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refer to these vessels as
boats
. They are ships. And I do not see what you are pointing at.”
    Because she wasn’t pointing at anything except toward the stern, where she desperately wanted to be in order to avoid the rest of what was proving to be a very boring tour.
    He took her elbow and guided her forward. He droned on and on about mundane informationshe already knew. Eventually, she turned her thoughts away from him and studied the men trimming the sails. A few more were scouring the deck and two were coiling rope. For the most part, they were a blundering, half-witted lot. However, Captain Addison had managed to corral them into some semblance of a crew. They were still filthy and shifty eyed, but they did their jobs. Maybe not in the way she would have preferred if she were captain, but they were sailing smoothly and the ship was clean. ’Twas more than she expected when she first boarded.
    She looked at Captain Addison with, damn it, new admiration. It took a fine leader to instill such discipline in men like this.
    They finally made it to the stern, Captain Addison still pointing out various irrelevant things along the way. Saying much, but imparting no useful information.
    “What about that deck?” She pointed to the deck in question.
    “That’s the orlop deck. Short for overlap deck because it overlaps the hold.”
    “And what is in the hold?”
    “Our cargo.”
    She turned wide eyes to him. “Are we carrying much cargo?”
    “Loaded to the gills, Mrs. Sutherland.”
    “And what are we carrying?” She wanted to get a look at the cargo merely out of curiosity. Before leaving London she hadn’t been able to determine what exactly the
Pride
was carrying. Not that it mattered. Her plan was to acquire the information on which ship of Blackwell’s was carrying the gold, then she would sail to Boston to meet up with Phin. But still, the pirate in her wanted to know. If the price was worth it, she was open to changing her plans.
    “Spices from the Orient, fabric and various other sundries the colonies need from us.”
    Quickly she calculated the value, allowing for which spices they might be carrying, and the quality of the fabric. Oh, yes, she knew fine fabric when she saw it—she simply refused to wear it.
    Before she could ask if he would take her to the hold, he firmly grasped her elbow and steered her toward the quarterdeck. The steps here were more like a ladder and Captain Addisonascended first, leaving Emmaline to stare up at his very tight arse—er, backside.
Lord have mercy
. The breeches were old, forming tightly to his muscular buttocks. Emmaline licked her lips.
    He turned and offered his hand down to her. She hesitated, never having had the need for assistance up these steps and on the verge of telling him so. Then she saw the challenge in his eyes, daring her to put her hand in his and she couldn’t refuse. She’d never been able to refuse a dare.
    The minute their fingers touched, her gaze flew to his as shock waves traveled up her arm.
    His stern features didn’t alter, didn’t suggest he felt anything other than another set of fingers in his.
    She gathered her skirts in her other hand, ascending as best she could in the blasted gown. Gently, he tugged, and she landed on her feet. Off balance, she swayed, her body colliding with his. His arms went around her to keep her steady and suddenly they were toe-to-toe, chest to chest.
    “Oh.” She looked up into his hooded eyes, startled by his strength and the breadth of his hard chest.
    Emmaline’s gaze traveled to his firm lips. An uncontrollable urge to press her lips against his nearly chased away all logical thought.
    His hand moved to her back, bringing her fully against him. He lowered his head toward hers and she lifted hers automatically, as if her body knew what it wanted even if her mind didn’t. Their lips touched, collided. Her hands, caught between them, folded into the fabric of his coat. She was surprised at how warm his