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Only having known the second mate for a matter of hours, Trinity was not sure what kind of man he was. One moment, he was all solicitous courtesy, but the next, he unabashedly directed scorn to someone he ought to show a degree of respect.

Mrs. Peagilly patted Trinity’s arm. “I shall go below and have more tea brewed. It may be too late for the gentleman, however.”

She cast the distraught fellow a considering glance.

“Trinity, see if you can find someone to assist you in helping him below. The longer he remains up here heaving, the weaker he’ll become, and then getting him to his cabin will be a devilish challenge.”

“Of course,” Trinity murmured, not at all certain she should approach a stranger in distress and even more unsure who to ask for help. Perhaps one of the businessmen she had met earlier.

A swift perusal of the deck revealed neither was up here. Nor were the McKinnicks.

“There’s a dear. I knew I liked you. You remind me of me when I was your age. Smart, courageous, but also kind and empathetic.”

After another pat on Trinity’s forearm, Mrs. Peagilly picked her way across the deck, maneuvering around sailors and equipment with the ease of someone accustomed to moving about on ships.

Trinity had never asked her new employer how many voyages she’d undertaken. She did, however, know that childless and widowed early in life, Mrs. Peagilly had spent decades traveling the world.

Slightly uncomfortable at approaching the stranger but compelled by sympathy, Trinity made her way toward him, sending more than one smirking sailor a quelling glare.

Why must people be so unkind?

Not everyone was a good sailor.

There was no crime in that.

The wind persisted in teasing the folds of his black cloak, but such was his misery that he seemed not to notice.

“Ahem.”

Trinity stood a mere three feet away, but the man, his white-knuckled hands gripping the rail he hunched over, also appeared unaware of her presence.

“Excuse me, sir.”

Slowly, as if he feared sudden movement would send the contents of his stomach spewing forth again, he lifted his head and turned ever so slightly in her direction. His grayish-green pallor induced another wave of sympathy.

No one relished an audience when they were ghastly ill.

Gaze unfocused, his eyes so dark they appeared black in the muted light, he blinked, then blinked again.

Trinity could not pull her attention from his face, though her prolonged stare went beyond inquisitiveness into downright rudeness.

But those eyelashes.

Envy prickled her, and the sensation was most discomfiting.

Really. It was criminal for a man to possess such thick, lush lashes.

Moreover, the rest of his vaguely familiar features were just as striking. At least they appeared so in the shadowy half-light. Aware she had crossed the mark into impoliteness, Trinity, nevertheless, looked her fill.

High cheekbones, shadowed by dark stubble, slanted downward to a strong, angular jaw. The wind played her fingers through his neatly trimmed dark brown wavy hair, the color of freshly poured coffee with just a touch of milk added—a shade lighter than his lashing eyebrows.

A groan escaped him, and he clenched his jaw and shut his eyes for a second.

Trinity well knew how he suffered.

He truly was a pitiful wretch, and the voyage had scarcely begun. Hopefully, he would adjust to the motion swiftly, or misery would be his unending company.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but you appear to need assistance.”