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Disclaimer:No rights infringement intended
Warning: Mature Adults only

 

THE PLOT THICKENS

by

Susanne L. Lambdin

 

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~ The Plot Thickens ~

A full moon illuminated the bay of Gibraltar with a golden luster. The lights of the town appeared like jewels in the dark sky, reflected on the water like a million diamonds. Under the shadow of the enormous rock on which the British maintained a fort, allowing them to dominate the entrance to the Mediterranean at the mouth of the Atlantic and keep a vigilant watch on the northern coast of Africa, were eight English vessels, were eight anchored vessels. Ranked from the second through the fifth class, Captain Charles Foster's famous HMS Majestic dominated the others. His second class frigate was painted black and yellow, with three levels of cannon that numbered 84 in all, with a five hundred and fifty officers and crew on board. On her port side of the Majestic could be seen the HMS Indefatigable, Sir Edward Pellew in command, and Captain Black Charlie Hammond's frigate, the Courageous.

The captains and first officers of each ship were on board the Majestic for dinner. Commodore Foster personally entertained his distinguished guests from his perch at the end of a long table. He was provided a view of Captain Pellew seated at the opposite end. His friend, Pellew, looked more than a little vexed, which he imagined was due to the drunken state of the guests. However, one guest had yet to arrive and Foster could not help but think it was the tardiness of Captain Preston which caused his friend to glower so. Yet again, he thought, Pellew was such a moody bastard, that it might have been a dozen different things that made him seem so unhappy.

"What is on your mind, if you please, Sir Edward?" Foster leaned back in his chair, causing it to creak, and eye-balled Pellew across the table. "Will you not join in our conversation? At least agree with me and tell Hammond that he is no more a judge of character than any female, for we all know and can agree that women are fickle. Anyone who states that the Americans make finer ships than the English and then changes his mind simply based on a report coming back from Captain Preston that confirms this very thing, is not only fickle, but a damn fool!"

"I am not fickle," snarled Hammond. "And I said the Americans built a fine ship in the USS Constitution, but this was before I heard that her captain was a man named Decatur who its said will soon enough end up sending her to the bottom of the Atlantic. It's her commander not the vessel that I'm objecting to, sir. Not to mention your tone."

"Very well," Foster shouted back. "You are not fickle. However, you have changed your mind after your point was been confirmed. The very ship and captain you denounce did a find job in sending our ships to the bottom of the sea during this last year. So, why don't you explain why you always change your mind at the last second, Hammond? Maybe they should call you `Last Second Hammond', for it suits you right royally!"

"I'll not talk to your further, you impudent fox-eared devil! Pellew, warn this imp of my displeasure, sir, before I demand my second to address him in the morning!"

"I'm sure the Americans are perfectly able to build a vessel of quality," said Captain Pellew, doing nothing to aid Hammond. "Captain Decatur fought well against us and I see no reason to cast aspersions upon his honorable character simply because he is American. You seem to forget who send the British Fleet back home, with over 800 of her vessels taken in battle. A very expensive war and one we should remember not to repeat. The Americans make very fine ships, and their captains are a hearty stock, the likes we've never encountered before."

"Figures you'd come back with an cheeky remark like that, Pellew," growled Hammond. "We all know you're bitter because you weren't assigned to the North Atlantic like most of us here. Hell, Gantry lost the Java in a two hour duel off of Brazil, but you don't see him glamorizing the Americans victory."

Captain Gantry flustered and dropped his head. Pellew merely received the information with indifference. He'd remained to protect England while those gathered in his company had continued to fight against the Americans for dominion of the seas. Had he been in the North Atlantic, he felt quite confident that the Americans would not have found him so easy to defeat.

"I have been busy fighting the French while Gantry has spent an immeasurably amount of time during the last year embroiled in two court martials for losing the same ship twice, one to the Spanish, and this last time to the Americans," said Pellew. "How very careless, I should think. A frigate is not a hat to toss aside and forget, William. I'm surprise at your, sir."

"It wasn't my fault," muttered William Gantry.

Hammond took offense though it was Gantry who was shamed. "Sir, I'll not have you talk to my friend in that fashion. Gantry is a very capable captain. The Java is cursed."

"Pipe down," snapped Foster, coming to his dear friend Pellew's aid with the tenacity of a rat terrier. "You're not offended, Charlie. Don't act like a purser and start listing battles fought and won like you're taking bloody inventory. And don't act like your Gantry's bloody champion."

"I don't even like Gantry," said Hammond, only growing embarrassed after he'd set it and met the humiliated captain's eyes. He bristled and sat up straighter.

"Captain Preston was one of the few victorious captains in the engagement against the Americans," said Foster, his Scottish temper turning his tongue into a whip. "Gantry did little enough to teach the Americans humility and barely avoided a court martial himself. Yet, you single out Captain Preston and lambast him because he didn't send the USS Constitution to her grave, when you know very well, Charlie, that he fought her twice and each time it was a draw. Preston is a gallant captain, and it's only out of luck that the Constitution didn't fall into his hands. And he's is a finer officer than Decatur. On that, I will agree with you. Preston could have done much with a brand new ship."

"Fine then. I'll agree to that," said Hammond. "So, do you mind telling us where he's been, when the rest of us have been back from America for over three months?"

Foster sighed heavily. "Surely, since you have taken leave of your senses. The Admiralty sends Preston where he is best needed. He'll be here soon enough."

"Not soon enough for me," said Hammond.

"At least he knows where is going," Foster returned, firing off a verbal dart, "unlike you. Sailing by the stars, when you have a compass and can navigate without relying on the North Star. You were lost seven days at sea, Charlie. The fleet sailed home and you were caught tangled in your own anchor off of Chesapeake Bay."

"I'll navigate the way I chose, sir. Don't lecture me how to sail my ship. And don't bring up accusations that you nothing on regarding the source. I was not lost. I was delayed."

"As is the case with Captain Preston," said Pellew, setting his glass aside with a sigh. He scooted back his chair, intent on leaving. He motioned at Lt. Bracegrytle to rise with him, but Foster would not hear of it. The captain of the Majestic slammed his fist on the table, upsetting his own wine glass and causing Hammond to guffaw loudly. Pellew lifted an eyebrow, scrutinizing Foster as he rose from the table. "Was there more to any of this?"

"Come now, Edward. Don't leave because you're vexed at either Charlie or me. I hold nothing personal from anything said in this room, nor should you." Foster up righted his glass. He turned to his lumbering first officer and nearly snapped his head off. "Well, what are you waiting for, Lt. MacGregor? Clear out with the rest of the baggage and see that these flutter backs are returned to their ships. The captains and I shall stay and have another bottle of wine. You and the other officers are dismissed."

"I'd rather return to my ship," replied Pellew. "It is late, gentlemen. I have much to do before retiring to bed."

"What? You going back to read a good book?" Asked Hammond, smirking. "You should see his cabin. Filled with books."

Foster waved Hammond silent. He eyed Pellew sternly.

"You'll sit down, Edward, or I'll lose my good humor and resort to beating you into submission." Foster laughed and leaned over to whack Hammond in the arm. "What good are you, if you can't convince Sir Edward to stay for a game of cards, I'd like to know. Lord, fickle as a female, that's what you are, Hammond. And I'm likely to mention it to others, unless you can convince Pellew to drop anchor and haul his arse into the nearest chair?"

The four other captains in Foster's quarters chuckled at this, causing Pellew to smile thinly and resume his seat. Pellew refused any more wine or to smoke a cigar. He said nothing as Foster and Hammond commenced to monopolize the conversation, quarreling about inconsequential matters, until finally, Gantry commenced to defame Captain Preston's character. All at once, Pellew sat upright and folding his hands upon his lap, peered at the Gentry, hiding his anger easily, while the other raged about the outlandish conduct of his apparent greatest rival.

"You want to know where Captain Preston has been of late? Well, I can supply that information, gentlemen," said Gantry, his face turning as red as the color of his hair. Not more than eight months on board the 64 gun, Nelson's own ship mind you, and remember Preston never before had a command in his life, yet the Admiralty puts him in charge of clearing out the French remaining on the north African coast. And just as bold as Nelson himself, this young pup sails into a Moroccan harbor and puts to the flame a half dozen French ships, going down them in a row, blasting his cannons all the way. Conceited bastard that he is, Preston lured five French corvettes into following him. And what do you think he does?"

Hammond glanced at Pellew, then Foster and his fellow captains, started laughing and managed to say, "Pounded the bloody hell out of them, that's what he did. I'll admit that Preston is a fine officer. Fearless, I tell you."

"Let him come up against me and then we'll see how fine an officer you think he is," replied Gantry.

Hammond fell silent, not liking the red haired officer anymore than any one else in the room. "Bite your envious tongue, William. You had only a 34 gun ship with the Java. You got another one with the Pompeii. I bet it rankles your nerves to know the Admiralty advanced `Broadside Preston' so quickly and gave him a third rate frigate over you. She's old but he's done much with her. He's not lost a fight yet."

Foster cleared his throat, not wanting the situation to come to blows. "I believe the officer you are complaining about, Gantry, sent all two corvettes to the bottom and captured three others. You condemn Captain Preston for being reckless and for following his instincts instead of orders. I've heard it from you before, William, and I'm sure I'll hear it again. Why, you're practically busting at the gills with envy, man."

"Preston seems to have gotten under your skin," laughed Hammond. "You know the Cardinal of Canterbury is his older brother, of course?" He filled up the glasses around him. "Gantry, that means God is on his side. Preston went up against five sleek, fast-moving corsairs in a big tub as ancient as Cleopatra's barge and lived. He has the heart of a lion." He winked over at Pellew. "You know Gantry's only chaffed because Preston got the better of him in a duel."

"You've kept this quiet, Charlie. That's not like you. This I must hear," said Foster. He caught Pellew yawning behind a raised kerchief and met his vapid gaze. "Don't you like our topic of conversation, Sir Edward? I'd hate to think that I was causing your obvious boredom?"

"I assure you, Charles, I am listening. But an officer can only take so much bilge before the ship must be plunged. If the three of you are unable to maintain some orderly conduct of conversation, relying on insults and slander to give you reason to parley further, then let it be. I am going to bed."

"Not yet, Pellew. Not when you look as aggravated as Captain Gentry, which is to say, you both look like sea snails swam up your arses." Foster realized he'd gone too far when Pellew gave him a stern look that would have shriveled the confidence of a lesser man. Gantry merely cowered, insufferable coward that he was, hanging on for years to Preston's coattails, holding him back from command. Yet, everyone in the Admiralty had been aware it was Preston who controlled Gantry. He hadn't expected Preston to hold such dominion over a man of like Pellew.

