Prize of My Heart by Lisa Norato Page A

Huntley departed with his family. He dipped a corner of his napkin in a tumbler of water and wiped the remaining traces of custard from his face, then began to brush a spot off his lapel. “So, Jabez, what do you think of my son?”
    “Looks like an angel, but a wee rascal lurks inside. I agree with Huntley. The lad is spoiled.”
    “He needs his father.”
    “So he does, Cap’n, but ye hardly seem to be getting off to a healthy start with the youth. Ye heard what the shipbuilder said this morning. Ye have two weeks before the Yankee Heart is ready to sail. Not much time to win a boy’s love. Harder still to win it from such a lovely rival.”
    Brogan stared into the flame of a bayberry taper until his pupils lost their focus. He saw a marsh meadowland, where a willowy young beauty sat dozing on a boulder, her plentiful coils of hair bound in a kerchief and a stained muslin apron tied about her waist.
    “Miss Huntley is an obstacle I hadn’t anticipated. She has adopted the role of mother. Calling the boy by a name of her choosing, when in truth he is my Benjamin. What game do they play, these Huntleys? What do they hide?”
    “Perhaps nothing, Cap’n. Perhaps they’re just good, kind folk who have opened their hearts and home to a child.”
    Brogan continued as though Jabez hadn’t spoken. “And she is too inquisitive by far. I noticed her taking my measure more than once this evening. I’ve not been in Duxboro one day and Miss Huntley has managed to intrude upon my most private moments, starting with this morning, when all I wanted was to bask in the accomplishment of becoming master of my own ship.”
    Frowning, Jabez Smith lifted a mug of cider to his lips and took a deep swallow. He set the mug down upon the linen-covered table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “This morning? Surely, ye haven’t met the girl before tonight?”
    Brogan turned to meet his mate’s gaze and, with the lift of a brow, said, “Surely I have.”
    Realization struck. Jabez asked, “Do ye mean Miss Huntley is the skinny scullery maid who knocked ye senseless?”
    At Brogan’s nod, Jabez lifted his eyes heavenward. “O Lord, I pray, bestow a blessing of intelligence upon my poor, witless cap’n.”
    “You are a fine one to talk, Mr. Smith.”
    “I told ye to be careful,” Jabez snapped, his look disapproving. “Ye are deceived. Miss Huntley is a good girl and cares only for the welfare of the child. Ye must gain her confidence if ye ever hope to get close to yer son. Be nice to her. The lad will have no regard for ye until ye do.”
    Brogan’s nostrils flared with his annoyance. He’d been waiting three years and had no patience to waste on a mere slip of a girl, tempting distraction that she was. “Nice? And what, pray, do you mean by nice ?”
    Jabez leaned closer, his expression as serious as Brogan had ever seen it. “Be sweet to the lady. Romantic.”
    Brogan blinked, then gaped, lost for words. When he recovered from the shock, he broke into laughter. His sides split and he doubled over, fearing he might expire from the strain.
    Slowly, his breathing returned to normal, and he turned to address his chief mate between lingering chuckles. “And what do you know of romance, Mr. Smith?”
    Brogan never got his answer. Nathaniel Huntley stepped into the room just as he was wiping the tears from his eyes.

4
    B rogan studied his reflection as he groomed for church. Eyes of a bright greenish blue reflected sharply back at him as he slipped a white silk cravat behind his neck, wrapped it twice around, then secured it under his chin in a tidy bow.
    Something about his gaze burned just intense enough to draw attention, whether for good or bad. Aboard ship, his command was law, and it was rumored he could contain an entire crew with one menacing glare. On the other hand, and with considerably more ease, he had, on occasion, caught the attention of a lady who’d tease that his eyes resembled those of a