“Ah!” his eyes smiled as he pointed a finger briefly. “You have wit and curiosity.” Jax let his mouth find the same delight his eyes did. “Of course you do.” He watched her without adding anything more for a minute or two. With a sigh he took hold of his crumpled shirt and began to put his arms through the sleeves.

Jax winced. It shouldn’t hurt. He must be getting soft with all this delicate touch and healing goop. “Too bad about you not enjoying games, though I think perhaps there was some tiny bit of enjoyment, hidden of course, in your game you played with the Captain, losing so skillfully.” He asked her in a tease. "At cards I mean."

“Oh wait, I should be holding my tongue, shouldn’t I?”

Jax stood slowly and let his shirt open as he took the pot. He looked at the container for a few minutes. “The thing is the Commander has a date with a woman who somehow affects the..” Jax paused looking for the right word, “direction of this ship.” He looked up at the Doctor First Mate and smiled, “But because I, unlike you, enjoy a good game once and awhile, I have not reached the end of this one and can talk no plainer than that. “

Jax took a step toward the door, “So here is my next move; come with me and invite the Captain or stay in your dark room with your books and try to piece the puzzle together on your own.” He smiled at her. “You could do just that because you are a much better player than you give yourself credit for.”

Jax opened the door and looked out to the sunshine. “I am sure I can find him somewhere about.” Jax turned around and again smiled at her. He knew he shouldn’t be playing this game, not with her, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to run away from her and yet, he didn't want to go. She could push him out, close the door and forget all about him. Too bad he couldn’t seem to do the same with her.

Aggravating, frustrating man! She wanted to box his ears or slap him or something equally disciplinarian. She wanted to bend him over her knee and…

She ground her teeth. That was not how she wanted to do anything but she was at a loss as to how to proceed. He had her, he had her hooked with his baited words and his hinted at clues. She was worried and curious and she knew that if he walked out that door into the warm sunshine of the day and she lingered behind that it would plague her, eat at her until she knew even less peace than she knew now.

She wanted to find some way to take the victory from him. She wanted some way where she could do what she felt she had to do, without giving in to him and his goading words. But she could come up with nothing. Not a single word or plan of action that would get her what she wanted on all fronts. She had lost control of this scene and the fact that he hadn’t done up his damn shirt was only adding to the chaos. She was too open, too raw to be reasonable. Had he been made to distract her? Was this his only purpose? To flash that grin and unsettle her so badly she couldn’t even think?

With a snarl she stepped into the doorway, her well-honed reflexes making the move as fast as it was graceful, an assassin’s lunge. She flanked him and took the one bit of control she could from the situation.

Her nimble fingers took hold of his shirt, flying over the front, pushing button after button into the place it belonged, as each inch of his flesh was hidden from her sight she felt cold calm returning in small measure. She was furious still, but she was in control of something. Something small perhaps but it was enough.

She watched her fingers work and spoke in a tight, angry voice that still dripped with honey, the spice of fury somehow making it even sweeter.

“I will come with you, but I think you will find the Captain is as much a fan of plain-speech as I. You will need to be clear with him and cease these absurd games.”

The last button was done, hiding more flesh than he was wont to hide and she felt her shoulders sag in relief before she gestured for him to proceed her.

“Go.” She said. “Find him, I will follow.”

What? Jax almost swatter her hands away but if she wanted to touch him, well, shark bites, he wanted to let her. Even if her eyes looked as sharp as those predators teeth he would welcome the feel of her hands and fingers again. How sick was he? But she didn’t really touch. No, that twisted seaweed witch buttoned his shirt. What was that? He was some bad little boy she had to scold and dress. Damn her. Curses to her. He should just dump her off on that plain words Captain and let her dress him. Bet she couldn’t wait to get her hands on his buttons.

Jax snickered and shook his head. You’ve over your head in this one, he silently warned himself and he turned from her. “Oh you are having fun, I know,” Once turned away it was easier to find that teasing voice again. “But you are good at hiding it. I’ll give you that.”

It wasn’t hard or long to figure where the Captain was. Things were being loaded and Jax found early on that this ships leader was one to be where the action was. He was just moving from the main deck his shirt clearly soaked from exertion. Someone was with him and looked in conversation. Jax slowed wanting to give the Captain the time he needed.

He twisted his head to the First Mate, “Maybe you best fetch him a new shirt, seeing how you like to them so.” He grinned, “Or is that something you just share with me?”

He didn’t dare wait for an answer to that and spun back around making sure the Captain knew he was approaching. “Captain, Sir.” He called out on his finally steps toward him. “Might the First Mate and I speak with you. She has a request that could use your attention.”

Thomas listened to Dujo without interruption. The quartermaster did not know the details of the voyage that they were about to undertake, but he was shrewd enough to realize a threat when he heard one. The Crimson Feather’s sudden departure had been no coincidence, and the involvement of the Governor’s house in the whole matter bode of more ill tidings. There was little Thomas could do now, however. He would not set out half-cocked, no matter the promised prize, and so he had little option but to stay the course. The men of the Feather were as stupid as they were brash, though that notion in and of itself did little to settle Thomas’ mind.

The voice of the helmsman from behind him held Thomas’ response to Dujo. He turned fractionally to Jax, and waved the quartermaster away. With a frown, Dujo nodded and disappeared down the steps to the decks below.

“A request?” Thomas said, his face devoid of the troubling ides of his previous conversation.

He turned fully to both Jax and Nicolette, and an inquisitive smile came to his face. Thomas moved his eyes between the strange pair, and his brow raised.

“How can I be of service?”

Aggravating, frustrating man! She wanted to box his ears or slap him yet again. He kept up his teasing, tossing his little crumbs of truth over his shoulder like chum into the water and she followed in his wake and felt each bit tossed her way like a blow. Was she having fun as he so accused? Surely not, she was annoyed. She was riled up and ready to beat him senseless. She was engaged, she was curious and

Damn him.

She was having fun.

Damn him to the deepest, most fiery pits of hell.

She ground her teeth and didn’t engage him, keeping all the honey-laced vinegar of her words behind the cage of her grinding teeth as he teased her about the captain and his shirt. She wanted to snap back at him, to shout that she didn’t care what the captain did with his shirt. That the captain’s chest wasn’t a painful distraction from everything and if he wanted he could walk around bare for all he moved her in that regard. But she said nothing, just felt all the bile she held back settle like a weight in her stomach.

They approached the captain and she noted the tight expression on his face, mirrored in the face of the Quartermaster. That gave her pause, what had riled the quartermaster up? That expression told a story that was more than just the inflated cost of some product, it spoke of something larger. She felt tension building, or rather more tension. She felt like she was so wound up she was ready to snap. She and Jax settled into place as Dujo walked gravely away. She saw the smile the captain bore, saw that it didn’t go very deep. Though she was feeling strangely shy and soft before this man who had seen her weakness she didn’t understand the darkness in his eyes behind the smile and she wanted to. Before she could ask about it, Jax was speaking.

The aggravating man, the frustrating man stood before the captain and in plain words told the captain all that he’d told her. But this time it made sense. This time it was clear. Her eye twitched as she stared an absolute hole in the wall of the ship just over the captain’s left shoulder as she waited to see what he would make of it. Why hadn’t Jax just told her what he’d said to the captain in the manner he’d said it to the captain? Why had he made it so hard? Why had he goaded her? Why had he given her the gift of the Nightblooms and then taken them away?

Thomas listened with growing curiosity as Jax spoke of the inquiry in lieu of the First Mate, who stood just beyond looking like a pretty blowfish that had drawn in too much water. With each new detail added by the sea artist, Thomas’ brows rose ever higher, along with his inquisitive smirk, until it appeared he may pull himself from the deck by the sheer will of his eyebrows.

Of course, he thought, Antonia would have something like this afoot. This could perhaps be just the blessing we need, as our most recent quandary deals apparently with those who will most certainly be attending this soirée.