"Oh, come now, Edward. You know I meant nothing by it." Foster spoke as sincerely as he could, trying to make amends. "Gantry is taking it well. Why can't you?"

"Gantry has no room to talk," said Hammond, switching sides and coming to Pellew's aide as quickly as he'd come to Gantry's. "You are his superior. As am I, and Pellew." He stood up, joining Pellew. The rest followed. Hammond thrust out his hand to shake Pellew's. "Let's part friends and turn in, lads. I am old and tired. It's for men like Preston to seize the day."

Pellew took his hand and shook it as hard as the other, while his elder gushed.

"You're a gentleman, Captain Pellew. They'll always remember you for that."

"Well," said Pellew, "good thing I have you to point this out, Charlie." He cranked his head up a notch, feeling an insufferable anger boiling in his gut. "I am relieved to know that some of us might yet retain some shred of dignity and maintain a chivalrous attitude towards one another. Gentlemen, you will excuse me. Duty calls me elsewhere. Good night."

Foster stood up, the last to do so, the only man offended in the room. "I can understand if Gantry wants to leave. In fact, I find your face a bit repellant, William. Why don't you shove off? Hmm? You're not needed here. You have your orders. Be off with you."

Captain Charles Foster glared at the man until Gantry had no choice but to pick up his hat and leave the room. Hammond laughed heartily as did the other captains remaining.

"Now that, that rotten apple is gone, I'd like you to read something, Pellew." Foster reached into his coat pocket and dropped a note onto the table. "Well, pick it up, man. It's from the Admiralty."

"I'm sure, Commodore Foster, that you would prefer to announce our orders."

"You're disinterest is perverse, Sir Edward. I'll do it myself then."

Foster broke open the royal seal and scanned the official looking letter in his hand. He muttered and rolled his eyebrows until he saw what he wanted, "Ah, right here. A convoy of seven of His Majesty's ships will be sent to head off a French blockade near Calais. You'll have action soon enough, Pellew. The Agamemnon will be joining us, it seems."

Hammond rolled his eyes. "Is that all, Charles? What about the French? How many ships are we going to encounter? Calais has a fort. If the French want to run a blockade and stop are supply ships, it's the fort that needs to fall first. This is your show. Will you sent Preston in, cannons blazing, or do you have another tactic in mind? Nelson always did the unpredictable."

"When in doubt, Hammond, refer to the officer's manual," replied Edward, flatly.

"I'd rather not spend my time reading a bunch of damn signal flags to find out what is going on after the battle has started," growled the large captain, name Black Hammond because of his legendary temper on and off the field of battle, "Pellew, you always plays by the rules."

"Unlike Broadside Preston, who only plays by the rules when they suit him," added Foster, grinning smugly. "He takes after me. And why not? I'm the one who saved that boy from his father when he was but a midshipman and turned him into the fine naval officer that you see today."

"Is that so?" Asked Hammond, narrowing his eyes as he tried to access this information in his brain. He nodded, a finger to his nose. "I seem to recall hearing this. But I hadn't realized you had taken such a fancy to our find Mr. Preston. There is certainly no love lost between Preston and Gantry. You'd do well to keep their ships apart, Foster. You might find them in a fighting it out when they should be firing on the French."

"We'll discuss all this in the morning," said Foster. "When we're all clear headed." He waved a servant off holding a wine bottle. "I think that's it this evening, gentlemen. I'd like a private word with, Pellew. So, I bid you ado and good-night." He looked away, glowering, as the captains rose and filed out of the room, leaving him alone with Pellew. "You can sit and glare at me all you like, Edward. I thought you'd be more enthusiastic. It took the pulling of a great many number of strings to get Preston back in these waters. He's a good officer. He has the sort of ballast and bravery combined to make him a very able admiral. Will you be annoyed if he reaches the rank before you? Because at this rate, Edward, that's exactly what will happen."

"Now is not the time to discuss Captain Preston."

"We're alone, Edward. Why not?"

Foster got up and locked the door. He blew out a few lamps, causing Edward to grow alarmed. He picked up the bottle of unopened of wine, managed to get the cork out, then filled his glass and Pellew's. With a smile on his thin lips, he leered down at Edward and laughed when the only merely lifted his head another notch and regarded him indifferently.

"You're not in the least bit interested, are you?"

"Commodore Foster, my personal interest....."

"And you hardly sound like man whose dearest friend has been apart from him for nearly a year. I've seen you more frequently than Preston. At least six times in the last eight months. Not that I'm counting. I'd consider it a rare privilege to be away from you that long. You're sour demeanor can only suggest that you are over it."

"To what are you implying?" Asked Edward, his temper starting to flare.

"I make no implications. I speak my mind quite clearly." Foster thrust his index finger toward Pellew. "It's you who likes to play clever games and murky the water." Foster took a sip of wine and slammed the glass on the table when Edward offered no comment. Rising from the table, he went over to a cupboard, opened a drawer and removed a letter and dropped it on the table before Pellew. "This belongs to you, I think."

Edward grabbed the letter. His anger faded and his indifference with it, for the writing belonged to Preston and each letter was addressed personally to Pellew. He noted that the date went back nearly eight months, written shortly after they'd parted company. He wondered at the contents and turned to Foster, concerned it had been read.

"Why was this not delivered to my ship? How did it fall into your hands?"

"Interested now, aren't we?"

"Dammit, Charles! I want answer! This is personal mail. Why do you have it? Did Robert give it to you or have you turned mail courier?"

"That I even have this one on me, sir, that is a miracle. This was sent to me by Robert himself, along with dispatches that I forwarded to Admiral Wilson at the Admiralty House in Gibralter, only it seems I let your letter remain behind. Admiral Wilson sent this to me today, along with a note to ask us to join him tomorrow. I know not on what business. However, during the interim, I though you might enjoy reading that in bed."

"I've been in bloody Gibraltar at least four times in the last few months. Could you Admiral Wilson not think of a way to get my mail to me sooner? Perhaps I might have had more latitude in replying, sir. And here I thought myself snubbed, for he'd promised to write first, and I waited like a damn fool. My neglect is unforgivable. I wonder if Admiral Wilson has more of such letters. I like not this exchange of a letter when he had but to call me to his office. Eight months. You know what this means? He'll think I deliberately didn't respond. And what if there are more? How many do you think he has written?"

"One letter, Edward. You have it. You act like he should have written more. One is good. One says he loves you. And I'm sure he does. I hope it's a good letter."

While Foster laughed himself red in the face, Pellew reached out for his filled glass of wine and pounded it down. He leaned over the table, using his elbows to support him and pressed his chin upon the back of his close fists, gazing down at the letter, reminded he'd not written at all. Seeing the sorry condition of his friend and knowing how much Sir Edward hated to reveal his emotions, Foster took pity on the pitiful sight.

"There is so much I wanted to say to him," said Edward.

"Well, he feels the same. Yo can read it my letters from him. I have three." Foster held up his hand when Edward gasped. "I know. I should have told you long before and let you read them. I hadn't realized you'd only been sent one, and that you've not even seen it until tonight. How could I know? You never talk about your personal life."

Foster returned to the drawer and withdrew three letters only. He dropped them on the table before him. No attempt was made by Pellew to read the three separate letters. Foster took a seat and pointed at the letters.

"Fine. You won't read them? I'll tell you in short what they say."

Edward shook his head. "They were written to you. Any sentiment in them will have no value to me. It was not written to me." He picked up the single envelope addressed to him. "This is my letter. My only one. I will savor it. Alone."

"Savor it? That's rich," said Foster, and staggering. "If you'd any sense at all, you'd have written him. I wrote to him about you, of course, telling him what you'd been doing. But of course, you don't want to hear his reply. Hammond and Gantry are frothing at the mouth because Wellington arranged for Preston to receive the Agamemnon, a ship that should have rightly gone to a more seasoned captain. The same size and class as the Majestic. Must chafe you a bit to see how easily he can do it. Command a ship of that size. He reminds me of me, that he does. A chip off the old block."

"Are you through? I would leave now."

"Don't be angry at me, my buachaillin," said Charles, an endearment in Gallic which meant my brown-haired one that he reserved for Edward alone. "Robert will be here tomorrow. I thought you'd be happy to know he did write to you. But you know, you did not, so you're guaranteed a bit of a squall."

Foster watched Edward get up from the table, collect his hat, and head for the door. "By the way, how is young Mr. Hornblower? Thought you'd bring him tonight in place of that boring Bracegrytle." He knew his man Preston and assumed he'd bedded the lad. He already knew Pellew had prior intimacies with the lad. So had he.

"Mr. Hornblower is merely a commissioned lieutenant. He had no business coming here. And I'll remind you to keep to your own crew and not coming sniffing around my deck."

"I wondered which you cared more for? Preston or Hornblower."

"Meaning, sir?" Edward pulled at his collar, pausing at the door to glance back and stuffed the letter in his pocket. "I am going and you can stuff you three letters up your arse. I wouldn't read them for the life of me. Take them and be damned!"

"Jealous?"

"You damn right I am!"

Foster nodded, satisfied. "We leave in two days. The Agamemnon should arrive by then." He stood and placed his hands on his hips. "I'd ask you to stay over, but I can see you've already made up your mind to go. Very well. Since you are keen on slighting me, I intend to have another dinner on board tomorrow night. I expect you to be here, Edward. I'll accept no excuses. Hopefully Preston will be here. I want to see you two together."

"I look forward to it, Commodore Foster," said Pellew, refusing to reveal his personal life further. "And thank you for tonight's entertainment. I enjoyed the turtle soup."

Foster chuckled. He knew sarcasm when he heard it. "Shall I mention anything to our friend when he arrives? Perhaps I can calm the tempest before it hits?"

"I'm quite certain that I can take care of my own matters."

"Yes, I can see that. You can't even get your own mail sent to you."

"That would seem hardly my fault," said Edward. "Admiral Wilson seems to have made my affairs his business. I look forward to seeing him tomorrow. Pick me up early, Charles You owe me that courtesy, I should think. I'll expect you at first light."

"Very well, Edward. I'll fetch you in the morning."

Pellew inclined his head, trying to at the gentleman at least for his exist, but laughter coming from Foster got his dander up and he went out, slamming the door behind him. Three letters, indeed, thought Pellew. And here he'd only the one. He collected himself before he reached the deck, where he found Hornblower waiting for him, along with a tender filled with an anxious crew.

One look at Pellew's face was all Hornblower needed to see to know that his captain was greatly troubled. He quickly stepped into the tender with Pellew and motioned for the Majestic's crew to lower them into the water, while he sat quietly beside his captain, waiting for a signal to speak. None was given and the ride back to the frigate made in silence.

