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  “What does he want?” Becky impatiently asked.

  “He’s invited me to supper.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes, at eight—after it’s cooler.” Helen scowled at her sister. “I don’t suppose I ought.”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t even know him.”

  “Didn’t he rescue you from brigands?”

  “Yes, but we haven’t been introduced.”

  Becky rolled her eyes. “We’re not in a finicky London ballroom, Helen.”

  “I realize we’re not.”

  “The fussy rules that previously guided us no longer apply.”

  “That’s the sort of rationalization Father might have spewed.”

  “Well, it’s true. The rules have flown out the window.”

  “He signed it Nine Lives,” Helen complained. “What kind of name is that?”

  “Who cares? He speaks English, and he’s from England.” Becky turned to the young man. “What’s your name, sir?”

  “Will Stone.”

  “And how are you involved in this situation?”

  “My father and Nine Lives are partners.”

  “Ah…I see. Why is this gentleman called Nine Lives?”

  “Because he’s had nine lives?”

  “Of course,” Becky said. “Has he a real name?”

  “Not one he uses in polite company.”

  “Fine, then. Please tell Mr. Nine Lives—”

  “It’s not mister. It’s just Nine Lives.”

  “Tell Nine Lives my sister is thrilled by his invitation, and she would be honored to have supper with him tonight. At eight.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Becky!” Helen scolded. “I didn’t agree.”

  “No, and you’re being an idiot. As usual.” Becky spun to Will Stone, and she was practically twinkling. “Don’t listen to her. She’ll be ready at eight. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll inform Nine Lives it’s a date.”

  “When he comes to fetch her, Mr. Stone,” Becky inquired, “will you be with him?”

  “He doesn’t always let me, but I’ll ask.”

  “I will waste away until then.”

  “Becky!” Helen scolded again. “For pity’s sake.”

  They ignored her. Mr. Stone grinned and Becky grinned too then—with a definite swagger in his stride—he sauntered out.

  Becky shut the door behind him, and Helen sighed.

  “What’s wrong?” Becky asked.

  “I didn’t want to go to supper.”

  “Why not?”

  Helen wouldn’t discuss her champion from out on the street. She didn’t like to remember his broad shoulders, his long legs, his arms that had been muscled from constant strenuous endeavor.

  He’d looked tough and dangerous, and it was obvious he knew how to thrive in such a desperate location. Weapons had dangled from his belt and shoulder. He’d had a pistol and a knife in sheaths at his waist, a sword strapped across his back, and there was no doubt that he could wield all of them with great skill.

  His hair had been golden blond, his eyes a stunning blue, and in his presence, she’d been all jittery on the inside, had noticed herself in a feminine way she never had prior. She hadn’t liked the sensation one bit.

  While standing next to him, she’d felt small and insignificant and in need of his protection, but she hated to ever lean on a man, to ever count on a man. She’d learned too many hard lessons—from her father—that a woman had to rely on herself.

  Becky was tapping her foot, demanding an explanation, and Helen said, “He was rude and bossy, and I can’t abide a bossy male.”

  “Yes, and that dour attitude of yours is why you’ll always be a spinster. Well, your attitude and our history. We’re awfully unfortunate in our choice of ancestor.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  “Was Nine Lives handsome?”

  “Some women might think so.”

  “Was he tall and dashing?”

  “I guess.”

  “So let me get this straight, Helen. You met a man who is handsome and dashing and British, and he’s anxious to take you to supper.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you don’t want to go…why? Because he’s bossy?”

  “Ah…yes.”

  “Did we—or did we not—just spend the past hour wondering how to solve our dilemma?”

  “We did.”

  “It seems to me that Nine Lives might turn out to be an angel sent from Heaven.”

  “If you’d seen him, you wouldn’t say that.”

  “What would I say?”

  “He’s very likely the Devil in disguise.”

  “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t!” Becky guffawed at what she viewed as her sharp wit. “Maybe I should join him. It’s clear you’re not interested. Should I volunteer?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s too much man for both of us.”

  “He sounds as if he’s exactly my type.”

  “Trust me, he’s not.”

  Becky shook her head with derision. “Oh, Helen, stop moping.”

  “I’m not moping. I’m thinking.”

  “Yes, and I can read your mind. You’re devising a dozen excuses as to why you can’t possibly have any fun with him.”

  “That’s not it!” Helen huffed. “I simply don’t believe I should traipse off with a stranger who calls himself Nine Lives. What if he’s actually an ax murderer? What if I disappear and I wash up cold and dead and floating face down in the surf?”

  “I’ll mourn for you, I swear,” Becky blithely said. “Now, slide your bottom off that chair, and let’s paw through our traveling trunks.”

  “Why?”

  “We have to dress you in something other than black.”

  “Why?” Helen asked again.

  “Honestly, Helen, you are thick as a brick sometimes. You can’t look as if you’re on your way to a funeral. You have to look pretty.”

  “For an oaf named Nine Lives?”

  “Yes, precisely for a fellow with such an odd name. He should be bowled over by you.”

  “Bowled over? By me?”

