank you, Freddie.” The boy and crewmen left the cabin and Grace turned her attention to the tub. In the evening, she had been forced to