Damme, they train ’em right in the Indies, Alan told himself, taking her into a close embrace that brushed his groin against the front of her thin gown. There were no underpinnings or petticoats to soften the impact of a trembling young body against his, and his newly restored power to be excited made him positively ache with sudden want.
“Did Mrs. Hillwood kiss you like that?” she whispered, stepping back from him. Her bright blue eyes were twinkling.
“Often,” he said honestly, rattled badly.
She flung herself on him again for another long and passionate kiss, arms twined about his neck possessively.
“Did she kiss you like that?” Once more she broke away as he dropped a hand to a firm buttock.
“No, not exactly,” he said, feeling weak.
“And no one else ever shall.” She squeezed his hand and began to stride back up the beach toward Old Isaac, leaving him standing as though he had just been struck with a quarterstaff.
“Holy Christ,” he whispered, watching her walk away, so fully pleased with herself. With a groan he turned to the surf and flung himself into it once more, his clothes barely dry from his last immersion. He bobbed and ducked until he could walk erect without getting the old man suspicious, then made his way down the beach.
Old Isaac had a cloth spread in the shade. His shirt was there, and a towel that he used to dry himself and remove some of the sand that had stuck to his feet and legs. Isaac reached into his leather bag and pulled out an orange, which he bit like a horse with strong yellow teeth. He spat out the plug and began to suck. Lewrie helped himself to a pewter mug of cold tea, watching Lucy prowl the sand farther up the beach in search of shells.
“You gettin’ bettah, sah,” Old Isaac said softly.
“What’s that to you?”
“Maybe ’bout time you go back to sea, sah,” Old Isaac said, turning to look at him.
“And that is what you shall tell Sir Onsley and Lady Maude?”
“Ah doan tell nobody nothin, sah. But it be time.”
He’s right, Lewrie nodded in silent agreement; if I lay a hand on her, there goes all that good influence, and my good name hereabouts. Only way I could have her is to marry her. God, what a thought!
“If I stay any longer, I hurt her, right?”
“Not for me tah say, sah.”
“I hope it will not please you too much if I agree with you, you ugly old fart.” Lewrie smiled as he said it.
Old Isaac gave him a toothy grin, nodded and went back to eating his fruit.
* * *
Admiral Matthews dined with them that evening, free for once of his flagship and her responsibilities, though Alan wondered what he did that was so important that would not require Glatton to be at sea. Once the cloth had been removed, and the ladies had withdrawn, Sir Onsley waved Lewrie down to join him by the port bottle.
“As I remarked earlier, you have recovered well, Mister Lewrie.”
“Thank you, Sir Onsley. I feel very able to join a ship. And I cannot with good conscience prevail on Lady Maude’s hospitality any longer,” Lewrie declared.
“Yes,” Sir Onsley said, eyeing him. “One can only stand to be mothered and fussed over so long before one begins to feel like a lapdog. The surgeon suggests light duties for a spell. How would you like to serve ashore for a while?”
“While I would dearly love a sea berth, Sir Onsley, I would of course be happy to serve in any capacity, and be grateful to be alive to do so,” Alan toadied—right well, he thought.
“Hmm, yes, I expect you would be. I could take you into Glatton … but I see that you do not wish to idle in a harbor when you could be more use at sea, perhaps.”
“I am good with small arms, and artillery, Sir Onsley.”
“That is very true,” Sir Onsley said, reaching for the port. He poured himself a full bumper, and topped Alan’s glass as well. “I shall be going back to English Harbor before dawn. Have your chest packed and ready and we’ll find you something to keep you busy.”
“Thank you, Sir Onsley. I am pleased you would find me useful.”
“You can handle a boat? Ride? Know something about stores?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Excellent,” Sir Onsley said with a firm nod. “Well, heel taps, and then I’m for bed. I shall leave word for you to be wakened.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
* * *
For the next month, Alan was busy, up at dawn and out on the roads on a strong little mare, carrying messages and orders from the flag to the dockyard, to the batteries and the other military encampments on the island. And when not in the saddle he was given charge of a finely trimmed and manned rowing boat.
His launch visited each ship in harbor as it arrived, went aboard just before departure with last-minute orders, plied between flag and the dock. He was seconded to the dockyard superintendent as well, and got ink stains on his hands from inventories, from supervising working parties, from visiting warships due supplies to see that they got what was authorized and no more.
Frankly, he looked on it as loathsome quill-pushing, but he did what he was told since it gave him a certain freedom. He berthed on old Ariadne once more, now full of arriving or transient officers and men, and since he knew the island better than the arrivals he turned into an evening guide to the better entertainments, confirming once more his belief that he would make a topping pimp. It continually amazed him how little Warrant and Commission Officers much older than he did not know about women, and how to get them.
There was also a certain delight to be taken in being the Voice of Authority. He was one of Admiral Matthews’ bearers of bad tidings and glad tidings. Even if it was proxy power, it was power. Lordly post, captains tensed up when he was piped through the entry port, especially if they had been remiss in their duties. Lieutenants tried to milk him for information almost from the moment he headed aft, and he enjoyed dropping the most obtuse hints for them to ponder while withholding the true import of the messages he carried in enigmatic silence, going about his duties in a splendid new uniform with the supercilious air of a flag lieutenant.
But after about a month it all began to pale. There was no chance for him to make any profits from the lucrative trade in naval stores such as the dockyard people reaped in bribes and graft. He could not visit the deck of some seedily maintained and poorly run warship with her round-shot rusty and her rigging hanging in untidy bights, without wishing to jump in and start kicking a bosun’s mate’s arse, or giving the quartergunners hell for neglecting their guns. He could not go aboard a smartly run ship just in with prizes, full of tales of derring-do, without envying the shabby but competent demeanor of her midshipmen, who looked upon him as a toy grenadier painted up like a tart.
There was no future ashore for an ambitious, somewhat competent and resourceful fellow such as he, and he was being rubbed up against the fact like a puppy in his piddle.
He went for long rides, until the little mare would breathe as hard as one of those steam machines he had heard about, and his legs ached and grumbled. He continued to practice swordsmanship every time he had free until an old naval cutlass could be swung about like a toy sword and his new hanger did indeed feel light as a feather.
He taught the intricacies of gambling at cards to other midshipmen with a steady income from home, increased his purse. He found himself a doxy in town and paid for her room and his frequent visits, warning her that if he got the pox from her he would have her nose off before the disease did, and was about three-quarters sure that she did not entertain others when he was gone, which was about as good as could be expected from a bawd.