The Duchess and the Dream
by Rebecca
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A well modulated, well-bred voice, the voice of authority, with only a touch  of surprise in it, spoke.  “Horatio,  are you still here?”

A more desperate voice, trying to maintain - no, trying unsuccessfully to regain - control, responded.  “Your Grace...”

But to no avail.  “Go to your cell, Horatio.”

 He had no choice.  The voice had spoken, and bred deeply into his bones was an automatic response to such a voice.  He found himself outside the door as it swung closed, knowing without turning to look that those behind him on the settee were beginning to explore each other with hands and mouths: to move into that forbidden territory that had so tantalized him and his men those weeks in El Ferrol.

His eyes rolled as his head sank back in disgust with himself for his gaucherie, his slowness that prevented him from “following her lead” as she led DeVergesse down a merry path, and his fear that now she was heading alone down an entirely different path that would have grave consequences for both him and his men.

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Finally he moved.  The guards were watching him incuriously from a distance.  This... this loco Ingles... this mad Englishman... he was allowed
some freedom of the compound at the wish of Don Massaredo, and if he wanted to spend his evening listening at the door as some of their other guests disported themselves, well, he was after all mad and strange things were to be expected of him.  At least it was easy duty, although how the other Ingles could respect such an officer who would give his parole... Well, perhaps they were all mad.

He gathered his thoughts and his self into a compact form, and strode past the guards, a set look on his face.  Shrugging, his guard waved at her guard, and ambled after Horatio through the maze of corridors back to the cells along the innermost courtyard where the prisoners were housed.
Horatio fidgeted before the door: almost bouncing up and down on his toes, hands first clasped behind his back, then rubbing his thighs, adjusting his collar; anything but being still. 

Finally the guard sauntered up next to him, unlocked the cell door, and with an insolent parody of politesse, gestured him in before relocking the heavy wood barrier.  It was dark inside, and quiet.  Archie was still recuperating from his near death in another part of the compound, and Hunter... well, Hunter was either asleep dreaming of killing all the Dons in El Ferrol, or awake snickering silently about his cowardly commanding officer.  Either way, this was nothing that Horatio could discuss with anyone else.  Archie was too ill, Hunter was too much Hunter.  No, he would have to handle this on his own.  And to be sure, he resolved that any punishment that came would
be handled on his own.  He would take all the blame there was to hand, and see that no one else suffered for his mistakes.

For oh, yes, they were indeed all *his* mistakes.  To sail into the Dons in the fog; to fail to get the dispatches over the side safely; to be fooled by the act of the actress - all were *his * mistakes.

Moving quietly so as to avoid having to speak with Hunter, he crept to his lower bunk.  He stopped a moment, thinking.  As he had only the one uniform with him, and at that only a working or undress uniform, he had found it best to disrobe before sleeping in order to preserve it in its best possible condition.  But if the guards came to take him in the night he did not want to lose any more of his dignity by appearing unclothed, or through forcing Don Massaredo to wait while he dressed.  No, tonight he would sleep in his clothing, only loosening his neck cloth.  Slipping out of his shoes he stretched out on top of the rough blankets and attempted to compose himself
for sleep.  It was a singularly unsuccessful attempt.  Voices in his head: Captain Pellew entrusting him with the Duchess and the dispatches; the smooth voice of the actress, flirting with him and teasing him: changing from broad Yorkshire to cultured Quality at times, but never being noticed by Horatio before; Hunter accusing him of “cheating” at war; Archie shouting “Go away!”; DeVergesse calling him a boy pretending to be a man; even Styles commenting crudely on his supposed relationship with the supposed Duchess.  Not one of them knew all the information he knew, and he could not tell it to any of them.  That thought  - “not one, not one, not one,” - kept pounding through his brain as he stared at the bottom of Hunter’s bunk above him, until it took on the rhythm of his heart pounding with fear and he
finally escaped into fragmentary sleep for a few moments.

But even sleep was not restful or safe for him.  The voices he had heard waking were now accompanied by visible shades in his sleep, and they  continued their din of blame.  The Duchess - no, the actress - voluptuous in her tightly laced gowns; subject of wagers by the men on whether or not she would pop out of her bodice appeared to him naked, reminding him that as a mere boy he was not entitled to even look at her while she stroked and caressed Captain Pellew, Archie, and even Oldroyd, and even more heinous - chiding him for the dreams he had confided to her of future command.  Hunter carried out an almost successful escape attempt by sprouting wings on his shoulders and flying over the walls, only to soar too close to the sun and fall back to the sea with singed feathers, hurling imprecations at Horatio’s cowardice in not attempting the same feat.  DeVergesse captured first one of the *Indy*’s shore boats, and then the *Indy* herself in the same fashion Horatio had captured *LaReve*, crowing to Captain Pellew about the assistance Horatio had given him.  Most damning of all, Archie appeared as a corpse being violated by Jack Simpson and reminding Horatio that had he not knocked Archie unconscious on the cutting-out expedition of the *Papillon*, he would not have found Archie ill in El Ferrol, but given him the chance to be whole on the *Indy*.  Waking and dozing, he spent an uncomfortable and restless night waiting for the guards to roust him into the oubliette as a spy at Don Massaredo’s orders.

