Jack Aubrey leaned into the soft cushion of Mercedes' plump backside, trapping her against the rail of the sacred quarterdeck, and pointed landward as the Starling made her final turn around the Southeastern tip of Minorca's mountainous coast. Even in the distance, the clear Mediterranean air brought into easy view the round stone turrets of powerful fort St. Phillip as it stood sentry at the mouth of the fine harbor of Port Mahon.

Brushing back her long dark hair as it flew in the stiff morning breeze, Jack spoke close to the pretty shell of her ear, "There it is, sweetheart. Even without the glass you can nearly see the guns bristling from the stones of the fortress."

"Ah," she gasped with pleasure, awed by the unfamiliar view of her home from the vantage of the sea. "I see him!"

Jack chuckled at her enthusiasm and cuddled close. How he had enjoyed this meaningless little cruise with his dear girl, experiencing every familiar routine of the ship as a new adventure through her eyes. In Mercy he had found an eager and apt pupil of the naval arts, much more so than some Midshipmen whose duty it was to learn. By God, after their short voyage, she could even tell a sheet from a block, unlike the learned Doctor after all his time at sea.

"You know, they say there are three good harbors in the Med," he instructed with a grin. "June, July, and Port Mahon."

Mercy looked back over her shoulder into Jack's benevolent smile and petted his shaven cheek with affection and gratitude. "Home safe, manyac," she sighed with relief, but added a wistful shake of her head. "Too soon, too soon."

As the ship approached the mouth of the harbor, some ninety fathoms wide and stretching more than a league inland, Jack held Mercy jealously, unwilling to relinquish these final precious moments together. Even as he was unsure when he might have the good fortune to command a ship of the line again, he allowed Tom Pullings the honor of bringing the ship into port, and spent his last hour aboard pointing out the familiar landmarks of Mahon to Mercedes as they came into view. "Here is the town clock, dear, and the Church of St. Francios. See it? There is the magazine where the Navy is victualled, the refitting dock - see the sloop being careened there, up on its side? And here is the Governor's House where the orchestra will perform tomorrow evening."

The Starling navigated the familiar harbor with ease, its wide deep waters and well established shipping lanes making short work for an experienced crew. The incongruity of the landscape never ceased to amaze him. Port Mahon was truly an English Georgian market-town and sea port, but set among vineyards and olive groves and even an occasional palm tree with the deep blue Mediterranean sky overall. After long years of service in the Med, Jack knew every cove and inlet of this blessed harbor, just as he knew every curve and crevice of Mercy's body, holding them both with the kind of reverent esteem he reserved for those of long association. As he considered wistfully in the uncommon moment of revelry, he realized that he would never again think of one without the other, for the girl and the anchorage represented the same ideal to him: safe harbor.

Jack sighed as the docks came into view, and watched the men work to ready the generous lengths of cable necessary to anchor in the waters of Mahon, its deep bottom covered with sea grass so soft that only a heavy anchor would do to check a ship of any size. Brushing the maid's hair away again, he leaned to kiss that familiar place where slender neck met soft shoulder, and breathed in her natural scent perfumed with the salt of sea air one last time.

"Time to go below, sweetheart," he whispered in reluctant order. "See to the Doctor's things and to your own. You'll be on dry land and home to your mother again easy as kiss my hand."

Mercedes turned in his embrace and took his big callused hands into her own, kissing the scarred knuckles of one, then the next. When she raised her dark eyes to his again, she blinked away tears, though a smile played on her lips. "Gracias, Jack," she said simply. "Por todo…for all things."

Jack made a leg and bowed deeply over their joined hands. "Your servant," he said. "It has been my great pleasure, Mercy dear. For all love…"

w

After overseeing the tedious duty of unloading of the Starling's cargo, Jack Aubrey paid his customary visit to the Admiralty office, where he conscientiously delivered his letters and logs and was officially relieved of his temporary command. Again a half-pay Captain without a ship, Jack sent their dunnage ahead of them to the Crown and accompanied Mercedes and Stephen, the baby macaque perched atop the Doctor's shoulder, towards his final duty of the voyage: the safe return of Mercy to her family.

The afternoon was brilliant and warm, and with legs unaccustomed to the unforgiving land, Jack puffed for breath as they plodded through the winding cobbled streets of Mahon and climbed the stairs to the upper town. It was not long until he was required to unbutton the heavy wool coat of his best uniform for a very little relief.

Stephen clucked his tongue in disapproval at Jack's red and sweating face. "As your physician I must say that you would do well to lose some of that tonnage you carry, Jack. Indeed, with a diet so rich, I fear for your liver. An enema would be just the thing."

"For the love of God, Stephen," Jack panted in dismay and wiped at his brow with the white ruffle of his sleeve.

"Venido con mi, manyac," Mercy encouraged. Beaming with pleasure in anticipation of her homecoming and flitting around Jack's bulk like a hummingbird circling a tremendous gilded lily, she tugged his hand in hopes of propelling him faster. "Poor Mama, she is worried, so worried! Almost there, not far." When they came to a back road off the main thoroughfare of town, she pointed to the end of the blind alley. "Here he is, here he is!"

The cottage-like apartment of the Sala-Cortez family seemed idyllic enough as they approached, red geraniums spilling from the flower boxes that lined the tiny shuttered windows. Children played in the lane as old women and men chattered on their doorsteps. It was idyllic and quaint indeed until a screech went up from inside the residence and the many inhabitants spilled out, rushing the three in the middle of the street and encircling Mercedes in a clamor of squeals and tears of relief. Mercy's mother caught her daughter into her arms and wept while her five lovely sisters, joined by neighbors and even passers-by, turned their attention and affections on Jack and Stephen, nearly shattering their already strained eardrums while they squeezed the breath from their bodies with embraces of thanks for the deliverers of their missing beloved. The doctor's macaque joined in the cacophony, chattering along as if in greeting to his missing troupe.

Jack was surprised and pleased to find Mercy's mother and sisters as entirely pigeon-plump and pretty as their kinswoman, and his gaze turned decidedly unbrotherly as he found himself awash in a veritable sea of glorious bosoms. When Stephen succeeded in finally capturing the attention of the loquacious gaggle of women, he endeavored to explain the circumstances of Mercy's disappearance in the Catalan tongue, and much to his chagrin and Jack's delight, they were again assaulted by a new barrage of shrieks, kisses, and demands for them to come inside and be fed.

Against their protestations, Aubrey and Maturin were forced indoors and into seats of honor as the well-used but sturdy table was instantly laden with cold meats, fish, and cheese. New wine splashed into pewter cups as the banging of pots and pans emanated from the kitchen in a clamor of frantic preparation. Inside, the residence was tiny and crowded, nearly like a ship's packed wardroom, but immaculately kept and suffused with a feeling of warmth and loving family.