• * *

In the morning, Pellew and Foster left the Admiralty House together, both dressed formally and as equally as annoyed as the other man as the were shown to the third floor without explanation. There, standing beside a large window overlooking the bay, waited Admiral Wilson, a retired captain under Nelson, with bifocals, white hair, and a bend in his back. He took great cheer upon seeing Commodore Foster and Captain Pellew, for both men had served under him during the careers, and considered themselves friends. At Wilson's signal, Pellew closed the door, turning with a frown as he realized there was tension in the room and that Foster had led him there without explaining the reason.

"A problem among some of our finest naval officers has come to light, gentlemen. It has not gone further than this room and it shall remain that way. Please sit down. I have something to show you both."

"Then we're not hear for our orders?" Foster was first to speak. He stepped forward. The scar on his face twitched with the efforts of restraining his Scottish temper. "Your message, sir, said it was urgent. I took you at your work and rushed Pellew from his breakfast, such as it was, and expect an explanation."

"So you shall have one. Both of you," said the elderly naval officer. Lord Anthony Wilson, having been on Admiral Nelson's ship at Trafalgar, had earned respect climbing through the ranks. He motioned Foster to be silent and was obeyed. "What I have to say chiefly concerns our friend here, Sir Edward, and I won't mince words, gentlemen, but I am gravely concerned."

While Pellew waited on tender hooks, choosing to pace in a small area before his chair, Foster planted his firm ass in the nearest available seat and tapped at the table, annoyed. Taking considerable much longer to be seated, Wilson eased his thin, frail frame into a chair as though afraid he might snap his own spine in the process. His hands were remarkable, large and youthful, and these he spread upon a plain wooden box with a heavy lock in a protective fashion. Pellew could not longer stand the anticipation and sat down, eager for Wilson to continue.

"Edward, when you were a boy on my ship, I trusted you with the keeping of all my valuable possession." Admiral Wilson removed a chain hidden beneath his highly decorated naval coat and held up between his boney two fingers, a silver key. "I do not think we have cause to fear the sting of slanderous words as of yet, gentlemen. However," he paused to open the box, rather enjoying the suspense he inflicted upon the two junior officers, as he'd done when both were midshipmen on his ship, "there is a matter of a rather delicate nature that you both should be made aware of." He opened the boxed and removed a stack of letters, all similar in size and color, tied with a red ribbon. These were tossed onto the table before the admiral.

"I believe, Captain Pellew, that these are all addressed to you."

Admiral Wilson pushed them across the table as far as he could reach. Foster offered his assistance, eyeing the letters like a dead rat, and with a sweep of his gold embroidered arm, he sent them scooting over to Pellew's waiting hands. Pellew seized the bundle in both hands, leaving them on the table for he was shaking, for as he gazed down at the letters, seeing his named dead center, written in a flamboyant style, he knew they could belong to only one man.

"Yes, Mr. Robert Preston. That's what I thought, at first. All are addressed to you, Edward, and they come from all over the world." Wilson cleared his throat, a sound that sounded as hollow as a locust's shed husk. "What I find interesting is that Captain Preston has been fighting the Americans in retribution of the fiasco in 1812, and for the last eight months, he's sent me and Lord Butler in Portsmouth regular dispatches of his private war efforts. He is under the King's direct command, operating as an independent privateer, and I might add, he's been quite successful as his profession."

"No man that busy would write so many damn letters to a friend," said Foster.

"Have you something to say, Charles?" Wilson looked toward the Scotsman. "Look at the letters if you don't think it odd and tell me why one is from Baltimore, one from Martinique, another from the Gold Coast, China, and even a bloodied note from Spain. You might as well look at them too, Edward. I seriously doubt any come from your friend. He has been off the north shores of Africa of late, and I did receive one, the very last, a week ago but did not read it, or any of them, Edward. I have not said anything and will not say anything. Review the evidence I've saved for you, man, and tell me what you think."

"I think it damn peculiar," said Foster, his temper boiling.

"Yes, well, so do I," said Wilson.

Pellew went through the stack, tossing each letter onto the table, only to have Foster pick one up at a time to make an examination. By the time Pellew counted twenty-five letters in all, he thought he'd seen everything. All looked like Robert's hand-writing, but the locations were ridiculous. He composed himself without batting an eye, placing the letters in an order without opening any. Wilson took note of the captain's restraint and questioning expression and came to a decision he'd already suspected, that the gossip being spread was incorrect and of a malicious nature. He did not want to cause alarm but found he could not keep an old man's fears from slanting his view of the combustible situation.

"It's remarkable, I think," said Admiral Wilson, "that I so many of these letters come from so many exotic places. The letters seemed to land into my lap overnight like a dropped anchor, or should I say, in you're lap, Mr. Pellew? It is most curious."

Pellew added the nautical miles in his head, came up with additional time at sea and found the locations controversial. "The locations suggest Robert visited most of our colonies since the time he took command. I hardly think it possible one man could write so many letters from so many ports-of-calls. I might expect one letter or two, out of courtesy, telling me of his new command and such. But this, this is sheer lunacy, man. I know not what to think."

"Is it your man or not?" Admiral Wilson demanded to know.

Pellew's eyes widened. "I am sure I do not know what you mean, my Lord. If you are suggesting that it is possible for a man to sail the seven seas in eight months, then I'd say, with the proper ship and navigational equipment, yes. But not, sir, with the Agamemnon. That ship was a blessing at Trafalgar, but she's an ancient relic and I doubt could travel from Tahiti to Turkey overnight."

"Yes? Go on. I have not disagreed with your hypothesis."

"Without reading the letters," said Pellew, "and comparing the hand writing to my ship's ledgers, in which I have Mr. Preston's authentic autograph, and considering that only Poseidon could not travel to so many places in such a short span of time, I'd say these were forgeries. Have you further information to support this theory? What is being said here?"

"A few things. All hush hush. You've embroiled yourself in a touchy situation, Edward, with a man who is in the forefront of the public's attention. If any of this leaked out, you can see what type of talk there would be. I fear this is all deliberate and arranged by a more cunning mine that I am used to dealing with, and I know not who to blame for such folly."

Pellew's gaze remained unwavering on the elderly naval legend, remaining in control of his emotions, unlike Foster. His friend looked at every letter, all which remained sealed, studying the return addresses, muttering unintelligible words in Gaelic. He finally gathered all of the letters before him in a mob, pushed them together to straighten, then bent over and gave them a good sniff. He sneezed at once and sat up straight, wiping his nose across his sleeve.

"Perfume. A woman's perfume. I'd say Parisian."

"You know women's perfume, Charles?" Inquired Admiral Wilson. "I wouldn't think you should brag so. With that ugly scar on your face, you were never much with the ladies. However, Captain Preston, I hear, has managed to make a reputation for himself as a lady's man, as well as a prosperous privateer in that ancient relic, gentlemen. But that is not the point."

"Perhaps it is," said Pellew. He removed his hat and set it on the table. Standing, he walked over to Foster and picked up one of the letters at random and held it to his nose. He dropped it and did the same with several more. "It is familiar. How odd. That I should know the scent and that I should know where it comes from. This too is deliberate, I should think."

"They all reek of gun powder," growled Foster.

"That is so, and if you'll notice, it's smeared upon the letters to put us off the scent, but that is not all you can smell." Pellew smelled his hands. He wrinkled his nose and dabbed it with a lacey kerchief, walking over to the window to gaze down at the street. "The stench of Lord Nigel Graves foul play comes to mind. I thought I recognized the stench. It's not perfume you smell, Charles, not for a lady, but a gentlemen's hand lotion. The scent is a rare mixture that you can have made on Grovesnour Street in London, and having been there myself to pick up my own blend, I happened to sample....."

"Don't say Lord Graves or I'm liable to lose my temper, Edward." Foster shook his finger at his friend. "You have not the detective's mind and you are no blood hound."

"It is the same smell, sir," said Captain Pellew, raising his voice, "that upon my inquiry, the clerk said was made especially for Lord Graves, a scent that he wore the night of the royal ball. And why would I know this? I'll tell you, Charles, and you, Admiral Wilson. For the simple fact that Nigel Graves pawed over his dead friend, James Preston, Robert's brother, after he slew the man to defend the honor of Wellington himself."

"What's this?" The old man turned around, his bones creaking, eyeing Pellew with distress. "Those letters came to me a week ago. No one has touched them since, for I placed them into this box and waited until you arrived to open the box again. The letters came not together, but were slipped under my door, here at the office, at my home, and one was handed to me while I was out dinning with my wife. I do not know Lord Graves' scent, but I did recognize an unsavory odor to the letters. If Edward believes it's the stench of Graves lotion, then Charles, we have a serious problem on our hands."

"I'd like to know what? Letters coming in from around the world, written by that love-sick jackass who further complicates things by killing his own brother." Foster stood up and looked upon for liquor but found only books. He glared at Wilson on his way over to stand beside Pellew at the window. His eyes raked over the figures on the streets and stopped on a man in a dark brown jacket and lank, unkept hair, looking up at the window in a rather sly manner. "Even I am seeing conspirators. Look there, Edward. A man is spying on us?" He pointed out the figure. "Do you think he brought the letters to Admiral Wilson, penned out of revenge by Lord Graves, solely to destroy your credibility and Preston's reputation?"

"Actually," said Admiral Wilson, "I think it's a little more than that, Charles. Now pipe down. I want to talk to Edward." He motioned for Foster to be seated and Pellew to approach, waving his hands like signal flags. "I don't think your story is at all outlandish, Edward. In fact, Lord Graves has made protest at court over Robert assuming the earldom of Lester, and several members of the Parliament have suggested that a board of inquiry look into the matter. Now I know why. Duels are not illegal but they should be and for one brother to kill another, and that one brother being an earl and the other an officer in His Royal Majesty's Navy, questions will be asked and answers will be demanded. There will be an inquiry. Graves will see to it just as soon as he becomes the next prime minister."

"If it were not for the return addresses," said Pellew, at last showing signs of stress, "I'd think Robert had fallen gone mad. I'd almost rather it be that, than believe Lord Graves has hired cronies to pen false letters, and I assume, of a nature which could only lead to harm should they fall into the wrong hands. You say them came to you during the course of one week?"

"Yes, that is so. Wellington has been here the entire time," said Admiral Wilson, folding his hands into his lap. "I bring him up because Lord Graves has slandered his name as well. Wellington cannot be defamed. He will command the allied forces against Napoleon, should he manage to escape from Elba, and in a few days time will travel to Paris to attend a meeting on the topic as to the location of where a battle, if any, should be fought."

