Author: Jedishampoo (jedishampoo@aol.com)

***

Lucy snuggled back into the bedcovers, giving herself a moment to catch her breath and to luxuriate in the feeling of having a muscular young man splayed out atop her. She had been quite abandoned, she knew, but it had been so wonderful. How could she have forgotten?

Horatio emitted what sounded like a hiccup into her hair. It took her a moment to realize that it was a laugh. She hoped he had enjoyed it as much as she had.

"Oh, that was lovely," she told him finally, in a whisper. "I haven’t done that in such a long time."

The hiccup came again, then his whispered reply. "Nor I."

He rolled off her and reached out long fingers to pull down her nightdress as if to allow her some dignity, but she fended him off. "No," she said, sitting up to remove it and feeling deliciously wanton and cool and free once it was gone. "I’ll be much more comfortable without it."

"If you wish," was all he said.

Lucy lay back naked and watched him, his dark curls falling across his dark eyes in the dim firelight. His gaze flicked across her body and then away, as if guilty at being caught staring even when she was being so debauched. She wished he would take off his nightshirt, so she could get a good look at him in return. Her sensibilities at the moment were apparently much less restrained than his. She was a regular Jezebel.

He lay back with an expelled breath and stared at the canopy. Feeling quite daring, Lucy reached over to bunch her fingers in the white material of his shirt; even more daringly, she raised it, getting a delicious glimpse of a hair-dusted thigh. She watched his face. His profile was still, and she couldn’t read it.

Well, she’d already succeeded once, she thought. It was worth a try.

"I don’t suppose we could do it again?" she asked, breathless as she awaited his reply.

But he only turned to her and smiled with those lovely lips of his. "I wasn’t planning to sleep, anyway," he said.

Then he was naked and touching her all over, and this time she straddled his hips like a saddle and his lovely, long fingers were curled around her breasts and Lucy thought it was all just so very, very lovely.

***

Archie lay on his bed, staring at the deep blue canopy arrayed like the night sky above him. He didn’t suppose he could sleep, but he was going to try.

His mind wandered and remembered as it often did when alone in the dark. At the thought of that conversation at dinner, he laughed out loud. Now that had been amusing. Maybe he would miss Sophie more than he thought. Yet he had to remember that he could not tie himself down. He was leaving tomorrow, and he would never see her again.

He wondered how someone so unreserved and humorous and clever had been spawned from such as Sir Roger. It was probably the influence of her intelligent godmother. Still, she was a little more unreserved than an unmarried young miss had any right to be. She would get herself into trouble, if she hadn’t already.

His leg itched where that little minx had nuzzled him with her toe. He reached down to scratch at it but froze as he heard a noise from the direction of the hallway.

The door was opened, then shut, and the pitter-patter of light feet sounded across the floor. The face of Miss Sophie, blonde curls all tumbled, appeared between the bed-hangings.

"Oh, Mr. Kennedy!" Her eyes were wide and terrified. "You must help me!"

He sat up quickly, sending his head spinning. "What’s amiss?" Perhaps her father had threatened to beat her.

She crawled onto his bed, wearing the most ridiculous little white nightgown. It left her arms and most of her bosom bare, and barely reached past her knees. "Oh, I have seen a ghost!"

"A ghost?" he said, incredulous, then laughed. At her fallen face he continued. "There are no ghosts! Just stories. I told you that reading Mrs. Radcliffe would give you nightmares."

She just giggled and kneeled across from him on top of the bedcovers, tilting her head. "Do you not still think that you might comfort me?"

Archie gawked at her, amazed at the depths of her abandon. He had been right before; she was a shameless hussy, and obviously no innocent. No virgin would have crawled into his bed like that, taunting him with her body, with her delectable little nipples that pressed against the thin white silk of her nightdress. But he was still in her father’s house, he had to remember that. "Comfort you? But your father is--"

"Oh, hang it all!" she said, and launched herself into his arms, knocking him over and pressing kisses against his lips. "Archie, my darling, make love to me before you go, please! That’s all I ask!"

That’s all she asked? Well, when she put it like that, he was going to have a jolly good time of it comforting her. Who knew when such a little prize would come his way again?