He nodded slowly when Jax had finished, and his face brightened with promise. “This is a most opportune proposition, Mr. Xander, and I am most certainly going to attend,” Thomas smiled as he spoke the helmsman’s formal name. “You see, Dujo has just informed me of a plot that is being played out even now that has perfectly aligned with your request.”

Thomas stepped forward and lowered his voice for both the First Mate and Jax. “Apparently, the Crimson Feather put to sea this morning with intentions upon our floundered Spanish galleon. What’s more is that the information was granted to the scurrilous bastards by someone from Government House. A most troubling turn of events, since we have been laboring under the assumption that the monopoly on that news was ours.”

“This party should allow us to hopefully glean more word on the matter, and I want each of you to keep your ears keenly open for talk of such. The damn Feather is already ahead of us in this game.”

Thomas finished his words with a scowl as he thought of the rival ship. He looked back to the pair before him, and his expression shifted slightly. The First Mate’s apparent discomfiture, coupled with Jax’s own impish bearing was mixing in the fetid air, and even with his mind upon the matters of the ship, Thomas couldn’t help but notice the strange alchemy.

His copper eyes moved back and forth between them, and a jocular thought came to his mind. It was a gut feeling, but of all the seriousness that had beleaguered the day thus far, it came as a welcome opportunity.

“Jax,” he began, “if you need accompaniment for this evening, I know a lady with a most agreeable countenance and engaging manner that I am certain would relish the company of a dashing, intrepid rascal such as yourself.”

Thomas bowed forward slightly, his brow arching along with a curious smile that teased the corners of his mouth. He couldn’t hide the twinkle of his eyes as he looked to the helmsman, determined to steer his gaze away from the First Mate.

“Shall I inquire after her on your behalf?”

Jax’s smile was broad but shallow. He needed the Captain to find him a woman? The hit of that almost made him groan. It was clear to Jax the Captain was doing him no favors at all. Well, so be it, he had set the course, he might as well sail it.

“I would be honored, Captain to escort whoever you see fit. I am sure you know you're fill of engaging manners. But do not feel the need to worry about me. I can fit in as all as the next,“ he glanced to the good doctor, ”oddman shipmate.”

He smiled and then lowered his head slightly, picking it back up after a second. “But Sir if I might add something here?” He cleared his throat not so sure of himself all of the suddened. Would this be information the Captain could use or understand? He did not offen provide information to anyone. Jax was his own man and he kept his thought to himself. He glanced to the First Mate, well at least he use to.

“The Feather has grave faults. She lisps to the port stern, not near as well constructed as your ship. The crew might be better, might have clues of this, but if loaded at all incorrectly she will be a slow moving sailor. There is no reason we could not catch her after she battles once and tried to sail off with a full load.”

He glanced to the man’s eyes and decided not to attempt to read them. It was his call. Jax knew what he knew and he was sure after the crew battled and loaded they would be an even easier target. Nothing at all was lost.

Each of you. He said “I want each of you to keep your ears keenly open for talk of such”.

She stared at the Captain incredulously, trembling fingers lifting to her mangled cheek, the unmistakable mark of her shame. A mark he wanted her to parade about at a party where questions would be asked with looks and even with sweetly framed derision. She had thought he had understood, that they had made some connection but the mirth in his eyes, the mischief at his little game told her otherwise. He was having fun picturing this.

She was too raw for the moment, to aching from all the cracks in her tightly controlled world. She felt herself scrabbling for ragged edges to hold onto. She did not want to go and face the accusing eyes of fine people at a fine gathering. Fine people she used to be one of. But no longer. Normally she could hold her chin high and let their looks and their condemnation roll off of her but not just then. Not with the scent of night blooms lingering in her nose, not with the warmth of the Captain’s embrace and what she thought had been understanding fading from her body. She thought he had wanted her trust.

Cold, she needed to be cold, needed its blessed numbing just then. She could do that, she could pare the moment down until it was naught but bone and sinew and then figure out how best to make it work. She closed her eyes, willed away the ache, the raw and the anger. Then she forced ice into the parts that were empty. As she did this she heard what Jax had to say and nodded. Her face was forcefully smooth, grave. When her eyes opened they were distant and dead. She turned them towards the two men, distance was her armor against them as she considered what was before her.

Was the information to be gleaned at the party all that pertinent? They knew the general whereabouts of the prey and could likely get there first if what Jax had to say about the Crimson Feather was true and she had no reason to doubt him in this. She knew him to be shrewd about the things that interested him. Moreover, she knew the crew of her ship and she knew that they could band together and work the skate like a lover, coaxing speed and grace from her in a way that few crews could. Plus the Crimson Feather was down a few crew members too, or if they had managed to fill the empty spots they would be with new, untried members, that would slow them down. The feather could be overtaken, if they knew exactly where she was going.

But was that information to be gleaned from the party? What could they learn that Antonia could not? She had eyes that were keen, Nicki had seen that, she had ears that heard overmuch. She was the best one for the job yet the captain wanted them all there. Why?

To mock her, to make her squirm, to see her suffer.

Ice, she needed to be ice. She needed to be cold.

“I cannot think that what we can learn from the gathering could be as advantageous to us as speed would be,” she said flatly and clearly. “But as we must fetch our crew member from the gathering before we catch up I cannot think that extra ears could be a bad thing. You should make your inquiries on Mr. Jax’s behalf then, Captain, though outside ears are hardly discrete. I will see about readying the crew for departure.”

Thomas deflated visibly, and his smile waned. His hidden insinuation that the helmsman should attend the dance with the First Mate had either gone wholly unnoticed or dutifully ignored. On top of that the First Mate herself remained as mercurial as ever. Thomas saw her expression glimmer through emotions like the shadow of a fast moving cloud flying before the sun, and he found himself nonplused by her reaction.

He had thought that after the moment of candor that the two of them had shared earlier that she would be more receptive to sharing the company of those with whom, while perhaps trust was out of the question, in the very least she respected. It was becoming starkly clear to Thomas that he had gained a loyal, and stout officer at his right hand, but without waves beneath her feet and men to command she was out of place. The haunts of her past were too raw to allow her the social pleasantries of friendship, and Thomas felt a twinge of sadness for the scarred woman.

With a nod Thomas returned his attention from his own thoughts to the two that stood before him. He met the eyes of the sea artist first, and nodded sagely.

“Your analysis of the Feather is surely valuable, and I sincerely trust your judgment. I have all faith that once we are wholly prepared ourselves, and with you at the helm, that we can catch that ship of bilge-drinkers, or bypass them entirely, without much fuss. I have already instructed Dujo to continue on with the outfitting of the Skate as was planned. We won’t be going before the wind half-cocked, I can assure you.”

He looked to the First Mate. “If you wish to remain with the ship, then by all means do so. I am sure Dujo would appreciate the assistance. As for the number of ears, and their efficacy, while the venture tonight might prove fruitless, an informant for our enemies that dwells inside of the Governor’s Mansion is of grave concern to me. I shall attend if for no other reason than to enlighten Antonia of this potential threat, and she can thusly begin to do what she does best.”

Thomas took a half step back, and bowed his head slightly to the helmsman. “With regard to my offer a moment ago, I was presumptuous in my speech. I did not mean to suggest that you required my assistance, and I apologize. As I think on it now, the lady I had in mind may be unavailable in any case.” His eyes did not look to Nicolette, though they surely wanted to.

With a step back, Thomas looked down at his sweat-stained shirt and ruddy appearance. He looked up to the pair with a smile. “I shall leave you both to your own devices then. I must be off to make myself presentable for this evening’s festivities. I bid you both farewell.”

Thomas nodded before turning and walking off across the deck towards his cabin, the sound of his boots echoing dully in the hot, thick, Jamaican afternoon.

Spies and parties, night blooms and shirts, soft hands and cold eyes, all the confusion of woman on board a ship, Jax was sure. He would go to the party but he would press the First Mate as hard as he could to come along too. Why should he suffer and not her? She thinks she is the only one with pain?

