Mrs. Collingwood.

He recalled the first time he’d spoken her name, those weeks ago in his stateroom, acting a proper scoundrel, by anyone’s measure. He and Benjamin having a bit of sport with what they thought at the time would be simply another pretty face to exchange knowing elbows in the ribs about later.

Hannah.

The name he preferred to call her, a sound ephemeral and free, a wind that filled sails, unseen. That one he’d used that first day, as well, but as a weapon. A tool to make her unsteady, to breach her standards of propriety and set the dogs of fear loose in her mind before offering her a choice of being tied to a mast or tossed over the side.

A perfectly normal way to begin any courtship, Blackburn, wouldn’t you say?