Archie was already flat on his back and she was atop him; it was a good start. He slid his hands into her masses of blonde hair as he’d wanted to forever and pressed her face closer. Her mouth opened obediently and when he slid his tongue between her lips she gave a happy little start, pulling back to stare at him with round eyes, and then she came back for more, sliding her tongue over his teeth. All the while Sophie moaned and laughed and snuggled her delicious little body over every inch of him until he was quite aroused.

She must have felt it pressing against her belly. She gave a little "oomph!" of surprise and rocked back until she was sitting with her warm, bare bottom on his legs. All Archie could do was watch as she grasped the end of his nightshirt and tugged it up to expose his erection. Her gaze and the cool night air washed over it and he couldn’t stand it. Breathless and tense with erotic anticipation, he waited to see what she would do.

"Oh, what is this?" she said with wonder in her voice. For an instant he thought her coy but then she ran a slim finger up and down the tender, sensitive skin of his aching cock until a moan was torn from his throat. Her eyes were wide, fascinated, and she kept doing it, rubbing her palm against the head and it was an unbearable torture, and perhaps he really did love her—

"Ungh!" he said and jerked upright, startling her. But he forced his fingers to be gentle as he grasped her shoulders. "Not yet, my sweeting," he whispered and rolled her off him to reverse their positions.

She giggled again but rather than annoying him he thought it a sweet, feminine sound. When he kneeled with his legs between hers and lifted her nightdress to place a soft kiss on her navel, her giggles turned to ‘oohs’ of pleasure. He lifted it farther and took a peek underneath. In the quiet firelight her pert breasts were just as round and white and luscious as he’d imagined. As he licked a trail up her breastbone to nibble at the firm smooth flesh her oohs turned to moans and finally quiet gasps when his lips tasted one upright, pink nipple. He rolled it in his mouth, breathing in the clean, fresh scent of her skin, delighting in the taste of female flesh between his lips.

A tickle at his nape proved to be her fingers playing absently with his pigtail. Her nails scraped his neck with tearing little chills as she arched her warm flesh into his mouth and rubbed one thigh against his in mute appeal.

Archie could help her with that; he groped down her body, seeking the dark-golden nest of curls he’s seen earlier, and slid a finger into those moist little recesses. Sophie yelped.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" she breathed, over and over as he stroked, and finally convulsed in his arms as she reached a climax. "Mr.-- Archie, how wonderful!"

He laughed. "I’m glad you approve," he said, and pulled his head out from under her nightdress to push it up over her waist. He leaned in to taste her sweet lips again. Her knees rose, scraping along the outside of his thighs, and her slick belly rubbed against the sensitive skin of his cock, seeking more of that touch that had so pleased her. She would never be more ready than she was now and neither would he. Dying from pain and arousal alone was becoming a real possibility, and he wanted to end it as soon as possible.

Propping himself on one elbow he curled the other hand around her slick thigh for an anchor. She just wrapped her arms around his back and moaned into his mouth. God, it had been a long time, and he was so hard and it hurt, and he nosed around with the head of his cock until it found the little opening and he pushed himself in and it was so tight and wonderful he had to work at it a little, and she cried out against him and froze.

Oh good God, he thought.

So horrified was he that he couldn’t move for several seconds, no matter how much he wanted to. He was a fool and she was a virgin and now she wasn’t any longer and he’d hurt her, and not only that but he was going to have to marry her--

"Archie, darling?" she whispered into his ear, little puffs of breath that chilled his heated skin. "Why did you stop? It only hurt a little. I’m bang-up now, prime, I swear."

Think think think, his mind told him. Finally his desire-fuddled brain hit upon the right thing to say. "Are you sure, my sweet?"

"Oh, yes," she said and nodded. Her whole body swayed with it, and the slight movement was torment.

Well, he decided after a few moments, there was nothing for it now. No undoing what he’d done. The throbbing was about to kill him, and she did feel very nice, he had to admit.

But he would have to be more careful now. He pulled out, just a little, and pushed back in, groaning with the purely physical pleasure of it, stretching her. She didn’t flinch, only closed her eyes in rapture. So he did it again, and once more, eventually finding a slow rhythm that would satisfy the ache in his belly yet not injure her.

It was an interesting state of mind, being both wracked with guilt and enjoying himself most carnally. And he was enjoying himself, much too much. He drew the pleasure out on purpose.

But then came the familiar shock to his tensed muscles as his own release was wrenched from him until he was shuddering. Breathing hard, he backed out slowly, not daring to look at the blood he was sure would be there, and fell to the side.