"Wellington and Graves are at odds," said Edward, thinking out loud. "And Graves knows personal information that could harm the Duke, as well as myself, and Preston. From what I hear of Lord Graves, he conspires with the lowest sorts, actors, gamblers and prostitutes. I should think it fair to say that Graves is capable of such a conspiracy. I can guess as to the contents of those letters, and I will denounce their credibility, should the contents of any come to light."

"That's what I wanted you to say, Edward. It is good to hear you have plenty of fight in you. You'll need it," said Admiral Wilson. "Now both of you should go. And come away from the damn window you two. There are eyes everywhere, watching us. I asked you to meet me in the library and not my office because I cannot trust anyone. Nor should either of you." He pushed himself up from the table in the amount of time it took Pellew to put on his hat and meet Charles at the door. "Hopefully, Mr. Preston can sort out his own affairs, and Wellington can handle his, so I say to you both, get on your ships and stay at sea. You need not involve yourself with any proceedings on shore."

On the way out of the Admiralty House, the two commanders remained silent, hurrying down the steps. Pellew carried the letters inside his coat, under his arm. Made paranoid by Wilson's odd behavior and their discussion, Foster kept his hand on his sword and stared at every officer and civilian walking past as though he expected an ambush.

"I am not pleased to leave Robert in the hands of Lord Graves," said Pellew, with a sniff, as they came down the stairs together. It was raining and the grey horizon matched his mood. "The nerve of that little odious man. Had you not been there, Charles, I think I might said something about Lord Graves and his maneuvers that could be considered slander. I had hoped by now that Wellington would put an end to Graves's political ambitions. I would go speak to him but do not want to involve him further."

"I trust no one. Nor should you. Let's go drink," growled Foster. He pulled on Edward's arm, dragging him down the street.

"Tea, Charles. That will do. My stomach is in knots."

"Fine. Have tea and tuck your tail between your legs. I'll take whiskey and give them hell. After I get good and soused. And tea isn't going to cut it this morning. To the pub!"

Foster propelled Edward down the street, around a corner and into a nearby pub, letting Pellew object but not escape. Spotting a perfectly suitable tea house close by and wanting a light breakfast, Pellew stopped before the doors. His stomach growling, he allowed his friend to push him to the next building and through an open door, over to a booth near a window.

The pub was already serving several tables of officers drafts of ale, while they smoked cigars or pipes, chatting about continued problems with the French in muffled tones. Through the cacophony of voices, Pellew heard references made concerning the Duke of Wellington and felt his dander rising, along with a growing jealously that he'd not experienced. The waitress appeared and Foster ordered a pint of beer and tea.

"No," said Pellew. "I'll have the same."

Foster wrinkled his thick eyebrows. He peered at his friend with his head cocked to the side. "Shame on you, man. I thought you were not the type to eavesdrop." He paused. "Maybe we should I suspect everyone. I wish we'd never attended that damn royal ball." He ruffled his brown hair with his fingers. "I can assure you, Robert, would not be so indiscreet as to right you so many letters. But how should they come to Wilson? So many letters and yet all fall into his lap."

"There must be a logical explanation. I feel like we search for the eye in a hurricane. I know not which way to turn."

"When Robert arrives, we'll tell him and let him decide whether to see Wellington or not," said Foster, confident this was the only solution. "Our mutual friend is England's new weapon against the French. Wellington has personally requested Robert to return to hunt down French ships. Wilson said Napoleon will try to leave Elba and our mission is to stop him." He smiled when his friend looked unimpressed. "The squadron is under my command. We've orders to leave in the morning."

"And what of Robert? If we leave before he arrives....?"

"The Admiralty has his orders ready. Preston sails on his own, and if he meets the assembled French fleet, I pray to god he'll use his wits and not rely on a damn manual," said Foster, a tad envious of such a perilous venture.

"Considering all options first to avoid complications is not a tactic to be lightly sneered at, Charles. I'm surprised at you. I thought you more intelligent than that. I suggest we talk about something else. We might be overheard."

Foster frowned, having no problem taking another tact. "When it comes to the proper engagement of naval strategy, there's no finer at command than you. Preston will lure the war dogs to us if he finds them. Hell, he might even run into Bonaparte himself and net him. Who knows?"

"Your confidence in Robert is understandable. I hope to God he has sense to take his orders and leave quickly."

At the approach of footsteps, Edward looked up and was the first to thank the waitress when two tankards were placed on the table. He could taste nothing as he took a drink and looked out the window to stare out at the rainy day. His head ached and he wanted nothing more than return to his ship. Foster watched his friend's face and noticed the tide turn.

"You never leave anything to chance, Edward. You avoid taking risks with your ship and your crew. Admirable. For a ship's captain. But not as a man."

"I'll not fight Robert's battles for him."

"Why? Because you've lived the life of a monk since you first took command and don't want to be involved? Every British captain knows you're a saint. Your record is unblemished and you're highly decorated. You'll be an admiral before you know it. This is your fight as much as his."

"Thank you. I appreciate your conviction of my abilities. However, I believe you have ordered us to sail in the morning? I can hardly take on Graves from the deck of my ship."

"You're glad we're hauling anchor, don't deny it," said Foster, his voice sympathetic. "I'm the only friend you have who understands you. I've live a dual existence, my friend. What man other than I could know your heart's desire? It was not me who softened your shell, God knows I tried, so I sent a man who could crack it. Was I wrong to do so?"

"Under the present circumstances," sighed Pellew, "I'd rather wished you hadn't. Why did you, Charles? I was content with my books and with my quiet life on board my ship. You need not have troubled yourself on my account. In fact, you went above and aboard what I consider friendship. You've disrupted my world and sit it upside down spinning. I'll not thank you for that."

"Indeed," said Foster. "You'd rather bed duty, honor and respect. A cold mistress, Edward. I sent you a mind so complex that it will take you a lifetime to unravel its many layers. Even at a young age, I knew Robert was marked for either a great destiny or disaster. What his fate is, that's entirely up to you. You've no idea how to handle being loved by someone. No wonder you're scared to death and running three sheets to the wind in the morning. I'd disobey orders and stay and fight."

"I don't care to discuss this further. Not here."

Pellew was not at all interested in what he saw outside the window, his mind lost somewhere on the tenth letter written by Preston where his friend tried his best at a romantic sonnet then accused him of being false as no response had yet been received. Edward had not counted on this. Nor on a long distance relationship of such an emotional magnitude. He felt weighted down by it and yet buoyant at the chance that he might see Preston again before he shipped off.

Across the table, he felt Foster's eyes on him, boring into his soul. He remembered their own past, the many attempts and failures at securing anything more than an occasional randy bit of sport in one of their cabin's while acting as host. Something Foster had seen keen on last night, he thought. Yet, he'd hardly been able to agree to such a liaison, not with Preston coming, and not when he know Foster was up to something.

"This beer is flat," complained Foster. Bored, he looked out the window and sat up in his seat, his eyes wide and pointed at a couple walking down the street. He noticed Edward was staring down at his beer, considering Foster's comment. He reached across the table and placed his hand over Edward's, but removed it at once. "Damn your eyes. Look outside and tell me what you see before the parade as past."

"What is it? The man who was spying on us earlier?"

Edward gazed out the window. His dark eyebrows knit together as he watched a tall naval officer with an eyepatch and a limp he offset with a cane, being led by his arm by an attractive red haired lady. He dismissed the woman, knowing Foster would not have pointed out even the most beautiful woman on the street, which she definitely ranked high in that regard, as they both were only interested in gentlemen, and turned his attention full upon her companion. The man looked impeccable in a long navy blue cape that matched his uniform, a cocked hat on his head, and had he not been so tall and broad shouldered, Pellew would have thought he was looking at Lord Horatio Nelson and Lady Hammond. But Nelson was dead and his lady had been lost in the frameworks of history.

The couple paused on the corner near by the pub. The officer's face was blocked, for his back was to the window, but as he bent down to kiss the woman's offered hand, his backside was presented to the captains. Edward knew at once that he was looking at Robert Preston. He let out a soft gasp, which he quickly covered with a phoney smile. Shocked at what he'd seen, Foster was already grumbling about the public spectacle, for he didn't approve of the fondling of women at any time.

Foster bristled. "Here I've spent my morning, trying to set his personal affairs in order, and here he is, right outside our window, paying court to the widow of Lord Reed. Must be her money. She was left a very wealthy woman. I wonder if she wrote any of those love letters you're carrying. I can't say Reed knows Graves though. Perhaps."

"He's just arrived in port. She must be a friend."

The Scot's hairy eyebrows wiggled. "And he wasted no time in coming to see her."

"Pipe down, Charles," snapped Pellew. "I can't hear myself think, man."

Edward's eyes returned to the window. He watched, amazed, as Robert lifted his hat to the lady as she bent her head to him, then walked on down the street, joining several friends and servants at the corner. But his initial surprise at seeing Robert on the street with a woman, faded as Edward realized that his dear friend was entering the pub. He kicked Foster under the table, soliciting a growl from the other. Foster turned in his seat. But the moment Preston entered, he sat back looking visibly shaken. Foster sipped on his beer, unable to say a word, as Edward gawked at a crippled Preston, supported by a cane, with a black eyepatch covering his left eye and long scar. Foster downed his beer. Both men watched Robert limp up to the bar and order. Edward turned toward Foster for an explanation.

"He was wounded fighting the Americans," said Foster. "I thought it best not to tell you."

"You damn Scot," said Edward, softly. Concern filled his eyes as he waited for Preston to lean against the bar so he could study him a while longer without discovery. He'd changed considerably since last they'd met, for any trace of youth had been replaced by a self-confidence and hardness acquired only in the line of duty. Preston, his back was rigid and straight in his immaculate uniform and cloak, was a formidable, strong figure. The patrons in the pub paused to watch as he dominated the length of the bar, spreading out his arms wide, claiming a wide expanse of territory. Edward was mesmerized. He watched Robert lift a tankard to his lips, admiring the length of his arm , his eyes traveling downward and pausing at the cane.

Robert sensed someone staring behind him and paused. His anger rising, a ready retort about his eyepatch and cane prepared in well in advance, he turned around and came up short to find Pellew and Foster seated across the room in a booth, both staring at him intently. His initial joy at seeing his friends faded as quickly as it appeared. A pained expression appeared on his handsome, clean shaven face, but whether from his wounds or hurt feelings was not to be disclosed, for Preston turned around, left a coin on the table and hobbled toward the door.

"I'll fetch him," said Foster. He got up and maneuvered himself between Robert and the door. He received a stony glare from one alert blue eye that gave him goose pimples along his arms. Beneath the eyepatch was a scar, similar to his own, though fresher and still red. "So, you act like you don't know us? You'll turn about and have a seat, Mr. Preston. Or can't you be seen taking a draft with two old friends?"