Finally, with the coming of daylight, he gave up the battle and rose, stretching his creaking bones and muscles, attempting to finger-comb his hair off his face and back into its queue.  The men were allowed out into the courtyard, breakfast (such as it was) was provided, and the daily routine of roach races and boredom began again.  As the morning passed uneventfully, Horatio’s nerves began to calm.  Either DeVergesse had not yet told Don Massaredo of the dispatches, or Don Massaredo was waiting for Horatio to make a move.  But that did not match the courtly manners of the Don.  No, either DeVergesse had not told him, or even DeVergesse did not know of them.  But that too seemed impossible.  A practiced liar, adept at getting her own way, unconcerned about immoral and lewd behaviors - surely
she had given them to DeVergesse in return for a safe conduct to London.  Now he had only to hope against hope that DeVergesse was preserving the seals unopened until his superiors could open and decode the information, and that he could yet speed Archie’s recovery and mastermind an effective escape before the French sent to El Ferrol for his head.

At the accustomed time in the afternoon, he was surprised to have the guards unlock the courtyard gate and gesture him out to meet the Duchess.  Ever since their first walk, the day she had slowly stroked his cheek with the back of her finger and commented on his lack of a razor, he had begun to prepare as best he could for their walk and conversation in which he was able to be close to this enticing woman.   And he had thought they had become close.  He had confided some of his dreams: promotion to Leftenant, then to Commander and Master... taking prizes... leading men, rather than driving them... seeing, really seeing the world from the deck of a ship... and she had seemed to understand, to care about  him, and his wants and needs.  And so, although he hated to admit it, even to himself, he found her strangely attractive.  Oh, not in the fashion of the sweet-faced young ladies of quality he had escorted under Captain Pellew’s orders, but with a compelling air of intimacy. Perhaps that was why he had opened up to her more than to anyone else since he had lost Archie so long ago. True, she was no longer strictly beautiful when all of her assets were considered separately, but taken as a whole her joie de vivre and her assumption of beauty made her seem one.  More than once she had figured in his dreams:  smoothly removing his clothing and kissing and fondling his body, bringing him to completion in a matter of moments, even in his sleep.  He had spent long mornings wondering what enticing skills she possessed that the dockside whores he had sported with did not, and imagining actually touching her.  But with her status - a Duke’s relict, no less! - he had dared not even let such a desire appear on his face.  But an actress - damn, she was accustomed
to sharing her favors!  No wonder she so calmly invited DeVergesse to stay with her! Had he only known...

So on this day, angered and betrayed, he had done nothing to clean or straighten himself. Disheveled, unshaven, smelling strongly of sweat, he swaggered into her presence with a sullen, defiant look on his face. Leaning against the outer wall, gazing off at the sea beyond the cliffs, she seemed at rest and peaceful.  How dare she be so, when he had spent the night and the morning steeling himself for whatever might befall him from her actions?  How dare she?

“What d’you want,” he sneered at her from a distance, his entire stance radiating disrespect.

She turned with a jerk, almost a cringe, surprised into dropping her role for a moment: green eyes round and wide, and mouth open.   “Your lack of civility does you no credit.”

 Well, she could regain outward composure quickly.  He would grant her that.  But she could not regain enough to fall back into her role: her voice was again that of a cultured lady of quality instead of the crude Duchess; most likely another role she had played.  But today, unlike last night, Horatio fought his automatic response of apology and continued his ill-mannered behavior.

Walking closely past her, too close for propriety, almost intimidating, he sneered again.  “How is your... ‘friend’... Col. DeVergesse?” as he
loomed over her shoulder, almost hissing the words into her ear.

This was beyond enough.  Angry now, she bit back.   “He is *not* a friend.”

With a considering smile, “You *were* more than friendly...”

“I did what was necessary to preserve my alias!” She could meet his gaze steadily, her own eyes flashing and her chin up.  But that was not
enough - she was an *actress* - it was her *job* to make her audience believe in her.

He snorted.  “It was lucky for you you had such a valuable card to play.”   Now he backed off a little, but with the air of a man in control.
He was proud of that: that he could stay calm and in control at this moment.  But calm she was not.   “Ohhhh!”  she squealed in exasperation, and pulled up her skirts to show the cunning pocket she had hidden inside her petticoat folds, and the dispatches safely stored within.

He was surprised.  This was something he had never considered before: that perhaps she was truly guarding his dispatches.  But then... what had happened in there?  And why?  Abashed, he said the only thing that came to mind:  “You... you still have them...”
Now it was her turn to snort as she dropped her skirts once again.

“Clearly.  It was lucky for *you* that last night I had another card to play.  At least it bought his silence.”//  She turned away from him, hiding her face, holding her sides tightly.

His brain... his much vaunted ability to reason through anything... had  deserted him.  All he could do was stutter and flounder.  “How... how could you... well...” and realizing at last what he was asking, he looked down in embarrassment.

Kitty turned back to him, resigned, searching his face for answers.   “What is it to you?  Are you jealous?”  Perhaps... perhaps he would care for her sacrifice... perhaps it would matter, at least a little...  But he started, and the shock in his face put paid to that thought.  She laughed, not sure if the short sound was aimed at him or at herself, or at whatever gods had taken a hand in their lives.  “You completely misunderstand me.  If I resisted DeVergesse, he would announce my secret, which would lead to my *arrest* as a spy and the discovery of your precious dispatches.”  Her voice became sarcastic now, and grew stronger with her anger.  “So I sacrificed some small insignificant things, such as my pride and self-respect.”  Again she turned away, a look of disgust on her face - but was it for herself or his obtuseness?

Horatio stopped, swallowed, and cudgeled his brain to wake up, to come to life and somehow fix what he had broken.  “Your Grace... Miss Cobham... I’m sorry.  I... spoke hastily.”   Had he stopped there, perhaps all would have been well.  But, manlike, he could not.   “But had you told me at first...”

And she whipped back to face him, more furious than before.  “Would you have given me passage?  Would you have entrusted His Majesty’s secrets to an actress?”  Breathing heavily, she again wrapped her arms about her waist, and hung on to herself tightly.

