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“They be workin’ late at Golowduyn today,” he explained, “to ’elp in the captain’s absence.”

She nodded, and as her warm eyes roved about the room, Trevik’s eyes remained on her.

He’d never seen a more stunning woman in all his life. Morvoren had always been beautiful to him, but that evening, dressed in white, with perfect curls, long white gloves stretched the length of her delicate arms, and pearls strung about her neck…a sudden and unfamiliar wave of insecurity rushed over him.

She stood out, dressed in such a way and standing in the midst of his humble home. She could have been a lady, a lady in fine clothing with friends in high places. Yet she’d chosen to come back to Tristwick, to be poor and inconsequential to Society.

But why?

“Trevik?”

His name on her lips pulled him from his anxious thoughts, and he blinked, still staring at her.

“Are ye well?” she asked softly.

He nodded, taking a step back. He couldn’t do this now. He needed to catch his breath before he fell over. Losing consciousness while proposing would hardly help the case of a poor fisherman.

“I’ll be ’eaded out on the Pilferer soon,” he explained in a rush. “Feel free to make yourself at ’ome. Poppy set up the bed already in ’er room.”

Her eyes brightened. “She did?”

“Mother told ’er to wait, but Poppy knew ye’d return.”

She shook her head with a little laugh. “I’ve missed ’er.” Then her eyes settled on his. “I’ve missed ye all.”

His love for the woman standing before him overflowed from his heart, filling every inch of him until he could no longer draw in a breath.

“Right,” he said, looking away. “I s’pose I’d best be off, then. I’ll be seein’ ye tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? What was he doing?

Morvoren nodded in silence. Did he imagine the disappointment in her eyes? Still, he turned away, leaving her behind and heading to his crew and the awaiting lugger. Every step he took seemed to berate his decision.

Cow-ard. Cow-ard. Cow-ard.

His men glanced up in surprise as he reached them, the boat swathed in orange light from the setting sun.

“What are ye doin’ ’ere, Trev?” Gryffyn asked.

Trevik looked from his men to the boat. “Am I not allowed to fish on me own lugger?”

“No,” Gryffyn said pointedly, folding his arms and blocking his progression toward the boat, “not when you’re s’posed to be up there instead.”

He tipped his head toward the cliffside, and Trevik looked up. His heart jumped when he spotted Morvoren standing at the edge overlooking the sea, her white dress billowing behind her.

She was utter perfection.

“I’ll ask ye again,” Gryffyn said quieter that time, “what are ye doin’ down ’ere?”

“I…I don’t know.”

A few chuckles sounded aboard the lugger and around the deck.

“Ye be daft, Trev,” Gryffyn said.

“Not even I be that stupid,” cried young Charlie from the top of the lugger, eliciting more laughs.

Still, Trevik scowled. “I just…I mean, look at ’er, Gryff. She be standin’ there all perfect, and ’ere I be, as plain as a…a fisherman.”