He stood at as much attention as the sea artist could while the Captain explained, or did he explain? Yes, he did. He did. Then he turned to her and faced her directly. “I will ask you direct.” He lifted his chin. “If you have any of the warmth your fingers betray even if your eyes do not, please do not send me to that gathering alone. All the pretence, all the jokes, all the mystery is my cover too. You are not the only one who bears scars. I am not of their class and feel it each time I move into their circles. I am worse than a throne beside the fragrant blooms. I can laugh and pretend as well as you.”

He smiled then and lowered his eyes a little, “Well, maybe that is untrue.” He looked back up. “I have learned. But the point is I do not ask you to be any kind of date or escort, just go and help me glide in and out. Help me not be the fool. There is a reason I sail, just as there is for you. I escape. Help me. Then be done with me. Could you please?”

He swallowed hard and stood facing her forcing her, if he could to look at him. Look at his eyes his body seemed to say. Just look and see. He could almost feel the slap of her rejection. He stood ready for it. She didn’t have to hit his face to tug at his shirt. She could just lift her chin and say no. Easy as that. And Jax silently cursed himself for being exactly where he was; too open, too ready, too vulnerable. Yet sometimes the quick pain was best. Jax stood ready for that.

These men, they were determined to rip her asunder. She felt pulled and abraded by their eyes, their words, their accusations spoken and not. So much so that she had to drop her eyes to her hands which were balled up, hidden in the ruffle of her fine shirt sleeves but tight enough that she could feel nail threatening to push its way through flesh.

She saw disappointment and sadness in the Captain’s face. Did she see pity? Surely not, for in the face of pity she would have to throw herself to the sharks and forget all that Yàn had taught her about swimming so that she could sink to the bottom, out of the reach of pity. But what trapped her, what pinned her in place was the panic in Jax’s voice when he addressed her as the Captain took his disappointment and left. Jax’s pleading should have fallen on uncaring ears. He’d pricked her too often, hurt her with his comforting arms and then lashed with his cruel tongue and unsettling smile. But he wasn’t smiling then, he was asking, all but begging and she could feel the vulnerability in his voice.

She knew what it was to feel out of place. He had done his level best to make her feel that on this very ship. So many of the crew had, with eyes, words and deeds they had made her feel unwelcome. She had learned to deal with it, Clearly Jax had not.

Ripped asunder, they would destroy her. She bit her lips and looked past him, just over his shoulder and blinked her eyes as the horizon wobbled as her eyes filled with tears. See what they had done to her? She was weeping, again. In years she had not wept this much.

“Fine.” She snapped, her voice cracking as one tear slipped past her lashes to be angrily batted away. First Mates didn’t cry. Pirates didn’t cry. Yet she was crying, out in public where he would see.

“I will go with you and I will see that you can slip in and out unnoticed. But I will point out that you brought this up, you arranged this whole thing and now you plead for an escort? This is all on your Head Monsieur Jax.” Her honeyed voice lashed out at him, like a whip made of sugar, stinging but sweet for all that.

She strode past him, angrily, somehow the scent of nightbooms still clung to her as she brushed by him.

“I am going to go get dressed, to prepare. See what you can manage, if you must, ask the Captain if he has spare finery for you. I will meet you back here.”

He let his head role back and his face feel the sun. She said yes with all the warmth he deserved. He smiled. But Jax had things to do. First of which was a quick run back to that pond. He needed to breath that water again. Besides it was a good place to get started. From there he had to find some shop, tailor or seamstress because she made it clear he needed to improve his attire. And he did. He traveled very light and that included no fair suites or clothes at all.

He didn't like the idea, at first, of wearing the Captains left over clothes. It was hard enough in the guys shadow right now. He was the brains. He was the brawl. He had the woman and the men. What did Jax have? At least he could have his own set of fine threads. He imagined the First Mate would want him in her Captain’s clothes just so she could sort of pretend she was attending with someone else not Jax. He couldn’t fault her for that. But then he didn't want to be anyone else either. At least he did not want to admit he did.

So Jax ran quickly to the shop that had a needle hanging on a sign. The woman inside snickered at him and almost pushed him out saying no one would find anything for a river rat like him in the little time he gave. Really? He held out his coins but she wasn’t impressed as she closed the door in his face. Another shop quickly. Jax should have done this right away. He just thought you grabbed a coat from behind a counter and you were dressed. Apparently not. He had coins. Right in his hand. And he couldn’t find anyone to dress him.

Sea spit!

Jax sucked it up, took it in, lifted his chin and dashed back to the ship. He stopped at the Captain’s door. Damn this is not how he wanted all this to go. He had nothing. Damn if she wasn’t right and knew he would end up here. Damn her. Jax took a breath again. But ride the tide they say. Jax knocked on the door.

As soon as a crack appeared and the door opened Jax fell to his knees. “Have mercy!” He spread his arms wide and called, “I have swallowed the sea. I am treading water as the waves crush me. I drank ,more salt than I can swallow. I am going to a party and have no clothes. Have pity on this poor moon struck sailor and dress me. Please.”

He rose his eyes to judge his delivery by the Captain’s face and the position of the door.

Thomas had been in the middle of wiping himself clean with a rag soaked in spring water, when the knock came at his door. With a grumble he hurried through drying himself off and throwing on a pair of loose linen pants and a dingy old shirt. Dressed, if somewhat ridiculously, Thomas walked on bare feet to the door and began to pull it open. He was immediately met with the pleading and supplicating Jax, down on both knees, wailing at him for mercy and assistance.

A good natured chuckle was Thomas’ first response. “No dress for the dance, my friend?”

Thomas waved the sea artist up from the deck, and gestured for him to follow him inside the cabin. “Let’s see what we can do, shall we? I would be a scoundrel indeed to leave a crewmate of mine bereft of a means to strike some lucky lady’s fancy.”

With a smile upon his face, Thomas moved to the large sea chest that served to hold his clothing. Though certainly not a man given often to fine dress, Thomas realized the value of such garments when it came to becoming an accepted member of society, and thusly he kept a handful of ensembles for such occasions. Sifting through his clothing, Thomas spoke to Jax over his shoulder.

“I trust she said yes?”

His voice was even and pleasant, and he listened to Jax’s response with a broad grin. It did his heart well to hear the news, and Thomas enjoyed the thought of the helmsman cracking through the thick and shining armor of the First Mate.

If anyone has the salt and the tenacity to navigate that harbor, it would be Jax. Thomas thought with a playful, yet hidden, roll of his eyes.

“Ah, here we are,” Thomas said, pulling a bundle of crisply folded clothing from the chest. The bundle was wrapped in sail cloth to prevent it from being soiled, and tied with twine. He handed this to Jax. “And here’s the footwear,” Thomas turned back to the chest to withdraw a pair of knee-high black leather boots. These he placed carefully atop the clothing in Jax’s arms.

Thomas eyed the sea artist for a moment, and then nodded with satisfaction. “It should fit you, I wager. There should be a matching ribbon in there as well to tie your hair back with, if you should so desire.”

Stepping forward, Thomas reached up to clap Jax about the shoulders. He smiled to the man.

“Now, I must finish getting my own aspect as pretty as a Spring butterfly, so if you please…” Thomas raised an arm towards the open door to his cabin.

* * * * *

The coach pulled up along the broad, coral-pebble drive, and came to a stop before the white-washed mansion of Commander Robert Murray. Placed inland from Port Royal, the Commander’s plantation sprawled in the lush green countryside, surrounded by acres of sugarcane and lime trees. The two-story structure stood with broad and bright windows that faced inland, while the expansive back lawn stretched towards the ocean, not but a mile away. Two fully grown avocado trees buttressed the corners of the mansion, and the large kitchen house was visible through the foliage to the left.