  “It could happen,” Becky insisted.

  “In what world, Becky?”

  “I’m positive deep down, Helen, even you have a few feminine wiles. You’ll have to use them on him to garner what we need.”

  “What is that?”

  “Help, you ridiculous ninny. You have to play on his sympathies and get us some help.”

  “He doesn’t have any sympathies to play on. He seemed rather brusque and grouchy.”

  “You’ll just have to give him a reason to be a bit happier, won’t you?”

  “I suppose,” Helen grumbled.

  Becky bustled over, clasped Helen’s hands, and yanked her to her feet.

  “I’ll have you looking beautiful if it kills me,” Becky said.

  “It might,” Helen replied.

  “Yes, it might, but I’ll try to survive.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I can’t believe you’re escorting a genuine lady to supper.”

  “I can’t either.”

  Hayden glanced over at his friend, mentor, and partner, Robert Stone. Hayden was thirty and Robert fifty-two so Robert was definitely the older and wiser man in their dismal duo.

  He was British too and a father figure of sorts. Hayden wasn’t adept at heeding advice or listening to others, but Robert was steady, loyal, patient, and pragmatic in all the ways Hayden was not.

  Robert had fled England when he was twenty, with an empty purse and broken heart after a failed love affair that had been quashed by the girl’s father. Then the girl had tossed him over and immediately married the fiancé her father had picked for her. Her fickle conduct had left him permanently jaded.

>   He’d been conscripted into the merchant marines, but hadn’t really minded going to sea. He loved sailing the ocean, but his route around the globe had never been easy or particularly safe.

  Over the decades, he’d worked for smugglers and pirates and other nefarious characters, and he never apologized for his dubious choices. He’d had grand adventures, but had also suffered enormous loss and peril. He was tired now and ready to return to Britain.

  He’d met Hayden during a desperate period in Hayden’s life. Hayden had been at his lowest ebb, had begun to assume he’d never make it home. His ordeal had started at age twenty too, when he’d been on a ship in the Mediterranean. It had sunk in a storm, and he’d floated for days, holding onto a log, only to be captured by slavers. He’d been taken to Africa, had been sold and resold to toil away on sailings ships.

  He’d spent years fighting his fate and plotting to escape it, but he’d been trapped in dangerous circumstances with murderous brigands. In the foreign lands where they’d journeyed, he’d never stumbled on any Brits or even people who spoke English, so there had been no opportunity to beg for help or to get word to his family that he hadn’t perished.

  Any pleas for release had been ignored. Attempts to run away had been painfully punished. Robert had crossed his path when he’d just been flogged nearly to death for insubordination. They’d been on a crew of dicey bandits who’d patrolled the coast of South America, plundering plantations and harassing respectable citizens.

  Hayden had barely survived the thrashing, and once his condition had improved, Robert had been there to mold his behavior and his attitude. He’d counseled Hayden to stay alive so he could move when the time was right. And that moment had finally arrived. They were rich and free and heading home, and there was no one to prevent them from charting any course they selected.

  “Will you introduce me to this odd specimen of female?” Robert inquired about Miss Barnes.

  “No. She’s terrified of me, and you’d scare her away.”

  “You’re not so frightening.”

  Hayden snorted with disgust. He was armed to the teeth, pistols on his hips, a sword strapped to his back, knives in his boots and up his sleeves. He’d learned to brawl and to win. He’d never be taken unaware ever again.

  “Don’t crush my ego and pretend I look harmless,” Hayden said.

  “To me, you’re an annoying pup. You’ll never be more than that.”

  “Your opinion leaves me doubly certain that you shouldn’t meet Miss Barnes. I intend that she view me as dashing and extraordinary. I can’t have you telling her any irritating truths about me.”

  “Why is she here anyway? I realize she’s searching for her father, but honestly! He’s a vicar frequenting the taverns.”

  “We’ve encountered plenty of drunken preachers during our travels. The situation doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Yes, but she’s come an awful distance merely to hook up with a sot.”

  Hayden shrugged. “He’s her father. She must like him despite his dubious habits.”

  He and Robert no longer had fathers. Robert’s had been an explorer killed by raiding Bedouins in Arabia. Hayden’s had drowned when their ship had foundered during that storm in the Mediterranean. Paternal woes did not plague them.

  “Will you offer to convey her to England?” Robert asked.

  Hayden shuddered at the very idea. “No.”

  “We could. There’s no reason why not.”

  “There’s every reason.”

  “Name one.”

  “First off, it’s bad luck to have a female on board.”

  “It’s only bad luck if you’re superstitious,” Robert said.

  “Which I am. And second, she’s not a woman any man should help.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s a flighty menace who doesn’t have the sense God gave a gnat. She can’t even cross the street on her own. A fellow who became entangled in her troubles would never escape.”

  “You could be her knight in shining armor.”

  “I’d rather jump off a cliff,” Hayden sternly said, “and I have no desire to be anybody’s savior.”

  “Then why send her a basket of food? Why invite her to supper?”