Mercedes and Stephen were both absorbed in a steady stream of conversation, gesticulating wildly with their hands as they spoke in their native Catalan tongue. Jack attempted to attend the unending flow of words, but ultimately was forced to content himself with smiling very much and repeating simply, "gracias, muchas gracias." Mercy showed the place where she had been cut when she fell and stitched up again to one sister, then the next, and after each display, Stephen was showered with more kisses and demands that he eat. Then the macaque was handed around to cuddles and coos as Mercy chronicled her adventures in Gibraltar and on board the ship. Jack's stomach growled greedily as the house was filled with the fragrance of the promised meal, pungent with garlic and olive oil, but twilight had fallen and lamps were being lit when steaming hot dishes finally began to appear from the kitchen.

Jack pretended to ignore the tear that his particular friend was attempting to surreptitiously wipe away, and moved to fill Stephen's glass, though he was thwarted immediately by a feminine hand who took up the burden to serve him.

"Have you ever seen such a feast, brother?" he smiled in wonder as mountains of food were set on the table before him. "Tell me what it is."

Maturin swallowed wine before he could speak again. "That is pantumaca, Jack. A country-style bread smeared with tomato, garlic, and olive oil. It is to be eaten with the cold meats. And this is mongretes amb butifarra, a white bean and sausage stew, much finer than your solomongundy. I think you should like it very much." Stephen looked to the lady of the house as she placed a great crock immediately before him with a flourish. "Albondigas con sepia, no?" At her nod, he smiled and explained that the dish was composed of meatballs and cuttlefish stewed with peas. "So many scents and tastes of home…" he breathed, his voice harsh with uncommon emotion. "Forgive me, Jack. I am blubbering."

"Never in life," Jack smiled, taking great pleasure in his friend's wistful nostalgia. Once the family was gathered around the crowded table, the Captain raised his cup in toast. "Honor to our generous hostess, thanksgiving for a successful voyage and a safe return, and most of all to Mercedes: a beauty among beauties."

The kinswomen giggled and cooed and drank deeply, but before the food could be tasted, Mercy's mother interrupted with important news of the old man from the Crown. In Catalan she explained that old Joaquin de Pedilla had made the long walk on failing legs to the cottage each day, hoping for news of Mercedes' whereabouts.

Jack looked to Stephen for translation.

Cleaning his blue spectacles on his napkin, Stephen conveyed the heart of it gently: "Mercedes' employer is grown despondent, Jack, assured that the girl has run away with her yellow-haired English sea Captain and will never be heard from again. He is heartbroken."

"Ah," Jack breathed and put down his fork with great reluctance. His eyes shifted to Mercedes across the table, looking inconsolable. "To the Crown then, sweetheart?"

She nodded, tossing her curls. "The Crown, the Crown."

Aubrey sighed and put his napkin on the table as he rose, disappointment evident in his face as his stomach growled in complaint. Stephen moved to join them, but Jack held up a hand. "Keep your seat, brother. Someone must reward these good ladies for their efforts." With a quick grin and a wink, he added. "I am sure you are man enough for all of them, Stephen."

w

Jack and Mercy entered the Crown by the back way just as the sun set, through a courtyard full of fragrant orange trees. Aubrey had always appreciated the grand hotel for its lack of concession to the Mediterranean style. The impressive structure was built entirely in the English manner in 1750 and had remained so - even with the procession of English, French, and Spanish occupation of the island - all but the addition of the colorful Spanish tiles. Named for the famous Inn in Portsmouth, the Crown was balm to the heart of a homesick sailor of His Majesty's Navy, offering good beer and fine tobacco, though there was no hope whatsoever for a proper suet pudding. Still, no thoroughly English inn could ever produce a chambermaid so like a dusky peach as Mercedes, who was now shooing sleeping chickens from their perches on the stone rim of the dancing fountain, which they had fouled. Catching a fat hen up in her arms, she scowled angrily at the disarray of the usually tidy patio.

Jack collapsed on a stone bench and puffed for air as he removed his scraper to mop his sweating brow with his handkerchief. When he had caught his breath well enough to speak, he remarked, "The place is all ahoo without you, Mercy dear. Looks as if you'll have your work cut out for you."

"La casa! La casa!" she cried loudly for the staff, and raised a great shocking hullabaloo as the house dogs, huge bull mastiffs, barked and brayed and raced into the courtyard at the sound of her voice. One fawn-colored bitch with a back as broad as a dining table leapt up onto Jack's shoulders and lapped his face heartily as he struggled to keep her at bay.

"Estrella, no, no!" Mercy demanded and slapped at the dog's great thick head until Jack was released. He grimaced and tried to wipe away the creature's affectionate slobber on the sleeve of his coat without much success.

She called to her employer, announcing her return: "Old man, I am back!"

"Mercedes? Dios mio!" came a thin voice from inside. Soon the old man appeared, shuffling along amongst the dogs, nearly toppled over with every step.

After hugging Mercy eagerly and kissing her on both cheeks, de Pedilla released the girl and launched into an angry tirade, poking a scolding finger of accusation first into her face and then at Jack. Mercy raised her voice in a screeching defense, one hand gesticulating wildly while the other held the hen in place.

Jack watched the exchange intently, though he could not understand the Spanish at such a tearing high pace. When the argument appeared to reach a crescendo, the Captain settled his scraper back on his yellow head and rose to his full towering height, putting himself between de Pedilla and the girl, much more for the old man's defense than Mercy's, it seemed.

"Senor, permit me to interrupt, if you please," he spoke, his voice deep and serious, projecting an aura of authority that made the frail old man start and nearly fall over his dog. "I am Captain Aubrey, a frequent guest of your fine establishment, and friend of the Sala-Cortez family. I am come to return your employee after an unfortunate incident that caused her to be trapped aboard my ship for the duration of our voyage to Gibraltar. She was gravely injured, but appears to you whole again thanks to the kind and diligent attentions of Doctor Maturin, my particular friend. I regret any inconvenience to you and take full responsibility for Miss Mercedes' absence. The girl is blameless. If you require some sort of compensation, you may take the matter up with the office of the Admiralty in town."

Jack had no notion whether the old man understood him, or if the Admiralty would offer any sort of compensation whatsoever, but was gratified when de Pedilla stepped back and let him pass beneath the arched doorway of the Crown with a bow. Mercy tossed her head haughtily and followed in the Captain's protective wake. "Old goat," she muttered hotly.

Aubrey felt his stomach growl, regretting again that they had missed the feast at Mercy's mother's house. "Sweetheart, I'm hellfire sharp set. What can you bring me?"

"Roast pollo, manyac?" she asked, and snapped the hen's neck with a sickening crunch.

"Indeed, my dear," he smiled. "How I love your roast pollo. Perhaps some of those little almond cakes as well, if any are to be found. And a bottle of vino - no, two bottles."

w

The following day, Mercedes was hardly to be seen, though she could definitely be heard, screeching orders to the neglectful staff as she put the Crown back to rights after her long absence. 'What an officer she would make, if only she had been born a man,' he thought sleepily, roused from sweet dreams of the rolling sea, then thanked God that He had seen in His great omnipotence to instead make her a woman. "Indeed," he chuckled to himself as he commended the Creator of all. "That was just the thing."