Oil lamps alight with small dancing flames, perched on wooden poles, lit the drive and likewise created a wide pathway that led behind the mansion, and to the rear lawn. It was before this pathway that the coach at last stopped, and a servant rushed forward to tend the door for the two gentlemen inside.

Captain Thomas Lightfoot stepped free of the coach, and out into the lingering heat of the Jamaican countryside. His copper eyes reflected the flickering glow of the lamps that were the only light on this early, and as of yet, moonless night. Idly he brushed a hand across his coat, and reached up to reposition the black velvet tricorn hat atop his head. Thomas once again pressed at the nonexistent wrinkles in his outfit. It was his finest clothing, and a set he had only used once before.

The justacorps coat he wore was of a dark silver silk, fashionably cut with broad French cuffs, and tailored with the buttons ending at his waist. Ebony filigree danced in elegant embroidery across the coat, and gleamed pleasantly in accompaniment with the silver adornments. Beneath the jacket was a silk vest of the same pattern, though this was instead black with silver thread for its needlework. Upon his legs he wore black velvet breeches, fastened at the knees with glossy obsidian ribbon, and ending in simple black hose to feet encased in square-toed, black leather shoes.

His hair, too short to tie or braid, was slicked back over his head with beeswax, and the length of stubble normally found along his jaw had been freshly shaven. Around his waist, hidden by a gray sash and the tails of his coat was the ever present dagger, cinched firmly and within easy grasp at his left hip.

Thomas turned back towards the coach, and the disembarking Jax. With a twinkle in his eye, he gave the sea artist a low whistle.

“My goodness, you do strike quite the figure, my friend. You had best watch yourself tonight or you’ll come back to the Skate minus your purse, and with some wide-eyed beauty upon your arm, whispering of marriage.”

He chuckled, and gave Jax a genuine smile. “I will leave you to wait upon your escort,” he said, referring to the First Mate that had opted to travel separately of the two men. With a slight bow, Thomas left Jax to his waiting, and turned along the lamp-lit pathway towards the rear lawn.

As he walked beneath the avocado tree, the splendid lilt of a string quartet met his ears, accompanied by the low buzz of conversation, the rustle of silk, and the tinkling of flatware. When he at last made the rearmost corner of the mansion, Thomas was met with the sight of the most opulent party he had ever attended.

The expanse of the exquisitely manicured lawn swept to the shadowed edges of the heavy Jamaican night, dotted all along its expansive borders with the same torches that illuminated the drive. Arbors had been erected over several tables along the periphery, their graceful wooden columns and arches plaited with all manner of vines and climbing greenery. Centerpieces of still dewy hibiscus and bougainvillea graced the lace-covered tables, their heavy, generous blooms scenting the night air with the most subtle of floral notes - though these were merely the least of the temptations to draw the senses.

The tables themselves were near to groaning beneath their tempting burdens, lavishly piled with all manner of delicate sweetmeats on silver terraced trays, pastries thick with coconut, pineapple and a seemingly endless variety of sugared, exotic fruits. Dark bottles of wine beckoned to the partygoers, inviting any passerby to pour themselves a generous portion of sparkling gold or ruby drink in cut crystal goblets.

But the vast swath of the lawn had been left open entirely, all the better to display the true lights of this evening.

Resplendent in sharply pressed dress uniforms, the officers of the garrison of the Jamaica colony mingled amidst a sea of silk and satin. High born gentleman rubbed shoulders with their martial counterparts, adorned in ostentatious powdered wigs and stiff suits of fine fabric. Upon their arms, ladies of fair skin and rich adornment laughed and tittered in pleasant charade. Their warmly colored dresses accentuated the party’s own rich appointments, and from afar they appeared like the blooms of the centerpieces come to life, and moving among the crowd. In the center of the colorful throng, the tune of the quartet led many to dance. With practiced and formal steps the pairs moved across the lawn, smiling with faces lubricated by flowing wine and bellies full of rich fare.

It was amongst those that danced that a particularly splendid flash of color caught his eye, and Thomas smiled in spite of himself. There, flowing gracefully through the crowd, was the rogue. Her dancing partner was none other than Commander Robert Murray himself.

Ah, Antonia, ever the puppeteer.

A sudden idea came to his mind, and erasing the smile from his face, Thomas set out across the lawn with a confident lift to his chin, and a detached look in his copper eyes.

Around him the party goers swirled in elaborate loops of dance, and the swish of bustled fabric blended harmoniously with the songs of the string quartet seated upon their dais.

His gaze followed Antonia, disguised beautifully as some exotic lady, as she moved gracefully along with the ever rigid Commander Murray. It took conscious thought for Thomas to not smile openly at the depth of the rogue's adherence to her character, as she not once cast her eyes away from the dashing British gentleman before her.

Thomas positioned himself so that the lilting path of the Commander and Antonia would cross where he stood. As the two spun about, Thomas deftly leaned forward and tapped the Commander firmly upon the shoulder. With a slight bow as the startled Murray turned his head, Thomas removed his tricorn hat.

"Commander," he said, "I beg your pardon, but I simply must avail myself a dance with this most striking of ladies." Thomas paused to look up into the glowering eyes of his old friend. "By your leave, of course?" he added with a smile.

Nicki stood before the small bit of mirror that hung on her wall near her door that she would never forget what her foolishness had wrought her. It was written plain on her face for all to see and she reminded herself daily by looking at it, making herself remember everything. Penance for her stupidity. But for now she looked into the mirror with no self-recrimination but simple appraisal. She had been asked to attend this foolishness and attend she would. However, like with the card game she found peace in exerting some sort of control over her participation. She had been asked by the helmsman to attend with him in order to keep the eyes off of him. She could do that.

She was marred, marked and flawed, there was no way around that. She would not hide it behind paint even if it were possible. It was earned and she would not shirk from it. She would walk into that party and hold her chin high and let them all see. She did not hide what she was. She wore pants, for certain, but she typically did not wear them to look like a man, she wore them because she needed to for her work. But more than that it equalized her some, put her on more even footing with her fellow crewmates and though they never looked at her without her gender being part of the equation she liked to think her common way of dressing, in a man’s garb, helped the equation add up. She was surely not alone in this, not on the Skate at least.

Though she wore pants now, there was nothing at all equalizing about them. The entire ensemble was patterned after fashionable men’s dress but there the similarities ended. Made with exscuisite care and a hand skilled enough to be peddling their wares in Paris she looked like an eccentric, wealthy French Aristocrat, only more so. Her expression as she peered at her reflection was haughty, proud and beyond reproach. She held herself like a queen and seemed to radiate the expectation that she would be treated like one. It was a look she had learned long ago and didn’t have much occasion to practice.

Her hair was a careful tumble of sun-kissed curls around her face, loose, soft and begging for fingers to slide in and muss up the artful perfection. A strand or two fell around her face, tickling her collarbone, skimming the velvet column of her neck, drawing the eye to her vulnerable flesh. The tendrils served to pull one’s gaze to the tender shift of skin and shadow on the hollows of her throat as she moved her head to look at the work of paint on her face.

Her lashes were thickened and darkened with Kohl, a light touch that simply drew the eye to their wide perfection. She wore just a touch of color on her lips, enough to say that she knew her way around a brush, enough to say that she knew full well the power of her lush features. On her cheeks she wore no color that was not already burned into her flesh.

She narrowed her eyes and considered all that she could see of her appearance. One corner of her full mouth curved up in a wry smile. She was pleased with the overall effect. She would go, but she would do this her way, as she did most things. Jax did not want to be sneered at, well with her on his arm, he would not be. She would draw all the sneers and all the eyes and so it would be possible for the Captain to hear what he needed to and for him to find Antonia without drawing attention to himself.

Heeled, knee-high , tooled leather boots in burgundy flowed along the curve of her calves and added height to her already majestic carriage. The pants that were tucked into her boots were custom fit so well that her very well formed legs might as well have been bare. The curves of her hips, the round tautness of her bottom were all framed by the dusky rose fabric. The flat plane that was the front of her breeches confirmed all that the hips and bottom implied: she was aggressively, unapologetically female.

