Lewrie put his head in his hands and laid his forehead on that small table, feeling that whimpering in pain might not go amiss.
"Here, for Christ's sake," Sir Hugo growled, producing a flask of brandy and pouring. "Never heard o' hair o' the dog that bit ye? Decent French guzzle, too. Thank God for smugglers. This'll put the spring back in your step, and clear the cobwebs. Aye… good lad."
Lewrie made "Bbrring" noises, grimaces and gags, but the brandy seemed liable to stay down, and his vision did slightly clear.
"Caroline scarpered, I take it?" Sir Hugo asked, gazing about the set of rooms, noting the lack of children, noise, clutter, and luggage.
"Aye, more's the pity… soon as they got back from the park," Lewrie mournfully informed him, giving him a precis of her letter, too. "Well, damme," his father harumphed. "Thought she had more sense than that. Not that she didn't shew it, anent your finances. At least there's no mention of divorcement. Now, were it I who got such a note, I'd heave a great sigh, cry 'thank God for gettin' off so cheap' then dance off t'me bus'ness. Won't break you, after all… and, there's a sum of prize money still owin' that's yours alone."
"Damn!" was Lewrie's sour comment to that. "She's my wife, not a deal gone wrong, they're my children, not… oh, why bother trying to explain such to you!"
"Aye, I forgot, I'm a callous ol' bastard," Sir Hugo replied as casually as if he'd been told he had grey eyes. "Ah! Breakfast!"
Trilochan Singh entered astern the housemaid, who bore a large tray full of covered dishes, looking like to pinch or goose her, once the tray was safe. Boiling-hot tea was quickly poured, with cream in a small silver plate ewer, and a footed silver bowl of brown West Indies turbinado sugar, pre-pared from the loaf. Aspinall attempted to assist, but was out-bustled by the maid and Singh as they removed the lids to reveal both fried and scrambled eggs, buttered hot rusks, and a choice of sizzly-crisp bacon or sliced roast beef.
Lewrie stared at the repast, pondering and massaging his belly, cautiously inhaling the savoury odours and steams; watching, as his father turned a brace of fried eggs into a soupy mess with knife and fork, spooned up some jam to slather on half a rusk, then dredged it in the eggs and took a bite.
"Only enemies of the Borgias died of eatin'," his father said, chewing and sighing most ecstatically. "Trust me… the greasier the better, in your condition."
Lewrie tentatively allowed his plate to be laden. Hot tea with cream and sugar, well… hmm, well, well! More cobwebs cleared. A taste of bacon… a forkful of eggs, which needed pepper and a lot of salt, he discovered. The roast beef was a tad dry and crusty, perhaps leftovers of last night's fare in the common rooms, but… my my, was that mango chutney in the jar with which to liven it up? Yum! Oh, even better, for here came a dab of fried, diced potatoes… his favourite "tatty hash"!
The rusks were crunchy, but softened with good butter, and the jam was a tangy-sweet lime marmalade, and good God, was he out of tea so soon?
"Lazarus… come forth!" Sir Hugo said with a snicker.
"Mmmmf… something like that," Lewrie confessed, swallowing.
There was a knock at the door, which Aspinall answered, coming to the table a moment later. "There's a note come for ya, sir," he announced, setting it beside Lewrie's plate, sealed and folded shut, with no return address-local? A sudden pall fell over the table.
"Well?" his father pressed at last, as Alan studiously ignored it. "It can't be from Caroline, surely. She ain't that prolific!"
Lewrie opened it, wishing he had tongs, sure it'd scald…
"Ah," Lewrie commented, after reading the salutation, with the sangfroid he rarely displayed aboard ship. "Of a sort… it regards Caroline," he lied (main-well, he thought!) as he refolded it and stuck it in his waistcoat pocket. "From my solicitor, Mountjoy. She must have sent him a note before coachin' back to Anglesgreen. He asks me to come round."
