Author's Note: I'd just like to start by thanking nightkate for her lovely review. I'm glad someone's enjoying the story! I'm posting this next chapter in your honor :)
P.S. Generally I think it's best to post these chapters in pairs, since they alternate perspectives, but this chapter has a kind of cliffhanger so I thought it might be more fun to torture you just a little...
Edit: nightkate made an excellent point in her review, so I'm changing one tiny thing :)
The Lieutenant and the Lady
Chapter Five
Nothing Difficult
Hours later, Tom slipped out into the gardens, relieved to be out of the crush of the ballroom and the card room. Also relieved, truth be told, to be free of the company of Captain Aubrey. Much as he respected his mentor in all things naval, and much as he esteemed him as a kind of friend, he had never been easy with the man's flirtatious nature, and was even less so when that flirtatiousness overstepped the bounds of propriety. Tom was not naïve; he knew what went on in foreign ports, and of course he knew the saying "no man is married past Gibralter". He had observed it to be true. However, alien though the world of high society seemed to him, the admiral's ballroom was not a foreign port, London was nowhere near Gibralter, and anyway he had never been able to reconcile his beliefs about love and honor with the realities of his captain's behavior. If Tom loved someone the way he knew Captain Aubrey loved his fiancée, he did not think he could ever behave in such a manner. Having met and dined with Sophia on several occasions, bearing witness to any kind of betrayal of her made him deeply uncomfortable. Though he had been uncomfortable enough already.
He had no reason to feel uncomfortable, of course. Tom had been shocked by how well he had been received, and by the respect with which he was treated. The admiral himself had insisted upon his company at supper, entreating him to describe his actions aboard the Acheron from every possible angle, and praising his skill and leadership. William had put him even further to the blush by describing the battle during which Tom had received his scar. His friend had meant to do him a kindness, he knew, and show him in an impressive light, but after the tale was told Tom felt people staring intently at his face even more than before.
Truthfully, his scar had been weighing on his mind for a great deal of the night. He had been handsome once, he knew. Perhaps he'd never driven the ladies wild with desire, but he'd been handsome enough all the same. His tall, slim (yet strong) form, long dark hair, blue eyes and sweetly crooked smile had been charming, certainly, and all of it had been enhanced by his Royal Navy uniform. But all of that was past tense. Ever since he'd seen Lady Fanshaw's reaction to his scar he'd felt burdened by the realization that his every feature must fade into the background until all others would ever notice was the jagged line slashed across his face. After all, it wasn't as though he had either wealth or position to distract them from it.
Shaking his head, Tom reflected that he was becoming quite morose when really he ought to be happy. He could tell from the way the admiral and everyone else had treated him that the evening had done much for his interest at the Admiralty, and the likelihood of being given his own command was much greater than it had been before the ball. The thought did make him very happy, of course; it was the summit of his dearest hopes, the hopes he'd never expected to have fulfilled. When he'd first dreamed of going to sea, he had known he'd be nothing more than a ship's boy, one who might perhaps someday grow to become an able seaman. But then Lieutenant Aubrey had put him forward for promotion from foremast jack to midshipman, much to everyone's surprise and Tom's delight. God, if his father could have seen him this evening! Surely he would have been proud to see his son received so kindly in such high society, proud to see him waltz with the daughter of the house, proud of his increased expectations of his own ship…
Tom entertained himself with thoughts of his potential first command as he wandered through the Admiral's opulent gardens. They were incredibly impressive by night, with several paths lit by torches, the flames illuminating many unfamiliar trees and flowers. Dr. Maturin would be able to recite their Latin names, of course, and probably everything else about them, but to Tom they were no less beautiful for being unknown. He reveled in the crisp night air, and in the silence, and in the joy of being alone. Though he must return to his lodgings soon, he supposed. It wasn't quite the thing to traipse through another man's backyard at such a late hour. But it was so very relaxing, and his lodgings were so very cramped.
"Mr. Pullings?" a soft, surprised voice asked from the shadows, shaking Tom from his reverie.
"Lady Evelyn?" he responded, equally surprised as she appeared before him. Tom was immediately on his guard, resolved that there would be no repeat of the bizarre fantasy he'd had while dancing with her early in the evening. It ought to be easy; she was so very plain. But then she had been just as plain earlier, and it hadn't stopped him then. He couldn't help but notice that the torchlight was quite flattering to her, making her appear almost pretty. Also, she had removed her cap at some point, revealing her hair to be a waving, shining copper which nearly matched the flames that lit the garden. Swallowing hard, he reminded himself of his resolution.
"I had thought that you would be gone by now," she began, sounding flustered. "That everyone would be gone by now, I mean."
Uncertain of what to do, Tom bowed, then felt foolish for it. "Indeed not, my lady; there are many men remaining in the card and smoking rooms."
She frowned slightly. "I see. And why are you not with them?"
"I became weary of their conversation," he admitted frankly. "Especially since so much of it seemed to focus upon me."
"What do you mean?" she asked, turning away from him and walking back into the shadows. He followed and found her seated on a stone bench just off the path. It wasn't quite as well lit, but was still in the open, so he assumed it was proper enough to sit there.