She wore what would have been called a waistcoat on a man but on here it was simply a canvas upon which to spotlight her assets. Dark Rose fabric, nearly burgundy spilled forth a froth of ivory lace which framed décolletage fit for a goddess. Pale, mounds of soft flesh that drew the eyes like a softly glowing moon on a clear night and seemed just as unattainable. But like the moon they seemed just as likely to set men to madness for the wanting of them. Over the vest she wore a dusty rose brocade coat that was cut with the same expert line as her breeches. It framed her hips and the magnificent swell of her bosom, highlighting her femininity for all that her garments were male.

It would do.

Without another look she walked to the door of her Cabin, her steps measured, even, despite the racing of her heart. That she felt inwardly nervous, uncertain, irritated her. She closed the door to her cabin and turned to find that the deck had fallen into an unnatural hush as all eyes found her. She surprised a vain grin though she was pleased at the overall effect.

She looked to where the Helmsman was supposed to meet her and found the spot empty, her eyebrow rose and her mouth tightened.

“Where is Monsieur Jax and the Captain?” she asked aloud, her voice cracking in the silence like a whip. The men knew the tone and not a one had the wherewithal to speak with the combination of her appearance and the palpable ire rolling off of her. But one of them pointed and she followed his finger to the carriage that rolled steadily away.

“Couilles!” she shouted and strode toward the gang plank only partially mollified when she saw that another Carriage awaited her. If the Helmsman wanted to go to the Ball on the Captain’s arm as she’d first suggested, he could have spared her getting dressed up. But as she had bothered she simply muttered colorfully as she slipped into the carriage and let it convey her to the party, just a half a block behind the Captain and her escort.

Her mood was no better when she arrived at the mansion but she held it in check as she slipped from the carriage with the aid of the driver. She looked over the building, noting it’s loveliness with a passing interest. The buildings in this land still felt so new, so sharp to her. She’d grown up in a house with more history than this whole land and it had shown it in the rounded edges the well settled air of it. She spotted the Helmsman right away and past him the retreating back of the Captain who had dressed the part of the rogue Captain in black and silver. How fitting. Even on the edges of the party she could feel the eyes on her and so she lifted her chin and let her ire take its place behind her regal, queenly countenance.

She glided towards Jax, her eyes glittering with a light that was nearly as dangerous as the sway in her hips. A sway that was nearly as sweet as the honey in her voice. Her voice, which held an intoxicating blend of anger and honey, whispered like a confession of dark things desired across his cheek and ear as she spoke,

“Why didn’t you wait for me?”

The gentlewoman giggled warmly, her wide, sweet smile and laughing grey eyes teasing the tall, proud man at her side. He only gave the small, strangely-shaped purplish object in her fingers a most dubious stare, and one arched eyebrow.

"Robert! Go on now, quickly! Before the sugar melts on my fingers!" Antoinette's silken, thickly-accented voice flickered as brightly as any one of these lovely lanterns. "It is only a candied hibiscus blossom! I promise, you will like this!"

"Candied... flowers?"

"Oui, mon chèr! Oh here now, you big bébé!" Her lovely face only inches from his own, she peered up into Commander Murray's dark eyes, popping the sugary blossom past her full, generous lips. "Mmmm... " Her brows arched with obvious pleasure as she slowly licked the sweet syrup that remained from her finger and thumb, her eyes never leaving the officer's face.

"Here now Robert, you see how tasty this is?" she whispered. "Come now, be adventurous with me." She lifted another sugared blossom from the silver tray beside them, offering it between that same finger and thumb to his lips until the stoic officer finally relented.

"There you go, see?" she crooned, the tip of her thumb oh-so-gently lighting along his lower lip, as if to wipe away any remnant of crystalline sugar. "You should always trust your Antoinette... "

Commander Murray said nothing at all, only daring to kiss that same thumb tenderly before he offered her his arm, stepping away from the tables toward the dancing and music. He glanced down to the top of her ebony-crowned head, his gaze falling to the alternating fiery red and alabaster hothouse roses she had cleverly braided into her hair over her left ear. These blooms had been his gift to her earlier this day, but it was this gentlewoman who made a gift of herself to him this night.

This night, she chose a dress to honor him. Crimson silk fell from her bare shoulders, to the elegant sleeves draped to her forearms and the smooth, corseted bodice. This same brilliant silk was gathered at her waist, draped and parted elegantly in the front to reveal an alabaster damask underskirt, exquisitely sewn with gold threads in dancing, glimmering floral patterns. These same golden threads were cleverly embroidered in vines and florets about her neckline and the edges of her sleeves, as if she wore a resplendent argent garden.

Robert Murray smiled, almost wistfully, as his eyes traveled upward once more, to the caramel-skinned bosom she refused to whiten with powders of creams, and the bare shoulders so velvety soft, they begged kisses. A choker of pearls encircled the elegant curve of her neck, a single tear-drop faceted ruby nestled comfortably in the hollow of her throat. The ruby’s facets shimmered, winking in the torchlight, a glistening contrast to the long midnight black tendrils of curls that cascaded down her back.

And all he could have wished for in this moment, was to twine just one of those silken strands in his fingers.

"Miss Greene, shall we?" Though of course, Commander Murray did not truly have to ask her for this dance - he simply wished to see the delight on her face, in the depths of those incomparable silver eyes as she looked up to him, to the sound of his voice.

The gentlewoman's eyes never once left his face as they moved, her uncanny grace wrapping the pair in the illusion of floating over this manicured lawn, dancing in the clouds above as they flitted over the moon..

Until the very moment that, against all probability - possibility even - Thomas. Damned. Lightfoot, had come to pluck him out of the sky, right here in his very home.

Once he collected his wits about him, and wiped the startled look from his visage, the British officer still fought to bite back the first words that might have tripped off his tongue, words very like, ‘Who the hell let you in here, Lightfoot?’

His dark eyes glanced toward Antoinette, the dusky rose at his side. Though it cost him near every ounce of hard won discipline he had ever mustered, a thin, tight smile stretched across his lips, the dim match to Thomas' bright grin. "Of course Thomas, though Miss Greene is her own woman, with quite the mind of her own. Introductions first perhaps, and then she will have her say. Miss Antoinette Greene, this is Thomas Lightfoot. Captain Lightfoot... " he added, emphasis on the title made at some obvious cost from within. "Thomas, Miss Greene." The small smile twisted up to something almost true as the Commander turned to the gentlewoman at his side.

It was all the rogue could do, to keep the pleasant-but-interested appearance of Mademoiselle Antoinette Greene pasted to her face at the sight of Thomas. Here. Of all places, right here, right now. How in all the world had he ever found her - oh. Oh wait just a moment...

Of course. Jax. So it seemed the helmsman had dared to accept that invitation, to come this night with his captain in tow, though the rogue had yet to be graced by the sight of that ever-grinning face.

Oh, such a treat.

But even so, what in this world was Thomas up to? He knew very well she did whatever she would, whatever she thought best; that every step she took when the Skate docked was only ever for the crew. For him. Her lovely man never once troubled her footsteps to find her, certainly not before she had something worth the offering...

Not, of course, that at this very moment, he was truly "troubling.” Oh no, not to her eyes in the least. Ah her lovely man, her dear, crafty Silverfish - and how resplendent in silver and ebony he was this night. She could not remember a time when he had ever cut so dashing a figure - to say he 'cleaned up well' was a gross understatement. And, unless she were terribly mistaken (which, of course, she most certainly was not)? Oh yes, every eligible lady in the gathering was casting the gamut of furtive to bold glances in his direction - not that she blamed them.

And all the rogue could imagine in this moment, the sweet little fantasy that cavorted through her thoughts? What must it be like to lay her cheek against his, cleanshaven for perhaps the first time since she laid eyes on that handsome face..

