Gray strode the length of the ship that wasn’t even his, earning the quizzical looks of his men. It brought him no solace. His ears still rang from the news Mr. Vale had delivered. It couldn’t possibly be true. His mother couldn’t be Britain’s spymaster… could she?

Stills met him on the quarterdeck. “Is something amiss, sir? The man we brought aboard—”

“Mr. Vale,” Gray supplied. “He is Mrs. Vale’s husband and Miss Vale’s father.”

“Did he deliver some unsavory news? I know you seem to have a preference for Miss Vale, but if she’s to be married to someone else…”

“I beg your pardon?” Gray shook his head. “I have no preference for Miss Vale. Quite the opposite. She is—”

“Captivating?” Stills grinned. “I find her rather comely, myself.”

Gray scowled. “She is a guest on this ship. I won’t tolerate any untoward behavior.”

Stills smirked. “Of course not, sir. If she’s not the source of your troubles, then what ails you?”

Rubbing his temple, Gray sighed, considering how much he should disclose. “We must return to England with all possible haste. Mr. Vale has information that suggests our Commander of Spies is in peril.”

With a raised eyebrow, Stills remarked, “What of Miss Vale’s wedding? Or will that not be going forward as planned, after all? Better news for you, sir.” He winked.

Gray fought a grimace. “At the moment, our only concern is returning to England. You have your orders.” His voice was sharp. He turned away before his second-in-command noticed the fear that permeated his every muscle.

His mother was in mortal danger. He’d already lost a father. He didn’t know what to do, save for urging his crew to as great a speed as possible. Suddenly, he knew precisely the terror Charlie had felt upon setting foot on his ship. No wonder she had been so insistent. If he hadn’t known that his crew was performing their jobs with the utmost speed and accuracy, he would have been hounding the man in charge for information, too.

Parting ways with Stills on the quarterdeck, Gray retreated to where he would not be seen—his cabin below deck. It was squished and claustrophobic, but he doubted it would be any easier to breathe above deck when he had his mother’s life dangling in front of him.

He had to believe that Morgan would keep her safe.

Morgan served as a spymaster of sorts within England, curating information from reports and training new spies. His wife, the duchess, invented gadgets to aid their endeavors. His younger brother, Gideon, had created a truth serum with his wife, and both continued to serve as field agents in London. Tristan’s tenure as a field agent predated Morgan’s. Gray was the only Graylocke who hadn’t served as a spy in some capacity.

Perhaps that was why Mother had been so adamant that he refrain from joining the Royal Navy, because she’d hoped for him to carry on the family tradition of spying, instead.

Gray was no spy. Subterfuge wasn’t his strong point—as evidenced by the fact that he’d told Lieutenant Stills more than perhaps he should have. No one had sworn him to secrecy, but this was sensitive information. The fewer people who knew, the less chance there would be of someone remarking out of turn.

In both his personal and professional lives, he preferred to handle himself in a straightforward manner. He liked dealings that laid out the honorable rules. Even war had rules, such as taking prisoners whenever possible rather than killing out of hand.

Though, given the way Morgan had chafed to serve his country when Gray had joined the Royal Navy, he wasn’t surprised to find that his older brother had found another way to serve. What surprised him was Mother. His own mother was a spy, and no one had told him. Given Charlie’s shock at the news, Mother hadn’t told anyone. He wondered how long had she been doing this and whether it had predated his father’s death.

As he descended to his cabin, he stopped short. From the moment she’d learned his name, Charlie had started babbling about his brothers. She’d known about their involvement in the spy network, even if she hadn’t known about his mother. If he wanted answers, perhaps he ought to turn to her. He crossed to the neighboring door and knocked. “Charlie?”

“Come in.” She sounded distracted.

Opening the door cautiously, he entered. He was surprised to find her curled up beneath the porthole, struggling to catch the ambient outdoor light as she embroidered what looked to be a man’s jacket. It appeared nearly complete, likely a product of his insisting she remain in her cabin at all hours. Although he was no expert, the needlework looked superb.

“Anthony.” She swiftly tied off the thread and snapped the excess between her teeth. She laid the cloth on her lap and sat up straighter on the bed. “Come in. Are you all right? You seem unsettled.”

Unsettled couldn’t begin to describe the emotions he felt at that moment. He stepped into the room and shut the door. She was embroidering. Not only that, but she was good at it. For the first time since they’d met, he wondered if he knew her at all. Embroidery was such a ladylike pastime. And yet the brazen, outspoken, sometimes belligerent, unladylike woman voluntarily spent her time doing such delicate work.

