Free Till Dawn Tames the Night by Meagan McKinney

rhyme, then rubbed his chin with the remaining thumb and forefinger of his right hand. Finally he said, "Well, old Michael Dayne was no fool. He gave his daughter the clue to the Star, but just what that is . . . Do you think she knows it?"
    "I sincerely doubt it. She's not much of an actress, and when I asked her about the Star, she looked absolutely stumped—as if I were speaking Greek." Vashon took the log back and shoved it into a built-in mahogany bookcase. Frustration etched the handsome planes of his face. "When I heard her recite the damned thing to that child, I thought I would almost laugh out loud with glee! I could hardly wait to get back here and decipher it. But it makes no sense! There's got to be another verse, that's all. And we'll just have to sit patiently until we can get it out of her."
    Isaac chuckled, his tanned leathery face appearing almost youthful in his mirth. "Ah, and patience is your virtue, Vashon. Especially with women. Why, I'm surprised you're not beating her cabin door down demanding that she decipher it for you. I've seen mightier women than her crumple at your feet. Not that they didn't look happy about it afterward, mind you, but you do have a rather forceful way about you—why use the kid gloves now?"
    Vashon scowled at him. "We've a ship full of passengers. How, pray, should I deal with them while Miss Dayne calls for help from her cabin—throw them all overboard?"
    "You've done worse."
    "To some, maybe, not innocent passengers." Vashon tapped his fingers on his deck. "But don't worry. I've set up dinner for tonight and besides . . ." He stopped in thought.
    "Besides what?" Isaac prompted.
    Vashon smiled darkly. "She'll be ours soon enough."
    Aurora dug to the bottom of her willow basket and found the gown she wanted. She shook it out and ruefully examined the wrinkles.
    The dress was made of a simple blue cotton, printed with tiny white dots. She herself had embroidered the tiny peach-colored rosebuds on the neckline and sleeves. It was her best gown, but she had packed it at the bottom thinking it would be a very long time before she'd find the chance to wear it. Now, looking at its crumpled state, she wished she'd packed it at the top.
    Restlessly she threw it on her bedstead. She pressed the wrinkles out with her palms, then went to fetch her comb. She'd procrastinated long enough and now didn't have much time to be ready. Still, she was determined to look her best.
    All afternoon she'd paced her cabin, thinking about him. She'd been so close to canceling the owner's offer of dinner that she had even penned a note. But then she had torn it to little bits, unwilling to be labeled a coward. He did terrify her in a strange and inexplicable way. In their few meetings the ship's owner had been able to discover things in her that she had always held close. As if he could see what she held in her deepest heart. Sometimes she had the unsettling feeling that he knew more about her than she knew herself.
    Yet as much as she wanted to avoid him, she still couldn't hide the fact that he fascinated her. His hard features and his even harder stance should have put her off. Yet somehow they didn't. She felt pulled to him. As if something in her spirit yearned for his company.
    In disgust, she shook her head and grabbed her little mirror. Slowly she unpinned her hair and began combing it. It wouldn't do to dwell on the mysterious Vashon. She was still chagrined over their last encounter. That, she reassured herself, was really why she was going to his little dinner. She was determined to look as cool and unperturbed as she could, so that he would see her untouched by his abrupt behavior.
    A soft knock on her door snapped her out of her dreary thoughts. Quickly she plaited her hair and thrust the braid over one shoulder. She opened the door and found her young steward there.
    "Good evening, Benny," she said demurely.
    "Good evening, miss," the boy said, placing the copper hip bath in the