Jack rose from his bed in the Mermaid room, dressed, and wandered down to the docks to gaze longingly at the ships, then reported again to the Admiralty office in hopes of some news of a commission. But when he saw the long line of forlorn Commanders and Post Captains jostling for space on the benches outside Old Harte's office, each dressed in their best brocaded coats and white breeches, he decided to collect his mail and spend the afternoon at Joselito's Coffee House instead, catching up on business matters. What he found inside his letters, correspondence from his business agent and creditors, made him long for stronger fare than Joselito's good coffee. He was about to seek out a pub when Stephen wandered in and joined him at the courtyard table, a cigar between his teeth and an unfamiliar grin of damn near vainglory on his face.

"There you are Stephen. Thank the Lord. I was just considering drowning myself in a great many pints, but where would that leave us for this evening's music program? Give me some good news. I am at a loss."

"Have you ever contemplated upon sex, my dear?"

Jack looked askance at his particular friend as he sipped his coffee. "Never. Sex has never entered my mind, at any time. Whatever makes you bring it up?" He grinned slyly and stole a biscuit from Stephen's plate. "Would it have to do with one of Mercy's lovely sisters perhaps? Or even two? Tell me, how was your meal?"

Stephen rolled smoke on his tongue, as if savoring the fond memory as keenly as the actual event. "It was a brilliant meal, joy, composed of many fine courses. Rarely have I dined so well. I am despondent that you missed it. Not at all a sophisticated menu, of course, but I find at the heart of it there is little better in this world than the luxury of a home-cooked meal shared in the bosom of a loving family."

"And what a bosom," Jack nodded in appreciation. "Where is your brute?"

"Ah, the macaque. I made a gift of him to Mercy's sister, Anna Lucia. She has quite a natural affinity for animals…"

"Does she indeed?" Aubrey hid his smile behind his copy of the Navy List. "Well I give her joy in the creature, and you in the giving. Speaking of gifts, I had hoped to find a pair of earrings for Mercy to wear with her dress tonight, but as I looked into my letters of credit I found my coffers lacking everything but moths. Would you have a small sum I might borrow, brother?"

Stephen withdrew a decrepit little purse heavy with coins and set it absently upon the table. Jack's eyes went wide when he took it up and weighed it in his palm. "This should do very well, Stephen. Would you accompany me to the jewelers?"

The good Doctor was still grinning. "It would be my great pleasure."

w

Later that evening after a fine meal in town and a game of piquet, where Stephen had replenished his purse, Jack found Mercy in the great copper hip bath of the Mermaid room; her hair piled high on her head as she sang and sloshed in the perfumed and soapy water. He smiled when he noted his best uniform neatly pressed and laid out on the bed, awaiting their evening at the Governor's House. Throwing off his coat, Jack untied his stock and folded his breeches over the back of a chair before he joined her in the bath.

"Pretty Captain," Mercy cooed as she watched him undress.

Jack groaned with relief and pleasure as he splashed about and settled into the warm water, its level rising and spilling over onto the polished wood floor. Carefully in the tight quarters, she climbed into his lap and took up a pitcher, dousing his golden hair thoroughly and scrubbed with enthusiasm, singing again for simple joy and excitement. Jack hummed along and played with her breasts idly, hefting and molding the generous flesh slippery with soap, ever entranced with the female form. They spoke of their day as they bathed, comparing her many chores to his idle hours, and how they had both missed the gentle swell of the sea underfoot while they anticipated the thrill of the performance tonight.

When they had dried each other with the Crown's fine linens, Jack found the wrapped parcel in his breeches pocket and handed it over to the girl unceremoniously.

"Present?" Mercedes cried, nimbly undoing the silk and tissue paper, finding the little diamond studs amid the thick jeweler's cotton. She shrieked, kissed him, shrieked again, "Eek! Eek!" and pushed him down to sit on the edge of the soft bed with a thump as he giggled.

Jack was shocked and thrilled when she dropped to her knees and nuzzled between his open legs, suckling his great member to fullness, then to an unexpected and earth-shattering eruption, the very walls of the Crown reverberating with the uncontainable roar of joy in his release. 'Indeed,' he thought with a muzzy and reeling head, Mercy's lips still wrapped around the receding tide of his manhood, 'Perhaps my luck has returned. This should be the beginning of a glorious night.'

But as he looked for Stephen when the post chaise arrived at the front doors of the Inn, his thoughts grew dark, and he cursed under his breath. Handing Mercedes into the coach, he was obliged to leave without the Doctor, lest they miss the opening of the orchestra at the Governor's House, a mistake he could not bear making for personal or professional reasons.

Mercedes was dazzled and speechless as they approached the gathering: all the shining carriages, the horses dressed with feathers in their manes; the gentlemen, soldiers and sailors in their finery, the ladies wrapped like presents in their beautiful many-colored gowns and painted faces. The Governor's House was a beacon, lit up from within and beckoning the best and brightest of Port Mahon inside. Mercy clung to Jack's strong arm as he smiled down to her with such light in his sea blue eyes, reveling in her amazement. He patted her hand in comfort and spoke gentle assurances, his voice low and soothing in the crowded street, "Never fear, little dear. Clap on, Mercy. Hold fast."

Together they moved through the throng. Blue and red coats alike, punctuated with civilian black, parted to make a lane. Jack stopped to speak with acquaintances and superiors, introducing Mercedes proudly in each event, but it was only when they happened upon the familiar red face of William Mowett that she finally brightened and dared to speak.

"Miss Mercy, how lovely to see you again," the good Lieutenant smiled and kissed her hand. He complimented her red dress, her dark hair done up so smartly with luminescent pearl pins, and her new earrings. "Like two shining stars in the night sky, but never more brilliant than your sparkling eyes…"

"Damned poetical, William," Jack admired, and retrieved Mercy's hand jealously.

But once inside, as they stepped down the red carpeted aisle arranged with gilt chairs on either side under the glow of the crystal chandeliers, the stares began, and the whispers. Jack thought it his imagination at first, but soon realized the attention for what it was. "Who is the beauty?" he heard staggered through the crowd, and the answer returned, "chambermaid," "scullery girl," and worst of all, "whore." Jack's face flushed red with embarrassment, anger, and self-reproach. It was as Stephen had feared, and worse than he had imagined, but Jack held himself erect, jutted his chin proudly, and carried on, passing row upon row of disparaging glares like a gauntlet.

"Steady on, girl," he whispered as Mercedes began to shy and shrink in fear.

The maid felt the burn of stares on her face. It was not the lustful look from the men that terrified her; it was the disapproving scowls of the women in attendance that she could not bear. Her cheeks flushed pink and her little heart thundered with fear. She felt the great room closing in on her and thought she might faint. Her mind flashed back to the terrifying moment of stage fright before her performance on the Starling's deck, and though she had Jack's steady assurance as she had that night, this was no adoring crowd of sailors. Tearing her arm away, Mercy picked up her velvet skirts and turned, bolting for the door and the safety of obscurity. But her exit was blocked by the suddenly commanding stance of Dr. Maturin dressed in his finest uniform and wig.

"Esteban, por favor," she whimpered in fear, but he would not let her pass.

"Mercedes, dear child," came his voice, gentle, yet full of authority in insistent command. "You have as much right to be here tonight as any other soul. We are all God's creatures. Now come with me girl. Sientese."

