Commander Murray fumed. The set of his jaw accentuated the fiery light that shone in his eyes, eyes that were affixed upon Captain Thomas Lightfoot. As Antonia played out her masterful charade, the Commander kept his mouth tightly closed. When she turned and disappeared into the crowd, he did not give chase. With a tug at his red sleeves, a lift of his chin, and an incredulous wave of his hand, the Commander dismissed the Frenchmen, Poutreau. 

The French officer had been standing rigidly by, utter dismay and embarrassment etched upon his face as he witnessed the Commander’s humiliation. It was much to the man’s relief when the Commander shooed him off, and Poutreau left on swift feet, heading intently towards the nearest supply of wine. 

Unlike the other men, Thomas had bowed with an embellished air of apology to the offended Antoinette as she verbally assailed the Commander, and then hurried away in a flourish of skirts. The pirate watched her go, taking keen interest in the direction of her departure. Though he had no doubt that Antonia wished him to eventually follow and meet her, even when she wanted to be found the rogue could be inadvertently [i]too[/i] good at her craft. Through the crowd, Thomas thought he caught a glimpse of Antonia’s silhouette vanishing into the gloom of the nearby forest, and he marked the spot in his mind.

“You will regret this, Thomas,” said the Commander. His voice was low, but as steely and hard as cannon bronze. 

Thomas stood fully from his bow, and turned back to face his ‘old friend.’

“You have made an enemy of me when I needn’t have been. I only ever wanted her to myself, she deserves as much. But now…” the Commander stepped forward, and Thomas could plainly see the enraged quiver of the man’s flesh. “…Now this is a matter of [i]honor[/i] and of [i]pride[/i]. Words that mean nothing to a dog such as yourself. Trust me when I say that there will be hell to pay, Thomas. And you will bear the burden of it all.”

For a long moment Thomas regarded the Commander in silence. He wanted to retort, to spit his own threats into the face of the British gentleman, but he refrained. The thought of chess came once again into his mind, and he reminded himself that he was not playing only for his own life. He had the distinct feeling that the match was only just developing, and that the culmination was still frustratingly distant.

In the end, Thomas only nodded. It was a move of simple acknowledgement, one man stating his acquiescence to the reality of things, and his intent to play along. Thomas turned to leave, but not before looking over his shoulder one last time.

“I shall look for you on the field.”

With that, Thomas shuffled away into the press of party-goers. For a time he could feel the Commander’s gaze boring into his back, until he became truly lost amongst the crowd. 

Though it took him much longer than Antonia, Thomas wove his way through the party, intent on avoiding detection as he moved ever closer towards the tree line where he had last glimpse his rogue. After almost a quarter-hour of meandering, Thomas at last found himself amidst the cover of mangrove and lemon trees. 

Into the darkness he peered. If Antonia was there, he could not see her. 

“Antonia?” He whispered.