Actually, he'd meant to call upon Mr. Matthew Mountjoy that day, to make an equitable arrangement-or one that wouldn't break him!
"I see," his father replied, going back to his breakfast, but with a leery cast to his eyes; too blasй-bland for comfort!
Not a total lie, Lewrie consoled himself; but, damme, do I dare? All I can do with Theoni is accept her sorrow that she caused a mess in the park yesterday! Be a damn' fool t'go, but… Gawd, what if she finally cries 'belly plea to a court and takes what I've left to keep up her… our son? No, surely not, not Theoni, she's rich as Croesus in her own right… the currant trade, an all? Hmmm… still.
And he thought it deuced odd that, far from having his breakfast turn to lead in his stomach from even more to worry about, he was digesting rather well, thankee very much! Catastrophe can be stood, he decided!
CHAPTER SIX
South Montagu Mews was a very fashionable street, Nor'east of Oxford Street and its confluence with Park Lane and Hyde Park, within non-strenuous walking distance, really. Though not quite as costly an address as the more stately Montagu Square, it was better than passing-fair as a place to hang one's hat.
Much like the Navy, London houses were under The Rates for tax purposes. A house that took up 900 square feet of footing, no matter how tall, was a First Rate-and Mistress Theoni Connor's was!
"Done herself proud," Lewrie muttered to himself as he climbed down from the back of the one-horse hack that was little better than a two-wheeled country dogcart with a canvas covering, and paid his cabman.
A sullen rain still fell, but nowhere near the morning's deluge, so, clad in a snugly impervious boat-cloak, and a cocked hat that had already seen its share of "heavy weather," he could take time to assay the street and the house before him.
It was a homey red-brown brick, set off with the white cornices and stone bands so popular in the '50s and '60s, with an elevated doorway at the left-hand side, redone Palladian, and trimmed with railings in ornate wrought iron filigree; two wide windows filled the right-hand side. Above, there was the ostentation of a wrought iron balcony across the whole of the first upper floor. It was a four-storey house, with three windows set in each level. Even with a typical two rooms per floor, it was a lot of house!
Up and down the street, Lewrie could see a mix of old brick and the more fashionable Italianate facades that people insisted on putting on lately.
He ascended the steps up from the sidewalk to the door, and lifted the knocker-a grinning Venetian lion's head shockingly similar to the one on his own door, back in Anglesgreen! For a second, he felt his resolve melt, feeling in his bones that seeing Theoni in person was a really bad idea, but… she had asked to see him, for him to call, and they did have a child in common-purportedly. Chiding himself for a coward, he began to rap the knocker.
A cherubic older fellow in a suit of plain, dark grey "ditto" opened the door and beamed at him with the smile of a well-fed prelate in a rich parish. "Sir?" he asked.
"Captain Lewrie, come to call… I believe your mistress expects me?" Lewrie replied, a bit more tentatively than he liked.
"Come into the front parlour, sir… Captain Lewrie, and I'll inform Mistress Connor of your arrival," the old fellow bade, bowing as he stepped aside to wave him in. "Just this way, sir… I do believe you are expected, though there was no reply to mistress's note…?" he seemed to scold; obviously, the old catch-fart knew more of his employer's business than was good for him, though Theoni could only have hired him in the last year. He accepted Lewrie's hat and boat cloak, but only took them as far as the mirrored coat-stand; easily fetched if she shooed him off, or had no time for him.
The parlour was impressive; pale green walls were nicely set off with stark, gleaming white wood trim. Pastoral artwork was hung, along with gilt-framed mirrors. The massive fireplace was smokey-threaded white marble, and the furnishings were upholstered in pale yellow or in floral-patterned ecru, atop gleaming wood floors carpeted here and there with Turkey rugs. There were rather good books in the cases, and might even have been read once, though Lewrie suspected they'd been picked up at a secondhand auction by the lot, displayed mostly for the ornate gilt bindings-the way most new homeowners who aspired to Society did! Lots of brass and silver plate objects out for show…
"Alan… Captain Lewrie!" Theoni called, spinning him about.