Stephen's gaze swept the crowd, and in the presence of his sterling reputation the whispers were quietened, if not silenced. His gentle smile upon her was enough to bolster her courage, and she took his arm and the protection offered by it gratefully. They paced down the aisle to meet the Captain again in the middle, and together, flanked by guardians both gentle and fierce, Mercedes took her place among the learned and the beautiful.

The orchestra had begun their tuning as Jack found their seats, well behind the front row, where Molly Harte and her companion for the evening, that goddamned son of a bitch, Colonel Pitt, were seated. Aubrey was so hipped this contentious moment he was hard pressed not to take up his gilt chair and beat the smirking cur down with it, though he restrained himself somehow. Perhaps it was the Mozart that distracted him, that and Stephen's entreaty for restraint with his pale blue eyes. Certainly Molly's nod of recognition behind her fluttering fan had something to do with his gentling, along with Mercy's nervous smile and trembling hand upon his.

He hoped to ease her fears when he whispered, "So many beautiful ladies in attendance, but here is the prettiest upon my arm. Ain't that right, Doctor?"

"Indeed," Stephen replied low with a nod and smiled benevolently. "Of course, joy, you are known as Lucky Jack."

Mercedes hushed them both and fell silent in reverent awe as the massive orchestra swelled to its great resounding volume, reverberating joyfully in the open space of the opulent ballroom. As the music reached its tempo, Jack's hand seemed to float of its own accord, directing the music just a beat behind the measure. Stephen looked as if he might like to strike him if Mercedes were not seated between them. Soon the maid's quiet hum could be heard, and the learned Doctor leaned to instruct the girl that such a thing simply was not done. She apologized quietly and took the Captain's hand in hers to still it. Jack smiled upon her lovingly, and together their feet tapped quietly in unison, if off beat.

The evening's program danced merrily from Mozart to Boccherini to Corelli, but seemed to bog down with Handel. Mercy scrunched her nose in disapproval, and Stephen nodded in agreement. "That piece was prodigious bottom-heavy, like it's keel was in need of scraping," Jack whispered much too loudly and was shushed by their neighbors. "Oh, pipe down," he muttered under his breath. But the director redeemed himself with a glowing Haydn in the end, and the orchestra finished their triumphant evening with a great resounding flourish. The crowd rose for a thundering ovation, though a trickle had begun to head for the doors. Jack urged his companions down the row and into the aisle.

"If we are lucky, we shall make our exit without notice," he spoke, but too soon.

Stephen shook his head in disbelief. When was Jack Aubrey ever lucky upon land?

"Captain Aubrey!" came the lilting voice of Molly Harte as they hailed the post chaise in the street before the portico of the Governor's House. She was a handsome woman who was neither pretty nor beautiful, but gave the allusion of being both with the way she held her head. But even her dulcet tones, reminiscent of ringing harp strings - an instrument she herself played with flair - could not conceal the obvious displeasure she was feeling. "Please don't tell me you would walk past and not introduce me to your…companion."

Jack winced before he turned. "Ah, Molly," he smiled unconvincingly. "There you are. How stunning you look tonight. Is that one of the new gowns from Paris delivered from the Starling?"

Aubrey admired the midnight blue affair and its transparent silk overlay, especially the way it dipped nearly low enough to display her soft pink nipples, while he concertedly ignored Colonel Pitt at her elbow. Of course, Jack needed no imagination to envision Molly's breasts. He knew exactly how they looked and felt, weighing heavy in his palms as he hefted, as well as their sweet perfume and taste. Aubrey sighed at the heat that coursed through his breeches at such a memory, but his pleasure was short-lived.

"You know perfectly well it is," Molly answered with an arch to her delicate brow as her eyes went over Mercedes in the ruby red gown. "Jack, your friend is…?"

Jack bowed deferentially and made his tone official. "Of course, Mrs. Harte, allow me to introduce Miss Mercedes Sala-Cortez. She is a friend…of the service. Her family has played an important role in naval intelligence, but you know that I can say no more."

"A friend of the service. Yes, so I have heard," she purred low with mock civility. "A friend who dispenses such affections from the bedchambers of the Crown, isn't that right?"

"The Crown, yes, yes!" Mercy perked up at the familiar name. "I make the beds," she sing-songed, flashing dark eyes and white teeth up to Jack as she gripped his arm and petted the embroidered sleeve of his blue coat. "And take care of Captain…"

"Is that so?" Molly's brow arched further.

Jack felt the heat of her accusing gaze upon him, as well as those of the concert patrons, the townspeople, and the drunken sailors who had stopped in the street to gawk. He cleared his throat and looked to Stephen for assistance. Maturin responded by covering his mouth conspicuously in a wide-opened yawn. Jack suddenly caught the contagion and feigned sleepiness.

"Ah, look at the time. It has been a long day, has it not, Stephen? Tediously long. I'm rightly fagged out. Shall we return to the Crown then?"

But Molly was not distracted. "And where would a chambermaid find the funds to purchase a gown such as Beauchamp's Ruby Surprise from Paris, especially fitted to her own measurements, I wonder, Captain Aubrey?"

"What is that?" he feigned innocence.

Stephen grimaced at his lack of conviction.

"I recognize it, of course. I have the page torn from the Paris newspaper upon my dressing table."

"Ah, could you not be mistaken, sweet?" Jack wondered without much hope.

"I am never mistaken when it comes to fashion, Captain," she insisted, tossing her head haughtily. Her tone became righteously indignant. "Oh, but it is not fitted to her measurements, is it Jack? It is far too long. Why it fairly drags in the mud." She stepped closer with each word until Jack felt her heated breath upon his face. He was trapped in the clutches of her heaving bosom as her blue eyes flashed with angry fire. "No, that is because the measurements the gown is fitted to…are mine!"

Jack stammered, bowed in submission and watched the captivated crowd cautiously, looking for some means of escape or rescue, though neither were to be found. "Molly, please, I assure you there must be some mistake - " but his words were cut off by the sound crack as Molly's hand connected with his flushed face. His ears rang at the blow, and before he could blink to clear his vision, Mercedes had gasped, squawked a bright, clear, and very foul curse of "Puta!" and struck her own blow, slapping Molly heartily across the mouth.

From there it was a blur, as if he'd been knocked on the head in the midst of a great and terrible sea-battle, for the women in their flowing skirts were very much like ships locked in combat, their sails billowed in the breeze. Jack could nearly hear the tearing roar and feel the concussion of cannon fire, smell powder on the breeze, though it was scented with perfume. The women's curses and shrieks were like the war cries of a boarding party, the blows and rending of hair like sails being torn asunder and masts falling upon the deck.

"It is my dress!" Molly screamed, ripping at the red fabric of the low-cut neckline. "Take it off this instant, you wretch!"

Mercy's claws dug in and held fast. "No, no! My dress, my gift!"

The women struggled on, slapping and shrieking at each other even as Colonel Pitt and gallant Mowett struggled to pull them apart. Drunken sailors cried and hooted for more, urging the combatants on, and traded bets on who would be the victor.

