She was trying to annoy him, and he told himself that, though he couldn’t help but scowl as she threw insult after insult. He could appreciate a good wit, but not when it was being used against him. She would have been so much more pleasant if she learned to smile that sweet smile more genuinely—or even if she merely learned to be quiet.

“You don’t seem like you’re in a position to be declining dances,” he shot back, less an attempt to demean her and more of an effort to heal the part of his ego she’d wounded in less than twenty seconds.

He pushed himself off the wall, about the make a very dramatic show of letting her pass, but then the ominous rolling of thunder set in, combined with the loud and startling crack of thunder, and the words on the top of his tongue died. His heart began beating faster—he couldn’t help but think of the sinking ship he’d been on just months earlier, and it didn’t help that she was another reminder of it.

“Sounds unpleasant,” he said, his eyes no longer on her hit the window at the very end of the corridor.

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