"Oh, Archie, that was wonderful!" she cried, and rolled over to clasp him in her arms.

"Thank you," he said, trying not to sound dry. But now that the flesh had been satisfied, the guilt was demanding to be heard. He was an idiot.

***

He was a god, thought Sophie, curling against her darling. Lucy had not told her everything, the wretch. But Sophie was lucky she had Archie to show her.

Her traitorous mind wondered briefly what it would have been like to do this with Captain Rundell, he who had kissed her so passionately in the garden. But that was just too naughty a thought, and she pushed it away. She was to be married to Archie now, and she would have to forget all other men.

It was fortuitous that gentlemen did not know what went on in a lady’s mind.

"Are you all right?" he asked her, quietly.

"Of course!" she told him. How could he ask? Sophie didn’t think she’d ever been better. She patted his stomach through his nightshirt. They’d never even taken their clothes off, she thought. How wanton.

His hand grasped her chin and turned her face up to his. "We shouldn’t have done that," he said, looking at her strangely.

"Why not? We are to be married, are we not?"

"Of course we are, my sweet," he said. Then he sighed. "But I must talk to your father first. You should probably go back to your room until then, so that he suspects nothing."

"Must you talk to Papa?" Sophie wanted to stay right where she was and be a wanton in Archie’s bed. Papa wasn’t going to be pleased anyway, so why shouldn’t Sophie please herself?

"It would be dishonorable not to," he told her. "You see that, don’t you?"

Sophie thought about it. How wonderful of him to insist upon doing the right thing. She wrenched herself away from his embrace, and straightened her nightgown. "You must try very hard to convince him!"

"Of course," he said, and sat up to give her a last kiss. Satisfied, Sophie ran to the door and out to the hall quietly. A strange, thumping sound was coming from the room, but Sophie daren’t go back to see what it was. She ran to her own room, smiling. She was a woman now.

***

Archie had waited until Sophie was gone before slamming his head into the thick wooden bedpost, repeatedly. He was dead. Horatio was going to kill him.

He took a moment’s break from destructive self-pity to lean back on the bed and grab the watch from his side-table. It was just past two and they were to leave at five. He still had at least two hours to ponder his fate and decide how best to confront Sir Roger. And Horatio.

He tried to sleep and couldn’t, just lay there for an hour. He didn’t really want to marry Sophie. It wasn’t horror of her that engendered this feeling, because he liked her well enough and she was a passionate little thing, at least.

But naval officers were not encouraged to marry, and there were good reasons for that. Among them was the time wives must spend alone and worrying; the chance of going on half-pay and living with a hungry family; the risks of dying and leaving behind a hungry family; the pension that the Navy had to pay in those cases. And Sir Roger would not look upon him kindly, no matter his family. He was only a lieutenant and had not the seniority or the record to guarantee him a promotion.

He also had no choice. He had to at least try, for he was honor-bound to do so.

After that hour of not sleeping he cleaned himself and packed his things and sat on the bed, waiting. Soon enough it was past four and Archie could hear movement in the hallways. He crept out and went in search of Sir Roger. Either through worst misfortune or dumb luck he found him right away. The man was in the breakfast-room reading a paper. Apparently Sir Roger was an early-riser, or perhaps he had just risen early in joyful anticipation of seeing his guests’ backs as they drove away.

"Good morning, sir," Archie said, trying his damndest to keep his voice steady.

"Oh, morning. So you’re leaving, eh? Good, good. Breakfast isn’t ready. Luck on your journey and all that."

"Thank you, sir. Sir, I must speak to you on a matter of business."

"Business, eh?" He set down his paper and looked at Archie with a tiny bit of annoyance. "Well, out with it."

Archie swallowed. "I must—I would like to ask your permission to pay my addresses to your daughter."

"What!" Sir Roger yelled. His eyes bulged. "Absolutely not!"

Archie stood his ground. "But sir, I think that under the circumstances I must insist--"

"You insist? Absolutely not, you—you—mushroom! The cheek! All you young officers are after my Sophie’s dowry, and I won’t have it!"

"That’s not--" Archie stopped, and swallowed again. Getting angry wasn’t going to do him any good. He chose careful words, and spoke them concisely. "I love your daughter, sir, and while my prospects at present are not--"

"No!" Sir Roger was not to be moved. He turned an odd purple color that had darkened with every word Archie spoke, and looked as if he were about to have an apoplexy. "I have already said no! Out! Out!" he yelled, jumping out of his chair to point at the door.