Horatio had finally remembered to stop and think about what he would say, to plan his words carefully.  He had to tread a fine line between being honest and possibly infuriating her into giving the dispatches to Don Massaredo, and being honest and allowing her to see his viewpoint.   “M’um, please... I would have been honored to have you aboard my ship if you had been the Duchess of Wharfdale, or Kitty Cobham, or - or any woman seeking refuge. But the dispatches... no.”

That bald word, “no,” said with an uncompromising face, set in lines of distress, eased her mind and he could see her relax: uncoiling as a tightly wound cable would upon its release.  But she still had to know...  “And now?”

The storm had been averted.  He could allow a small smile now, and took a deep breath, surprising even himself with his response.  “Now that I know you, I would be grateful if you would keep them for me.”

Kitty too was surprised, and pleased.  Grinning, she dropped back into character as the Duchess.  “Wha...?  You expect me to cart the damn things aroun’ in me oonderwear again?”

Finally Horatio could laugh as well, full of relief that the friendship they had begun on their walks was again safe.  “If Your Grace would be so kind....”

She smiled, herself again.  “Thank you, Horatio.”  Ready to go on, she took a deep breath - or tried to.  It caught in her throat, closing her eyes momentarily and hitching her step.

“What... what is it?”  Now he worried.  The Duchess... the actress... well, take a leaf from her own book and merely call her “the woman” was strong.  She didn’t flinch, she charged almost gaily into danger and used her quick wit to survive.  Something was clearly wrong.

“Nothing... it’s nothing, Horatio.”  She reached out a hand to his arm, and smiled up to his face.  “I’m fine.  It was merely a stitch.  Shall we walk on?”  She straightened her back, and stepped out.

Horatio frowned for the response was too glib, and the behavior too weak, but perforce he went along.  They took their usual path, heading toward the high cliffs where the winds blew in from the sea and they could feel almost free again. Soon they were walking along the narrow path through the meadow just a short way from the sea, listening to the roar of the surf on the high rock walls.  But Horatio heard more than the waves.  Oh, Kitty talked a good game, but when he looked at her closely he could see the lines of strain on her face and the beads of sweat along her lip as though she were straining at a grueling task.  And yet their pace was slower today than usual.  No,
there was a problem.  And watching this gallant - for that was the only word that came to mind - woman try to keep it from him was not... not right.  He put his mind to analyzing the information, certain that he would be able to make things right.

Where had he seen such behavior before?  Ah, that was it! She moved like boys at school after a fight... like old Mary from the farm down the way after her husband spent the night at the pub losing his wages in games of chance... like he had after Simpson... best to stop there.  She was hurt. She had not been hurt after dinner last night.  Therefore, she had been hurt in helping him.  That made it *his* responsibility, and he would take care of it and her, starting now.

Unfortunately, with that vow, his brain once again deserted him.  “Kitty... Miss Cobham...”  He stopped, touching her arm.  She turned with a bright smile pasted on her face, but yes, the eyes were tired and her chin quivered.

“Yes, Mr. H?”

“What is wrong?  I have to know.”

She laughed it off again, but this time, listening closely, the laugh was lighter and weaker than usual.  “Oh, Mr. H, I vow, you will have me confined to a sedan chair soon!  Must you be so cruel as to remind me of my advanced age?”  She turned to continue on.

He remained where he was, feet spread, his eyes watching her like the hawks that sailed overhead watched for hares.  “No, Miss Cobham.  You know that is not what I mean.  You are hurt.  Tell me about it.” 

He did not know what he had expected her response to be, but it was not the disdainful anger that he received from her.  Her eyes flashed and her chin came up again, as she drawled “Really, Mr. H?  And may I then assume that you are so ill-versed in the ways of... of amore that you cannot identify the aftermath?”

That cut to the quick.  No, he was not well-versed in the ways of mating, but for her to throw it in his face when he was only trying to help - he stuttered with shock, then as his face flushed he began to answer back angrily.  But he stopped.  He saw the gleam of triumph in her eyes at his anger.  This was not his companion, either the real woman he had come to  admire, or his fantasy shade.  No, this was the actress again, and she had almost succeeded in changing his course and hiding her injuries still again.

“Miss Cobham, you are injured.  My father is a doctor, and I have seen the signs of injuries to the ribs often enough to recognize them in you now.  It cannot be, as you call it, ‘amore’ for one person to be harmed.  Please, let me make certain that you will heal well.”

“Really,  Horatio,” and now she ducked her head as she dropped her sophisticated facade, “I am fine.  Well, perhaps not fine just now, but I will be.  I promise you.  I could not - would not - chance such a harmful action if it would jeopardize your dispatches.  Truly, there is nothing for you to do.”  She looked back up at him, pleading for him to leave the subject.

“Kitty...” he was adrift, but had to find a way to say it.  “You were hurt because of me... because of the dispatches.  I *must* be certain that you are all right.  If your ribs are broken you could puncture a lung, and die.  I can tell whether they are broken or not, and that is all I ask.”

She smiled, honestly, at him finally.  “Horatio, I am laced tightly, and have been so all night.  If a rib is broken, it will not move but heal.  But
that will not be a problem, for I am only bruised. You need have no worry for me.”

“Kitty, you are not a doctor.  I know, I know, I am not either, but I have helped my father for many years.  If you have laced yourself too tightly, or too high, or too low, it could move the rib.  And bruises should not be laced tightly or they may not heal for longer than otherwise.  Please... I only wish to ascertain your safety.”