"Jack, tell her!" Molly demanded. "It is from my chests…from Paris! She has stolen it!"

Mercy cried out for defense, "Manyac, it is my present. You gave him to me! Digale!"

But unlike a sea-battle where he was unequivocally in his element and in command, Jack felt dizzy and rooted to the spot, unable to take action or move at all. He was helpless in the face of his clashing mistresses, like a homesick squeaker staring into a raging grey tempest stirring up white caps on the sea.

"So this is your doing! Tell her Jack," Molly ordered. "Tell your little wench what you've done!"

The women stared, panting in disbelief, as Aubrey stammered, his mouth open like a fish gasping and writhing in agony. "Mercy…" he begged, but hesitated, his deep voice faltering.

"Manyac?" she breathed, incredulous.

Jack watched realization dawn on the maid's pretty face. It was then that Mercedes struck her colors. Tearing at the laces of the gown, she stepped out of the voluminous skirts there in the middle of the crowded thoroughfare and threw the gown like a rag into Molly's face. Standing shamelessly before the gawking horde in her lacy unmentionables and heaving with rage, she tossed her head proudly and proclaimed, "I do not steal! I work very hard." Only when she turned her back on Molly Harte did her expression crumple into weeping.

Stephen's coat descended around Mercy's shoulders and covered her modestly. She obeyed without question when his voice at her ear insisted, "Come child. It is done."

Jack watched him lead her away from the hushed crowd and hand her into the waiting carriage. The driver's whip cracked, and he wished at once it was the lash at his back. He'd never felt so very low, being the cause of so much embarrassment and distress to two women he honestly cared for deeply. "Molly," he begged with outstretched hands. "You are right in it, it was all my doing. Forgive me…"

"The Admiral shall hear of this," she promised, then added angrily, "…as he is the only one in Mahon who has not seen it with his own eyes!" Molly tossed her head and turned away, cradling her ruined dress and crying, "What are you gawping at?" to the greedy throng as they parted for her.

Jack moved to follow her, but Colonel Pitt blocked his path.

Mowett shoved the soldier away before his hand could fall on Aubrey's shoulder where it aimed. "If you are looking for a scuffle this night, Colonel, it will be with me," Mowett warned. "Though I dare say we've had enough spectacle for one evening."

Pitt eyed the Lieutenant hotly for a minute, and must have found himself outmatched. "Indeed we have," he agreed with a slight bow, and turned to follow Mrs. Harte as the crowd began to disperse.

"Thank you, William," Jack spoke weakly. "Though I would welcome a sound thumping this night."

"You know better than I, Sir," William said, his eyes full of compassionate commiseration. "But I'll be a damned whoreson before it's at the hands of a fucking Army man."

Aubrey chuckled without mirth. "It will be at the hands of a chambermaid…unless of course I find my sea chest tossed from the Mermaid room's balcony."

"Let me accompany you," he began.

But Jack begged him off. "Thank you, William, no. I expect this needs to be a solitary voyage."

The shipmates shook hands. "Good luck, Sir," William nodded. "And Godspeed."

w

The voyage through the dark streets of Mahon was a solitary one, and solemn. Jack kept a measured pace, considering the dire consequences ahead of him for such a foolhardy act. He could be put in the stocks, or worse, court-martialed, lose his career and livelihood. To be drummed out of the service, the very idea chilled his blood. What reason might he have for existing outside the Royal Navy? Molly had been publicly humiliated. Certainly he would never know the pleasure of her company again, and who could surmise the limits of her wrath? He was already despised by the Admiral for making a cuckold of him, but Molly was a woman with uncommon social influence in Mahon and beyond. Still, it was only when Jack imagined Mercy's tears that he finally despaired. She had been called a thief, insulted, and made to humble herself on his account. The maid was poor but proud. What could he possibly say that might persuade her to forgive him? Jack unbuttoned his coat and picked up his pace. There was not a minute to lose.

Stephen considered administering Mercedes a tincture of laudanum to ease her suffering as she wept, her face buried in the soft feather bed pillows of the Mermaid room. The Doctor had foreseen these events but had been unable to stop them, like the regular progression of an incurable disease. He stroked the girl's hair affectionately as her shoulders shook with sobbing, but his thoughts were also with Jack and the dire consequences he hardly dared to imagine his particular friend might face in the wake of what could actually be considered a criminal offense, and at the very least a prodigious great faux pas. He breathed with relief when Aubrey appeared in the doorway, his blue coat cast away, waistcoat unbuttoned, and ruffled shirt opened to cool the skin heated from his long solitary march. Much of his yellow hair had escaped its queue, but Jack paid it no mind, only looked to Mercedes and grimaced at the sound of her weeping.

Rising from his seat on the bed, Stephen stopped and looked into Jack's forlorn blue eyes. "Never mind the maneuvers…" the Doctor offered under his breath.

Jack nodded silently in agreement and gratitude, and heard the latch of the door catch behind him. The bed shifted with his weight as he took Stephen's place, and the girl turned to face him, her eyes red and swollen.

"Mercy," he begged, reaching out to smooth the tears from her face. "I'm so very sorry. I never imagined it could go so badly."

"You took her dress? Gave him to me?" she asked, searching his eyes with hope that it had been a misunderstanding.

Jack nodded simply and waited for the sound crack of her hand slapping his face, but it did not come. Instead, she moved to hide her eyes in her hands as she wept, but he wouldn't allow it. Pulling her hands away, he held them down gently on either side of the white pillow. "You've done nothing wrong, Mercy. It is not your fault."

Her expression was despondent and fearful. "I hit the rich lady. They will put me in jail."

He shook his head vigorously, tossing his golden locks into his eyes. "It was all my doing, sweetheart. I will bear full responsibility. Upon my honor, I won't let anyone hurt you, I promise," and then winced at the hollow oath. What honor did he have left to swear by?

But in the same moment, his heart was at war. Didn't he as Captain have latitude with the rules in order to find justice and make a happy ship? What were laws without judgment? Didn't he sometimes divide prizes before recording them officially to save his men the prolonged frustration and unbearable injustice of the Admiralty's often shabby decisions? Of course on this latest voyage he had also broken his most sacred rule, no women on board, and found a joyful exception in Mercedes. Jack sighed deeply, and sought his words carefully.

"It ain't fair that some are born to wealth and privilege while others go without, no matter how good their hearts, but that is the way of it, isn't it pudding? I know you've never had any illusions, Mercy, always so practical. But this time, it just didn't answer. I thought you deserved better, and I hoped to make it so. I played the pirate and now I must pay the consequences."

Mercedes listened intently and considered for the first time how dire the situation could be for her Captain.

"The dress, this night…in the end it was not meant to be, just like you and I…are not meant to be. It don't stop me from wanting you Mercy, for as many days as we might steal together. I could lose my career for such a damned fool mistake. Please tell me I will not also lose you."

She considered his words carefully, but really it was his eyes that spoke so eloquently, telling her the true depth of his feelings, and her heart melted. Mercy's curls tossed as she shook her head, breathed, "No, no," and caught him around the neck to pull him down into her welcoming kiss.