"M-Mistress Connor," he barely had the wit to say, though in his heart, as deeply in trouble as he was, thinking "Yum!"
She wore one of those Frenchified concoctions, in an un-widowly azure with white trim, a high waist sash, and no underpinnings, so the gown hung straight, clinging as she walked toward him with her hands out in greeting; puffed upper sleeves, very tight lower sleeves, down to her wrists, and a very low neckline. Her russet-chestnut hair was long and loose, but gathered with matching ribbons.
So exotic-looking, with wide, high cheeks in a fairly lean face, a squareish jaw that tapered to a pert chin, a wide and generous mouth graced by such full, plump lips, eyes so amber-brown and slanted almond-shaped… those gently bobbing poonts!
Their hands met below waist-level, decorously keeping them apart for the servant's eyes, at least, though there was a glimmer of joy in her eyes. She gave his hands a shake, then frowned.
"Sorry, I forgot your noble wound," she said ruefully. "Not the first you've borne," she commented, releasing his left hand. "Captain Lewrie was my rescuer in the Adriatic, Mobley. He took a wound fighting for my life there, as well."
"Yes, madam," the old servant replied, bobbing, blinking, and nigh fawning, admiring the two medals twinkling on Lewrie's chest.
"We'll have coffee, Mobley."
"Right away, madam."
She led him to a settee, each taking one end, with a space apart; again, decorously. There followed some idle chit-chat 'til the coffee arrived, delivered by an older maidservant.
"That should do for now," Theoni said.
"Yes, ma'am," the maid replied, bobbing a curtsy and departing.
"Man and wife," Theoni announced after she had gone.
"Hey?" Lewrie could but gawp. Gawd, what'd she mean by …!
"Mobley and his wife… the maid," Theoni explained. "I took them both on, together. She also cooks. I try to run a small staff, now that the French have occupied the Ionian islands. The currant business is disrupted, you see. They now hold poor Zante, and the English House. My parents get a letter out, now and then. They say things are bad, though the French buy currants, as well. Even if they are tyrants. And tyrants never pay well, not like the days before, so…"
Right, she's out for blood and money, Lewrie thought, steeling himself for a "touch" on his savings!
"You are not in, uhm… financial distress, are you? " he asked, thinking he was getting to the point.
"Oh, no, Alan!" Theoni chuckled, with a generous grin. "What my in-laws sell is dearer than before, and you English must have jams and preserves for your puddings and duffs! I merely take sensible precautions against wasteful expenses. An annual trip to Bristol, so Michael knows his late father's kin… but I do not aspire to a country house or acres, and I do not quite follow London style. I stay in town the whole year round."
"Reassurin' for your servants, then," Lewrie said, feeling as if he would exhale with a loud whoosh if allowed. "No one laid off at the end of the Season, when most folks head for the country, and they end up broke and homeless 'til the Quality come back."
"Yes. It makes for a certain… loyalty," Theoni supposed as she poured coffee for them. "Should I have sent for tea, instead? I prefer coffee… strong and dark, the Turkish way. All those tyrants were ever good for, but…"
Lewrie sugared his and sipped; it was ambrosia! Strong, dark, and heady, indeed, quite unlike most of the coffee served in London.
"The Turkish way is perfect, thankee," he agreed most happily.
"Now," she intoned, setting down her cup, leaning back all prim and folding her hands in her lap. "The reason I asked you to call. I am so very sorry for what you suffered in the park, yesterday… at your hour of honour and triumph, after all! Alan, believe me, it was never my intention to… what we had… it was always my hope that it would remain only between us."