"Capitaine Lightfoot," Antoinette said with that musical, perfectly Parisian accent, nodding her head in elegant acknowledgement. "Are you a friend of my Robert?" she asked, all sweet innocence and wide, generous smiles. "It seems you know one another, non?" With the last word, her face tilted up toward the Commander, whose visage turned from glower to glowing in an instant.

**********

Jax

Jax kept thinking of turning around and running toward that beautiful night pond and those flowers. That’s where he should be. Not here. Not dressed in someone elses clothes at someone else's party pretending to be someone else. He should just turn around. He had his fun. The Captain was here and his game with Ms Greene,or whoever, someone else, played out.

It wasn’t the clothes that made him want to leave before he even got there. To his surprise they were actually amazingly comfortable. The shirt, a light sky blue was softer than anything he had ever felt against his chest, well besides the body of a soft silk female, but anything other than that. And it was loose enough to slide over his stomach and arms with a tease of richness he could enjoy. He didn’t really want to put the dark deep blue jacket over the shirt but if he was playing the game, he best put on all the parts. Well, most of the parts. He wouldn’t say, but he left the vest folded up on his cabin bunk. Why do they need so many layers on a hot summer night? Jax didn’t. Besides he thought the shirt and jacket looked just fine. He left the under closes beside the vest as well. No sense having this nice material and not letting it touch him. So of course he wouldn't tell the Captain that. His secret.

He tucked the fine leather pants into the tops of the sueded amazing boots. Oh he liked them too. He left his cabin feeling dashing. With the ties given he pulled back his hair and swept his face clean. He was fine. So why did he stand outside this expansive display of wealth and want to turn away. Because you can’t shine shit, Jax chuckled. He liked how his thoughts did not say which was the dung of the earth, this place or him?

And just then the sound of the First Mate caught his attention. He pushed his hands behind him holding the flowers he collected. Her voice so much sweeter than her words, as so often the case with her. He turned to answer, to tell her he had to ride with the Captain because he owned him and needed last minute advice as to where this part went and how does he keep his hair in this soft string?

But the words didn’t come. He looked at her stunned. Now he had his reason not to run. She was…...Jax smiled and then laughed. “You are..” He stopped and slowly offered his gift of two flowers, night blooms of course. “I wasn’t sure why I took you there. But now I know.” He held the flowers out to her. “The thing about Night Blooms is they stay closed all day, tight balls, leaves hiding the bright colors and the frequency. Most never see them.” He smiled to her.

“But like things of beauty once and awhile they just have to open and release what is so tight inside.” Jax held the flowers out to her.

“You are the Night Bloom tonight, M’Lady. You are stunning beyond imagination. No one will miss the short time you bloom.”

He stepped back allowing himself to enjoy the look of her. He then offered his arm to her. “I have been thinking of the spy stuff.” He whispered enjoying that he had a reason to lean close to her. “We need a system. Like a code in there. If you get into a conversation or dance you don't like tug your right ear and I will obnoxiously rescue you. If you get a really juicy piece of information, slick out the tip of your tongue. If you need to quickly run just place your right hand on your right hip.”

Jax chuckled, “And if you are going to start hitting anyone, slugging away for some reason quickly slide your finger up your nose…..or wait maybe just along side?” He smiled at her hoping to get one back in return. Even if she did not he knew where his eyes would be tonight.

Her knees were weak. By all that was holy, her knees were weak. And from what? A few words and some flowers? It shouldn’t have been enough to do that. It shouldn’t have been enough to suck the wind right out of her sails leaving her without ire or direction. But they were, oh how they were.

She took the flowers reflexively when they were offered, her slender fingers curving in a bowl around their opened glory, her trembling fingers making the petals and stamen shake in sympathy. She blinked her painted lashes and willed away the tears that threatened to come at his words.

Damn him. Why couldn’t he be cruel with his words all the time or none of the time? She could figure him out then but now, she was lost and adrift. She lifted the flowers up and with care slipped them into her hair, the two large blooms found a place in her silken tresses with ease, almost as if the coiffeur had been designed for such adornments. They were as different from the other flowers decorating guests as Nicki was from all the walking flowers swirling about in their gowns of silk and satin. They were large, bold, unexpected and lovely, they suited her for all that they had been gathered from such a humble location, or perhaps because of that.

She slipped her arm through his, lacking a reason not too and simply too off balance by his words and her reaction to say a thing. She had no control here. All her efforts to be in control had been undone all with a few words and a warmly approving look accompanied by a laugh that resonated through her, buzzing in her bones and at the very core of her.

As they walked and he spoke of his ridiculous code she listened as best she could and let her eyes wander over the landscape. She liked what she saw, it made her fingers twitch, aching to sketch, not to unbutton. He wore blue well, it made his eyes bright and lively, or perhaps it was his eyes that made the shirt seem so blue, she was uncertain. But she was certain for one thing, the captain, for all that this was his shirt, had never looked so fine in it. The captain was taller, but Jax, Jax was broader, his musculature more dense and that broadness pulled at the seams of the shirt and Jacket in a manner most distracting.

Her eyes dipped down and she took in the way the pants curved over a meaty thigh, tight and clinging. As he moved she could not help where her eyes were drawn nor the impression that she got from the way the fabric moved over his anatomy. In a flash of insight that made her bite her lip and look away she understood that Jax was not properly attired, not entirely and she couldn’t find it in herself to protest in the slightest.

He was speaking about her touching her nose or picking her nose and she turned to look at him, a flush across her ruined cheeks as she fought to not look down where she ought not look and focus on the moment at hand. It wasn’t enough that he’d ruined her self-control earlier with his broad chest, he now had to hint at another, even greater distraction. He was softening her up, making her confused and open to hurt and then she was looking at him and his smile, his devastating, unsettling smile was aimed at her and before she knew it had pulled an answering one back from her. She was too unsettled, too tangled up for it to be anything like the sunrise one she’d given him that morning before he’d opened his mouth and stabbed her with his words. But it was sweet and enough to trick a dimple out of her whole cheek.

“If I am going to start hitting anyone, I can assure you Monsieur Jax, that I will not have time to signal you, I will simply start slugging. The bodies flying will have to be your clue.”

Her fingers on his arm tightened a little as she looked away to sweep over the room. A move which made the tendrils of hair caress the tender line of her collarbone, highlighting it’s softness, the shadows there which seemed to be aching to be kissed, tasted, touched with light fingers.

“Thank you.” She said softly, little more than a breath as the scent of Night Blooms filled the air between them as they moved into the party.

She smiled. The beautiful First Mate Doctor smiled at him and thanked him. He could not help but let the enjoyment of that success shiver through him up to his smile and his eyes. But then he wasn’t sure who was winning what because he felt himself sink. Yes, right into those amazing curves, the flow of her neck line to the roundness of her chest. His eyes lingered. Shit. He brought them up quick. He better not let his thoughts wander or he might be one of those bodies flying around. Could be worth it though. Well worth it.

“Will you dance?” He said as they entered the main hall, or grand room, or fancy overdone party place. Thank the stars he had something to look at besides the display of the rich. His worries about not fitting in sort of lost in the pleasantness of the view beside him. There was only one place he wanted to fit right now. Don't let her know, he scolded himself.

He bowed to her and held up his hands, one out the right for her to place her hand in and one more than ready to put around her waist. Jax was most likely not the best dancer this fine woman ever glided to the music with. He was not trained. He never spent anytime in a formal dance room or with any instruction. But he was a man of the moon, a boy of the waves, and he knew of rhythm and movement. He was a soul with the sense of art. He could feel music, in the splash of the waves, the silence of the night sky and the blooms of those special flowers. Besides the idea of holding her overtook any concerns he had about his dancing skills.

He was going to chatter about how they should dance first and then spy. More of a cover he was sure. But something about the delight of looking at her kept the energy in his eyes and not so much in his yacking mouth. She couldn’t be changing him, could she? No, no, he was sure he would say something stupid soon enough.

