So, he had found out her secret. She should have known she wouldn’t be able to keep her female identity hidden for long. She had no idea how he’d discovered her, but she could only assume something she’d done during the storm had alerted him to her sex. Why hadn’t she prepared for this inevitability? A rush of shame flooded her cheeks. What must Hawk think of her now?

Sitting at his desk, he levelled his gaze at her, waiting. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a shuddering breath. “I had no choice,” she began. “My father left my family destitute, and, as the eldest, providing for them is my responsibility. That’s why I pretended to—”

“Well, you didn’t do a very good job of it,” he interrupted. Was it her imagination, or was he smiling a little? “It’s obvious to anyone with half a brain that you’ve never so much as set foot on a ship before.”

For a moment, Eloise’s thoughts spun. What did he mean, never stepped foot on a ship?

Then she realized. Thank the Lord. He’s talking about my sailing experience. He doesn’t know yet that I’m a woman.

Eloise struggled not to sag with relief, letting her breath out in measured increments instead of the long sigh she craved. But what would happen to her, now? A man she might still be to Hawk, but one with no seafaring skills. Would he truly cast her into the depths of the ocean? “I’m a quick learner, I swear,” she said. “Just give me a chance.”

Hawk appeared to think on it, drumming his fingers against the map laid over the top of the desk. “You lied to me,” he said quietly. “Hard to give chances to a man I’ve already trusted more than good sense tells me I should.”

Eloise swallowed. “I only did what I felt I had to,” she said. “What I felt must be done to save my life.” She hesitated, hanging her head. “Please, sir.”

He cocked his head, seeming to weigh her newfound respect for his rank, along with her plea. “I respect a man who will do what he must to support his family,” he said begrudgingly. “That at least has honor, and I can forgive lies told in that vein. I’m not going to toss you overboard.”

Eloise really did sigh then, closing her eyes momentarily.

“But you’re not entirely off the hook,” Hawk continued. Her eyes flashed open, and when she met the captain’s gaze, his expression was stormy. “No more lies, Eli.”

The drop in her stomach at his words was nearly eclipsed by the thrill of his finally saying her name, assumed though it may have been.

He seemed to feel this was enough. He waved a hand and said, “Dismissed.”

He turned back to studying his map without another glance her way. Strange how disappointed that made her feel.

When she emerged from the cabin, the other sailors motioned for her to join them for her evening helping of grub. She followed gratefully, her stomach rumbling. As she was loading her plate with stew, another crew member hailed her, waving her over. “Eli,” the sailor boomed, “have some grog, lad!”

She settled down with a group of them for a round or two. Now that she’d found her sea legs, surely she could handle a little grog.

“Saw you was havin’ some trouble out there today,” said another man. “Wind was rough, aye.”

“Aye,” she agreed, taking a swig from her mug. She held in the cough that threatened to sputter out. “Strong stuff,” she said, nodding at the keg in the corner.

They stared at her in apparent surprise. Right, she was supposed to be used to this kind of thing. “Just how I like it,” she said, grinning and raising her mug to take a deep drink. “Another!”

Two drinks in, and she was feeling warmly dizzy. She tuned in and out of the conversation, watching the play of the setting sunlight on the water through the porthole. The sea was so calm, it was hard to believe that she had nearly fallen into its abyss. It was beautiful and terrifying, violence and peace made one.

“...crack Jenny’s teacup,” one of the men was saying. “Have you done it, lad?”

She started. She hadn’t heard her name, nor realized that they’d been speaking to her. The men were staring at her expectantly. “Have I done what?”

“Made feet for children’s stockings,” said one man, with a chuckle.

“Quiffed a doxie,” said another.

“I…” she said, feeling quite lost.

One of the sailors took pity on her. “Have you ever been with a woman, laddie?”

Blushing fiercely, Eloise took another sip of grog to stall for time. “Well, I—”

“Need a volunteer to take up the captain’s tea,” Finn said, from further down the table.

