Sea of Grey

tiny tic of ruefulness.

'There… think I'll pass muster?' he asked, once his hat was firmly clapped upon his head.

'Always, dear Alan,' Theoni assured him, smiling even wider as she came to his side once more, flinging her warmth against him, kissing a'tip-toe. 'The handsomest… most fetching… bravest… and cleverest… hungriest Sea Officer in all Creation!' She even managed to giggle between compliments and teasing, coy kisses.

'All my love goes with you,' Theoni whispered at last, going all earnest, staring him directly in the eyes.

Crikey, what else can ye say t'that? he asked himself; it's jive thousand miles or so, two years at least… well, hmm.

'And all of mine remains with you, my dear,' he declared, though quickly burying his face in her lush hair and the hollow of her neck to nuzzle, savour and groan a semblance of agreement.

It ain't a total lie, he qualified to his conscience; had I not wed so young, not met Caroline, before her, Theoni'd be…

No matter her suspicion that he was lying like a rug, that made her seem to purr with contentment, to cuddle close and sigh happily.

'I am yours completely, Alan,' Theoni softly swore. 'Forever. Now go!' she suddenly ordered, playing at pushing him away. 'Go beat the entire French Navy. Win the war all by yourself, then return to me… soon!'

'I'll work on that,' Lewrie said with an honest laugh, letting her go as she played up brave for him, even essaying a playful pat on her rump, a love swat. No, his hand lingered; so soft and wee!

'I'll watch from the window. Blow me a last kiss, give me one last smile and wave,' she demanded.

Dear God, it simply wouldn't do to saunter off with a last kiss, no matter it was all a sham! He swept her into his arms once more, to devour her mouth with his, to slither his hands beneath her gowns, for her warm flesh.

'Now that's a. proper sailor's good-bye!' he cried, breaking away and all but sweeping his boat cloak 'round his body like an actor making a grand exit, stage left. 'Good-bye, Theoni. Anything I can fetch you from the West Indies?'

'You!' she quickly announced, smiling and chuckling, even if she was again at the edge of hot tears. 'As hungry for me as when you left me. Oh, perhaps a coconut or two. Well. Good-bye, my dearest Alan… safe voyages. …'

'Adieu, ' he declaimed by the door, ready to sweep out after his congй, hat on his chest, and the other hand on the doorknob. It need not be said that Captain Alan Lewrie, RN, knew a good moment for escape when he saw one!

'I've already paid the inn their week's reckoning,' she said.

'Err… uhmm, well, then…' he flummoxed. 'Thankee, for all you've done for me! Encore, adieu, ma chйrie amour!'

'Bonjour, mon amour… mon vie!'

He tromped down to the public rooms, made a production of shivering at the cold, of studying the barometer, and japing with the two servants as he stepped outside into the dread chill, stamping his feet along with them as they trundled his chest and bags in a wheelbarrow toward the quays, and a hired rowing boat.

Once in the street, he turned and looked up at the front of the inn, to see Theoni framed in the windows of the room they had shared. She had fetched a four-arm candleholder to the sill, one that he didn't recall being lit when he'd departed, that illuminated her as well as the footlights of a Drury Lane theatre.

He waved widely, blew her that required kiss, which she played at catching and pressing to her own lips, then suggestively sliding it down to her heart, her face half-crumpled 'twixt glee and agony and so bravely bearing up. Her morning gown was parted, revealing amberish candlelit, and ample, bosoms…

Damme, if I ain't ready t'cry off sailin' and go nufбle 'twixt those beautiesjust one more time! Lewrie speculated, feeling the fork of his crotch tighten. Gawd, she knows me too well, already, what sets me goose- brained .. . witless for it!

One final wave, a doff of his hat and a 'leg' made in congй and he had to turn away and tramp off quickly… before he was tempted to rush back and chuck his active commission!

CHAPTER EIGHT

Hoy, the boat!'

'Proteus!' the bow-man called back, showing four fingers to indicate the size of the side-party for a Post-Captain, causing a scurry despite the fact that his return was known to the half-hour. Bosuns' calls shrilled, booted Marines thundered on cold oak decks, bare tars' feet pounded on the ladders, and icy hands slapped musket stocks, as a well-drilled ship's crew mustered to greet him.

As Four Bells struck, Lewrie took a moment to admire his ship, now that he was close-aboard her starboard side. Dawn had made her a shining jewel of fresh paint and linseed oil, of gilt trim and tarred rigging, her yards crossed to mathematical perfection, and fresh as a new-minted guinea. Even up close, she was just about perfection, now that she was out of the yards and back on her own bottom.

Lewrie stood, swept back his boat cloak, and tucked his sword behind his left hip so it wouldn't tangle between his legs, then clung to a side-stay of the hired boat as it nuzzled up to the ship's side by the main-chains, the boarding-battens and man-ropes of the entry-port. Judging the slight roll and toss of both boat and ship, he timed a leap and made it on the first try, nimbly ascending the side, with but only the merest twinge of weakness in his now-healed left arm as he gained the deck, fresh-scrubbed and holystoned nigh to parchment whiteness, and still damp from the crew's predawn labours, about the time he had drunk his last cup of coffee with Theoni, ashore.

Swords were flourished, boots stamped, muskets were presented, and the calls sang like eagles on high as he stepped in-board, safely on his own decks once more, and doffing his hat to the side-party and his gathered crew, who stood on gangways or in the waist with their hats in hand, their heads bared in their own salute. Some still chewing?

'The hands have eat, Mister Langlie?' he asked.

'In the process, sir,' his First Lieutenant responded.

'My apologies for arriving in the middle of their meal, then, and pipe them back below, 'fore it goes cold on 'em. I take it that the galley is still hot?'

'Aye, sir.'

'Then I'll have a pot of coffee,' Lewrie briskly said, clapping his mittened hands together. 'I've a chest and two bags to be got up.'

'I'll see to it, directly, sir,' Langlie vowed.

'Everything else in order for sailing, Mister Langlie?'

'Aye, sir. Last despatches came aboard just after you went off for shore, last afternoon,' the darkly handsome Langlie said, smiling.

'Very well. Dismiss the hands back to their breakfasts, and I will be aft and below, 'til… Six Bells, at which time we'll get her underway. Carry on, Mister Langlie.'

He went down the starboard ladder from the gangway to the waist, then aft into his great-cabins, past the Marine sentry; past the dining coach to larboard and the chart-space to starboard, the two dog-boxes where his clerk and his manservant slept, and into his day-cabin where an iron brazier/stove tried its best to banish the cold, its belly stoked with sea-coal and kindling.

Aspinall took his hat, cloak and sword, and his mittens, while Lewrie rubbed his hands over the brazier, thinking that if Admiralty were of a mind to punish him by shooing him off someplace very far overseas, he could at least be thankful that it would be someplace warm!

Riddled with malaria, cholera, and Yellow Jack, but warm! Lewrie chortled to himself. After a futile moment of trying to thaw out, he went aft to his desk, to survey the pile of official despatches bound