"But--" Archie tried to begin, but backed away as Sir Roger came around the table.

"Footmen! Somebody! Get in here and throw this…this… get him out of here!"

They came in record time; Archie had not either the opportunity or the courage to tell Sir Roger to his face that he’d deflowered his daughter. Before he knew it he was being dragged into the hall by his elbows and Sir Roger had stomped off up the stairs.

Archie was rescued by the appearance of Combs, who ran into the hall, half-dressed, and shooed the footmen away by assuring them he’d see the gentlemen out the door.

"I’ll just have your things brought down here sir, shall I?" he said to a grateful Archie. And a terrified Archie. His fat was in the fire worse than ever, now.

***

Horatio wasn’t asleep, not at all. He was stretched out on a sandy beach somewhere, someplace warm, and he was alone and trying to figure out how he was to get back to his ship.

Down the blue-sand beach someone was yelling in a hoarse voice, and he turned but couldn’t see the source of the voice and couldn’t make out the words. He strained and strained his ears and soon he could hear the voice saying ‘Where’s the other one, goddammit?’ then, ‘I’ll not have them in my home a moment longer!’ It was getting closer, that voice.

Horatio was truly awakened by the slam of the door against the wall. He jerked upright, clearing his eyes, and focused on the figure of Sir Roger, panting and heaving just inside the door.

"Sir, I demand that you leave at once, and take all of your—Lucy? Bloody Hell!"

Horatio remembered, and risked a look beside him. Yes, she was still there, and she was undressed but under the covers at least. She sat up sleepily and rubbed her eyes.

"What do you want, Roger?" she mumbled. Horatio took the opportunity to slip out of bed and into his waiting uniform.

Sir Roger started jumping up and down. "What is the meaning of this?" he shouted in between floor-shaking stamps. He looked at Horatio and pointed a pudgy finger. "You! Both of you! Taking advantage of the women in my household!"

"Sir, I protest--" Horatio started to say, wishing he was finished dressing already so that he might appear more dignified.

But Lucy interrupted him. "Roger, you must watch what you say!"

Sir Roger turned his ire on her. "And you! Mrs. Daventry, carrying on like a demi-rep under my roof! After I’ve entrusted my Sophie to you for so long--"

"Oh, do shut up, Roger," she said, and stood from the bed, wrapping the sheet around her. "And leave at once, so that I may dress."

Sir Roger just stared at her, mouth agape like a fish.

"Lucy," Horatio started, but she ignored him.

"I shall do as I please, and so shall Sophie. Now get out of here so that I may dress!" Her voice had risen throughout until she’d ended the last sentence on a scream.

Sir Roger deflated, as if the very wind had been taken out of his sails. "Very well, madam," he said, finally. He shot one final glance at Horatio. "You! I expect to see you on my doorstep in five minutes." Then he was gone, door slammed behind him.

Horatio was only too happy to move as fast as he could to make that deadline. He risked a glance at Lucy. "Will you be all right?"

"Of course," she said, and pulled on her nightgown to run over and kiss him. "I shall take care of things. I always take care of things."

"I believe you might," Horatio said, smiling at her. She seemed a very capable woman.

***

Archie collected his things and went to wait in the stage-coach. It was as close to the house as possible, on the curved drive, and it was a short walk. The horses had already been hitched according to their original plan. The coachman, sober and quiet, and the guard with his gun sat on top. A few minutes later Matthews and Smith trooped out from somewhere in the dark and climbed atop the coach to their customary seats. Archie felt the coach rock as they climbed aboard. No amount of cajoling would convince them to sit inside with Archie. He checked his watch. It was a quarter-hour short of five.

Finally, Horatio joined them. Behind him, Sophie was standing at the door, crying and waving a handkerchief. Archie could hear her sobs from where they sat on the drive, and almost jumped out to console her, for as much as he didn’t love her, he still felt responsible for her distress. But soon Lucy appeared and urged her back inside.

Archie felt wretched. He felt more wretched as the coach took off with a jerk and Horatio looked at him without saying a word.

After a full minute of silence, Horatio only said, "Did you have to ask her to marry you?"

"Yes." Archie would say no more.

Horatio sighed. "Like Rome before the Fall," he said, and fell silent.

