Mr. She tended the twins while the Clotilde was in Sebastian’s private chambers, a place she gave a wide berth. She caught the fact that it was something more than strong drink that laid you out. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. She wondered abjectly whether he intended to rape her before she was dead. She observed the tides, amazed by how high the water could rise, almost touching the tops of the cliffs. ‘I should not dream of forcing my attentions on you. There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort.
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