Jack's heart bloomed, and he devoured her greedily, savoring each stroke of her plump lips and tongue over his own. He allowed relief to wash over him, and to forget the troubles that might come with the dawn. Here, tonight, the world was just, and his heart was full.

Petting the girl's pretty face in his hand, he beamed with joy. "That was a close action, pudding. I've never seen the like. I would put you in command of a boarding party easy as kiss my hand." His blue eyes raked down over her body as she lay in the bed, clad only in her small clothes, breasts nearly spilling from the cinched waist of her laced corset. "God's teeth, Mercy, the very sight of you, dropping sail like that in front of everyone, bosom heaving, your pretty hair all ahoo…how it fired me!" Nuzzling into her throat, Jack kissed his way up and nipped at the lobe of her ear, growling possessively as she giggled. "Show me the hellcat again, Mercy dear." He grinned piratically and whispered his heart's desire low and husky. "Strike me."

Mercy gasped and refused, her curls tossing on the pillow furiously, but he endeavored to convince her. "Come now, sweetheart, just once. I more than deserve it."

She arched a brow at that and nodded, remembering her embarrassment in front of the gawking crowd. With a little scowl, she reached up and tapped his cheek with her open hand.

"Not good enough!" he commanded suddenly, his blue eyes flashing. "Harder, pudding, the way you slapped Molly. With feeling. Sforzando!"

Startled, she hauled back and slapped his face with a resounding crack.

Jack's ears rang at the blow, and he shivered with the delicious sensation. "Oh Mercy," he purred salaciously. "That is just the thing."

Her eyes went wide as she watched him pounce like some great cat, then snapped shut in pleasure at the sensation of his lips and teeth on her throat, his hands mauling her breasts. She moaned, and began tearing the shirttails from his breeches, suddenly ravenous for the sensation of his skin against hers. Jack was hungry for the same feast, and quickly relieved her of her small clothes, his needful mouth seeking out her peaked nipples and suckling heartily while his fingers quested between the petals of her sex, finding her slick with need. Her thighs parted and beckoned him inside, and he was overwhelmed with the perfume of her desire, his rampant cock suddenly so eager to feel her heat that his knees trembled and his hands shook as he threw off his boots and breeches and fell upon her greedily.

After sharing the meager space of the Captain's cot aboard the Starling, the large bed of the Mermaid room dressed with its clean white sheets seemed an endless stretch of billowing canvas. Mercy gasped as he took her, hard and fast, and clapped on desperately, wrapping his hard flexing body in her arms and legs. Jack grunted with each sharp thrust, and propelled their clasped flesh from one side of the bed to the other like a ship tacking in heavy wind. When they neared the head of the bed, Jack guided her flailing hands to the headboard. "Clap on, Mercy. Hold fast!" he cried. As she clung for purchase, the heavy oaken bed clattered in a steady rhythm against the wall, and nearly threatened to give way. If the catfight between Mercy and Molly had been a great sea-battle, then the engagement in the Mermaid room this night was the action to end the war.

It was fortunate that Mercy was a hearty girl weighing a generous ten stone. A lesser woman might have been crushed by Jack's amorous advance. Even so, the breath was nearly driven from her body by his steady onslaught, though she cried out in delight as each stroke brought her closer to completion.

At the cry that heralded Mercy's great thundering coming, Jack laughed in triumph and slowed his barrage, but only to maneuver her around the spacious bed to his liking. "Ha ha, that's good, I want more," he growled to her. "Heave to, girl. Handsomely now. Clap on."

Mercy knelt up facing the headboard at his order and proffered her backside wantonly, her generous bosom heaving for breath. Jack admired the girl's fortitude, still wracked with the throes of her release, yet desiring more. 'Such animal spirits!' he applauded with what part of his mind was not at this moment lodged in his great thick importunate prick, though of course the greedy scrub was in command, throbbing needfully between his legs, but hoping to draw out the inevitable for a resounding finish like the orchestra at tonight's performance. Finding her center, he thrust home and unleashed his second wave of attack, moaning sweetly with the pleasurable sensation of her writhing flesh closing over and consuming him like diving into a hot tropical sea.

Aubrey whipped his golden hair around to loose the wet locks from his forehead. Drops of sweat fell to cool Mercy's flesh, and she shivered with delight as she felt his moisture trickle down her back in rivulets with her own. His hips surged on, grinding against her soft plump backside and plumbing the depths of her core. She gasped and groaned and mewled as his callused hands closed over her breasts and talented fingers played upon her nipples, plucking with precision. Her thighs trembled, and she moaned with impending release. Feeling the moment upon them, Jack spread a bit more canvas and picked up the pace until Mercy could barely withstand the punishment of his pounding hips. He braced his arms against the solid oak headboard to steady them as it clattered, and in a moment that seemed at once to hang suspended and yet race forward with unstoppable momentum, they cried out as one in simultaneous surrender as pleasure pulsed and shuddered and wracked the very timbers of the Crown.

Still clasped together as one flesh, Jack and Mercy slipped down the headboard as if sliding down the ratlines from the tops, and found a welcome landing in the great expanse of feather bed, infinitely soft. Drawing protective arms around her, Jack wrapped his body around her heated flesh and cuddled close to his precious little dear. "Mercy, the dress…I would do anything to make it up to you. Name your price, girl."

Mercedes turned in his embrace and fluffed her pillow, then positioned his yellow head to be cradled between her breasts. "You came to me instead of her tonight, manyac," she whispered jealously. "I have all I want, my pretty Captain."

A smile bloomed upon her face when she heard his delighted purr of contentment muffled in her ample bosom.

In the parlor of the Mermaid room, Stephen settled into the deep upholstered wingchair by the open window and administered to himself the laudanum he had prepared for Mercedes, assured that if his particular friend had not indeed killed the girl with his riotous amorous attention this night, she would assuredly not need it to sleep. He on the other hand would be hard pressed to find rest any other way, especially when the great shocking hullabaloo of lovemaking began again, as he had no doubt that it would at the turn of the glass.

w

The door of the Mermaid room was rattled with a heavy knocking, as the loud hail reached through solid oak: "Captain Aubrey, there. Hey, ho!" As Stephen swam up from the haze of laudanum-induced sleep, he recognized the familiar voice of Tom Pullings. But by the time he could stumble to the door and open it, Jack had appeared in the bedroom doorway, tugging on his breeches. The Lieutenant was flanked by Barrett Bonden and Preserved Killick, grave concern shadowing their faces.

"Tom, what's on then?" Jack asked.

The men touched their foreheads in salute and Pullings stepped just inside the door. "I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad tidings, Sir. Admiral Harte is calling for your presence at the Governor's House at once."

"Which he wants 'is head on a spit, more like," Killick added.

"God's blood," Aubrey swore.

Bonden stepped forward and spoke low. "I've got a barge hired at the wharf, Sir. Say the word and we'll have ten strong hands to pull you out into the lane…"

Jack smiled at the thought, warmed by his mens' loyalty, but dismissed the idea as fancy. He would never run from duty, even if it was his last. "Thank you, Barrett. But I suppose I should see what the son of a bitch wants first, eh?"