Kitty shook her head, crossing her arms across her waist.  “No, Horatio. No.  You take too much upon yourself.  I am laced and dressed, and fine. You ask me to - to strip!  In public! There is no reason for this - out here, for all to see, no less! - to prove that I know my own condition.  May we move on, sir?”

A strangled sound emerged from Horatio’s throat:  not a groan, not an expletive, not a yell, but some combination of all three.  In frustration, he yanked his jacket down off his shoulders and threw it on the ground before tearing with unsteady fingers at the multitude of buttons on his vest.  Kitty looked on with astonishment.  “Horatio... Horatio, what *are* you doing?”

“It’s simple, m’um.  If you will not let me check your ribs because you do not wish to be partially dressed alone, then fine: you will not be.  If
that’s what it takes to get you to let me be sure you are well, than that is what it takes.”

“No - no, you misunderstand me.  Horatio, you do not need to do this - *any * of this.  Please... stop.”  She reached to touch his arm but was too late: he had tugged his shirt over his head and stood there before her with his torso and shoulders naked, his chest heaving, and his linen shirt twisted about his wrists.  For a moment she paused, astonished by his beauty, then smiled slowly with her hand still outstretched.  “Eh, much finer than Florentine statuary, Mr. H, although not quite as naked.  But really, please, put your shirt back on Horatio.  You do not need to do this.”

He looked up from his wristbands, still buttoned in the heat of his frustration, and shook his head.  “No, Kitty.  It appears I do.  This
injury, whether bruises or breaks, came about as a result of *my* dispatches.  I am responsible, and I am able to assist you with healing.  If
you will not allow me to check here and now, you force me to go to Don Massaredo upon our return.”

“But - you can’t!  It would shame him, that a guest of his would violate another... and it would mean telling him about my identity!  Your dispatches would be lost!”

“But *you* would be seen by a doctor.”  He sighed, not liking any of the alternatives.  “Kitty, I have no wish to... to manhandle you as DeVergesse did, or to cause you any pain.  But I am worried about you, and need to see that you will be all right.  Please?”

His shirt came free from his wrists, and he stood holding it at his waist, comfortable and free in his body.  The sight of him: golden, covered with a light sheen of sweat, just enough to tantalize by making him gleam in the sunlight; muscled as a man and yet with sparse furring on his chest as a youth made her dizzy.  She was about to nod, to agree to anything this young god would ask of her, when she realized what he had said: He had no wish...  Well!  Not, of course, that she wished him to manhandle her as DeVergesse had, but still, couldn’t he at least want her a little bit?

“Mr. H, you really are *most* disobliging, particularly as this is none of your affair at all.”  Her cultured lady persona was back in place.  “Perhaps we should simply return to the compound.  I can tell Don Masaredo that I fell on our walk.  He will call a doctor for me, and we can avoid this...  this whole contretemps.”  Had she hidden her shame, that he should not want her?  Oh, of course he *should* not, but it would so help her vanity if he would only...

He saw the change in her face.  It had become stiff and hard, like a mask. It puzzled him, for in all the parts she had played on their voyage, a stiff mask was never an accoutrement.  He moved toward her, dropping his shirt on his vest and jacket, and taking her elbows in his hands. “Kitty - wait.  I don’t know why my concern should cause you such grief.  Please, tell me. Tell me what you need from me.”

Her laugh was definitely forced this time, and she would not - could not - meet his eyes.  “Need?  Grief?  Why, Mr. H, whatever are you talking about? I merely presented a more... genteel way to ease your mind.”  Oh, let him believe it, let him dress again, let us return... This was supposed to be a charming activity: walking out with a beautiful young man, being admired respectfully while she flirted delicately.  It was not supposed to leave her shaken with yearnings she had determined last night to never feel again.  It was not supposed to make her question herself, her - her femininity.  It was not supposed to make her cry.

The tears surprised them both, shamed them both.  He was not comfortable making anyone - let alone this woman whom he had grown to respect deeply - so distressed.  She was not accustomed to being so open, to allowing *her* feelings, rather than her role’s feelings to show.  He gathered her in, pressing her head to the curve of his shoulder, murmuring endearments as he rocked her gently.  But it did not help.

She was torn now: finally someone to comfort her, and yet that velvety skin under her cheek... the difference between her needs and her... well, *needs*
was incredible, and disoriented her further.  She pushed him away, and turned, stumbling aside to a rock where she could sit and wail at last.

He was even more confused, if it were possible.  What had he done now?  What could he do?  Only try again.  He moved toward her, careful not to touch her, and knelt at her side, looking up at her face.

“Kitty... I’m sorry.  I don’t know what I have done... what I should do to make amends... but I am sorry.”  Well, at least the wailing slowed.  But now she laughed... was she sane?  Had the vicissitudes of her confinement driven her over the edge of sanity?

She was surprised herself, and questioned her own mind as she tried to regain control of herself.  These - these wild swings of her mood: from content to fear to despair to longing... where had they come from, and how could she hide from them?  Make them go away?  Ride them without falling off to be trampled?  Finally, she took a deep breath, then another, shuddering as she released them, and reached out to grasp his hand.

“No, Horatio, I am sorry.  I had no right to take my emotions out on you.  It was inexcusable, and I beg your pardon.”  Hesitantly, she looked him in the eye, and saw the beginnings of a tentative smile on his face.

“Shall we continue take turns apologizing, Kitty?  Or shall we go on from here?”  His grin was slightly crooked, and he still was concerned about her condition - both physical and mental.  “What is it that has happened?  What may I do?  Please... you are so incredible, I - I don’t have the words... please, tell me what you would have of me.”  He could only hope that this time she would.

