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I regret to inform you that your mother passed. I arranged to have her buried next to your father. My sincerest condolences. Two servants also died, and I advanced funds for their burials. The London house remains closed with only a skeletal staff. I have sent this message to the Chouara Tannery. Hopefully, it will find you there or at your next scheduled stop.

~Mr. Milton Shillingford, in a short note to Devin Everingham

sent on the Mystique to Morocco but not delivered, as Devin had already sailed back to England

Port of Casablanca

Three days later—mid-morning

Devin glanced at his wife, standing beside him and taking in the bustling port as the crew and laborers positioned the gangway. She sent him a beatific smile, excitement dancing in her eyes as she took in the unfamiliar landscape.

The beastly storm had blown the ship off course, resulting in their delayed arrival.

Not that he’d minded. The extra days aboard the vessel had allowed him to get to know Trinity without the demands, responsibilities, or concerns he could expect once they disembarked. For those few days, she had his complete attention and devotion.

Several other ships lay anchored in the harbor away from the pier—a row of enormous wooden ducks. Likely, the Daunting Duchess would also move to deeper water after unloading her cargo.

Once the workers secured the plank, Captain Breckett and his officers stood nearby to welcome two official-looking gentlemen aboard, white kerchiefs obstructing their lower faces. Several more men lingered near the bottom of the gangway, many with cloths drawn over their noses and mouths as well.

Compton had not spoken a word to Devin since his marriage to Trinity.

The man pouted worse than a petulant wallflower during her first haut ton season.

Devin scanned the active pier, taking in the many cultures, diverse clothing, and the cacophony of languages, animals, and a multitude of carts and wagons.

It was a wondrous, chaotic scene.

Drawing his eyebrows together, he brushed his hand over his chin.

Was it typical for so many people to have their faces covered?

His contact, Mrs. Peagilly’s, and the entourage for the McKinnicks were probably among the individuals the captain had yet to welcome onto his ship.

Yes, there to the side, away from the others, stood eight smartly uniformed soldiers attired in British red and white. Something other than sweltering heat had them shifting restlessly and darting wary gazes here and there.

The four McKinnicks, Meriwether, and Truman-Shelton had assembled farther along the ship’s rail. Curiously, neither Meriwether nor Truman-Shelton had pursued the conversation about a business venture with Devin. Mayhap they’d rightly concluded he was not easily swindled.

Neither had he warned Compton to be wary of the two. Compton was a grown man, capable of making his own decisions.

“Isn’t it something, Devin?”

Trinity stood on her toes, craning her neck as she leaned over the rail.

He wrapped an arm around her waist lest she fall.

“Careful, darling. You do not want to tumble overboard.”

The endearment, one of many he had uttered in recent days, fell from his lips as naturally as breathing air. Without effort or even awareness on Trinity’s part, his wife had burrowed her way under his skin and into his heart. The vixen had not asked permission but had taken up residence there, and now Devin could not conceive a future without Trinity.

Was this love?

This consuming desire to be with her?

She dominated his thoughts when they were apart, and he found himself daydreaming of their future together. Of the dark-haired children they would have. After they had their fill of traveling the world, that was.

Unlike his father, Devin wanted his wife at his side on his sojourns.

He was not so jaded that he did not believe in love. In truth, a few of his friends swore the sentiment had transformed the former rakes and rogues into ideal husbands. Devin just never expected to fall so quickly and so hard.