Page 6

Jason’s best friend, Ronan, no longer joined him on The Arcturus. They’d met aboard the ship and formed a bond closer than brothers in the few years they’d sailed together.

But Ronan had lost his head a couple of years ago. He’d fallen in love and married, and now he wouldn’t consider leaving his wife for months on end.

Jason supposed some men were content with that domesticated life. Many, in truth. It simply had never been a desire of his. The world was large and fascinating, and there was so much he wanted to see.

If he accepted the assignment, he’d also be letting his mother down. He’d promised to spend the time while The Arcturus was in dry dock for maintenance with her mother, Adalia, the Dowager Countess Darlington-Pope. Still, the chance to captain one of Stapleton Shipping and Supplies’ other ships for the anticipated voyage to India was an opportunity he hated to pass up.

It was a high honor indeed.

But there was his aging grandmother to consider.

Halbert Glenister, Earl of Darlington-Pope, had died a year and a half ago. A distant cousin had inherited the title. Jason had never met the old coot nor the new earl. What he little he knew of his deceased grandfather was what his mother had told him, and nothing she’d said flattered the crusty curmudgeon.

Grandfather had disinherited her after she’d married an American without the earl’s permission. The vengeful and bitter rotter had also forbidden his countess to communicate with their only child.

Now, with her year of mourning behind her, Grandmother was like an animal released from its cage for the first time. She’d secretly written to her daughter all of those years and was determined to make up for the time she’d been under her husband’s oppressive thumb.

A commotion in front of Burlington Arcade snared Jason’s attention.

Narrowing his eyes, he automatically reached for his knife. His fingers met empty air instead of a familiar smooth elk antler handle, and he cursed beneath his breath.

Bugger and blast.

It appeared a pair of street ruffians were attempting a robbery in broad daylight. No sly nimble-fingered pickpocket tricks either. One brazenly wrenched at an elderly lady’s reticule as she pummeled him with her parasol.

Wait.

Jason’s heartbeat increased into a gallop, and something the size and weight of a cannonball throttled to his throat where his Adam’s apple ought to have been.

Hell’s bells. It’s Grandmother.