She sighed, shaking her head.  “Horatio, there is nothing.  Truly, there is nothing.  Yes, DeVergesse was... was lower than... oh!  There are no words to describe him!”  Her eyes closed as she shook her head at the memory.
“But I will heal, with time, in both body and mind.  And there is no way that you can speed the sun through its rounds, or that you can speed that healing.”

“Kitty... I do believe that your ribs will heal, whether broken or bruised, but now I worry for your mind.  What could have happened that he touched your mind in such a fashion?  How can I help you there, if you will not let me help in any other way?”

Ah yes, that was the crux of the matter.  How had DeVergesse touched her mind with even more foulness than that which hurt her body?  And how could Horatio help her?  She sighed, finally giving over, yet not sure how to explain without further shaming both of them.

“Horatio... it is a hard thing to explain.  I will - I *will* try, but I do not know if I can do so.”

He watched her face carefully, and saw it age before his eyes.  No longer the bright, vivacious Duchess of his dreams, but now an older and much more tired woman, worn with life.  He went to cradle her in his arms again, thinking that the support would help her, but she pushed him away quickly, shaking her head.

“No, Horatio.  Please... I appreciate your wanting to help - oh, I appreciate it more than you will ever know! - but I cannot think when you
hold me, and it is even hard to think when I look at you...” her voice trailed off, and she closed her eyes as a person might do before beginning an impossibly long and difficult task.  A deep breath, well, as deep as could be made without undue pain, and it was started.

“Horatio, I tossed a gibe your way about familiarity with amore.  It is true that there are many ways of - of mating, I suppose one could say.  Some with more or less love, some with more or less accommodation, some with more or less anger.  But never, no never have I experienced such anger and punishment as was meted out last night.

                                                                                                   The Duchess and the Dream - pt. 2/2

“I know - as an actress, my character is under suspicion immediately.  I am ‘a low creature, no better than a well-dressed whore.’  It would not
be the first time someone has thought that of me.  But I am not.  Oh, t’would be foolish to play a simpering virgin at my age, but I do not
give myself often or carelessly, and I never have.  I thought that last night would be uncomfortable because I detested DeVergesse, and what I had to do to protect us, but I did not dream...

“Horatio, I had heard tales of how the act could be used as - as punishment, how it could be painful, but I never quite believed them before.  And he took pleasure in causing pain... real pleasure!  I fear it will be long before I can give myself again, before I can trust
another - but oh! I feel so empty now!”

And again the tears came.  Automatically, as he would pick up an injured sparrow and soothe it, Horatio again held her, allowing her to move away a bit with fear, and then to burrow back into his arms as she purged her body of tears for her innocence and his, and for the needs of war.

After a time, the wracking sobs slowed, then stopped with only hiccups left to denote the emotional storm that had passed over and through them.  Now she rested in his arms, both of them gathering their strength.  He gently stroked her tumbled hair, and she gave a small
smile with her eyes till closed against the bright sun.

“Well, Mr. H., I must look a sight!  Best we go back now -” 
“I was serious, Kitty.  Either I will check your ribs for injuries, or I will have Don Massaredo send for a doctor to do so.”

She looked up.  His face was troubled, but uncompromising.  Giving in to the inevitable, she straightened and then stood before him.

“All right, Horatio.  All right.  But you will have to act as lady’s maid, for I cannot manage the buttons and laces at the back by myself.”
She turned, and bowed her head as she removed the fichu filling in the edges of her low neckline, and then turned to grin at him over her
shoulder.  “D’ye know where to start, lad,” said in her broad accent.

Perforce he had to grin back at her, and rose to move directly behind her.  He dropped a kiss: a benediction of sorts on her hair as his
fingers moved to the buttons closing the back of her old fashioned long bodice.  “If I am clumsy, I am sure Her Grace will instruct me in the
proper manner of assistance.”

His fingers were somewhat clumsy: the bodice was snug and form-fitting, but they soon learned the knack and the bodice sagged toward the front of her shoulders.  She carefully tugged her arms free of the snug sleeves, and folded it carefully before placing it on the rock at her feet.  Then she began to open the side fastenings of her skirt, but afraid that the twisting would be painful, Horatio again moved forward to assist, and then to untie the ribbons for her hoops and petticoats so that they fell to the ground under her skirt, leaving her able to step free of them all and so stand in her undergarments.

“I... I will need help with this...” and her voice faltered.  Yes, she trusted Horatio to not harm her, but still the thought of a man’s hands
on her corset was frightening.  But he smiled comfortingly at her, and then frowned at the corset itself - oh heavens!  Was this the first time
he had come face to face with one?  She would have thought him more experienced than that - !  “Horatio?”

He looked up again, and smiled at her once more.  “Don’t fret, your grace, t’will just be a moment more,” and began to loosen the cords
delicately.  When it was loose enough she unhooked the front and let it slide to the ground.  But instead of turning to face him, she made a sudden decision.  “In for a penny, in for a pound” had long been her motto, and it was time to play out her hand.

Quickly she tugged at the ties of her chemise, and slid it down to the ground to join her other clothing.  Naked now but for her stockings and garters, she turned to face him with her chin in the air.  All admiration for her courage as well as suddenly finding it difficult to
breathe, Horatio could only look for a moment.  Then he smiled.

“Florentine statuary, m’lady?” he quipped as he came forward.

“No, no statuary, Horatio, but a few paintings in the best private collections.”

That stopped him in his tracks.  Why - when she had fought so cleverly to remain clothed, had she suddenly removed all covering?  Why would a woman who appeared and sounded so virtuous allow herself to be painted without her clothing?  He could no longer think straight - and no longer knew precisely what he was doing.