  “I sent her the food because I think she’s out of money and not eating regularly.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “And I’m taking her to supper because…because…”

  He couldn’t explain why, and Robert snickered. “Let me guess. She’s very pretty.”

  “Yes,” Hayden agreed, “she’s incredibly pretty.”

  “Plus, she speaks English, and she’s from home,” Robert added.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “I never would, you pathetic Romeo.”

  “You’d have more fun if you tried.”

  Robert was a notorious scoundrel. He had a paramour in every foreign port, and he’d had a wife, a French woman named Marguerite, on Tenerife. They’d had two sons together—Will and Tom—who were sixteen and twelve. Marguerite had died the prior year, which was why they’d stopped in the Canaries on their way to England. He’d had to fetch his boys.

  “I’d never be interested in a lowly vicar’s daughter,” Hayden said.

  “Snob.”

  “Damn straight. I’m saving myself for a princess, remember?”

  “Princesses are snooty and boring.”

  “How would you know?” Hayden scoffed. “Have you met many?”

  “No, but I’m betting a vicar’s daughter would be nicer to you than any princess would ever be.”

  “Who wants nice in a bride? I want a huge dowry to deposit in my bank account, massive acreages of property that pass to me after the wedding, and a wife with rank. I want the other lords in the country to be green with envy.”

  “As a man who’s had a bit of experience with matrimony, I can sincerely state that a bride’s temperament makes all the difference.”

  “Not to me. I’m planning on an old-fashioned aristocratic union that’s arranged for wealth, land, and position. The temperament of the bride is irrelevant, but the bigger the status, the better.”

  “You suppose a princess will give you what you’ve been yearning to find?”

  “Why wouldn’t she?”

  “You’re too messed up in the head from your ordeal. You have more problems than a princess can fix.”

  “Ask me in a few years if my choice was the right one,” Hayden said. “I’ll tell you how it’s going.”

  He was determined to wed very high. Once in his life—in his other life that had happened so long ago it seemed like a dream—he absolutely could have married that high. With his looks, title, and family name, his father could have picked his fiancée from the loftiest circles in the world.

  When Hayden returned home, he would walk the same path. He would obtain all that had been denied him during his tortured decade away. He would reclaim all that was his, and a royal wife was the first in a lengthy line of boons he intended to seize for his own after he was restored to his correct place.

  “I’ll be at the tavern at eleven,” Hayden said.

  They were camped on the beach outside of town. They were amassing supplies, hiring sailors, and repairing their ship so they could sail it on the final leg of their journey to England.

  “Eleven? You’re meeting your sweetheart at eight,” Robert needled. “Will you waste three hours with her?”

  “She’s not my sweetheart.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “Three hours would be grueling, wouldn’t it? I can’t imagine what we’d talk about. I’ll be there sooner than that, whenever I’m shed of her. Wait for me.”

  They tried to never go anywhere alone, and Santa Cruz was dangerous, especially after dark. They were prepared for any attack and would guard each other’s backs to the death if it became necessary.
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br />   “Have a good time, would you?” Robert said. “Let that beautiful girl soothe the beast that’s raging in you.”

  “If I require any soothing,” Hayden retorted, “I doubt it’s the type of comfort a vicar’s daughter would agree to render.”

  “There are plenty of whores at the tavern. I’ll select the prettiest one for you. It will give you something to anticipate while you’re chatting with your innocent maiden.”

  They were near the harbor, strolling down the street that meandered along the bay. It was the spot where he’d stumbled on Miss Barnes a few hours earlier.

  He halted and filled his eyes with the sight so he’d never forget. He was anxious to return to England, and he would never leave again, but he’d spent ten years in ports just like Santa Cruz. They were wild and hazardous, brimming with crime, intrigue, danger, and fascinating characters. After he departed, he’d never see a town like it.

  “Will you miss it?” Robert asked, as if reading his mind.

  “Some of it,” Hayden admitted.

  “I’ll always wonder if I shouldn’t have settled here. What if it’s too tame for me in England? What if the cold, rainy weather chills me to the bone?”

  “You don’t have to stay there, and you have money to go wherever you want.”

  “Yes, but to go somewhere, I’d have to sail on a ship. We’ve both decided that we’re never getting out on the ocean again.”

  Hayden grinned. “Unless we grow bored and need some excitement.”

  It was a common worry for them. They’d witnessed too much and had endured so many obstacles. How did a man shuck off the life they’d led? They were used to action, constant toil, and exhaustion. How could they be content after that?

  Down the boardwalk, a ruckus ensued in one of the taverns. They pulled up short as sharp words were shouted and curses were hurled in Portuguese. If a brawl was about to commence, they weren’t eager to bluster into the middle of it.

  Two men stepped into the doorway, and they tossed someone out of the establishment. As Hayden realized who it was, he sighed. He might have known.

  Miss Barnes wobbled, then straightened and whipped around. She shot such a derisive glare that the men who’d evicted her were completely cowed and slinked inside. She was still attired all in black—black dress, shoes, stockings, bonnet, and jacket—and she looked so dour she might have been a widow in full mourning.