Foster held out his arms and threw them around the tall officer. He hugged him tightly. The man felt like a statue and was just as unmovable. He set him back and eyed Robert sternly.

"You've a coldness about you Robert that I don't like."

"War does that. I've seen you both. Now move aside."

Commodore Foster, short of stature but possessing a steely

conscience and imposing personality, eyed the stern Englishman, finding it a slight amusing that Preston gazed back as an equal, not to be intimidated, expecting to win. Like two bulls, they squared off on one another. Foster realized at once that he was no match for Preston, and as much as he hated to admit finding himself out gunned, he used tact to offer an immediate surrender.

"I want you to join us, lad, because I love you like my own son, and I'm concerned for your welfare." Foster expected this to work and added a bit of flavor to his enticement seeing that his personal emotions were not even considered. "Come see Edward. He has missed you, and we have much to discuss. When did you pull into port? You should have sent me word."

"I reported to the Admiralty, Commodore Foster," said Robert, his eye locked on Foster's face, his manner callous and distant. "I have my sailing orders. I leave tonight."

"You'll go when I say you go and not before, for you're part of my squadron, damn you man, even if you're allowed to sail about like Lafayette himself," snarled Foster, puffing himself up and putting on an act. He grabbed Robert by the arm, leaning in at him in a domineering fashion. "Will you come, sir, or must I force you off your feet? I really must insist you join us. There is a problem you must be made away of, sir, before you set sail."

Preston looked over Foster's greying head to find Edward staring at him. His heart throbbed upon seeing the warmth and concern written in the dark brown depths of Pellew's eyes. The captain looked exactly as he remembered, an impressive, handsome a man, at the height of his career and health, radiating an elegance and charm that was hard to ignore. Preston wanted to go over and embrace Pellew, but he held back, assuming the captain didn't care anymore, or if he had ever, for he'd never replied to a single letter. Not wanting to be seen sulking or playing the part of a rejected lover, Robert turned away, looking at the door in earnest with the hopes of escaping before Foster put up any more of a defense.

"Let me go, Charles," said Robert, his voice cracking. "I don't want a scene."

"You've other problems than a broken heart, Robert. Come sit down and hear the news before I sling you over my shoulder like a sack of flour."

"I have lunch plans. At Lady Samantha Reed's house. I promised to bring her flowers and read from Hamlet." Robert sounded as though he'd ready walk a gang plank and jump into a sea filled with menacing sharks. He could not help but look back toward Edward. Seeing the captain had not moved, nor even beckoned to him, wounded him far more than he thought possible. He resisted feeling unwanted and Foster, seeing the drama play out, grabbed Preston's arm to stop him from bolting out the door and dug his fingers into the flesh, leaving bruises.

"No more talk like that, I'll grow gills, jump in a stream and swim off," growled Foster. "Lord Graves intercepted your letters to Pellew and by a miracle they have found their way into the hands of my friend, Admiral Wilson. Graves might have penned a dozen or so himself. He might have asked others to do so in the hopes of exposing you and Pellew. You've enemies on higher ground than sea level, lad. Look to your own and don't abandon your friends."

Preston trembled visibly. "Graves? What letters? I wrote only five."

"The ones you wrote, or rather, didn't write are now in question, sir. Come sit down and Edward will explain. He only received your letters today."

"What do you mean, sir? I wrote months ago, then not at all when no reply came. I thought that was what he wanted."

"You think like a snail. Edward will explain."

"Thank you, Charles. I'm in our debt."

Preston squeezed Foster's arm and watched him go, before finally turning around. He found Edward gazing at him somewhat nervously. He smiled as wide as possible. The smile was returned. He hobbled over to the table and slipped into Foster's vacated seat with a grimace, only to find Edward's knees brush up against his own. He winced as the wound in his right thigh began to throb but the contact was most welcome. He set the cane on the table and faced Edward, able to gaze at him with only one eye and feeling he was denied a great pleasure.

"I didn't know," said Edward, in a hushed voice. He seemed close to tears. "Foster said it happened in an engagement against the Americans. I wish I'd known about it. Not one of your letters reached me. They were waylaid." He paused, close to panic. "You did write to me?"

Preston reached across and took Edward's drink, draining it and set it aside. He avoided the question. "A well placed shot took out my upper rigging. I lost my first lieutenant. A good man too. He pushed me out of the way at the last second. He was crushed to death and my leg was crushed. As for the eye, that was something else. I have my sight, but the eye...it droops in an uncomplimentary fashion."

"You look good to me," said Pellew. He reached across the table to hold Robert's hand, but withdrew it as several officers left the pub. He glanced out the window, unsure what to say. "I know what you think, but you are wrong. I did not spurn you. I did not write for the simple fact that I did not know where you were." He turned back and found Robert gazing at him with such love that he felt a lump form in his throat. "I'd rather talk somewhere else. If your leg isn't troubling you too much?"

"It's been...too long. Your cabin then."

Edward paused. "The lady?"

"To occupy the time only. There is no need to talk about Lady Reed. Not if you feel the same. I do."

"But I saw you with her? It seemed...serious."

"If you must know, and I don't see that it will help, but she came to bring me a message from Wellington. He has asked me to a party tonight, but I think I will decline it, for the simple reason, that I want to be with you."

Preston, boldly reaching across the table and grabbing hold of Edward's sleeve. He let his finger slide across Edward's wrist. He felt the bracelet he'd given Pellew months ago and sighed with such relief it nearly sounded like a sob to his lover.

"I wondered if you still wore it and if it held any meaning to you. I hope it means what I think, Edward."

Skirting the question, Pellew pulled his sleeve down and peered at Preston. "So, is it Lady Reed or Wellington, this time you're most keen to see again? You will take the lady to the party at the Duke's, of course. I see no reason for you to waste your time hear with me. If you are looking for entertainment, then I suggest you stick to the ladies and not bachelors of the sea."

Edward seemed tense as he searched Robert's face, while inwardly he fought against at an unreasonable anger he felt more toward the woman than Wellington. "I wouldn't ask," he said, embarrassed to resort to so low of measures, "but I must know the truth. Which do you...what I mean to say is, whose company do you prefer? I have a reason for inquiring into your personal affairs. I am concerned for you, Robert. I want only the best for you."

"Thank you," said Robert. He wasn't certain he felt appreciation at Pellew's concern or alarm at his unveiled jealous streak. "I have genuine affection for Lady Reed. I have known her for many months, during which time, she has been my mistress. It is not serious between us, and another's whose name I do not know, pays for all her expenses. She is but...convenient."

"I see."

"Well, I considered taking her tonight, if I was going to go the party, however, now I see no reason to attend." Robert peered intently at his friend's face, trying to search his eyes for a clue as to his mood. "I would much rather see you. I have missed you, Edward. I cannot deny it. And I would look upon your face as long as possible."

"Yes, Robert," said Pellew, his response stiff and formal. He spoke in such a hushed tone, it came out a growl. "But the Iron Duke has summoned `Broadside Preston', the toast of London, so I hear, to his little soiree. May I remind you that we are speaking of the Duke of Wellington? When he sends you an invitation to a party, it is not a request, Robert, it is an order. If I have learned one thing about Wellesley, is that he does not take well to a defeat, whether it be professional or personal. You have to make an appearance. He'll be offended otherwise." Pellew paused. "Where is the party, might I inquire? Nearby?"

Preston smiled thinly. "At a house Wellington is staying in while in Gibraltar." He sensed Pellew's frustration and wanted nothing more than to ease his doubts. "I intend to decline the invitation. Lord Arthur has no reason to take office. I have orders to ship out tonight. A perfectly good excuse. That way, I can spend my last few hours in port with you. Unless, you could come with me Edward? I mean to the party. Or, we could go to your ship." He pressed his good leg against one of Edward's, rubbing against it as he leaned across the table to whisper. "I haven't been with another. Not since I was with you. I know it appears bad, Lady Reed and all, but women are merely for show." He shrugged and sat back. "It's you I want. I always have."

The waitress appeared. Robert placed money on the table for the beers ordered by his friends and waved Edward off when he tried to repay him, rose from the booth and found Foster long gone. Edward came around and took Robert's arm to assist him. A brief moment past between them where a single look promised a few stolen moments in each other's arms. Edward stepped back and watched as Robert took his cane and limped out of the pub.

"I'm crippled, Edward. Not an invalid."

"Not another word, sir," said Pellew, tears in his eyes as he joined Robert on the street corner. "I mean it. Not until we are on board the Indefatigable."

Preston smiled inwardly. Edward did care, he thought.

• * *

The two commanders left the pub together and were soon on a tender headed toward familiar frigate that was dwarfed in the shadow of the two large fifth class war ships, Foster's powerful HMS Dreadnaught and Preston's older and slightly out-dated HMS Agamemnon. Only an experienced eye could tell the difference between the two fifth class ships. However, as the tender past the similar vessels, Pellew was quick to notice some alterations to the Agamemnon's rigging and sails, necessary improvements that would air in handling and speed. Pellew turned to compliment Preston on the appear of his ship, but his friend was bent over, massaging his injured left leg, obviously some degree of pain.

Without feeling embarrassed, Pellew put his arm around Preston and helped him sit up straight. The look of pain on the handsome man's face faded as he offered Pellew his thanks, leaning against the older captain for support and simply to feel his body close to his own. From the deck of the Indefatigable, the crew spotted Captain Preston and gathered to the side of the ship, cheering loudly, doing much to lift his heavy spirits. Preston removed his hat and waved up at the men, recognizing the experienced seaman Matthews and the pox-marked Stevens among the gathering. A swing was lowered down for Preston as he was unable to climb aboard. He was swung onto the deck of his former vessel, only to immediately be surrounded and heartily welcomed by his former crew. Lt. Bowles seemed more pleased than anyone else to see the former first mate returned and helped Preston to his feet.

"Captain Preston, it is an honor to have you back on board, sir." Bowles shook his head from side to side, looking the captain up and down with admiration. "You look every bit as formidable as the French and Spanish say you are, sir. It's a right honor to have served with you. I wish for those days again."

"Bowles, you always were a sentimental sap. Tell me. You don't think the eyepatch is a little much?" Asked Preston, in a playful voice. "I am not blind, if you are wondering. It is all for show, Mr. Bowles. You know very well how I care about how I look. I think the scar ruins my profile."

"I wouldn't have noticed had you not mentioned it, sir."

"Bollix, Bowles." Preston smiled. "But god bless you anyway."

