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office, they walked west along the main wharf, feeling the tug of the salt breeze and with the raucous cries of gulls ringing in their ears. At the end of the wharf, Charlie took her elbow and turned her up a cobbled street; after passing between two old and weathered warehouses, it gave onto the large flat section of rocky land beyond which the sea cliffs rose.
    There were pegs in the ground with ropes strung between. Charlie led her on a little way, then they halted and looked seaward. All the town and the ware houses lay to their right. Ahead, they could see the newest and most westerly dock stretching out into the choppy waters of the bay.
    “I’m thinking of building a new ware house here.” Charlie looked at her. “What do you think?”
    Lifting her hands to tuck back the hair the wind had whipped about her face, she looked at the nearest ware house, thought of the figures Jones had let fall. “If it were me, I’d be thinking of two—or at least one twice the size of that one. I’m not very good at estimating spaces, but it seemed that the anticipated increase in goods through Watchet would easily fill another two, if not three.”
    Charlie grinned. “If not four or more. You’re right.” He looked at the dock, then scanned the area in which they stood. “I was thinking of two—very little risk there. The projected volumes will fill them easily. No need to be greedy—two will do. But building one twice the size…” He paused, then added, “That might well be an excellent notion.”
    Sarah inwardly preened. “Who owns the land?”
    Retaking her arm, Charlie turned back to the town. “I do. I bought it years ago.”
    She raised her brows. “A speculative investment?”
    “One that’s about to pay handsomely.”
    They walked back to the inn, taking their time, casting their eyes over the various ships tied up at the docks, at the cargoes being unloaded. The central wharf was a bustling hive of activity; Charlie helped her over various ropes and between piles of crates until they could turn the corner for the inn.
    Once within its portals they were greeted by the owner; he knew them both, but Charlie—his lordship, the earl—clearly commanded extra special attention. They were shown to a table in a private nook by a window from which they could see the harbor.
    The meal was excellent. Sarah had expected their conversation to falter, but Charlie quizzed her on local affairs and the time sped by. It was only as they were leaving the inn that it occurred to her that he’d been using her to refresh his memory; much of what he’d asked he wouldn’t have seen over the last ten years—the years he’d spent mostly in London.
    Pausing on the inn’s porch, they studied the sea. The wind had dropped to a gentle offshore breeze, and the waves were no longer choppy. The sun had found a break in the clouds and shone down, gilding the scene, easing the earlier chill.
    Charlie glanced at her. “Are you game?”
    She met his eyes, and smiled. “Where’s your boat?”
    He steered her down the wharf, heading east beyond the commercial docks to where narrower piers afforded berths to smaller, private craft. Charlie’s boat was moored toward the end of one pier. One look at its bright paintwork, at its neat and shining trim, was enough to assure her that it was in excellent condition.
    The glow in Charlie’s eyes as she helped him cast off, then hoist the sail, informed her that sailing was a passion; his expertise as he tacked, taking them swiftly from the pier out into the open harbor, told her it was one in which he often indulged. Or had. It seemed unlikely that he’d managed all that much sailing over recent years.
    She sat back and watched him manage the tiller. Watched the wind of their passage ruffle his golden locks; she didn’t want to think what her own coiffure must look like.
    “Do you miss this when you’re in London?”
    His eyes, very gray now that they were on the water, swung to her face.