"Have," Lewrie added, turning glum, though able to look her in the eyes; and was puzzled to see her almost stiffen in response, those eyes of hers glittering too brightly, with the ghost of a grin upon her lips! "Father says he has my eyes. Mean t'say…"
"Yes, he does," Theoni cheerfully confessed. "More than your eyes. Barely a year old now, and I swear that he already has your… boldness.
I know the world would say that I should feel shame, but I do not. I never will," she vowed, slipping a tad closer to him on the settee, her voice gentle and cooey… loving! "Your wife… did she know, or…?"
"Suspected," Lewrie said with a sigh, outlining the anonymous letter and its results, despite his father's assurances back in the summer that he'd seen Alan Connor and saw no resemblance, how there were too many other affairs hinted at. Theoni nodded patiently, and sagely through it all, sipping coffee and pouring warm-ups, but with her gaze demurely averted.
Disappointed, cause she's findin ' out I'm a total rake-hell? he asked himself as he took note of her seeming discomfort; Christ, does she harbour some notion I'd leave Caroline for her, since we have that child, together, or … ?
"So… Caroline has left me, in essence," he confessed at last, feeling alien, inhuman, in that he could say it without screaming out loud in anguish. "No divorce, but…"
"Alan, you poor man! I never meant to cause you such a pain!" she vowed, shifting even closer and opening her arms into which he rather gladly sank.
"Didn't quite plan on it, myself!" he countered, trying for the light note and almost making it, though a tad shakily. "Oh, hell…"
"I must say, though," she mused as she stroked his hair, leant quite close, almost cheek to cheek, "the look she gave me, just as we were introduced, filled me with dread. If only we had taken another pathway in the park, begun our walk earlier, or…"
"Had to happen, sooner or later, I s'pose," Lewrie graveled. "I expect, did her curiosity get the better of her, she'd have called on you on her own. Just what you need, a plague of Lewries 'fronting you in the streets. My father, my bloody in-laws…!"
"Well, Alan," Theoni all but cooed, "some Lewries are more welcome than others. I was quite surprised by your father's arrival. A very droll old gentleman."
"He behaved himself, then?" Lewrie just had to ask; he knew his father too well to trust him around any available, and handsome, lass.
"Quite well." Theoni chuckled again. "Though he does have the… jaunty? Is that the right word? The jaunty leer in his eye?"
"Quite well." Theoni chuckled again. "Though he does have the… jaunty? Is that the right word? The jaunty leer in his eye?"
"Aye, jaunty," Lewrie said with a wry smile. " 'Tis the tamest way for what he had in his eye to be said in polite company."
"Imagine my surprise when he did call," Theoni said, sitting up and reaching for her cup once more. "Mobley announced a General Lewrie, and I thought he had gotten it wrong… that it was you! He told me about that letter. He apologised for intruding, for… probing about at your wife's request. Barging in upon a total stranger." "What'd you tell him, then?"
"The truth," she said, bald-faced. "Though elderly, he is far too cynical to accept lies. He winced at that. Screwed up his face. But he nodded… as if he understood."
She heaved a wry little laugh, a hitching of her shoulders. "I expect that he left more than a few offspring in his path in his younger days," she commented.
"Me, included. I'm the only one he owned up to, and took as his own. Not as a Willoughby, though. Trust me, 'tis a long, sad story, and there was a pot of money involved."
"He is wealthy, now?" Theoni suddenly asked. "Aye, he is," Lewrie answered, suddenly on his guard, suddenly feeling a sinking in his innards. Of jealousy? he wondered. "Some."
"Then the world is no longer at risk," Theoni said, laughing at that news. "Well-fed sharks do not bite, usually. He might even turn mellow… into a safe supper guest who doesn't have to sing." Lewrie burst into a side-aching peal of laughter. "Oh, God! My father… safe!" He hooted. "He'd steal the coins from his own eyes on his deathbed… and pinch the chambermaid with the winding sheet!"