The crew stepped back as soon as Captain Pellew climbed into the ship. Edward came up behind Preston, put his hand mid-center of his back and gave him a gentle push forward, under the watchful eye of the first officer, Lt. Bracegrytle, who stand on the poop deck, smiling down at them. Walking down the flight of stairs to the lower deck and Pellew's quarter taxed Preston and as soon as the door was opened by a midshipman, he pushed past the man and practically collapsed into the nearest chair.

"I'm done for, Edward," said Preston, groaning as he straightened on his legs and leaned back. "You can forget sending me back to shore. I am staying here, where I belong."

"You've pushed yourself too hard, that is all," said Pellew, coming in and tossing the letters on his desk. He tossed his hat and cloak to an acting midshipman. "Off you go, Chadsworth." The boy hung up the items, grinned at Preston who remembered him well, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

At once, Pellew was at Preston's side, reaching down to embrace him. Preston spun around, grabbing his lover to him, groaning out loud as though his heart would break the moment he felt Pellew's cool, soft lips on his own. Feather light kisses turned into an oral wet adventure. His arms circled around Pellew's neck as the smaller man lifted him out of the chair, as though he weighed a mere stone, and eased him over to his bunk.

"You've lost weight," commented Pellew. "And don't think I will comment on your scar. It's only made you more vain. Now you have something more to look out that a pretty face."

"And you are greyer, sir."

"I resent that!" Pellew laughed all the same.

"You shouldn't. Grey becomes a man." Robert tossed his cane to the side, chuckling when it clanked loudly and Edward jumped. "No one is going to come in. Not without knocking."

"To think otherwise," said Pellew, flustered, "well, I could not live with myself if such an unfortunate event should occur. While I believe my men suspect nothing, I am not naive enough to think rumors do not exist. A bachelor of my years often raises suspicion among the ignorant, and I have been a bit withdrawn since you left. Mr. Hornblower believes I have been brooding."

Robert caught Edward around the middle as he tried to leave the bed and dim a few of the lanterns. He buried his face against the from of Pellew's uniform. "You are my North Star, Edward," he said, his voice passionate. "I guide myself by your brightness. Though I am not half the man you are, you give me something to aspire to be. I cannot think of a world without you in it. I am happiest when I am in your company." He looked up as Edward stroked his face, a tender expression on his weathered face. "That is something I didn't know yesterday. It's quite a revelation."

"You're wet," said Pellew. "And my bed is now soaked."

Shaking his head, Pellew helped Robert remove his damp cloak, setting it aside, and removed his muddy shoes. He started to Robert's cravat, untying it and drawing it away as though it were a coil serpent, letting it fall to the bed. His fingers were quick unbutton Robert's vest and the shirt beneath, pushing aside the material and exposed his magnificent chest. Pale as cream, hairless, sculpted to perfection, Edward spread his hands across the canvas of skin. Sinking to his knee, he kissed and chewed at Preston's nipple, repeating the sweet torture to the other, as he slid his hand down the flat stomach, under material, sighing when he met contact with pubic hair. His fingers fanned out and closed around the aroused cock.

"You've done this before, I think," chuckled Robert. He lifted his hips as Pellew massaged his shaft, roving on to cup his testicles, acting as though all must be touched at once. "You can have your way with me, Edward. I'll not resist. But I swear to God, if you do not unbutton my pants, I am going to burst."

"Perhaps I should. Resist, I mean," said Edward, pulling back. "But you're injured, man. What am I thinking? It is not the crew or officers I am worried about. They'll not spread slander on this ship, not while I am captain. I do think it would be prudent if we refrained from causing further injury to your leg. You have other matters more pressing than dallying with me."

"Jesus, Edward. You make it sound like I don't love you? Why else do you think I am here? Especially when I could go to a dinner party with all the most important people in town."

Edward paused, meeting Robert's eye and lifted his hand to touch the scar, only to sigh when he received a kiss to his palm.

"Like always, you try to change the subject with your tricks of the trade. Come now," he said, withdrawing his hand, trembling from his emotions. "There is much to talk about, Robert. Serious matters involving key players in your life."

"I am not going to break. We can talk later."

"It is a matter most urgent, Robert," Pellew persisted.

"I sail tonight, love, tell me your worries later."

Pellew was yanked down laugh upon Robert's broad chest and drawn into a fierce embrace. Frenzied kissing silenced any protests, as hands moved to remove clothing and bodies withered upon the mattress in an attempt for closer contact. As legs tangled together and clothes went scattering, Robert showed too much enthusiasm and felt a stabbing pain in his thigh. His hands slid away from Edward's hairy chest so he could turn his head and bite into a pillow to muffle his cry. Edward lifted himself off Robert, allowing the young man to lay back down, then curled against his side on the edge of the bed, his head against his lover's chest.

"That was a close call, Robert. You might have brought my entire senior staff in here to see the show?"

"You are thinking when you should be seducing me. Stop worrying and show me that you've missed me." Robert kissed Edward soundly on the lips, settled back on the pillows and made his injured leg comfortable. "I can do no more than lay here. Not with my leg in this infernal condition. The muscle is not yet healed and feels like the tear of a knife whenever weight is put upon it. I am sorry."

"Then I shall endeavor to be more accommodating," said Edward.

He glanced over to the chess board, saying not a word when he noticed the pieces were not in order and that the black king stood next to the white queen. He offered Robert a wide flash of his even rows of teeth as he smiled. "I allowed my enthusiasm to get away from me in the past. I want us clear on this, of our roles in this mad game in which you've made me an active participant. The game I speak of is life, Mr. Preston."

"Do you want me here or not, Edward?" Robert was not about to hear a lecture or a speech. His temper flare up and he snapped. "If you are so damn worried about the crew finding out about us, then maybe we should resist our animal urges and part company."

"So quick to throw it all away, are you?" Pellew pushed himself up on an elbow. "Or is it that you need reassurance of my feelings? Very well, Robert. I have missed you. Very much, in fact. The entire crew has missed you, if you are interested in their feelings as well. But none more than I."

"Thank God. Your shell is so hard. I thought I might never break through and reach your heart. If you missed me then, why don't you so something about it. Amaze me, Captain Pellew."

Robert watched delighted as Edward slid his shirt over his head, exposing a lean muscled torso and flat stomach, covered with brown hairs in the shape of an anchor, from pectorals to pubic region. He placed his hands upon Edward's chest, running them up to his neck when the shirt was cast aside, drawing him close for a leisurely kiss. Edward chewed back on his bottom lip, toying with him, drawing back to stare into his face.

"I'll do the honors. Lay back and be still."

"Very well," said Robert. "I am all your's, my Captain."

Hands placed upon Preston's bare chest were warm, as always, and upon contact, his skin dimpled. Blood rushed to his manhood, swelling it with excitement as the hand on his chest slid across his stomach and unbuttoned his trousers, freeing the enormous erection hidden behind the material. Edward's hand closed around the mast of flesh, stroking it, not gentle but determined. The friction of his hand and the heat intensified, causing Robert to moan. A kiss silently him and he remained so engaged as the pace of the jerking movements below increased.

"It won't take long," whispered Robert, as pleasure rippled through his body. He let his hand fall to Edward's head, a caressing gesture, but at Edward's sudden stillness, he placed his own hand around his cock, keeping it moving. "What are you about then? Is there more that you'll do?"

"Don't talk. Relax and enjoy the moment."

Edward slid his body off of Robert's and took up a new position bent over his friend's mid-section so he could draw the erect cock into his mouth. He tried not to think of the women Robert had been with during their separation. The very notion that Robert had forgone sleeping with other men to remain loyal to him was beyond anything he'd dared dream of, nor was it anything he'd demanded.

Certainly, being a man who lived for duty to his god, kind and country meant that anyone else in his life was down on the list. However, while he'd closed the door on many past relationships, mostly with men and other officers, he wanted to maintain a continuing relationship with Preston, as long as possible. Just to feel Preston kiss him and to watch him respond as he stroked his cock, he knew that the passion he felt was returned and he could not help but be flattered.

Despite his injuries, Preston was an extremely handsome man and might have had anyone to call his sweetheart or lover, yet he'd chosen him. The feel of the silky engorged member in his mouth brought about a sudden change in Edward. As his passion grew, so did his enthusiasm as he lavished his attention upon the hard cock, drawing it full into his mouth, suck hard while he gentle massaged the twin orbs. He felt Robert tense, sensed he was about to come and increased his efforts, until at last, he felt a warm liquid fill his mouth and swallowed. The hand in his hair pulled gently to lift up his head. Edward blushed the moment Robert gazed at him, loving him completely and knowing their time was short together. Both pain and rapture, he thought, was the nature of their love. A tear slid down his cheek. Robert noticed and allowed the droplet to run its course, following it until it slid onto Edward's lips, absorbing onto the silky pink tissue.

"You do love me, don't you?" Robert whispered.

"What do you take me for, man? You think I have no heart? Of course I love you! You and no other. I mean that in the literal sense. There is no one else I seek out. No one else I would care to acquaint myself with in this manner. And, I intend to prove my absolute devotion to you, by announcing that I have decided it would be best if I am queen to your king. I know not how to say it any other way."

Robert laughed heartily. "You have amazed me, Edward. But you must get me out of these damn clothes. I want to feel your body against my own and I can't undress myself. Do hurry. I am liable to injure myself out of sheer frustration, man."

Edward chuckled at this and proceeded to help Robert sit up, then removed his coat, vest and shirt. He let out a soft groan as he saw a number of scars marring Robert's beautiful body. He prepared himself for the worse as he slid off Robert's shoes, rolled down his stockings, then carefully went about removing his britches. As Robert's long legs slid out of his pant's, Edward noticed the wide bandage circling his thigh but was relieved to see no blood. Once he had Robert completely undressed, he stood beside the bed, gazing down at admiration at the muscular, hard body. The scars only increased his manly beauty, at least to Edward, and he took the opportunity to kiss each one, bringing a surprised expression to Robert's face.

"You're quite indulgent, Edward. You should have told me that morning was the best time for you." Robert caught Edward's hand and lifted it to his face to kiss. Edward pulled back and looked at him oddly. "Will you forget about the widow? Is that what preoccupies your mind? It doesn't mean I think of her when I kiss you that way. You are the one I love."

"It's not that," added Edward, wanting to discuss the letters.

"Wellington? God's Teeth! Must we bring him to bed along with us? If I am to apologize for every indiscretion, I might as well become Catholic and seek out a priest. I have so many sins to account for it will take me years to list all the names."

"That is in poor taste," said Pellew. "I've never asked and I care not to know the number of your conquests."

"Then shut up and fuck me," growled Robert.

"Is that an order?"

"Yes, it is, Captain. I insist you undress right now."

