Prize of My Heart by Lisa Norato Page B

melancholy boy. Why then, no matter how kindly he looked upon his son, did he see distrust in the lad’s eyes? Had he lost the ability to convey compassion, or perhaps he’d spent too much time at sea schooling his features to intimidate so that gentlefolk could no longer see past his outer appearance?
    This was not the case with Miss Huntley, however. When Miss Huntley met his gaze, Brogan sensed she looked deeper, searching beyond the obvious to the man inside.
    Such a pretty name, Lorena. But then the girl was pretty. Nay, beautiful, considering her excess of spice-colored ringlets, which, if loosed from their pins, would surely overwhelm her small face and willowy frame.
    Her beauty and grace disarmed him, and were he foolish enough to indulge this preoccupation, he might easily develop a guilty conscience about his intention to abduct Drew from her home.
    Her bond with his child was the relationship Brogan longed for. They made a charming pair, even going so far as to hold hands upon greeting guests for dinner. He’d seen their loving displays. And he had sensed Lorena’s watchful eye, her protective manner. She was the one person who could truly obstruct his plans. How was he to compete with Miss Huntley and her motherly influence? He could not. He was a stranger to the boy.
    Though he’d laughed at the suggestion, Jabez’s advice was sound indeed. If Brogan wanted Drew to think highly of him, he needed to gain Lorena’s approval, for only with her acceptance could he hope to win Drew’s affection.
    Brogan shrugged into his rust cutaway coat and donned his beaver top hat.
    Lorena was unsuspecting. When he looked into those velvety brown eyes, he did not see the calculating iceberg of a soul that had been Abigail’s. Nay, he saw the “good girl” Jabez heralded Lorena to be.
    And here stood the “bad,” unwanted and misbegotten orphan of a Boston asylum on his way to Sunday services to woo her.

    “My father would not conduct business with the man were he not respectable,” Lorena argued, and yet hadn’t she questioned the captain’s respectability herself only yesterday morning?
    “It is not my intention to insult your father. However, I have proof Captain Talvis is acclaimed to be quite the privateersman.” George Louder glanced down the lane to the bare bushes, which in the spring had bloomed with lilacs. They were driving to meeting in her father’s one-horse chaise, Drew sandwiched between them. “I’m merely passing a warning as to the sort of character he is. Join me and Edward Hicks’s family at the back of the church this morning, Lorena. I should be remiss should the captain offend you in any way.”
    Lorena refused to let George know he already had. Presently, however, it was George, and not Captain Talvis, who irked her. He spoke in a tone that implied possession rather than with the concern of a friend.
    In no respect would she ever belong to George Louder. She turned to regard his stern profile. An aquiline nose projected sharply from his angular, clean-shaven face. “You speak harshly of Captain Talvis. I’ve heard it said he’s a man who esteems justice and honor and loyalty. Papa approves of him. He’s told me he finds the captain quite agreeable and hopes to convince him to join him in the establishment of a shipping enterprise.”
    “Partnering with a privateer captain.” George tsk ed in disapproval. “Regardless of what acts our government sanctions, Lorena, attacking British merchants, thieving, and burning their ships still make a privateer nothing more than an elaborate title for a pirate.”
    Drew had tugged loose his cravat. “Yes,” the child intoned. “Captain Talvis is a dangerous pirate.”
    “A remarkably clever child, Lorena. I have always said so.”
    “Don’t encourage him, George.” She retied the cravat, attempting to make Drew presentable for the third time that morning. “I know you’ve been calling Papa’s client a pirate in front of him and I