***

Lucy crossed her arms and stood firm. Behind his desk, Roger was trying to browbeat them both, but she was a new woman now and she was not going to take it.

"Roger, now that we fully understand the situation, Sophie must be married. Surely you see that."

"I’ll kill him, the jackanapes," Roger only growled.

"But Papa! It was my fault. I threw myself at him," Sophie said. She didn’t want her lieutenant dead, that was for sure. "Why don’t you understand?"

"Why would you throw yourself at a nobody, Sophie?" Roger wanted to know. "If you were so hell-bent on ruining yourself, don’t you owe it to your family name to at least throw yourself at somebody worth the while?"

Lucy could see the disbelief and hurt warring with anger on his face. She knew it must have been reflected somewhat in her own; had Sophie been doing any less than following her example tonight, or perhaps even all these years? The old, guilty Lucy searched her past, looking for any possible mistakes she had made, something she could have let slip. She couldn’t remember anything.

Then the *new* Lucy thought, there was nothing she had done wrong. She couldn’t very well have kept a *leash* on the girl. Let her do what she wished; she always had despite all Lucy’s best efforts.

"Well, I tried Papa, but you didn’t--" Sophie started, then appeared to cut herself off. She was quiet for a moment, then mumbled, "well, I love *him* now, and that’s that."

"Well, Roger, she has to marry somebody," Lucy told him. She’d heard that pause and what it concealed. The one thing both Lucys agreed upon was that Sophie must be given an opportunity to be happy. Lucy loved her too much to do otherwise. An idea formed. "Is there anyone else you’d consent to marrying, darling? Anyone at all? Someone your Papa might approve?"

"Well…" Sophie looked thoughtful.

***

Three days later, Horatio and Archie stood dockside at the London Bridge shipping pool, waiting for the ship’s boat that would take them from England’s shores for who knew how long. Horatio resisted the impulse to pull out a glass to see whether the longboat had sheered off from the Kestrel’s hulk.

The return trip to London in the snow had been fairly easy. They’d gotten the stage-coach stuck in the mostly-frozen creek bed, but a few minutes’ pushing had rolled them clear. They’d even beaten Captain Jordan to Town. His post-chaise from Portsmouth had been delayed at an inn in Petersfield for several days in the snow. The men they’d sent ahead had arrived safely and Styles had loaded them up.

But they’d spent the last few days and nights aboard, working, coming only to the docks this morning to see to the loading of the last of the water-casks. Now all was ready. The morning was grey and chilly but well above freezing. There was a fresh wind and the next hour’s ebb tide would carry them out to sea. They’d be ‘round Dover in no time.

Horatio tried not to fidget. He did turn to give a look at the large, noisy inn behind them. Its yellow windows were cheerful enough in contrast to the drab London morning, but he was ready to put to sea again. He wasn’t, however, looking forward to the seasickness that he knew would assail him after so long spent on land. No time in the Thames could prepare him for that.

The door opened behind them and a shriek rent the air. "Mr. Kennedy! Mr. Hornblower!"

It was Miss Persalt. Horatio felt his stomach drop; he was sure Archie’s was somewhere near his feet. But she was accompanied by someone, a tall Army captain, who glared at them awfully but nevertheless kept Miss Persalt’s arm firmly at his side.

"Oh, look, darling, it’s the naval officers who were so lately at my home!" the girl said, looking up at the officer who clutched her so possessively. "Lieutenant Kennedy, Lieutenant Hornblower, this Captain Lord Rundell. My husband." She held out a ringed hand and bounced with glee.

Archie was impressive. He didn’t miss a beat. "My Lord," he said, and bowed.

The Captain returned their bows with a nod. "Gentlemen," he said.

"You will never believe it. The same day you left, dear Lucy drove me to London, and we found my dear Captain, and he still loved me. He got a special license and now we are married."

"May I offer you my felicitations, My Lord, My Lady," Horatio said. His stomach had righted himself. He was surprised Archie didn’t faint from relief. "We are to sail today. Are you on your way out to sea?"

"Yes," the Captain answered, watching the naval officers carefully. He hadn’t batted an eye at My Lady’s intimate explanation of their courtship. "I have been transferred to Kingston."

"The tropics!" squealed Lady Rundell. "That is where we shall live."

"I wish you the best of luck," Archie told them, and there was sincerity in his voice.

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