Pellew stepped away from the bed, smiling, and went over to undress across the room near the windows. Robert rested on the pillows, his hands behind his head, watching him as he pulled the black ribbon and allowed his dark brown hair to fall about his shoulders. His flesh was white and without blemish or scars. Dark hairs covered his chest and formed a narrow line that ran down to his groin, where the hairs spread out like a thick nest. His cock was partially hardened, suspended upward like a bowsprit, with two perfectly shaped balls hanging beneath. He stood erect as a board, simply stared back at Robert, allowing his lover to appraise him as though he was a stallion to be purchased at auction. The light in Robert's eye sparkled intently as Edward turned around, showing off his rounded, firm arse, which was dented by twin dimples at the curve of his lower back, then faced him.

"Come," said Robert, lifting up his hand.

Edward walked over, took Robert's hand, kissed it in return and chuckled afterwards. He eased his body onto the bed, crawling over Robert so he would not have to move and slid into the crook of his lover's arm to hold him close. Their lips met and meshed together as Edward instigated a long, lingering kiss. The taste of Robert's mouth was fresh. Edward pulled his tongue in his mouth, sucking on it, while he allowed his hand to slide down the hard length of Robert's body down to the course hairs surrounding his swelling cock.

He rolled on top of Robert, winching when he heard him groan with pain and scrambled to assume a straddling position over his lean hips. Robert's member prodded upwards in front of where Edward's legs were parted, brushing across his own stiff cock, which his lover pressed and rubbed together as though they were dueling swords. Then, he held them together with both hands and began to stroke them both at the same time, causing Robert to wither on the bed, moaning softly.

"You are a tease, Edward," said Robert. No one had played such a game with him before and he wanted to see it in full view. He tore off his eyepatch, tossed it aside. As his eyes swept back, he caught Edward's gaze and knew by his expression that the sight of the scar and drooping eyelid were a shock. The scar commenced at the top of his blonde eyebrow and swept down across his eyelid and left cheek in a straight line.

"A cut from a sword," explained Robert. "A duel, in fact."

Edward considered kissing the scar, as he'd done with the other healed injuries on Robert's body, but held back thinking this would only aggravate his lover. Robert had changed. He was every much the bold commander that had taken the fancy of the English citizens and Admiralty with s his continued success at sea. Yet, in the few months they'd been separated, he'd aged considerably and reflected an inner calmness that had not been there before. The recent wounds had not only scared him, but had humbled him, leaving Edward slightly at a loss on how to raise the spirits of the man he loved back to the rogue he'd first come to love.

"I wouldn't dream of pitying you, you conceited lout. Even with the scar, you are still lovely. Any imperfection is God's way of taking your pride down a notch. But don't let him, Robert."

Robert smiled as his beloved Pellew continued to rub their cocks together in a ritual, keeping both as tall as masts. His own was glossed with his essence. ""Then love me, Edward. I cannot stand another moment and not be inside you."

Reaching down, Robert placed his hand around Edward's still locked around their throbbing cocks. Edward left him and fetched a jar of lubricant from a drawer, kept far at the back. He returned, removing the lid and handed the jar to Robert, standing at the side of the bed watching while his lover applied a thick coat around the circumference of his cock. When finished, Robert tossed the jar back to Edward, then once it was put away safely, patted the bed beside him, saying not a word.

Edward returned and straddled Robert, raising himself up while the enormous cock was held by its master, then slowly, he eased himself onto the shaft which slid into him smoothly. A sight caused Robert to closed his eyes. He grabbed Edward's flanks in either hand, holding him firmly while his older lover leaned over him, moving his hips gently at first and gradually gaining speed as he impaled himself time and time again upon Robert's manhood. A layer of perspiration appeared on both men's faces as a fiery heat spread through their bodies from the constant friction. Edward dug his fingers into Robert's hairless, muscular chest, arching his back, groaning as a ripple of pleasure swept over him. He threw his head back, his toes stabbing into the sides of Robert's lower legs, then collapsed forward, his long hair hiding his face as he continued to move up and down at full speed. Robert reached up and grabbed Pellew by the shoulders, pulling him down so he could kiss his parted lips. He sat back up, his hands flat upon Robert's chest as bounced himself straight into an orgasm.

Robert quickly followed and felt his essence flow into Edward's body and turned his head to bite into the pillow to keep from groaning out loud and alerting the crew. He finally sank back against the pillows as Pellew lifted himself up and off of Robert and threw himself down beside him on the bed. A blanket was thrown over his body, shared by Robert, who then scooted up against Edward's back and slipped his arm around his mid-section. He brushed Edward's long, brunette hair aside and kissed his smooth shoulder, and soon, both feel asleep.

The sound of a whistle awoke Robert. He sat up with a start and found Pellew was no longer in the bed beside him. In fact, his clothes and he'd already dressed and left the room. Relying on the strong sunlight coming in from the window to tell him the time, he guessed it to close to noon and decided it best to follow Edward's lead and dress. He swung his legs off the bed, wincing at the torn muscle in his left thigh throbbed with pain. He planted both feet on the floor and tried his weight on his weak leg. It held.

Standing firm on both feet, he went over to a table set with a basin and a pitcher of fresh water and cleaned up. Once clothed and tidy, he straightened his hair back, gazing at his reflection. By the day he was growing fonder of the scar. Why not, he thought, for it would be with him a lifetime, and it was a reminder that dueling was not a game. The drooping eyelid was improving but would never disappear. He considered putting on the eyepatch, tried it on a couple of times, then tossed it aside in disgust for being vain. The eyepatch fluttered to the floor.

Robert leaned down to pick it up and nearly let out a scream as he felt a jolt of pain rip through his thigh. He straightened like a board and grabbed a nearby chair, pulling himself into it and keeping his left leg neat. As he turned, placing his elbows on the table and resting his head in his hands, he noticed a stack of letters tied with a red ribbon in the center of the blasted table. And here Pellew said he had loved no other. Filled with jealously, Robert yanked the ribbon off and let the letters scatter onto the table. He reeled back, overwhelmed by a foul odor so repugnant that he the source and spoke it out loud like a curse.

"Lord Nigel Graves? Why are you writing to my Edward?"

Robert commenced to rifle through the letters. He recognized the handwriting on at least five letters as his own, he'd sent to Edward in the last eight months. Yet, before spread out like cards were at least twenty more letters. He opened each up, breaking their seals, drew out the parchment and tossed it on the table. Scanning the workmanship as best he could with one good eye, he soon was scouring them all in no particular order, forgeries but close enough to his own hand. He set aside his own letters and chose a letter at random and commenced to read.

While Preston was engaged in prose so flowering and ridiculous that he had to laugh, the door opened and Pellew and Lt. Hornblower, carrying a tray of food and hot tea, came walking in together, chatting away about the dinner that Foster was holding that evening. Both fell silent upon seeing Preston laughing amongst a pile of ripped opened envelopes and scattered parchment.

"Ah, Edward! You have to read these! Never have I been so damn eloquent, and so assertive. Do you know I have asked you to marry me and run away to my castle in Lester? It seems the lake there has trout so large the could swallow a small boat, and I am anxious to take you fishing. As if either of us do. You should read these, Horatio, to learn what not to write in a letter you don't want the world to see."

"They are not for the world or publication," snapped Pellew. He charged over and gathered the letters before him in a heap on the table "I had food brought in for you. I imagine you are hungry." Not at all pleased the letters were out on his table amongst his maps and charts, Edward motioned for Hornblower to place the tray down any spot he could find. "That will be all, Mr. Hornblower."

"I'd like to stay, sir. It has been a long time since I've seen Captain Preston," said Horatio, his gaze on his hero.

"Oh, give me a kiss and stop playing coy!"

A hand reached out and tugged on Lt. Horatio Hornblower's sleeve. Robert leaned back in his chair and held out his arms to the young man. Horatio launched himself into his arms. He hugged the captain

tight, pressing his cheek close so he could whisper in his ear.

"I have missed you, sir. Even Bowles does. I thought you might write to me or at least to Captain Pellew. We were all so eager to here of your adventures at sea."

"You'll have to ask your captain why he didn't show you my letters, Mr. Hornblower," said Robert, eyeing Pellew. "I wrote to your captain and sent my highest regards to you and the crew. I happen to be quite fond of you. Whenever you want to leave Pellew and come serve under me, I'll take you." He kissed Horatio on the cheek and set him back. "Be a good lad and pour me a cup of tea, hmm? Edward can't pour cup of tea to save his life."

A blush on Horatio's face made Robert grin. "You haven't changed at all, sir." He glanced over at Pellew. "I did not mean to throw myself upon, Captain Preston. I am sorry, sir."

"It's good to see him again, I know, Mr. Hornblower," said Pellew. "I hope you'll not mention anything about the letters. Captain Preston is in a bit of a spot. Your discretion would be appreciated. By both of us."

"You have it, sir. On my life."

"Then we must make certain you live a long time," Robert cut in to say. "You can best serve your country by staying with Pellew and remaining alive, Mr. Hornblower. For in my company, you wouldn't reach the age of twenty."

Hornblower gulped. "I have heard the stories of your battles."

"By the book, Mr. Hornblower. Read it. Learn it. Follow it," said Robert, grinning over at Edward. "You'll never be a Nelson. And neither will I. But it is quite alright to be yourself, Mr. Hornblower. Remember that and do what Captain Pellew commands."

"In that case, I think I can manage here, Hornblower. You may go," said Pellew, interrupting like a sword cutting through wood.

His loud bark brought Lt. Hornblower to attention, standing as tall as a flag pole, his arms at his side, while his eyes lowered and met those of Captain Preston. A slight nod of the head toward the door made by the captain and Hornblower hurried out, shut the door and hurried off, his retreating footsteps echoing behind him.

"Discretion, Robert," said Pellew, sighing. "I know it's not a word you are familiar with, or a moral code you can appreciate, but I happen to like to keep some things secret. While I know we've both enjoyed the favors of young Mr. Hornblower, I'd rather he not know every occurrence that transpires between us within these four walls."

"For God's sake, Edward, don't harp. I want to talk about these letters. Hornblower won't say anything. I trust him with my life." Robert pointed over at the tea set. He was not about to serve himself on another captain's ship. "Pour me a cup of tea since Hornblower forgot and have a seat. I want to discuss Nigel Graves and these forgeries. How many people know of these letters? Did anyone see Graves hand these out? What a damn fool."

"You know?"

"That their forgeries? I didn't write this bilge!"

"I mean, that it's Graves? For certain?"

"I am certain," said Robert, firmly. "I can sell his foul scent on the parchment. It clings to my memory. I'll not forget his odor, for it covered my brother like the piss of an alley cat and stayed clogged in my nostrils for days afterwards."