“Horatio?  Are you all right?”  My goodness, the lad had stopped in his tracks as though *he* was the statue.  Although who would want a statue that frowned and gaped she couldn’t imagine.  And here she had thought the lad couldn’t look awkward!  “Have you seen enough?” She placed her hands on her hips.  “May I dress again, please?”  Still he didn’t move. Enough was enough.  She bent down to pick up her chemise from the ground.

“Wait - Kitty - I - you -” no, he could not think straight.  And he knew that he most certainly could not speak any sense, so he took that final step and grasped her arms as he shook his head to try to find the sense lodged somewhere in it.

Exasperated with him, she tried once more.  “Yes, Horatio?  May I dress?  Or have you not seen enough...”

“Kitty - “ he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  This was easier with his eyes closed.  But oh, how they wanted to open!  “I don’t
understand.  Anything.  How you could have been with DeVergesse last night, how you could be a virtuous woman and yet be painted unclothed, how you could seem so shy about letting me check your ribs, and yet stand here in the open...”  his eyes opened, holding hers, asking for answers.

“Oh, Horatio, if that’s all...” she laughed.  “I’m an actress.  My body is my tool.  You do not hide your sextant or your ship, just use them as
they are needed.  But you take care of them as well.  There is no shame in my being painted, or in being seen changing in the theater where
dressing space is crowded and shared.  I didn’t want you to see what had been done to me - I didn’t want you to think less of me for not finding a way to keep that snake off last night.”  Yes, his face was easing, and his grip was loosening a bit.  “Please, satisfy yourself about my ribs, and then let me dress again for our walk back.”

He stepped back slightly, and slowly moved around her, looking carefully at the hand-sized dark blotches about her ribs, hips and buttocks.  His face flushed with anger... would that DeVergesse was still in El Ferrol for him to punish!  But he kept his voice calm and dispassionate when he spoke.  “I see the bruising, Kitty, and it is fierce.  You must be careful how you lace yourself.  But I must touch your ribs to check them for breaks as well.  Will you let me?”

His eyes met hers, and she gave a small nod.  Taking his hand in hers, she placed it on her side and then stood still.  Damn, but she *was*
small and fragile.  Her acting prowess made her seem so imposing at other times and under other circumstances.  He slowly and carefully slid his hands around her ribs, top to bottom as well as around.  Then knelt to do the same while taking a closer look at her rib’s condition.

But his mind was not so cooperative as he had wished.  Suddenly the soft wells of her back leading to the curve of her belly became trackless spaces that he could explore for days on end.  His throat dry he raised his hands, and still following her ribs, ran his fingertips along the bottom of her breasts.  He swallowed hard as his eyes followed the contours of those creamy, rounded shapes and thought about... Stop it! Now!  He shook his head, closing his eyes to what he desired, and forced his mind back to Kitty’s needs and away from his own. No, fortunately she was right and there were no breaks.  Only those deep bruises that would take time to heal on both her body and her mind.

He took a deep breath.  “You were right, Kitty, it is only bruising, although bruises in such strength will take even more time to heal than
broken ribs.”  On a sudden impulse, he pressed a kiss to her belly, then looked up at the gasp she gave.  Her hands pressed his head to her in a quick embrace, but then she stepped back from him.

“Thank you, Horatio.  Would you hand me my chemise please?”  She could not meet his eyes.  Why, oh why had he kissed her again?  And so intimately?  And why, oh why, had her body decided that she must have him, and have him now?  Traitorous flesh indeed, to mock her decision to remain celibate!  But those hands: large, and yet so controlled, so soft in their touch that they could almost have been the breeze blowing gently against her body.  His breath though, that had come hot and heavy  as he touched and stroked her, and her body had responded.  Her hands had fluttered, wanting to touch and stroke him, but not allowed to for what if he responded only out of pity?  No... no, she must pretend total unconcern, and then those hot lips on her flesh undid all her resolution.  But she would regain her control - she must!
“It would seem I must apologize once again, Miss Cobham,” said Horatio stiffly.  Why, oh why had he taken that liberty?  And why had he stopped there?  Better to be hung for a sheep than a lamb, they said, and she was so tantalizing and so warm... traitorous and uncaring body to want a woman so recently brutalized...!

“No, Horatio.”  She sighed.  “It is not you... I don’t think it could ever be you.”  Oh, how true that sentiment was, even though he would see it only as a release from blame, not as the lament that she could never know his body that she realized it was.  She raised her eyes to his.
“Dear, dear boy, thank you for caring... for trying to make it all right.”  She sighed.  “It will simply take time.”

“Kitty, you are so beautiful - so tempting!  I’m sorry... you have been, well, on my mind for some time... and I would not hurt you for the world, but somehow when I touched you, and when I saw you... I’m sorry. For so many reasons, this is not right, and I’m sorry.”  He turned away then, seeking her chemise, and so did not see the light in her eyes change.  He also did not see her take those two steps that brought her close behind him, but he did feel her breasts pressed to his back, and her hands coming around him to stroke and smooth his torso.

“Mmmm... sauce for the goose, Mr. H.”  Giddy now, enjoying the moment far too much to stop, she ran her hands up along his pectorals, just missing the nipples, and felt him gasp with pleasure.

“And for the gander, your grace,” as his arms reached back around her to stroke her buttocks, pulling her gently against his backside before he turned in her arms to take her gently into his.

“Horatio - “

“Kitty - “

Both spoke at once, and then both laughed before becoming serious.
“Horatio, please be sure - sure that this is what you want, and not out of pity for an old woman.  That I could not bear.”

