Thomas smiled and rubbed a hand over his injured cheek. As he passed the empty bar, guided by the dreamy voice of Antonia, he leaned across and withdrew a bottle of wine and two pottery mugs. 

“Well, my apologies for soiling the velvet,” he said, “I must say that I am unaccustomed to you in such dress, and it failed to cross my mind. You make a much more lasting impression in lace and skirts.” 

His eyes wandered up and down her figure before he spun on his heels to sit heavily into the chair Antonia had selected. Thomas set the wine upon the table, and shrugged with another sideways grin, smarting his cheek painfully.

“I will say, however, that you do fill out a man’s breeches with finesse, Antonia.” He looked back to her over his shoulder. “You should be mindful, or you’ll be drawing the attentions of men of a very different persuasion.”

As his jest hung in the damp, dark interior of the Parakeet, Thomas reached forward and uncorked the wine bottle. He poured an equal helping in both mugs, eyed the level of the crimson liquid, and then with a purse to his lips added a great deal more. Satisfied, he slid a mug across the table for the caramel-skinned rogue.

“Now, I won’t hear of you not drinking your fill tonight…” Thomas brought his own cup to his mouth and drank, his eyes looking to Antonia over the earthen rim. “You have earned your reprieve from vigilance.” Once more he let his words linger, an unspoken thanks, and the note of something more profound ringing dully in the sound of his speech. 

And besides,” Thomas continued, his copper eyes gleaming in the candlelight, “we must drink to our next endeavor. Why, even now Dujo has begun preparations. We sail on the day after next. ”