Christian lifted his gaze. A shadow passed through his eyes, but a slow, crooked smile curved his lips. “She won’t know. She’s going to be too busy helping you rescue Miss Montclair.”
*
The scent ofsalt and tar coiled around Isaac as his boots thudded against the wharf. He walked with purpose, but his thoughts churned like the tide. Christian’s words echoed in his skull, each one more absurd than the last. Join his father? Madness. And yet he meant it.
Just as he meant Isaac to keep it from Samantha.
Bitterness burned up his throat at the thought. He swallowed it down and kept moving, though his pace slowed as theRed Sirencame into view, moored at the end of the dock. Morning light glinted off the water, bright and blinding, and for a moment he paused beside a stack of crates. He stared across the river, eyes narrowed against the glare. A dark cloud hung low on the horizon, thick and swollen as if the skyitself conspired against him. The sun wouldn’t last long. With a sigh he turned back toward the schooner.
Tortuga.
If he closed his eyes, he could almost see it. A speck of land so inconsequential from the deck of a ship, yet it had changed his life forever. And then, drawn up from the depths of his heart, came the curve of her smile, bright and wild beneath the waterfall, promising something he had never dared hope for. But the image was fragile, slipping through his fingers like smoke, replaced by her desperate struggle to escape her father, the look in her eyes that said he was worth more than orders and duty, the hope that had lit her face when he’d rounded the corner and called out.
God, that hope.
Watching it flicker, falter, then die had nearly undone him.
How could she trust him now? He’d stood there, trapped between duty and heartbreak, and let her father tear her away, force her into a marriage to a man she didn’t want. The knowledge struck him hard, like a fist to the gut. Some cold, lifeless merchant with silver in his pocket and her father’s approval. A man who’d take her hand, her freedom, her future.
A low growl escaped him.No.
The thought of another man touching her, claiming her, sent something ancient and possessive uncoiling in his chest. He’d sail to the island, tear through every gate, every man, every barrier standing between them. The wind shifted, pulling at his coat. He dropped his hand toward his sword without thinking, heart pounding—not from grief, but from the thrum of purpose rising in his blood.
A footstep came from behind him. Too soft. Too close.
Before he could turn, a cold blade kissed the hollow of his throat.
“A bit preoccupied, aren’t you, Lieutenant?” The voice slid over him like oil over water.
Isaac froze, every muscle tightening. “Thorne.”
The pirate’s familiar laugh carried over the water. “I must say, I’m surprised to catch you letting your guard down, Lieutenant. Not quite the Navy standard, is it?” He leaned in, breath brushing Isaac’s ear. “Let me guess? Thinking of her?”
Isaac’s fingers twisted around the hilt of his sword.
“Not so fast.” Thorne’s dagger pressed in just enough to bite. “Wouldn’t want you making a scene.”
“What do you want?” The words grated out between clenched teeth.
“I think you know exactly what I want.” Thorne’s voice came low and deadly.
“Where is Ross hiding?”
Isaac’s body tensed, muscles coiling beneath the pressure, but his voice stayed steady.
“You’re wasting time if you think you can get that from me.”
The captain chuckled. “You know I can make things very unpleasant for you, very quickly.”
Isaac took a steadying breath and squared his shoulders. “Your threats mean very little to me.”
“I beg to differ.” Thorne slid the blade upward and lifted Isaac’s chin with the tip of it. “You forget, Lieutenant—I know exactly where your pretty little love lives. The whitewashed home on the hill, the one with the blue shutters, yes?”
A low growl rumbled deep in Isaac’s throat. “Don’t even think about it.” His voice trembled with barely contained rage.
The dagger at his neck shifted. “A pity you let her leave here unprotected.”
With a sudden twist, Isaac took advantage of the momentary slack and spun free. His sword flashed from its scabbard in one fluid motion, the blade gleaming in the morning light. Thorne’s eyes flickered with amusement. In a heartbeat, his own blade was in hand, moving with deadly precision and parrying Isaac’s strike before it fully formed.
