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as blue as the back of biting flies.”
    His crew heard him. Their heads whipped around in shock. He met their gazes with an innocent one of his own. After enduring their stares for several seconds, he said, “What? It’s a poetic term.”
    Jon scratched his chin. “Poets compare women’s eyes to flies?”
    “Some do,” Alex answered and couldn’t help but add, “If they are wise.”
    “Now we know why you are single,” Oliver muttered.
    “Because I’m no poet? That isn’t the only reason,” Alex answered. The main one stood on the pier right down there in front of him.
    He braced his hands against the railing. In the back of his mind, he realized he’d always known their paths would cross again someday. He just hadn’t expected it to be this one.
    Nor had he anticipated the emotional impact of seeing her again. He didn’t like it. Not one bit.
    Esteves holding the parasol looked for all the world like a silly old man. Miranda and her chaperone continued their promenade.
    She’d not looked up. Had not seen Alex.
    It was just as well. He had no desire to be part of the growing mob of men following her. He preferred to watch in disdain as grizzled old seamen, anxious to pay court, hurried from their ships dressed in their ruffles and lace. Some of their finery was a size too small, most of it out of fashion, and all of it was wrinkled from being packed away in sea trunks. They, like Esteves, were making bloody fools of themselves, and Alex felt immensely superior that he wasn’t one of their number.
    A riot could have broken out when a local merchant elbowed another out of the way while trying to gain Miranda’s attention. However, at that moment, a dinghy from the warship hit the dock with a bump, and three officers clambered up to the pier, pushing on their bosun’s head for balance. They were young, vital men in full dress with gleaming gold braid on their lapels. They were following by a man moving at a more sedate pace. By the gold braid on his shoulders, he was no less a person than the captain of the ship—and his sights were set on Miranda.
    Alex watched as the king’s men neatly elbowed Esteves and the others out of the way. Introductions were made. Miranda’s companion appeared ready to swoon over the honor of meeting the British commander. The pilot looked silly holding the lace parasol, and Alex couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him.
    Miranda said something, and the British commander laughed as if she were the cleverest of creatures, a sound echoed by his junior officers. Their laughter made the scars on Alex’s back prickle. He rarely thought of those scars, but at this moment, they felt as they had when the cuts were fresh and the pain alive.
    There had been a time when he’d laughed at her jokes, too, and had confessed his secrets. A time he’d made a perfect ass of himself—
    He turned away from the railing, shutting his mind to the memories. “What are we doing standing around here gawking?” he barked to his men. “We’re leaving on morning tide. You have stores to lay in, and that rigging on the top gallant begs to be repaired.”
    Flat Nose immediately turned to go about his business, but the others were more reluctant to lose sight of Miranda. Even Oliver.
    Well, Alex knew the duplicity of character hiding behind that pretty face. “Do you need an invitation to work?” he asked.
    His crew came to their senses. They knew that tone in his voice. It was one not to be ignored.
    They hopped to, and Alex meant to join them. Hard work was exactly what he needed to take his mind off Miranda.
    But as he headed toward the quarterdeck, a new thought struck him, and he stopped.
    Why should I be the one to run away?
    Besides, he did have some questions. What had she been up to these past years? Would she remember him if he were to place himself directly in front of her?
    More importantly—had she married? Was there someone else in her life? Children she’d borne to another