He was shocked, and showed it.  “Old woman?  Oh Kitty, you have haunted the dreams of younger men than I!  No, there would be no pity on my part.  But on yours?  Do not think that this is how I would want to be thanked - as if I should *be* thanked for getting you into this scrape in the first place.  You’re injured.  Be sure you know what you are doing.”

She shook her head.  “No, Horatio, no pity on my part.  You are my friend, I hope, and beyond that, you are beautiful and gentle.  No, no pity from either of us.  But let us share... and enjoy.”  She took his face in her hands, and drew it down to hers for a long, slow kiss,
stroking her tongue along his lips until his mouth opened to her and she could taste him.

He gasped, having never tasted a woman in this fashion before... *did* women enjoy this as much as men?  Were... he hesitated to even think
it... were there other things he had done with Archie so long ago that Kitty too would enjoy? Oh god!  Then diving in to taste her mouth with his tongue, exploring her jaw and throat with his lips, he abandoned himself to the feel of soft, warm skin and answering lips and tongue.

Oh god!  Those warm lips, sliding across her skin; that warm skin sliding under her hands... the muscles in his back bunching and smoothing, the strong arms sliding around her, the distinctly male scent of his hair and neck, and then he was gone.  Her eyes opened and fastened on his, seeing them move from the deep brown of darkest morning chocolate to darker yet black with desire.  She knew what he wanted
next, and wanted it no less herself.  Her hands moved to his head, and pulled it gently to her breast.

Avid for her taste, he lifted his head to reclaim her lips for a moment before descending to those round breasts that he had dreamt of, and then her hand touched him: stroking up the length of his cock through his trousers.  Reaching under to cup his balls, then stroking again, then fumbling with buttons and touching *him* - no longer fabric, as he pulled her closer to him and kicked the offending trousers out of his
way.

Finally, mouths and hands exploring each other, no longer able to hold back or be shy but needing to feel and taste.  Feeling engorged,
swelled, over sensitive to touch, skin becoming heated as it slid across skin... oh god...

Kitty regained thought first, almost with a shock.  Placing her palm on his chest, she said “Wait.”

It was like being hit by the mainsail boom, or the best bower.  He stopped... and tried to understand, failing once again.  “I’m sorry,
Kitty, it was too soon -”

She stopped him further, by the simple expedient of placing her mouth over his and stroking his tongue with hers.  “Don’t be sorry Horatio.  I only said ‘wait,’ not ‘stop.’  I want you - never think I don’t! - but we’ll enjoy it all the more if we move a little more slowly.”

He still didn’t understand, and frowned a little.  “You want to wait... you mean, tomorrow?”

“No, dear.  I mean today, now -”  and he swooped in again, all avidity for her taste.  “Horatio!”  she said laughing, “Wait!  I mean it!”

He stopped again, unsure what to do. 
“Horatio,  have you ever had a woman before?  Not the dockside whores, but someone you cared about?”

Now he blushed.  Was she going to tease him about it?  He could feel himself sagging, deflating.  But she had asked, and he couldn’t lie to her.  “No, Kitty.  Not a *woman* I cared about.”  Well, that was true enough.

Ah, that was the issue then.  Not a woman, but perhaps, Archie?  Long before, when they still sailed together?  And it would have been below decks, too, where they would have to hurry to avoid exposure.  No wonder the lad was in such a rush.  “Horatio, it’s fine.  You’re fine.  You’re incredible, and I want to show you just how incredible.  Come over here, and lay down in the grass.  We’ll be the same height that way, and we’ll explore together.”

She moved him off the path into the soft meadow grass and tugged him down beside her.  As he lay back, she knelt alongside him and ran her hands along his body exploring the contours of his muscles.  Every so often, she bent to place a kiss on some particular spot as it struck her fancy.  He groaned, reaching to bring her closer, but she was careful to remain just out of reach as she giggled at his frustration.  In desperation, he reached for his cock, now swollen and engorged again, and begging for someone to stroke it, smooth it, suckle it, surround it.   But she pushed his hand away, and moved up to straddle his belly.  Ummmm, his face showed the strain of waiting, of attempting to do her bidding.  Oh, the feeling of power it gave her - power and control - to have such a beautiful man ready to follow her lead.  What should she have him do first?  “Now, Mr. H, let us see just how you navigate these waters.  Careful, lad, the shoals are wicked and will capture your craft if you lose your focus for an instant - you must beware!”

She stretched out along his length, tasting his lips once more, and feeling his strong cock moving ever so slightly against her thighs.  His
hands moved gently and smoothly along her body, learning the curves and swells as they were followed by his lips.  Now it was his turn to make her wait, to explore and learn from the small sounds of pleasure she made what to do.  Careful always of her bruises, he discovered the different tastes of breasts, belly, and thighs, and the pleasure of removing her garters and rolling those long stockings down slowly,
following the hem with his mouth.  Then there was the softness of her skin as his lips and fingers explored yet again, with more knowledge
this time, and the delight in coming ever closer to her nexus, but tormenting her by never quite reaching it.  No, the pleasure in taking
his time, in prolonging the intimacy, that was something he had never known before.  But it was something he would keep from now on.

Finally, after an uncountable time, she rolled atop him and took him in, showing him the power of waiting - of not giving in to that first mad
impulse to plunge ahead.  But oh, how sweet - long and slow, deep and firm, until both tumbled over the edge of their desires  and rested for a long moment.

He kissed her forehead drowsily.  “Are you... are you all right?  I didn’t... hurt you, did I?”

She snuggled her cheek further into the hollow of his shoulder, smiling.  “No, Horatio.  You didn’t.  You were wonderful.”

He pulled her closer, shifting her slightly, and mumbled something. 
“What, Horatio?  I couldn’t hear you.”  She lifted her head, and watched his lips.