It was just that right now Jax didn’t want to push her away. He was sure he would regret that soon enough. She would turn those ice eyes back on and then he could cut with his tongue again. But first, a dance. First he just wanted her in his arms for a few minutes. Then he could step on her toes and be the blundering seaman he was.

He knew rhythms, the pull and push of tides, the motion of water as it flowed around a hull. Dance was not so different after all. She could feel his understanding of such things as she stepped into his arms and let him sweep her away like so much flotsam on the tide. She should not have been surprised. Even so this grace confused her, unsettled her, therefore it should have been expected. Wasn’t that how Jax always was? A focus of intense confusion and a morass of annoyance and strange magnetism for her?

She hadn’t wanted to slide into his arms, but just as she’d put her arm through his, she hadn’t any good reason not to. No reason she’d admit to. She did not lie but for the life of her she would not tell the truth here. So she bit her tongue and her awareness of him and the way he moved against her intensified as she struggled to keep her mind away from what he wasn’t wearing and onto the task at hand.

While she did not know rhythm the way he did, she had been trained in dance from a young age and later, through worth with her former lover Yàn, she had come to know the workings of her body, the feel of muscles and tendons working in concert. This knowledge only added to the grace she’d had cultivated. Combined with her understanding of courtly dance, (she’d danced at the king’s palace after all) it worked well with Jax’s innate understanding of motion and rhythm and they fell into step with shocking ease, the music flowing around them like water or the scent of Night Blooms.

She did not look at him as they danced, but down and off to the side because she did not want him to see the softening of the ice in her eyes, she did not want him to have an opening to hurt her and with her loss of control she was quite open and vulnerable. Briefly she missed the swirl and flow of skirts around her legs, a bewitching aspect of dance. She could not regret it fully, for the lack allowed her better view of the way his legs moved, the splay of motion of his muscles under his skin, all encased in just one layer of fabric.

She shivered in his arms and looked up, pulling her eyes to the crowd, passed his well-formed shoulder as well as to their fellow dancers as they moved about. She could see that eyes were on them as she had expected and it helped her to recall her purpose in being there, in this place, her reasons for being in his arms in the first place.

“Have you seen them?” she asked, her honeyed voice a sweet breath of air across his cheek. “Or any likely place to move to overhear something of interest. I am not good at this sneaking and spying.”

((collaboration with AmongHeroes and Igraine))

Thomas crossed the ballroom floor with a confident lift to his chin, and a detached look in his copper eyes. Around him the party goers swirled in elaborate loops of dance, and the swish of bustled fabric blended harmoniously with the songs of the string quartet seated in the corner of the room.

His gaze followed Antonia, disguised beautifully as some exotic lady or other, as she moved gracefully along with the ever rigid Commander Murray. It took conscious thought for Thomas to not smile openly at the depth of the rogue's adherence to her character, as she not once cast her eyes away from the dashing British gentleman before her.

Thomas positioned himself so that the lilting path of the Commander and Antonia would cross where he stood. As the two spun about, Thomas deftly leaned forward and tapped the Commander firmly upon the shoulder. With a slight bow as the startled Murray turned his head, Thomas removed his tricorn hat.

"Commander," he said, "I beg your pardon, but I simply must avail myself a dance with this most striking of ladies." Thomas paused to look up into the glowering eyes of his old friend. "By your leave, of course?" he added with a smile.

Once he collected his wits about him and wiped the startled look from his visage, the British officer still fought to bite back the first words that might have tripped off his tongue, words very like, ‘Who the hell let you in here, Lightfoot?’

His dark eyes glanced toward Antoinette, the dusky rose at his side. Though it cost him near every ounce of hard won discipline, a thin, tight smile stretched across his lips, the dim match to Thomas' bright smile. "Of course Thomas, though Miss Greene is her own woman, with quite the mind of her own. Introductions first perhaps, and then she will have her say. Miss Antoinette Greene, this is Thomas Lightfoot. Captain Lightfoot... " he added, emphasis on the title made at some obvious cost from within. "Thomas, Miss Greene." The small smile twisted up to something almost true as the Commander turned to the gentlewoman at his side.

It was all the rogue could do, to keep the pleasant-but-interested appearance of Antoinette pasted to her face at the sight of Thomas. Here. Of all places, right here, right now. How in all the world had he ever found her - oh wait. Of course. Jax. But even so, what in the world was he up to?

Not, of course, that he was "troubling" to her eyes in the least. She could not remember a time when he had ever cut so dashing a figure - to say he 'cleaned up well' was a gross understatement. And, unless she were horribly mistaken? Oh yes, every eligible lady in the gathering was casting the gamut of furtive to bold glances his way.

"Capitaine Lightfoot," she said with that musical, perfectly Parisian accent, nodding her head in elegant acknowledgement. "Are you a friend of my Robert?" she asked, all sweet innocence and wide, generous smiles. "It seems you know one another, non?" With the last word, her face tilted up toward the Commander, whose visage turned from glower to glowing in an instant.

Thomas bowed deeply to the regal 'Antoinette.' "Madame, I am honored to make your acquaintance." He returned to stand, handing his hat off to Commander Murray without taking his eyes from Antonia. Out of the corner of his vision he could see the man all but step back in surprise at the boldness of Thomas' move. Even so, the Commander could be seen fighting valiantly against his own desire to deck Thomas across the face, and begrudgingly take the man's hat.

Thomas continued. "We are indeed friends, Ms. Greene, you see Robert and I have a long and storied history together." At this Thomas glanced to the Commander with an expectant look. "Robert, do tell, how was it that we met?" Thomas could barely contain his mirth at the sight of the Commander's discomfort. The story behind the men's acquaintance was no tale for a true lady, and the Commander was chewing upon his tongue as his mind raced. Thomas only smiled.

Commander Murray may have laughed. Then again, he may have growled. The interpretation would have to be made entirely by the any hapless observer of this strange little tête-à-tête. In the end though, by some unspeakably proud discipline, he managed a smile. Or perhaps a snarl. Once again, this would simply have to be a matter of interpretation.

"Another time perhaps, Thomas," he managed through the fence of tightly clenched teeth. These words, of course, meant that at absolutely no point in time - ever - would the tale of an island witch doctor, a drunken wrong turn to send a man pitching off a pier into the ocean, and a brothel madame ever be shared in front of this gentlewoman.

Not ever.

"Far too long and dull a tale for such a festive night. Antoinette, would you care to dance with Captain Lightfoot?"

The young woman sighed softly, as if terribly aggrieved to be deprived of the full tale, but Antoinette still managed a gentle smile as she turned toward the handsome stranger with the laughing copper eyes, her hand outstretched. "Oui Robert, any friend of yours, will certainly become a friend of mine."

With another bow, Thomas stepped forward to grasp Antonia’s proffered hand. The other hand he placed at the small of her back, gently resting it against the firm fabric of her corset. Though every ounce of his being desired to close his hips and chest towards her, Thomas was mindful of his place, and of Antonia’s disguise. Teasing the Commander aside, he did not want to bring Antoinette’s persona or honor into question. At this party she was the Commander’s lady, and Thomas would play his part in that pretense.

Besides, Thomas thought with a wry lift to his brow, coming to a duel with the Commander over a pretend woman would be so utterly tragic.

As the quartet transitioned fluidly into another slow waltz, Thomas led with the first step to bring them into the dance, and Antonia followed with consummate grace. They traversed the finely tailored lawn with all the robust formality the setting demanded, swirling and stepping in grand arcs of fabric and shimmering silk. Though he had not danced for some time, beneath the steel-gray of Antonia’s lovely gaze, Thomas’ mind led his limbs along like a man built for the task.

When they had moved a good distance from where the Commander stood, Thomas at last hazarded a secretive smile. His coppery eyes twinkled down at the woman in his arms, the light of the candles and torches reflecting like nearby stars.

“I can’t put into words just how beautiful you are.” He said, his voice low and breathy, barely audible above the strings.

