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swept out. Neither of the two remaining occupants noticing that the skylight and the stern windows were shut firm, that no wind could possibly have wafted in.
    Jesamiah heard Tiola calling for Rue, his quartermaster and second in command. Through the windows a moment later, saw the gig heading for the Fortune of Virginia , Tiola in the stern, her back upright and towards the Sea Witch . She did not turn around. His heart was thumping, throat dry, and his stomach felt hollow, sickness in his guts. What in all the names of idiocy had he done? He’d had an itch and he’d scratched it; where was the harm in that? But women viewed it differently, he knew. How could he have been so utterly, totally, stupid?
    ~ Tiola? I am sorry, love. So sorry . ~
    Silence. Jesamiah had never been able to initiate their private conversations, and even if he had, he was acutely aware that she was too angry to be answering him.

Five
    Alicia Mereno smoothed the pink petticoat of her gown that was rouched and ruffled into delicate frills, the pleating held in place by tiny bunches of yellow roses, the colour exactly matching the over-gown. At the hem, a glimpse of lace from the under-petticoat, and protruding beneath, leather slippers and fine-knit stockings. Jesamiah knew full well those stockings would be held in place by yellow or pink ribbons halfway up her thighs.
    Removing her bonnet Alicia lightly shook her head, evocatively jiggling the cascade of elaborate blonde ringlets. She had another ribbon laced into her hair. A blue one. Royal blue – Jesamiah blue.
    What in the world had possessed him to give it to her last night as a keepsake? Had Tiola seen it?
    Of course she bloody had!
    “Your bruises are not troubling you this morning? I had no opportunity to enquire, leaving as you did before I awoke.”
    Jesamiah swung away from the windows and lifted his hands in exasperated surrender; “Very well, Madam, you have succeeded in embarrassing me and outraging my woman. What is it you want? Money? An apology for my killing your husband? I assure you neither will be forthcoming.”
    Again she smoothed her gown where it fitted trimly into her waist and across her stomach. “I could say I wanted to conceive your child, but as you have so eagerly obliged, I may already have done that.”
    Opening his mouth to protest Jesamiah firmly shut it again. With child? From the one bedding?
    Seeing his doubt she fixed her gaze on his eyes, held their dark depth with her ice-blue. “Men have this misguided notion that they cannot father a child with but the one poke. A notion that suits them admirably in order to sidestep their lack of responsibility. The fault is always the next man’s. Or the woman’s carelessness.” She inspected a broken nail, her forehead creasing into an annoyed frown. “You impregnated me before. The time you took me in my son’s nursery. In Virginia; at la Sorenta. Do you recall? You were playing the part of a Spanish gentleman. The Spanish disguise was most convincing. You could never pass as a gentleman, however.”
    If the jibe was meant to sting it missed its target. Jesamiah recalled the event very well. The spending of lust with Alicia and the delight of cuckolding his brother in his own home had been a triumph at the time, but something had jogged Phillipe into recognising Jesamiah’s true identity and the hatred between the two men had burst into the clash of a sword fight. Jesamiah had never discovered how Phillipe had seen through the disguise. Alicia, the bitch, had been about to betray him anyway, so cause was irrelevant.
    “I should have run the bastard through there and then,” Jesamiah said with a snarl. “You too. For some unfathomable reason my soft heart bade me spare the pair of you. I’ve hardened somewhat in the months between. If you expect me to believe I fathered a cuckoo on you, expect again, Madam. You enjoyed the encounter; you were and always will be a whore. You flutter your lashes at any