Mercy appeared in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in a sheet. The men bowed their heads with, "Miss Mercy," and averted their eyes.

"Manyac?" she wondered, concern etched in her face.

Jack closed himself away with her and tried to ease her fears, though it was a close action, at war with his own nerves. Shaved red and dressed in his number one uniform, Aubrey leaned close to Maturin as he lingered at the door, his face grave. "Brother, if it goes bad, I will count on you to look after her. I mean, if they send a brute squad, you'll spirit her away to Ciudadela, or some such safe port, eh?"

Stephen's eyes were cold and hard, sobered with the tension and ready for clandestine action. He nodded with a grunt. "Indeed, brother. Let us pray it does not come to that."

w

Jack bid farewell to Pullings, Bonden and Killick at the portico of the Governor's House and sallied forth alone. He was shown inside at once, and hurried by a uniformed secretary down the long polished hallways of the house. Jack knew his way of course, being familiar with the house and most of their rooms, as he had made love to Molly in nearly each of them at one time or another. Passing by the music room, Jack paused to find Molly attended by Colonel Pitt and a strapping and golden young Midshipman he thought he recognized somehow. It came to him in a flash. 'God's Blood, it is Heneage's nephew! The boy is barely eighteen and she's already got her claws in him.'

She nodded with, "Good day, Captain Aubrey," but did not rise.

He responded politely, "Mrs. Harte," but did not stop.

The secretary closed the door soundly behind Jack, and suddenly the great sunny room with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the harbor felt claustrophobic. The dark little man behind the desk was stooped over his papers, beady eyes magnified by schoolmarm-like spectacles upon his long and thin nose. Admiral Harte had always reminded Jack of a shipboard rat, without so much hair. A great upswell of pity for Molly suddenly filled his breast, as well as the dread he felt in the almost godlike authority of a superior officer who was no seaman. Jack removed his hat and moved to sit, though Harte stopped him.

"Don't bother, Aubrey," he said in a sickly nasal tone. "This will not take long."

But of course it did. Jack stood with knees locked at attention as the old windbag prattled on endlessly, recounting the story of the evening's events as he had heard it from several witnesses, Navy men and civilians alike. The circling exposition was meant to berate him and draw out his torment, and did so, especially as his own imagination formed worse punishments that this little man would ever have the fortitude to enact upon him.

In the end, the heart of the matter was this: the Admiral wanted to bring Jack up on criminal charges for theft and force him to face the court-martial board again, but Mrs. Harte would not allow it. It was a personal matter, not Navy business. To see Aubrey in the stocks in the town square, she insisted, would merely draw out her humiliation and remind the town of her great embarrassment. She wanted the matter dropped and forgotten.

Finally, the sentence was handed down. "Your half-pay shall be docked until full reparation is made on the gown."

"Very good Sir," Jack assented with a snapping nod, "But forgive me my impertinence…the gown has been returned."

"Stop your blithering, Aubrey. You have robbed a lady of her great opportunity for the dramatic entrance. Another woman has been seen in the gown and it can never be worn again. Such female nonsense is only bested by your own prodigious example of dunderheadedness. You are dismissed," Harte ordered, then added. "Whom you choose to carouse with while off duty is your business, but such behavior is beneath even you, Aubrey. Why the very thought of it, bringing a personage of questionable morals to a genteel gathering where ladies are present..."

Jack clamped his mouth shut with pursed lips as old Harte prattled on, barely able to restrain himself from spitting some retort about how the Admiral knew very well that his own wife's morals were more than questionable.

"…appearing in public - in the polite company of your betters - with a common strumpet!"

Jack's face flushed red with rage. With slow deliberation, he put the scraper atop his yellow head and tugged it into place, breathing deeply before he allowed himself to speak. When he did so it was with a clipped and official tone: "Admiral Harte, I profoundly agree with your right to say what you like about me, as it is absolutely your place to do so. I take full responsibility for my actions and will gladly make all reparations to you and to Mrs. Harte. But as for my friend…I do not take kindly to hearing her disparaged, and I consider it a personal affront." His voice was measured and deliberate as he stared the little man down. "I will have you know, Sir, that Miss Mercedes is a most uncommon strumpet! Good day!"

Jack turned with military precision and let himself out of the room, slamming the door to punctuate his exit. He strode down the hall, his eyes focused on his destination and escape when Molly Harte's dulcet tones caught him down the hall.

"Captain Aubrey, there you are."

Jack's determination was so great, he nearly passed her by, but when she called again with, "Jack, stop!" he halted to peer into the music room and labored to contain his fury. He was surprised to find her standing in the well-appointed room alone with her harp. "Your visitors have abandoned you, Molly," he said. "I hope it was not on my account."

Molly had the good manners to look ashamed. "I sent them away, Jack. I could hardly force you to endure the added embarrassment of their presence while you were so cruelly upbraided."

Jack's expression gentled at her kindness, and he removed his hat, tucking it beneath his arm. "I thankee for that, Molly dear." He paced carefully closer. "And for all your influence with the Admiral. I hope you know how truly sorry I am for last night's…unfortunate business. I have used you cruelly and deserve a much harsher sentence than has been handed me. Please do not blame Miss Mercy, she had no knowledge of my actions and only hoped to defend me. The fault is entirely mine." He dropped his eyes in heartfelt shame. "I am a scrub."

Molly regarded him coolly, and tipped his cleft chin to raise his eyes to hers. "So honorable," she purred in admiration, and touched the white ruffle of his shirt. Her eyes shifted down the hall. "Something that little man in there knows precious little of. But come, my love. You look as if you would be flogged around the fleet. Take a glass of Madeira with me and console me of my loneliness. I hate to drink alone."

Jack sighed wearily. When he inspected Molly more closely, he noted that her cheeks were flushed and she was in wine, but then he'd always known that music was not her only consolation for an unhappy marriage. He felt surge of compassion for her, even pity, though at the moment he had precious little energy to give her. "Molly, forgive me," he begged. "But I'm feeling so very low just now. I have barely avoided the stocks, I have no ship, and as we speak my people are being carried off to the four winds. I am hardly in a mood to be pleasant company for you." He nodded hopefully and tried to smile. "Perhaps another time…"

"My poor Jack," she simpered so prettily and brushed back a long golden lock of hair that had escaped his queue. "I know this day must seem very dark, so let me be the bearer of good tidings. You have one feather in your cap, Lucky Jack Aubrey. Indeed, you've accomplished a task that precious few men have carried off."

She arched a brow mysteriously and turned to pace deeper into the music room inviting him to follow. Jack was hard pressed not to be drawn in, and he stepped inside only just past the open doorway, captivated with curiosity. Molly was often in a position to know of commands becoming available before they were made public. He dared to hope for a commission that might take him far and away into prize-filled waters. "And that is?"

"Honorable and humble," she purred. "Guileless as well. Can you truly not know, Jack?"

He shook his head, mystified at her meaning. "I don't smoke it."