"Then I see where you got your spirit." Theoni tittered. "Aye… blood will tell, they say," Lewrie replied, sobering, recalling just where, and how, that adage had most recently been used. "So what will you do now?" Theoni enquired. "God knows," Lewrie said with a frown, slouching back into the settee. "Saw my solicitor, made some arrangements… safeguarded some funds and such… Most like, it's back down to Sheerness for me, to put Proteus back in the water and toddle off to sea. What I'm good at. Where I don't get in much trouble. Mostly."
"But that was where you got in trouble with me, Alan," Theoni pointed out with a becoming smirk. "At sea."
"Aye, it was," he agreed, enfired by the look in her eyes, as if she wouldn't mind a tad more "trouble," should he dare risk it. All of a sudden, the tension between them became as palpable, and as visible, as St. Elmo's Fire surging in the top-masts of a storm-cast ship!
"I… uh," he croaked, groping for lucidity. "I'd best…"
"How to say this?" she puzzled aloud, frowning. "Though I wish you no pain in your life, Alan… and I certainly do not wish to complicate things even worse than they are, I will never regret being your lover… even for such a short but blissful time. I will never regret having your son. I feel… blessed! He will be the part of you that I will have, always. All the part of you that I expected to have in this life, knowing that your wife… but now?"
"Theoni, I…" Lewrie croaked again, sure now that coming was a bad idea, that yawning before him was a gaping abyss that could sear his soul in Hellfire, should he abandon all his vows, his…
"I told your father the truth when he came, as I said," Theoni continued, sliding close once more and gazing at him with such an open and frank expression. "I told him that I loved you, Alan. That when I married my late husband, it was arranged… for the business. After a time, I came to love him, I was comfortable and content, and I had Michael, but… that's why I asked you to come call upon me today. To tell you that whatever happens, I am sorry for causing any rift. I did not pray that you and your wife would part, and that I do regret, now that I know it.
"But I want you to know that whatever happens, should you feel free, should you truly be free," she went on, stumbling a bit, waving a hand in haste, her words tumbling together, "that I will always be here for you. Not just as a 'dear friend,' Alan, but as someone who really loves you! Who would be yours completely, but for fortune!" "Theoni…" he said with a dry gulp. "Oh, I know!" she almost whimpered, getting to her feet to dash away and hide her face with her long chestnut hair, as if ashamed of his seeming rejection. "I only make it worse! But if I wait to tell you in a letter, and you a thousand miles away at sea, you'd never see me as…!
She turned to face him, though with eyes downcast at the floor, arms crossed tight below her bodice. Her eyes were wet with tears!
"If you ever come to me, no matter what your English Society has to say about it… about us," she vowed, chin up of a sudden, proudly and almost defiantly forlorn, "I will deny you nothing. Whatever we may make of stolen time together, open time together, it makes no difference. I know I'm not English, the sort one can take into the public, I know it's brazen and sinful of me, but I cannot help that, Alan. I love you so much, I have no shame!" she vowed, her face screwing up.
He'd risen, drawn by her retreat; he stood non-plussed, short of enfolding her in comfort, or lust, or whatever it was that he felt at that moment!
"Theoni, I had no idea, I…" he stammered. Now he knew that he really should go, instanter. But he couldn't, of course.
She raised one hand to dab at her eyes, and that tore it! Lewrie stepped forward and embraced her as best he could, and her arms went about his neck, her tears and muffled sobs trickled on his neck, and their loins pressed together so fiercely; almost grinding.
"There, there… there, there," he whispered, stroking her back. "I never knew! Theoni, I knew it was special, it felt so righteous, if one can use that word, so… holy, but I never thought…!"
Leave, leave, leave, and never a backward glance! he thought in agony; he a man, for once!
"You did care for me, Alan?" Theoni asked, hot breath searing him. "Really cared, not just for a little while?"
"Well, o' course I did! But, we both knew the circumstances of our lives. We took solace…"
"And pleasure," Theoni added, with a hiccoughy chuckle, and an easing of her fierce grip to something more… fond.
