“What’s going on here?” Mr. Smith demanded.

Sarah could feel the shiver of tension running through him. This wasn’t a man quaking with fear, she realized. This was someone poised to move, to attack.

Captain Lockhart raised his hand, which was holding a large pistol.

“You are not interested in money, then,” Mr. Smith said.

“What?”

“Ransom,” Mr. Smith said calmly. “How much do you think a duke is worth? A duke and a duchess? A tidy fortune, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’re no duke.”

“No? Would you care to see my card?” He took out a slim card case and offered it to the captain.

Lockhart stared at the card. “Nicholas Terrell, Duke of Severton, Hanover Square, London,” he read slowly. “Yes, we might have a business proposition. Now, where’s this duchess?”

“Here, naturally.” Mr. Smith—no, the Duke—drew Sarah close to his side.

“Dukes and duchesses don’t travel on coasting vessels—what’s your game?”

“An elopement,” the Duke said.

“Oh, Nicholas,” Sarah gasped, clutching hold of his arm and burying her face against his shoulder. “I have a clasp knife in my reticule,” she whispered.

“Too many of them,” he murmured. “Play along with me.”

He turned Sarah so that she was in the crook of his arm. It gave her a feeling of safety that helped to stiffen her spine.