Dewey Lambdin - The French Admiral

"You've spoiled nothing, Alan," she said, patting the back of his hand that rested on the railing. "You gave me back my brothers, got us aboard a ship and away from retribution of our Rebels, brought joy to my parents, and have provided me with a few precious moments of diversion. God knows I have needed some. You are pleasant company."

"And so are you, Caroline. Very easy to be with," he told her, realizing that it was so. There was no formality with her, as there was with many young women, no call for stilted triteness that passed for decent conversation. "I shall be sorry to reach Charleston tomorrow."

"And you shall go back to the Indies from there?" she said in a softer voice.

"Yes. This Admiral de Grasse still has a French fleet of nearly thirty sail. He'll not rest on his laurels until we've met him once more and beaten him."

"I shall pray God for your safety every moment," she promised. "But I expect there are more than a few young ladies who are already doing the same thing, eh?"

"Your prayers for me would be most welcome, Caroline," Alan said, looking at her and seeing the hesitant nature of her smile. That's not teasing, that's fishing for information, by God, he thought.

"This seafaring life leaves little room for young ladies, much to my regret," he added quickly. "There is no one back in England. Even if there had been, I've not been back in nearly two years."

"But there is the admiral's relation, is there not? Surely, she is kindly disposed towards you, and you her, or you would not have fought to defend her honor." She almost stammered this out, trying to appear nonchalant and only slightly interested.

"No one in her family could ever be enthused about the prospects of a two-a-penny midshipman." He shrugged. "I believe she is in Jamaica now, back with her family. We exchange letters now and then, but…"

"I only ask because of the sisterly affection I feel towards you, and the gratitude for saving Gov and Burge at Yorktown," she insisted, also shrugging most eloquently. "You'll be off across the ocean soon, and we shall never see each other again. Is that not the way of life, that people meet and part so quickly? I and my family shall always hold you in our memories, but…"

"It doesn't have to be that way," Alan said, placing his hand over hers, and he was excited to feel her fingers spread to take hold of his. "Should you still feel the need of diverting moments, we could correspond. If you are willing, I shall ask your parents for permission to write you, and you may keep me informed as to Governour and Burgess, and how your father and mother keep. Why let aimless life dictate to us?"

"'Scuse me, Mister Lewrie, but the last cast o' the log shows no change. Still adoin' five an' a half knots."

"Thank you, Mister Weems," Alan almost barked at him.

"If ya'd be wantin' anything else, sir?" Weems went on. "Almost time to check the lookouts, an' tour below decks with the master-at-arms."

"Thank you, Weems, but that will be all for now. I shall join you shortly!" Alan said, biting his cheek to keep from screaming for the idiot to drop straight to hell.

"Aye, sir."

Alan turned back to Caroline and was amazed to see that she was gazing straight ahead at the bows, one side of her mouth turned up in an attempt to keep from laughing out loud. Once Weems was aft by the wheel, she let go and began to shake with silent glee, and their eyes met in a shared amusement, but she did not let go of his hand; in fact, returned squeeze for squeeze.

"Did I sound half as ridiculous as I thought I did?" he whispered.

"Yes," she said frankly. "Pretty ridiculous." But there was no harm in her critique, or at least Alan felt none. "People who can laugh at themselves are rare, Alan. You're very refreshing."

"Well, some people have more to laugh at than others," he admitted easily. "Seriously, do you think your parents would mind if we wrote?"

"I think they would feel honored. As would I. If they did not approve, then I am the final judge, after all. I would hope we could always be friends and correspondents."

"That sounds delightful to me," Alan replied warmly. "Dammit, you are so easy to talk to. So easy to know."

"I was just about to say the very same thing about you, Alan." They stood there, hand in hand for long moments, staring at each other and smiling foolishly until she lowered her eyes and grew shy.

"Well, it must be getting late," she said sadly.

As if in confirmation, four bells chimed from the belfry.

"And you must be freezing up here on deck. You should be snug in your bed," Alan murmured, feeling the urge to tuck the both of them into the same narrow hanging cot and pull the blankets up to their necks.

"I must own to sleepiness, at last."

"Nothing like being bored to make you sleep well."

"Not bored at all!" she replied, her breath coming a bit quicker.

"Lots to do in the morning, packing up and getting ready to leave the ship. We'll cross the bar just before noon, if the wind holds. Let me walk you aft and see you safely into the cabins."

"I would appreciate that," she said.

He led her arm in arm past the helm and the crew, who all took a sudden interest in the rigging, the rails, or the horizon as they passed—all but the ship's boy, who snuffled and wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve, getting his last look at the awfully beautiful young lady who had touched him so gently, as no one else in his miserable, short life, as though she was a waking fantasy.

They stopped at the top of the ladder that led through the upper hatch to the cabins, stood holding hands for a moment longer, and leaned close together as the ship rolled on a slight surge. Of one mind, they stumbled together, and she raised those great eyes to meet his.

He bent forward and their lips brushed shyly, not too far forward, for she raised her face higher and met him. Her arms took his sleeves, and he put an arm about her waist with as much trepidation as if she were made of porcelain and would shatter at his touch. One of her gloved hands went to the back of his neck, then stroked his cheek, while the other kept a death grip on his arm. They shuffled forward a little more, pressing their lips together, cold lips and hot breath at first, hen icy skin and warm lips, then breaking away; she because of the power of the feeling she felt, and Alan because he did not want her to feel ravished.

"Good night, Caroline," he muttered huskily. "Sleep soundly."

"Good night, Alan," she whispered back, sliding her hand down to his for one last firm squeeze, then she was gone below into the dark.

Something to be said for gawky women, Alan thought, his head in a spin from the warmth and the intense passion that had come on him of a sudden. Her faint scent was still in his nostrils, so fresh and clean and light, his bare hand was still warm from her grip, and he savored the feel of her long body drawn so close to his, wanted to go back and crush her to him and take her true measure. He had not felt like that in a long time, had never felt that overpowering rush to the brain that went with the rush to the groin he was used to. He could not put a name to it, for it was not in his experience, but it was something more than dumb lust.

Did I feel like that with Lucy Beauman? he wondered. I think I did, but that was months ago, and she's not here, nor will I see her anytime soon. God, don't tell me I'm swooning for the mort! She's not got two shillings to rub together, and most like never shall. No future for me with a girl with no prospects. Still, she's so sweet!

He shuddered with more than winter chill as he thought of how shy he had behaved with her, knowing it was not part of his nature to be so backward with women. Even allowing for the fact that he could not take her below and bed her, could not have at her on deck where there was no privacy, could still feel Governour's sharp eyes on the back of his neck, could picture being caught in mid-ravish by Captain Treghues, and had not the slightest intention of ever being in the same hemisphere with her after leaving Charleston, he could not explain it.