"Aye, that too. Lashings of pleasure!" he admitted, recalling all too well those stolen hours in his great-cabins, in that lodging she'd taken in Lisbon before her packet ship had departed. "I don't know what's to happen, though, Theoni, and I can't just walk away from Caroline so easily… mean t'say, I can't cause you pain, hanging by your thumbs with false hopes, and… I won't make you go through that, I won't!" There, he thought, despite himself; that felt right-righteous! "I know that, Alan, I trust you!" she declared, "But, even if your wife and you reconcile, I would still long to be near you as we are now… as we were then," she added, suggestively. "I must go," he stated, far too late.
"I know," she acquiesced, easing her grip on him, yet loath to release him completely. "We must wait and see what happens. After all that has passed between us, though… I wanted you to know how I feel. Oh, that you were a bachelor when you fought the Serb pirates for me!"
"Saved a lot o' woe, all round," Alan sadly chuckled, forehead to forehead, and equally loath to let go of her flesh, enraptured by a heady aroma of clean hair, rosemary and thyme, commingled with a newer scent of light rosewater. They lifted their chins at the same time, their noses bumped-her artfully wee and sculptured nose!-then their lips. Searching, hungrily writhing, her breath already hot and musky with arousal!
"I must go," he repeated, after a long few moments of bliss.
"I know that, too, dearest Alan," she whispered back so fondly, toying with the back of his neck with her nails, sending chills down his spine, straight to his groin! "It is too soon, too shocking, atop the other shock you have taken. Too early. But before your ship puts back to sea, if you want me, I will come to you, I promise. And I will ask you for no promise in return, no matter how things stand. I truly do love you, so I could not do otherwise. Now, go! Be a hero!"
She turned playful, after a moment of shuddery truth, as if to shoo him away with a spank on the hindquarters.
"Theoni… no matter how things fall out, thankee," he said.
"I have your darling namesake son," she replied. "It is me who should be thankful."
She gave him one last parting kiss in gratitude.
"Now, go, before I become so tempted that…!" she pushed, now shoving him towards the hallway. "Be England 's hero, Alan. You are already mine. Write me, for I will surely write you, and… oh, please go, before…!"
"I'll write," he promised her, fetching his own hat and cloak.
"I'll come to… Sheerness?" she suddenly proposed.
"Sheer-Nasty? You'll hate it! Dreadful-boresome hole!" he japed.
"With you, it will be Paradise," she swore with a smile.
Egads, what'd I just promise? he asked himself once by the kerb; does Caroline despise me now, why make it worse? But… she can't loathe me more! In for the penny, in for the pound, oh God…!
BOOK ONE
Longa exilias et vastum maris acquor arandum.
Long exile is thy lot, a vast stretch of sea thou must plow.
Aeneid, Book II 780
Publius Vergilius Maro "Virgil"
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cold, cold, cold! Faint skifts of snow littered the cobbles of the street before the tavern and posting house, lay between the stones to make a stark chequerboard, and skittered as dry as sand when a gust of icy wind stirred. It was false dawn, the "iffy" time that outlined roofs and chimneypots with faint light, whilst the bulk of the street still lay in darkness, here and there pinpricked by only a few faint lanthorns by the entrances to homes or commercial establishments, and upon the quays, where false dawn drew black-on-charcoal traceries of rigging and masts aboard the ships that lay alongside.
Tiny, glim-like lights glowed at taffrails and entry-ports on those docked vessels; a few more ghosted across the harbour waters as guard boats rowed about to prevent desertion or smuggling. Hired boats and ships' boats stroked or sailed to and fro, even at that ungodly hour, bearing officers ashore, or taking officers or mates from a night of shore comforts, perhaps even pleasure, in Sheerness.