"Marked him for death, I should think," replied Pellew. "Graves had no love for your brother, or any loyalty. I believe he provoked him to fight you in order to remove your brother James from the playing board." He watched as the scar on Preston's face commenced to twitch. "Can you imagine what would happen if anyone learned of these letters and published them? I can, and I shiver to think of the extent of Graves labors to duplicate your penmanship and create such a scandal, for it can appear he wants only one thing, a court martial for you, and for me."

Preston licked his lips. "You'd know if Graves was here, since you said nothing. I wonder who would deliver all to Admiral Wilson, how they came by them, and why to him?"

"I have been thinking of nothing else since I learned of it this morning," said Pellew. "You are quite confident you have the identity of the forger. Why do you suspect Grave?" He came over to the table, his eyebrows fluttering like butterfly wings and took a seat, forgoing pouring tea, leaving Robert to do the honors.

"I forgot entirely. My mind is a wall."

Robert shrugged. "No matter." He held up the five letters he'd penned. "These are the ones I wrote and I want you to keep them separate from that slush pile of shit." He tossed the letters over to Edward. "But lock the others and hide them on this ship. I'll sort this out on shore."

"Admiral Wilson had those letters in his possession, kept in a locked box which no one had access to, and today he kindly turned them over to me. They were doled out to him over the course of a week. The return addresses are from all over the world, Robert. Wilson does not know who wrote them or how he came by them. Nor does Foster who was present at the time they were turned over to me. I, however, also believe Lord Graves is personally involved in this intrigue. I noticed the same odor."

"If it is Graves," snarled Robert, taking his tea spoon and turning it into a circle in his fist, "he'll be sorry he ever made my acquaintance. I blame him completely for my brother's death and I'd like to repay him in kind." He set the spoon down. "Sorry."

"Lord Graves is not in Gibraltar but in London. I do not know what more Wilson could tell you, but you might inquire further as to Graves and what he's been saying about us, and Wellington, at court. I think it quite important to know. If Wilson cannot help you, then you must go speak to Wellington. Go to his party tonight and sail with the morning's tide. One night will not matter, for Napoleon is sure to be in Paris by now."

"I wasn't even thinking of him." Robert withdrew a cigar from his jacket and stuck it into the side of his mouth, sinking his teeth into it as he lit up with a match and puffed at it until a cloud rose upwards. "I was fantasizing killed Graves."

"Foolish, Robert. Foolish." Edward shook his head. "I can only think that Wilson is an innocent third party. Graves did not mean for him to receive the letters, leaving someone else to know of them and collect them, then hand them over to Wilson. Whoever did this must trust Admiral Wilson, as I do, and thought he the safest one to hold onto them. But he has now given them to me."

"So, he thinks he no longer safe?"

"It's possible."

Robert leaned back in his chair and blew smoke upwards. "I was thinking, my dear, should you receive another letter from me before you see me next, for I shall not write, then you'll know it's fake. The next letter I give you will be handed to you in person by me." His blue eyes glinted dangerously. "I thought I would be fighting Napoleon, not my own countrymen. It is a sad day when a Frenchman is more a friend than an Englishman."

"I fear a dark shadow is upon us," said Edward. He took the five letters and placed them into his coat pocket. "I suspect these were your letters. Your prose bordered on the tedious, as to the details of daily life on your ship and accounts of duels against the Americans and French. I thought I recognized those sketches of ships and anchors you made. Very touching."

"So, my five letters were never read or seen by Graves or he would have made drawings. That is good. Wilson might have done us a great service. If none have seen these, then all I need do is challenge Graves to a duel for his offence and kill him."

"Be careful. You know not whom you can trust."

A cloud of smoke was blown across the table. Robert narrowed his eyes, glaring intently at Edward, his scar casting a sinister expression upon his devilishly handsome face.

"I trust you. And Graves will pay for this insult."

A tap on the door interrupted the two captains. Pellew stood up and answered it personally instead of calling out. Lt. Bowles stood in the entrance, his cap in hand, looking flushed and out of breath. Pellew looked him up and down with a frown.

"Well, what is it, man?"

Bowles handed him an envelope. Pellew took it, dismissed the officer with a nod, and closed the door. He opened the note on his way back to his seat and sat down as he advised Robert of the contents.

"It appears strange forces our at work, my dear friend. You are to report at once to the Admiralty House to see Wilson personally, and strange enough, it would seem that Foster squadron is about to shove off, while you set sail in the morning. You'll go to that party tonight after all, I should think. It won't take that long to talk to Wilson. He signed the letter himself."

Edward handed the note over to Robert and finished his off his now cold tea. Frowning at the note, suspecting it was fake, Robert stood up and came over to his lover, placing the letter back into his hands.

"I don't believe in coincidences. This was planned, Edward. What if that note is nothing but a forgery? Contact Foster and confirm whether you leave tonight. I intend to go talk to Admiral Wilson and hope I find the author of this note."

"There is a boat ready to take you to shore." Edward helped Robert on with his cloak, handed hat, cane, eyepatch and linking his arm through his friend's, he walked him to the door. "I notice you have no sword. Take me with you. You'll need me, I think."

"No. I want you safe."

"Then I offer Bowles, Matthews or Styles. Anyone you like. Of course not Hornblower. The older seaman would do nicely."

"I go alone, love. I'll not involve anyone else. Besides," said Robert, lifting the cane and drawing forth a long, narrow blade hidden within, "I am prepared." He sheathed the blade and drew Edward into his embrace, kissing him firmly on the lips. "You taste good. I wish I had the time to take you back to bed."

Edward pressed his cheek against Robert's. "I love you, Robert, but if you are to see the Duke tonight, as I suspect you will, I will not hold you to an obligation or commitment. He is a devil of a handsome man and I know you good and well that you'll bed him. You'll not be able to stop yourself. And I doubt he would tolerate your rejection. Not without consequences."

"You're giving me permission?"

Pellew nodded. "I know Wellington."

"Not like I do." Robert paused. "I mean, Edward, that I do not intent to bed the Duke. Besides, I want to keep your scent on me as long as I can. Don't be so eager to give me permission. I rather like you being possessive."

Preston kissed Edward again, savoring the taste of his mouth and the feel of his hard body against his own. He held him close, taking a moment to stroke his captain's face, smoothing the lines from he sides of his mouth and at the corners of his brown eyes. Leaning down, he kissed Edward's cheek, the tip of his nose, and ended with his lips. Taking his turn, Edward traced the thin red line down the side of Robert's cheek, feeling its silky fineness and how it rolled beneath his finger like a worm beneath the skin.

"You never told me how you came by this trophy."

"A duel with a certain nobleman."

"And the righteous cause you fought for?" Asked Edward, showing his intolerance for stupidity by pulling back an inch. Arms enfolded him, holding him firm. "Over a woman?"

"Over the late Earl of Lester, Lord James."

"When?"

Finding the stern tone and worried expression so endearing on Edward's face, Robert kissed him several times and place his hand flat upon the captain's heart. "A few months ago while taking on repairs in Newfoundland." He nuzzled at Edward's ear. "But darling, you'll be pleased to know that I killed the bastard for ruining my face. Ever hear of the Sir Gerald Hyde? Left handed. Highly skilled with the sword and cursed with a large mouth. But I closed it for him. Permanently. The man said he was a friend of James and I'd killed him to claim the earldom for myself."

"Not true. Not true!"

Robert released Pellew, letting him storm across the room and pace at his leisure. He let Pellew cool down and went to a mirror, took one look at the scar and put on the eyepatch. "I never connected Sir Gerald to Lord Graves, until now. This is the only duel in which I was wounded. I have fought one every time I have stepped foot on shore. But, not today."

"How many did you say?" Pellew came over to stand next to Robert at the mirror. He disliked the eyepatch but let them man attend to his vanity. Their eyes met in the mirror. "Hyde. I know of the man. Acting secretary for Lord Hood at once time. He was released for some undisclosed reason." He broke the gaze and turned away. "I do hate leaving you like this. Take some of my men with you. I must insist. Hornblower if no one else."

"Don't sacrifice our lamb. I'll be fine." Robert walked to the door, prepared to leave, not wanting an emotional scene. But seeing Edward left with the stack of letters and a thousand concerns, he returned to his side and kissed him. "Five duels. Five letters. Ironic, isn't it? Or maybe it was eight?"

"I am serious," said Edward. "I fear for your life. If you wish a neutral party to assist you, then seek out a trusted friend in the Admiralty House. You should not walk on land without a friend to watch over your back. That is my gut instinct, man, and not anything from out of a book. God's speed."

"And to you, sir," said Robert, sliding his hand across Edward's jaw, loving him. "We will meet again." He stepped in closer to Edward so he could smell the sea on his jacket and the pomade in his silky brown hair, kissing him one last time.

"Take care," said Pellew, his eyes glittering with emotion. He stepped before his man, cutting him off from the door. He held out his hand, taken in turn by Preston and shook. "I give you my word, Robert. I am loyal to you. We can trust each other. And please, Robert, by the book. Please. Take no risks."

Robert placed his hand around the cane. He wanted his sword only it was back on his ship. "How many more do you think they'll send against me? One? Two?"

"As many jackals as it takes to pull a lion down."

A lump in his throat, Edward walked over to the table, spreading his hand out upon it, supporting himself. He felt tears slide down his cheeks, but these he would not show to Robert. He heard the door open and lowered his head. "It should be me with you, with pistol and sword, ready to take part in whatever adventure about to befall you."

"No risks, you said. By the book."

"Don't jest," said Pellew, wiping a tear aside. "You'll react with your gut instincts, like you always do. I hope to God it doesn't get you killed this time."

Several officers appeared in the entrance. Preston tugged his hat low and saluted his friend upon Pellew turning to address his crew, saying with his eyes what was no long appropriate to say out loud. Pellew returned the salute and escorted him topside, where he stood by the side of the ships, watching Robert lowered down in a long boat and rowed to shore. The sky was dark and ugly, foreboding of rain to come. He felt only gloom around him.

Robert turned around and waved back at him. Edward found the pain in his heart lift and though out of character, he lifted his hat, bidding his friend farewell.

"You'll see him again, sir," said Lt. Hornblower, appearing at his side. "Tonight at Captain Foster's in fact."

"No, I won't, Mr. Hornblower. We sail tonight, not tomorrow." Edward sighed. "I fear I may never see Captain Preston again."

"Sir?"

Placing his hand upon Hornblower's shoulder, Pellew looked away from Preston's retreating back and gaze out to sea. "No cause to be alarmed, lad. Maybe one day we'll all sail together on the same ship." He lifted his head and stiffened his spine, calm and collected. "Wouldn't that be something, Mr. Hornblower? Wouldn't that be just grand."

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