"Well," he answered as he joined her on the bench, "first they insisted upon hearing about the Acheron. It's not that I minded telling it, of course, but it really does sound so much better when one hears it than it seemed at the time… I felt uncomfortably as though I were boasting."
Lady Evelyn glanced at him in amusement. "You're meant to enjoy boasting about your exploits, Mr. Pullings. I'm sure the other gentlemen would have."
"Perhaps," he allowed, shrugging. "I doubt I will ever be comfortable with it. But then Mr. Mowett told a story that made me even more uncomfortable, and I felt compelled to find some solitude."
"And what story did Mr. Mowett tell that discomfited you so?" Lady Evelyn shifted slightly on the bench, brushing her leg unintentionally against his, and Tom froze.
"Ah… Um, well… He, uh, told the story of how I got my scar," he stammered, distracted by the feel of her against him and the warmth seeping into him from their point of contact. The desire he had felt in the ballroom had returned full force, or perhaps even stronger, as the darkness was so much more intimate. His mind had already begun spinning fantasies based on the lovely possibilities afforded by secluded stone benches.
Lady Evelyn seemed not to notice any of this, neither their physical contact nor their complete privacy. "I can understand that such a story would make you uncomfortable."
"Oh… Ah… Well… The story itself, um, didn't… Much bother me, you know. It was a neat little action, and both Will- Mr. Mowett, I mean- and the captain performed quite bravely in it. But afterwards…" he trailed off, unable to concentrate.
"Afterwards?" she prompted.
He barely heard her. His mind was completely preoccupied with a torturous image of him on top of her, pressing her down against the bench and settling between her legs as he kissed her and pushed up her skirt. In his fantasy she was warm and responsive, sighing quietly into his mouth as he trailed his fingers along the soft flesh of her thighs… "I'm sorry?" he asked weakly.
"You said 'But afterwards…' and then simply stopped," she pointed out. "I was hoping you'd finish your sentence, you see. Are you quite alright?"
"Yes," he murmured. "Quite. I merely meant that after he told the story, I… Um, that is, I felt as though people were staring at me more than usual. And so I came here to… Um, escape them."
She turned towards him in the darkness, touching his hand gently, and Tom could feel an electric current run through her into him. He longed to pull his hand away and run screaming in the other direction, but of course that would hardly do justice to the bravery of a lieutenant in His Majesty's Royal Navy. "I am sorry that some people are so ill-bred," she stated softly. "They are fools, you know."
Her closeness was killing him, he thought. It was so dark and quiet, and she was so warm and soft and near, and it had been so long since he'd been anywhere in the vicinity of a woman. He was finding it quite difficult to refrain from kissing her senseless despite her general lack of attractiveness. "Yes, well…" he trailed off vaguely. "I daresay I'll grow more used to it. This is the first time I've been on land for any length of time among civilians since I received the wound."
"I see." There was a long pause, which Tom found physically painful- especially as she hadn't removed her hand from his- but which he suspected Lady Evelyn found perfectly comfortable. After awhile, she broke the silence. "Tonight was my first waltz, you know. Earlier, with you, I mean. I was quite grateful for the dance."
"Please," he whispered, "do not mention it. I assure you, it was a pleasure." As soon as he said it, he wished he could take it back; something about the fantasies in his mind made the way he said that last word sound positively indecent, at least to his own ears.
"I doubt it, but thank you for saying so." Lady Evelyn sighed. "I am so horrible at things like this," she muttered, almost to herself. "It's really no wonder…"
"What?" Tom inquired, confused.
"I'm simply… Not very good at being straightforward," she replied, sighing again.
"I'm quite a proponent of straightforwardness," Tom reflected seriously, or as seriously as he was able considering how preoccupied he was. "You know, Admiral Nelson always said 'never mind the maneuvers; just go straight at 'em'. He was talking about battle, of course, but I think it applies to life as well." Except in situations such as these, he reminded himself. His mind unhelpfully supplied several potential applications of going straight at her.
"I like that philosophy," she said quietly. "And I suppose in this case I ought to follow it. You see, I enjoyed our dance, and our conversation, very much. I'm not a fool; I know you must have danced with me purely to impress my father- No," she cut him off before he could form his protests. "Do not perjure yourself. As I said, I am not a fool. But it did seem to me that you enjoyed our dance as well. I was hoping I might be able to ask a favor of you."
Tom looked at her in the darkness, completely confused. Surely he was not in a position to do any kind of favor for a lady of her station. "You might ask, Lady Evelyn. But I confess I am uncertain as to how I might be of any possible service to you."
"Oh it's nothing difficult!" she assured him earnestly. "It's only that I was hoping you might kiss me. I've never been kissed before, you see, and at two and twenty it's becoming rather embarrassing."
Author's Note: See? Cliffhanger! I hate to hold the next chapter hostage in exchange for reviews but... Wait, no I don't! If you ever want to find out Tom's reaction to Evie's request, please review! Even if the review is bad. I'll post the next chapter as soon as I get one decently long and thorough review :)
