but he could not back down. He continued towards the forecastle.
‘You will not address the captain, Robertson, it is not your place to do so,’ Pensenby interrupted.
Her jacket had been removed and Holmes was tugging at her culottes. Georgiana bellowed as loudly as she could, and tried hard to maintain the slight edge to her accent. ‘I must speak with you, Captain, sir. Please, sir!’
Still she saw only the receding view of his deep blue coat, his shoulders squared, his golden epaulettes glinting in the lantern light.
‘It concerns Farleigh Hall, sir.’
Nathaniel ceased his measured steps and swung round. Surely he had misheard? ‘What did you say, boy?’ He drew his brows together in perplexity and walked slowly back to where the gunner’s mate held the boy in a neck lock.
‘Farleigh Hall,’ Georgiana managed to choke the words out.
Something was most definitely amiss. How did a simpleton third-rate ship’s boy know of his brother’s house? An uneasy feeling was gathering in his gut. ‘Release the boy, Mr Holmes. I would hear what he has to say.’
With considerable relief Georgiana lurched forward, her hand pressed to the bruising on her throat. ‘It’s private, Captain, sir. I must speak with you alone, sir.’
If Nathaniel observed that his previously tongue-tied ship’s boy had suddenly developed a clear and coherent manner of speech, he forbore to mention it.
Pensenby’s countenance was growing tarter by the minute. ‘How dare you?’ he spluttered with the indignation of a man who could not quite believe what he had just heard. ‘I’ve never seen a more audacious manner in a boy.’ The second lieutenant’s temper was wearing dangerously thin. ‘You will be punished for this insolence.’
‘Make ‘im kiss the gunner’s daughter,’ a coarse voice added from the background.
The prospect of being bent over one of the long guns and caned on the backside was enough to make Georgiana’s hair to stand on end. ‘Lady Mirabelle,’ she squeaked in defiance, and, ‘Lord Frederick,’ just for good measure.
Nathaniel’s mind was decided in an instant. ‘I’ll interview the boy in my cabin. Have him brought down immediately.’
Georgiana’s knees almost gave way with relief as Holmes dragged her along in the captain’s wake.
‘But …’ Lieutenant Pensenby’s jaw dropped.
‘Thank you, Mr Pensenby. Continue with your duties.’ Captain Hawke’s clipped tones floated back to reach him.
The captain’s cabin, positioned at the rear of the gun deck, was incredibly large in comparison with the cramped conditions endured by the rest of the crew, and furnished well, if not luxuriously. As well as a desk, captain’s chair, dining table, six dining chairs and a small chest of drawers, there was a large and very fine oil painting depicting Lord Nelson’s victory against the French Admiral Brueys at the Battle of the Nile. Amidst the elegance of the décor were two large eighteen-pounder long guns, shone to a brilliant black finish. Nathaniel Hawke leaned back against the desk, stretching his legs out before him. The cocked hat was removed and positioned carefully on a pile of papers to his left. An errant lock of hair swept across his forehead and his eyes glowed deep and dark.
‘Well, young Robertson, tell your tale.’
Georgiana felt the tension mount within her, and quickly slipped on the torn jacket that Holmes had replaced in her hands. An extra layer of protection against what was to come. And what was to come? She had no notion what Captain Hawke’s reaction would be. No notion at all. She licked her dry, salt-encrusted lips and began. ‘Thank you for agreeing to my request for privacy. I’m sure that you’ll agree to its necessity once you’ve heard the truth.’
‘Indeed?’ One winged eyebrow raised itself. ‘You suddenly have a most eloquent turn of phrase, Master Robertson. The prospect of a bath seems to have overcome your tendency to the whispered mumbling of a simpleton.’
Georgiana cleared her throat and clutched her hands together. How did one go about imparting such a revelation? ‘Quite,’ she muttered softly.
The silence stretched between them.
Nathaniel’s hands stretched flat upon the desk and he leaned forward. ‘I believe that you have something to tell me.’
Such long strong fingers, so representative of the power within the man himself. An image of those fingers stroking her cheek popped into her mind and she flushed with guilty anger. How could she think such a thought, and at a time like this? A warm blush rose in her cheeks and she rapidly averted her gaze.
Nathaniel did not miss the emotions that flashed so readily across the boy’s face, nor the telltale rosy stain beneath the dirt-stained cheeks. He waited, curiosity rising.
‘I…You …’ She paused, unable to find the words. Oh, heaven help her! Taking a deep breath, she launched into the story. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, Captain Hawke, so I’ll strive to be brief and to the point. Please remember throughout that I…that I never intended the position in which I now find myself. Such a possibility never entered my mind.’ She looked up at him suddenly, her eyes wide and clear, her voice elegant and polite. ‘The fact of the matter is that I’m not who I appear to be.’ She paused, her breathing coming fast and furious, almost as if she had ran the length of the ship.
‘I’d gathered that much. And you’re now about to do me the honour of revealing your true identity.’ His tone was dry, but there was an encouraging gentleness in his eyes and Georgiana knew that Nathaniel Hawke was a fair man. The knowledge gave her the confidence she so desperately needed to continue.
‘Yes.’ The single word slipped softly into the silence of the cabin.
Nathaniel experienced a reflexive tensing of his muscles and an overwhelming intuitive certainty that the next words to be uttered by the ragamuffin boy standing so quietly before him would change his life for ever.
The boy’s chin forced up high. The grey-blue eyes met his without flinching. The narrow chest expanded with a deep breath. ‘I am Miss Georgiana Raithwaite, recently of your acquaintance at Farleigh Hall.’ Still the breath held, tightly squeezed within her lungs. She waited. Waited. And never once did her gaze wander from those dark eyes that were staring back at her with an undisguised disbelief.
Silence.
The blood ran cold in Nathaniel’s veins and a shiver flitted down his spine. It was not possible. The ragged boy, Miss Raithwaite. ‘You cannot be Miss Raithwaite. You’re a…’
Georgiana endured the roving scrutiny of his eyes without moving. ‘Now you understand why I couldn’t comply with Lieutenant Pensenby’s command.’ She raised her eyebrows wryly and bit her bottom lip.
‘Hell’s teeth!’ Nathaniel cursed and stood upright. A horrible sinking sensation was starting within his stomach, for beneath the grubby urchin face he could see what had previously eluded him—the fine features of the young woman he had pulled from the River Borne. ‘Your hair…Have you—?’
‘Naturally,’ replied Georgiana. ‘It wouldn’t have been much of a disguise otherwise.’ She whipped the cap from her head to reveal her