“The paintings... in whose collections?”  And he grinned.

She made a fist, and pushed it up under his chin.  “What sort of a question is that to ask a lady, boyo?”

“Mphoghegra.”

Kitty removed her hand, smiling back at him.

“I’d like to know ... who I share my dreams with.”

She sighed.  “Ahhh, how can I resist such a romantic thought?  Amazing how hard hearted I must be.”  Then she dug her fingers into his ribs, tickling him until he captured her hands and mouth for another kiss, and soon they were loving again.

Finally, long later, she rose and found her chemise.  Pulling it over her head, she smiled down at him.  “Oop wi’ ye, lad, it’s time to go.”

He put his hands behind his head and stretched lazily.  “I want to watch you dress.  I want to pretend that we’re at the theater, and you’re
getting ready to go on the stage.”

“Oh, no you don’t!  You, me fine lad, have to act the lady’s maid and help me with this dratted corset!”  She shook it at him in mock anger,
as he rose.

“You know, I think you’re right Kitty.  You had it laced much too tight earlier.  That’s why you were having so much trouble walking, and what made me so worried.”  He helped her pull it on, and tugged the laces snug rather than tight this time.

“Do you mean to tell me that if I had loosened my corset, you would never have known about last night?  That I could have kept it hidden
from you?”

He walked around in front of her, picking up her petticoats as he came. 

“Is that what you want now?”

“I don’t know, Horatio.  I just don’t know.”  It was a puzzle - would she have maintained her pride, pretending she was not hurt, but missed
having him?  Would she have given up the chance to feel that velvet skin, that sleek tongue?  “What would you have wanted?”

He guided her skirt over her head, and kissed her firmly as he fastened the waist.  “You, Kitty.  Just you.”

“Aaahh, lad, ye’ve a fine tongue in your head, so you do,” as she smoothed the back of one hand down his cheek and reached for her bodice with the other.  “Well, Mr. H, do you intend to return to Don Massaredo’s home dressed like Florentine statuary?”

He stretched up to the sky, and her mouth went dry all over again.

“Do you think it would change things?  Perhaps Don Massaredo would be so overcome he would release us all.”  He grinned, and she laughed at his cheek, then threw his shirt at him.

“More likely he would keep you as a naked slave, lad.  Cover up now,” and she sighed to see him cover his beauty.

                                                                                                            *******************************

At the compound he did not want to leave her, but knew that he must.  It was the pattern that had been set when they began to walk out, and he knew that he must not break it if he wanted to maintain his freedom for those two hours.  He was bursting with emotion - a strange feeling for one so contained!  But what to do with it?  He could not tell his men - heaven for fend they should ever find out! - and certainly not Hunter.
Archie?  Well, it was Archie who had told him she was no duchess. Perhaps Archie should find out just how much more she was.

But Archie was sleeping when he went to see him - sleeping peacefully, with the grey tinge gone from his skin, and the shivers from the fever finally gone.  No, no he could not wake Archie now.  If Archie was to escape with them, he needed the healing rest badly.  He quietly closed the door, and returned to pass through the courtyard where his men continued their interminable roach races up the walls.

Back in his cell, empty with Hunter out exhorting the crew to mutiny and Archie still recuperating, he went over every moment, every nuance.  So often he had found reality a poor substitute for his dreams - especially when it came to intimate matters - but for once reality was more than his dreams had suggested.  He closed his eyes, and smelled once again her intoxicating perfume, touched her soft skin, smoothed the curves that so enticed him whenever he saw her.  Ahhh, and then tonight after dinner, perhaps they would go to her room... No.  Not there - not where DeVergesse had... But they could walk in the courtyard together, perhaps steal a kiss, perhaps even a stealthy caress.  Then tomorrow they would have their walk again, and this time he thought he knew of a more secluded spot, one that would allow more privacy for them both.

Thinking of such, he fell into sleep and relived the afternoon again, and again, until Hunter woke him coming in to bed himself.  He tried to
speak with Hunter about an escape: with Archie recuperating, and his new feelings for the “Duchess,” he was sure that escape would come soon for them.  And then - aahhhh, the life he envisioned!  To return to London from his ship (which looked suspiciously like the *Indy*, although it was *his* ship) at intervals and be welcomed into Kitty’s life and bed, and then to return to the sea - !  It would be a dream come true, and a dream that he had not even had until this day!

But Hunter was snide and aloof, and he realized that any talk of escape must wait for the light when he could attempt once more to control his wayward midshipman.  Sighing, he settled himself deeper in the bed to dream of his Duchess for the remainder of the night.

                                                                                                                     *************************

Morning came too soon, but he rose with a feeling of lightness in his heart and a belief that he could not fail in whatever he chose to do.
Not now - not now that he had her, and Archie was healing, and his men remained safe.  Yes, today would be the day to see all his hopes come together, he was sure of it.

Sure, that is, until Don Massaredo’s men came to get him in the morning, and usher him into the aristocrat’s presence.

”I have bad news for both of us, Mr. Hornblower.  The Duchess has left on a ship called the Almeria bound for Portugal.  So both our days are darker for her absence.”

He stood for a moment, and felt the castles he had built in his dreams crash onto his shoulders once more.  ”They will be, sir.”  Oh, if the
commandant only knew...

”However, she left you at least a parting gift.  She felt that you should learn my language.  So - you have here a lexicon, and this book.
It is the story of a man who jousts with windmills.  Her Grace thought that you would understand him.”

A small smile pushed past the lump in his throat.  Joust at windmills? Oh yes, she knew him.  And, for whatever it was worth, someday he would know her again.  He was sure of it.