Barely visible against the darkness, and a fine sea-haze off the North Sea, fishermen were setting out, no matter the cold or the risk, to dredge, rake, or net a meagre day's profit. Some sailed, a very good omen, with tiny masthead lanthorns aglow that created eerie tan blots of lit, shivering canvas-while the boats were invisibly dark-as if a plague of weary Jack O'Lanterns were on the prowl.
There was a decent slant of wind, out of the Nor'Nor'east for once; not enough to dissipate the cold sea mists, nor enough to toss the many ships anchored in the Little Nore or Great Nore, but it'd do, for Lewrie's purposes; and after the night before…
Lewrie heaved a troubled but mostly contented sigh, recalling.
There had been a fine sunset, rare for winter, as red as any one could wish, that had lingered for an hour or more, much like a summer sunset; "Red Skies At Night, Sailor's Delight."
And wasn't it just! Lewrie told himself.
The glass barometer filled with coloured water by the door of his posting house had shown little rising in the narrow upper neck, a sign of higher pressure that had happily coincided with that sunset, and now a shift of wind, as well. HMS Proteus would not fight close-hauled to make her offing, then jog down-coast to The Downs or Goodwin Sands to re-anchor and wait for a good down-Channel slant, but could head out boldly, round Dover and bowl along like a Cambridge Coach, perhaps as far as Portsmouth, before the wind turned foul, as it always would in winter. Foul, and perilous!
The costly travelling clock on the mantel chimed five times, in civilian manner, as far-off ships' bells struck Two Bells of the predawn watch; a cacophanous tinkling disagreement 'twixt lieutenants' or mates' timepieces and sand-glasses, that put him in mind of the myriad of wind-chimes he had heard in Canton, between the wars.
The night before, Gawd…!
A final round of shopping for last-minute cabin stores such as quills, ink, and paper, a new book or two, a chest of dried meats and hard-skinned sausages for Toulon's sustenance. They'd supped at a new and rather fine public house that featured large boiled lobsters aswim in drawn butter, some ham, boiled carrots, and winter potatoes, a green salad, a roast quail each, completed by cherry trifle. Then, as old Samuel Pepys had so often writ in his diary, "… and so to bed," most daringly nude for a few moments in the chilly room, no matter the big fireplace, the warming pans and enfolding bedstead curtains, the thick down-filled quilts and extra blankets. Bliss, strenuous bliss!
Unconscious of doing so, he had drawn out his pocket watch and opened it to compare its reckoning against her mantel clock and those ships' bells. With a firm-lipped sigh and a slight nod, he shut it up with a definite clack of finality.
"I must go," Lewrie softly pronounced.
"I know," Theoni Kavares Connor sadly replied, barely mouthing her words, her eyes already moistly aglitter. "I promised not to go on so, but… two years or more, so far away…"
She reached across the remains of their breakfast table to twine her fingers in his; slim, graceful, but incredibly strong and urgent.
"It's what sailors do," he told her. "We're not known for bein' a dependable lot." He strove to be winsome and Devil-I-Care, as well as noncommittal. Noncommittal won, with "winsome" a distant second.
" 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder'?" Theoni asked, citing an old adage, striving for a cheery note herself, forcing a smile.
" 'Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise'," Lewrie countered, tongue-in-cheek.
"Quoting a revolutionary?" Theoni attempted to tease. "The American rebel, Benjamin Franklin… Poor Richards Almanack, I believe?"
"Knew I'd heard it somewhere." Lewrie chuckled as he rose, with her hand still in his-leading and prompting his departure. Theoni sprang to her feet and rushed to embrace him, pressing her soft, sleek body tight to his in a twinkling, still toast-warm from the bed and their last "eye opener" bout, still redolent of perfume, musk, and sex.
"You're certainly healthy, dear Alan," she snickered against his cheek, as he stroked her back, so pliable and tender beneath the flimsy and revealing morning gown she wore, despite the chill. "Last night… it was heavenly!" Theoni sighed in recalled bliss.