Molly's pace was measured as she stepped across the room, closer and closer, until her bosom was pressed to his broad chest, her eyes burning with passionate fire. Jack licked his lips unconsciously and he swallowed nervously, his eyes stealing to her generous cleavage.

She chuckled in early triumph. "Why, you've made me jealous, Jack. La! There, I've said it. You've seen my hand. Now I am entirely exposed…at your mercy."

Jack's bemused expression told her that no idea what she meant, until it dawned on him: Mercedes. "Ah," he breathed noncommittally in answer, and attempted to hide the smile that stole across his lips without success. He had hoped to see a spark of jealousy in those blue eyes with their thick fluttering lashes. "Jealous? Bah! I should think you were too much engaged with the Colonel to notice. What is his name again?"

She brightened at his proud grin. "Ah, there, now you see," she whispered with heavy breath. "My brave, strong Jack. You know your power over me. But now you must give me quarter, Captain. Tell me you missed me."

Jack smiled and arched a brow mysteriously, playing the cad.

"Come now," she said, becoming even more brazen in her delight of his game. "You cannot tell me you never once thought of me on your little cruise to Gibraltar. Perhaps even a dream?

Jack's eyes darted down the hall. "Molly, your husband," he whispered in concern.

"Fie, Jack, I found your gift…the chemise…"

Aubrey's head snapped up in surprise with wide eyes, registering recognition. Molly chuckled knowingly. His open, honest face gave him away every time.

"Oh yes, I found it. And believe me, my love, I am heartily touched." She pressed her bosom closer as her voice dropped to a throaty whisper. "By the dear, I can just envision you Jack: rampant…impassioned…so very big. Oh, such a figure you do cut!"

As her blue eyes moved down his body, he could nearly feel her raking touch. Aubrey swallowed and shivered as she leaned close and the warmth of her breath caressed his ear. His pulse throbbed in his head and he gasped when her tongue stretched out to lap his ear.

"Such a gesture is the very heart of devotion, in spirit if not in body… even with your little Minorcan tart aboard."

Jack stiffened at the barb, his brow instantly set hard in disapproval.

"Oh don't pretend to be offended," she pouted. "I am the injured party here, and I have been so very generous of heart. Now won't you join me in the dove house, my love? The little man will be off to the Admiralty all afternoon…we must lose not a minute…"

Though his importunate prick protested, his honor and Mercy's required him to answer, "Thank you, Molly, but I am obliged to say no. I'm afraid I have…a previous engagement."

Mercedes was no whore, and neither was he. Setting his scraper back on his head athwart ships in the old style, Jack Aubrey turned his back on Molly Harte and moved down the hall with measured steps.

"A previous engagement?" she called after him in disbelief. "Jack, are you serious?"

"Indeed," he turned to reply and bowed respectfully. "And I'm sure you shall not be alone for long. Good day, Mrs. Harte."

Jack marched down the hallway, his back ramrod straight. He did not turn again when he heard her call after him in a sickly sweet tone: "Captain Aubrey, be a dear and send Colonel Pitt inside when you pass him at the portico, will you?"

He did not dignify the request with an answer.

If he had found Pitt at the entrance to the Governor's House, he would have thumped the bastard simply for the release of his high-strung nerves. The scrub was wise in his absence at this moment, but not for long. Jack made the long solitary march back to the Crown and was astonished and dismayed to find the son of a whore calling upon Mercedes with a meager bouquet of flowers. Indeed, he was not the only one. The dining room of the Crown seemed to be full of attentive suitors, running the maid ragged with demands for her attention and breakfast.

"What is this, Stephen?" he gasped, amazed. "I thought you promised to keep the girl out of sight for her protection?"

Maturin sipped his good coffee and smiled slyly. "There are times, joy, when the best place to conceal oneself is in plain sight. Your superior sent no brute squad, but a crowd appeared nonetheless - a small army of paramours, by the dear. It appears that the strapping young gentlemen of Mahon are abuzz with the news of the beauteous chambermaid from the Crown who dared to take on Molly Harte. I considered sending them away, but thought better of it. It stands to reason that these noble romantic souls would relish nothing more than the opportunity to best one another in dear Mercedes' defense should the need arise. It would be the perfect cover for our escape."

Jack smiled as he smoked it, and wagged a pointing finger. "You are a fox, Stephen, by God. A wily Odysseus in your own right!"

Stephen raised his cup in grateful salute. "And what is your sentence, joy? Not too harsh I hope."

Jack sighed with relief. "I avoided the stocks, brother, but it was a close action. Hellfire close. Even closer when Molly got her claws into me afterwards. My half-pay will be docked until the cost of the dress is recovered. But I am glad to do it. It could have been infinitely worse."

Stephen stood and shook the hand of his particular friend. "I give you joy."

"Thankee, Stephen," he nodded gratefully. "And you are relieved of your duty. Now I shall have my pudding."

Jack strode calmly to the table where Colonel Pitt was seated, though he did not mark his approach. The soldier's attention was much too distracted with Mercedes as she flitted from table to table, serving the hungry throng. Placing his hands squarely on the Pitt's broad shoulders, Jack lifted him bodily from his chair and held him captive as he spoke close to his ear. "Molly Harte has whistled for you, Pitt. Take your posies and go to your mistress like a well-trained dog. She'll be in the dove house." Pitt's feet barely touched the polished floor of the dining room as Jack hustled him to the door. "Please her well, or I shall hear of it. And if I see you here at the Crown again, I promise you I shall beat you within an inch of your meaningless life, you goddamned dirty scrub!"

The Colonel yelped as Jack tossed him into the street and gave him a solid boot in the arse to speed him on his way. Jack straightened his coat and brushed at his lapels, then proceeded to stride back into the dining room and stop Mercedes in her tracks. He took the heated plates from her hands and set them down at the nearest table.

"Come, pudding. I am hellfire sharp set, and in need of your undivided attention. Let these good gentleman find their own breakfast. You shall be mine."

Mercy shrieked with screeching giggles as Jack lifted her effortlessly and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of flour, then hauled her up the great oaken stairway to the Mermaid room, where the slamming of the solid door sealed them away from the world. Dropping her into the unmade bed with a bounce, Jack sat beside her and removed his scraper and coat while she worked to loosen his neck cloth.

"You will not be hung?" Mercy wondered with wide eyes.

"Not hung, sweetheart. Not even flogged," he grinned. "But I must pay for a dress you can never wear. I am a pitiful shipless scrub on docked half-pay, marooned here with you for God knows how long."

Mercy hugged him around the neck and drew him back into the soft refuge of the bed. She watched as his eye was drawn to the deep cleft of her bosom, and giggled as he nuzzled there like a contented cat.

"Not so bad, not so bad," she cooed.

"You are right in it, pudding. After such a great calamitous hullabaloo, we have both come off rather well. You got to see the orchestra, a two-week cruise, and a new pair of earrings, even if they were bought with borrowed money. And I have a career and you, my dear. All a man could need." He looked up into Mercy's smiling face, and his blue eyes closed into slits as he giggled at his impending witticism. She tittered along in anticipation of the joke, though it was barely heard in his breathless delivery: "Yes, we have come off well. After all, your sister only got a monkey."