He let the words drift away into the air like heavy smoke, turning them through another set of twirls and steps.

With a note of sadness, he added. “I wish I could say that I was here only for the splendor of your company, but there are shadowy games at play, and I wanted to warn you.”

The rogue smiled sweetly for the pirate captain, her grey eyes filled with a genuine joy meant only for him, for her lovely man. And yet this could only be a mere lightning flash across her visage, the barest glimpse of the true pleasure she found in his precious words, come and gone in an instant to be replaced by the most polite and formal of attentions from the gentlewoman.

No, not even the sincere note of warning in his voice could pierce the eternal tranquility of the mask known as Antoinette. But that did not mean rogue's heart did not flip in her chest at his more dire words. No, of course there would be far better reason for him to seek her out here, than merely to add to the jest of Jax' arrival at this sparkling soirée, but this was a thing wholly unexpected. Unprecedented, even.

Her voice was a warm silken whisper, her speech couched entirely in the buccaneer French he knew so well. "Ah Thomas, as much as I wished to believe otherwise? No, I did not hold out much hope you were here simply for the dancing. Although it must be said, my lovely man - now that I know the true measure of your grace? Dancing with you shall be had in the future, entirely for our own pleasure."

"But for the moment, no pleasure - only games it seems. What has brought you here? I will admit, knowing my Captain Silverfish may have a better grasp on the shadowy underworld than I? This is certainly a touch... Disconcerting."

“To you and I both,” Thomas said, his mouth barely moving. “It was Dujo that heard of it, and came at once to me. He overheard the gunsmith prattling on about the Crimson Feather having departed from port early this morning, and in great haste. Judging from what Dujo heard, they’re sailing for our treasure galleon.”

Thomas paused as they moved through yet another loop. He looked to Antonia with all the gravity his thin disguise permitted. “What’s more is that the Feather was visited by an unknown official from the Governor’s house before she moved to set sail.”

“I see.”

There was nothing about her lovely face to belie the sudden storm unleashed behind those grey eyes. Every last part of her wished to deny this warning Thomas gave was even in the realm of possibility, to stomp her foot, to growl her frustration and cut the nearest available cur who deserved to be laid open.

How could this be!? The captain of the Plume, in all likelihood, would not even be found within the next day, much less the garbled story of his barely remembered moments with a dusky bawdy woman completely unraveled any time soon. And at any rate, even when his incoherent ramblings could finally be deciphered? It would be far too late for the baffled man and his crew to catch up with the Dusk Skate.

The rogue took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as the pleasant expression on her face blurred not a jot. "The gunsmith you say, and... The Crimson Feather? Of all ships, of all crews, who would leak such a thing to those worthless curs? And they have already put out to sea with a goodly portion of their crew disabled or dead, and surely they cannot be provisioned?"

"Oh, do not mistake me - such idiocy is little surprise considering what I would expect from them, still... " She hummed deep in her throat, perplexed. "Do you have any reason to suspect, at the least, that the preparations on the Skate have come to light, that we set sail for the same venture tomorrow?"

Thomas nodded fractionally. “The Feather cannot be manned well, nor provisioned smartly at all. What she does have though is a ruthless bastard in command, and a crew behind him that’s equally so. I don’t fear that we can catch her, Jax has confirmed as much, but why there would be an agent informing for that ship is beyond comprehension.”

The waltz was transitioning to its final movements, and hearing this Thomas quickened his words.

“As for the state of our own covertness, I cannot confidently say. Dujo has done well in his provisioning, and he has done so as quietly as he can. It’s easy to imagine however that with everything we’ve been taking on that someone has noticed that we are preparing to sail. If anything is secret, I imagine it is the nature of our quarry, and that in itself should be protection enough.”

"That will have to be enough." Antonia fought mightily against the urge to frown, managing somehow to grow her polite smile as the pair made yet another nimble circuit before the music could find its end.

"Thank you Thomas, truly. I had imagined I was careful, thoughtful - it would seem, not near enough.” The scowl was entirely in her voice, finding no true home on her exotic features.

“I am afraid I must be firmly fastened to our good Commander's side this evening, but I will see what I might yet manage to shake from the trees tonight. And… I am yet to see your infuriating helmsman about, but I imagine he certainly is here. Somewhere.” The long-suffering lift of one eyebrow was near indiscernible but there nonetheless, the perfect accompaniment to the upward twist of the corner of her lips and the soft sigh.

With the final trills of the quartet ringing to accompany Antonia’s words, Thomas took a reluctant step back, and bowed deeply. His eyes never left the woman before him, this lady Antoinette. With a touch that was slightly overzealous given his presumed relationship to this woman, Thomas brought the back of her hand to his lips, and kissed it gently.

“I have every faith in you,” he said with a voice just loud enough for her ears. “Do not beleaguer yourself with notions of onus, for even a shadow as deft as you cannot be lurking behind every corner. We’ll find this infiltrator, one way or another.”

As he stood erect from his bow, Thomas caught the quickly approaching figure of Commander Murray, obviously perturbed by the kiss upon his lady’s hand.

Thomas hid a scowl, but only marginally. “Your man in red approaches.”

"So it would seem. You really cannot help yourself, can you Thomas?" It was Antoinette who smiled politely at Capitaine Lightfoot, nodding graciously in appreciation for the dance, her sweetly kissed hand falling back to her side. She did not linger for any unseemly amount of time with the man in silver and black, but turned toward the hastily approaching Commander Murray.

Not that he was running, of course - oh no, most assuredly, nothing of the sort. Simply long, purposeful strides until he was returned to his lady's side, a most proprietary cast to his expression though not a single thing that could be a point of objection in his demeanor.

The gentlewoman slid her arm easily into the officer's, the polite smile she wore for the strange man she had only just danced with turned warm and easy once more. "Antoinette," Commander Murray said gently, his icy demeanor melting by equatorial degrees in the gentlewoman's presence, "Would you mind if Captain Lightfoot and I shared a word alone, gentleman to gentleman?" He patted her soft hand gently, nodding toward the tables. "I will not be a moment - and perhaps you could find some other sweet something or other I have not yet tried? I swear, for putting you out so, I will have it without the least fight. I place myself in your hands, dear lady."

The rogue fought the sudden urge to let her eyes dart between the two men. But it was Antoinette who merely let the backs of her fingertips run along her Robert's cheek with an indulgent smile. "Oh you boys have a nice chat. Just do not leave me too long to my own devices, or you will be surprised, what can be candied and sugared!"

The grey-eyed woman turned toward Capitaine Lightfoot, nodding politely once more before she let loose of the Commander's arm, making her graceful way toward one of the nearest tables.

The Commander's dark eyes turned toward the pirate captain, an almost genial tilt to his lips that barely suggested a smile. "Thomas?"

Thomas hid his piqued curiosity at the Commander’s request for a private conversation with exceptional grace. In lieu of such, he merely plucked a crystal glass of red wine from a roving servant’s tray, and raised it in polite salute to the retreating Antoinette.

Turning his body fully to the Commander, he took a half step forward, and took a sip of the fine wine.

“Robert?”

Commander Murray took only a moment to look over his shoulder, reassured the gentlewoman truly was walking toward one of the grand refreshment tables before he followed after Lightfoot. If he took umbrage the pirate captain turned his back on him entirely, there was precious little in his stony countenance to suggest so.

Rather, the Commander simply followed to a darker corner of the grand lawn, one neither trafficked nor occupied, before he took Thomas by the elbow, pulling him up short. The officer still carried that black tricorner hat, his free hand wiping the cloth gently, as if he were pulling some unseen lint from its crown and brim as he met the pirate captain's eyes.

"To the point then. I imagine we will not be left alone long. That is not her way," Robert Murray said just under his breath, one dark eyebrow raised as he offered the hat in an outstretched hand.

"You have her with you always, Thomas. Could you not leave me even a few, brief hours?"