She shot up, silverware clattering. “I’ll do it.”

The sailors laughed. One slapped her on the back. “No need to be embarrassed, boy. You’ll get your chance, pretty lad like you. The ladies do love a handsome face.”

Pretty. Handsome. Under normal circumstances, Eloise would have blushed to hear it, taking it as a compliment; but now she wondered if she should consider being pretty a good quality. Did men value attractiveness in themselves as much as women? And how did she feel knowing she made a handsome man?

Having made the tea—a task she was fortunately quite competent at--she gripped the cup and saucer tight. At home, carrying a cup of tea to a friend, family member or guest was an easy thing; but aboard a swaying ship, she found it much harder. She was forced to concentrate to keep both herself and the cup steady on the way up to the captain’s quarters. Knocking on the door, she called, “Tea for you, sir,” and heard his answering invitation to enter.

Hawk’s head was bent over his logbook, quill moving rapidly across a row of entries. A pair of spectacles sat perched on the tip of his nose. Eloise smiled at the picture, pausing in the doorway with the warmth of the teacup spreading through her hands. He looked like the gentleman she recalled from the night of her rescue once more, albeit comfortably folded into a pirate captain’s chair.

He glanced up with an irritable expression. “Well? Are you coming in?”

He was looking at her over his lenses. She came back to herself and stepped forward, moving to set the cup and saucer down on a bare stretch of the desk. He nodded his thanks and scratched a new figure in one of the columns of the log, the feathered end of the quill moving back and forth with the rhythm of his movement, skating through the air like his namesake.

Instead of taking her leave, Eloise walked around the perimeter of the desk until she was standing behind the captain, watching as the muscles of his shoulder rippled beneath the stretch of his red greatcoat as he wrote. If he would only turn around and pull her into his arms; if he would only look her in the eye…

In that moment, he turned his head, a lock of his hair falling into his eyes. Frowning, he removed the spectacles and ran a hand through his tousled curls before settling his gaze on her. She was close enough to hear him breathe, could almost hear his heartbeat as he leaned in—

“What are you doing?”

Eloise immediately dropped her gaze, landing on the logbook. “That’s not how you spell ‘frigate.’”

He stared, jaw dropping. “What?”

“There’s an ‘e’ at the end,” she clarified, taking a small step back from him. What had she been thinking? Of course he had no interest in her. She was being foolish, letting fancy take precedence over practicality.

He looked at her like she’d just transformed his tea into wine. “You can read?”

She nodded, frowning. “I can, sir,” she said. “You sound surprised.”

“Because I am surprised,” he said. “I doubt that many on this ship can read at all. Where did you learn?”

At least she could be honest about that detail. “My father taught me everything I know,” she said. “I grew up in the countryside. Apart from going into town, there were few diversions to be found, so we made our own fun. Father taught us reading and writing, as well as arithmetic.”

He tilted his head, a newfound warmth and curiosity in his eyes as he set his quill aside. “Do you miss it?”

She hummed thoughtfully. “The countryside? Hmm. In a way. There’s something about the way the moon peeks through the tops of the fir trees. Something about the taste of the air after a long summer day. It’s quiet there, idyllic—just you and your loved ones and the land.” She laughed to herself, shaking her head. “Yes, I suppose you could say that I miss it.”

She looked down so as not to see his reaction. Her mind insisted that she had said too much, but the alcohol in her bloodstream had a question for him. “What about you, sir? Where is your family?”

A pause, then, as she glanced up to see him frown slightly. Had she gone too far? “Right here,” he said, opening his arms to gesture at the space around them. “My crew is my family. My ship is my home.”

She opened her mouth to reply, and a colossal sound like thunder echoed over the bow.

Hawk leaped straight out his chair, a grim expression on his face. “Cannon fire,” he hissed, grabbing for his weapon. “We’re under attack!”