Maybe he had he been wrong about her. She could be more suited to him than he’d thought at first. His mother was the most ladylike woman he knew… and yet it turned out that she was not only a spy, but she commanded the entire network. He didn’t know what to think of her anymore, let alone what to think of Charlie, also involved in spying and with more ladylike qualities than he’d originally thought. And unlike with the mousy woman he’d always envisioned marrying, he could happily carry on a conversation with Charlie. Sometimes they argued, but she was never boring. She was wild like him, like the part of himself he had been trying to subdue for years. If she could be wild and ladylike all at once…

What was he thinking? His world had turned on end this afternoon. He didn’t know what to think about anything. Not about himself, his future, or the woman whose chambers he had entered alone.

She scurried to one side of the bed to make room for him at its foot. “Come. Sit down before you fall down.”

Do I look that out of sorts? He complied without argument.

When he did, she reached out and took his hand. Her fingers were bare, and her heat felt too good. He almost pulled her closer. “Is it your mother?”

He nodded. “And my brothers. And Lucy… everything. I hadn’t the faintest idea that they were involved in this. They never told me.”

“If it eases your mind, I think most have only joined up in the last year. That’s when I learned about this—because of Freddie.”

Holding her hand between both of his, he twisted to look at her. One of her curls had fallen free of her coiffure and clung to the corner of her mouth. She didn’t appear to notice. He resisted the urge to brush it away. “Is your sister a spy as well?”

Charlie shook her head. “She was, briefly. Well, Lord Harker—our guardian—tricked her into spying for the French and trying to steal something from your brother. She and Tristan fell in love instead, and he sorted everything out. She helps him if she can, but she’s confessed to me that she doesn’t think she’s suited for spy work. It’s why she’s never asked Morgan for training.”

“Have you?”

“Asked to become a spy?” Charlie laughed. “No. Sneaking into people’s bedrooms isn’t my idea of adventure. For a long time, I thought Mama had retired as well, but she told me she’s been doing smaller tasks, such as keeping an eye on Lucy.”

Gray smirked. “Lucy does need to be watched.”

“She isn’t half as reckless as you Graylocke men seem to think, but before Monsieur V was killed, there was some need.” Charlie’s mouth twisted, but that stubborn curl clung to the corner. “No one told me, but in January she managed to see Monsieur V’s face. No other spy had done that, so she was the only person able to identify him. Morgan wanted to keep her safe.”

He heaved a sigh. “Spies… ” He shook his head. He still couldn’t fathom it.

“They do good work.”

“I never said otherwise.” He admired the shape of her hand, nestled in his bigger palm. Her fingers looked so delicate, much the way she seemed at first glance. But she was stronger than she appeared, though he hadn’t noticed that at first. She was brave, too. She’d risked her life to find her father. Now, she risked it to save his mother. She had a big heart.

She squeezed his hand and smiled. “Let it sink in. It’s quite a shock, I know. Before Freddie married Tristan, I had no idea that a spy network existed in England, let alone that Mama was a part of it. Give it time, and you’ll start to connect little things that you dismissed earlier.”

His gaze fastened on her mouth once more and on that errant curl, teasing him. He’d dismissed her, from the moment they’d met. He shouldn’t have. Unable to resist any longer, he lifted one hand to tuck that strand of hair behind her ear.

Her blue eyes darkened. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He cupped her cheek, slowly leaning forward. He didn’t trust himself to speak, to ask for the kiss he burned to take. Charlie answered his hesitancy by closing her eyes and turning her mouth up to meet his.

He kissed her. Sweet at first, but when he recalled their kiss mere feet away, desire gripped him. He deepened the kiss, surrendering to the sensation of her mouth. Charlie met him with every bit as much passion and eagerness as he felt. When she twined her arms around his neck and pulled him close, he bore her back toward the bed. She had him aflame. He ran his hand over her side, learning the shape and dip of her body.

When she threw her head back, gasping for air as she made a strangled noise, clarity returned in a bracing flood. Given another moment, he would have searched out the buttons on her dress. He thrust himself away.

“Anthony?” A furrow formed between her eyebrows, making her look uncertain.

“Forgive me. I never should have…”

Afraid of what he might do if he remained, he beat a hasty retreat. The moment the salty sea air on deck buffeted him, he berated himself for his weakness. Charlie was under his protection. It was his duty to keep her safe, not accost her. No matter what, he needed to keep his distance in order to ensure what had nearly happened between them never happened again, even if she was more ladylike than he’d thought and more alluring than he cared to admit.