Her throat thickened, even though his grin held as he said it. “I hope you don’t remember me just for that.”
His eyes flashed as he locked gazes with her. “I will remember you for many things.”
Heat crept up her skin at the intensity lacing his tone. She swallowed, unable to come up with a response, but unwilling to end the conversation.
“Excuse me?” A young gentleman strode forward with a hesitant smile. “Would you like to dance?”
The lieutenant bowed. “Goodbye, Miss Montclair. Enjoy your stayin Savannah.”
She dipped in a quick curtsy. “Stay safe, Lieutenant.”
And just like that, it was goodbye for real, the man beside her offering his arm and guiding her toward the dance floor.
“Oh, Miss Montclair?”
She paused, turning back with parted lips.
“I must warn you, Savannah’s full of fountains. Be careful.” With a wink rivaling Mr. Thompson’s, he pivoted and strode toward his friend.
Later, in the carriage, Josephine let out a sigh and wiggled her aching toes.
“Did you have fun?” Abigail gave her an expectant look.
“It was a bit like living out a dream. I never could have imagined a party so grand. But my feet do hurt.”
“Wait till you go to one of the Montelet’s parties. They live just out of town on a grand estate. Theirs are the biggest and most elaborate of them all.” Abigail grinned. “And you’ll be up past midnight dancing.”
A warm glow spread through Josephine’s chest. Tonight had been magical—an event she would remember the rest of her life. The rest of the ride passed by in a blur as she categorized and filed away each precious memory.
After Abigail bid her goodnight, Josephine walked out onto her balcony, gazing into the darkness. All the comforting sounds of a Caribbean night were missing; no tree frogs, and all the insect noises had distinct differences. The foreignness of this land wrapped around her, crushing her lungs, until her breaths came quick and fast.
And then, far away, a familiar sound cut through the unknown.
The trill of a mockingbird.
She straightened as the song faded.
Had she imagined it?
She had come to Savannah chasing her destiny, yet now, it seemedfurther from reach than ever before. Her eyes narrowed as she glared out into the shadows. Destiny be damned. How was it that women like Samantha found partners who allowed them to sail on pirate hunting missions, and here she was, still reduced to the prospect of marrying an elderly merchant?
It’s not fair. Though she felt like a child for thinking it, it was the truth. Once her father received Lieutenant Caldwell’s message, he would make sure she returned to Tortuga straightaway. She likely would have not much more than a week to even enjoy the company of Abigail. Her lips pulled up in a snarl. So little time.
Why shouldn’t she be able to experience the thrill of adventure? Because she was a woman? Hell, she could hold her own against pirates. She knew how they behaved and reacted better than most American men could claim. And they didn’t scare her. Well, not in the way most normal people were scared of pirates. Frustration coiled as her jaw tightened. The spray of the sea on her face, the thunder of cannons, the chase of a prize—all denied to her for the sake of supposedly delicate womanhood.
A flutter of wings startled her and she stood still as the mockingbird perched at the corner of the railing, its head cocked to one side as it regarded her. She held her breath, afraid to blink lest it vanish. And then, as she stared into black eyes, a thought hit her so hard, she doubled over. If she wasn’t in Savannah, her father couldn’t drag her home. Her fingers curled around the stone railing, still warm from the day’s sun, and she knew what she had to do.
She hurried inside and picked up the candle next to her bed. Creeping across the hall, she knocked on Abigail’s door. A long moment passed before it cracked open.
“What’s wrong?” her friend whispered, glancing up the hall toward her father’s bedroom before opening the door wider.
Josephine strode in, coming to a stop in front of a window near the bed. “What is the King’s Head?”
Abigail scrunched her nose. “It’s a tavern down by the docks.”
“Have you ever been?”
Blue eyes went wide. “Heavens no. Respectable ladies never go there.”
