The Admiral's Heart by Danelle Harmon Page A

the
sparkling waves, at her family’s seat in Hampshire. A gentle wind
through the grasses, and he, her brother Seth’s friend, a young
captain in the navy, resplendent in his blue and white uniform as
he’d stood at the edge of the pond, skipping pebbles over the
surface for his dog Albion to chase. How unreal it had all been . .
. a dream . . . To think that he had been courting her, Pippa, when
he could have had his pick of any of the pretty young girls who
were all vying for his attention . . .
    She tried to block the memory. To think of
something else. But the sight of those handsome officers, now
turning to regard her as Lucien brought her closer and closer to
the refreshment table, brought it all crashing back . . .
    He, laughing, as the dog, barking in
excitement, jumped into the pond in pursuit of pebbles he could
never catch. Such a sweet dog, and one that he loved deeply.
    Albion.
    Poor Albion.
    It hadn’t been his fault.
    She, her eyes itching, her nose running like
a spring stream whenever she got near the dog, or even him, after
he’d been playing with the animal . . . he looking at her in
confusion, handing her a handkerchief and asking why her cold had
not yet cleared up after all this time.
    Oh, the humiliation, that he had noticed her
ugly running nose. Her cheeks had gone red, and she, flushed with
shame and mortified in the way that only a young girl could be, who
had no control over her body’s doings while in the presence of the
man she loved, had reached out a shaking hand to take the
handkerchief—
    “Ah, Pippa! There you are, I was wondering
where the devil you’d gone off to,” Seth said jovially. He detached
himself from the small group with whom he’d been conversing, bowed
over his sister’s hand, and faced the others. “Gentlemen, I would
like to present you to my sister, Lady Philippa. Pippa, my
friends—Captain Brendan Merrick, frigate captain, designer of
warships and all-around clever rogue . . . Lieutenant Oliver
Heathmore . . . my admiral, Sir Geoffrey Lloyd . . . and Captain
Christian Lord.”
    Lord.
    Was the latter related? To him ?
    “I am honored to make your acquaintances,”
Pippa murmured, hearing herself as from a great distance away as
each man took her gloved hand, murmured words of flattery and
appreciation, and made an elegant bow over it.
    Tall, lanky Captain Merrick with rich
chestnut curls, warm, laughing eyes and an Irish brogue; Lieutenant
Heathmore, young, very young, and blushing a bit as he made his
bow; the elderly Sir Geoffrey, stooped and bleary eyed, but still
able to smile a bit wolfishly as his rheumy gaze appraised her, and
Captain Lord.
    The family resemblance was unmistakable.
    Oh, God help her.
    “Are you quite all right, my dear?” Lucien
was saying, raising one dark brow. “You look as though you’ve seen
a ghost.”
    “I . . . I just find myself a bit faint . .
. perhaps some fresh air . . .”
    “Allow me,” Captain Merrick said quickly,
insinuating his elbow beneath her hand.
    Pippa was still looking at Captain Lord. He,
in turn, was returning her regard her with no small degree of
bemusement, as though vaporous females were beyond his realm of
knowledge, experience, and everyday encounters. She felt Captain
Merrick’s hard, wiry arm beneath her own, and she had taken two
steps, then three, toward the door and the cool, bracing air of the
winter night outside, when she realized that if she allowed him to
lead her away from this group of men, she would never know just who
Captain Lord was, or why Lucien had that conniving gleam in his
eye, or why the tall Captain Lord with the gold epaulets on his
shoulders looked oh, God help her, so dreadfully, shockingly,
heartbreakingly familiar.
    She had to ask.
    “A moment, Captain,” she said to her
well-meaning escort, before turning to the other sea officer, “but
do you happen to be related to . . .”
    No, maybe she’d be better off letting
Captain Merrick take her outside, after