Regency Debutantes by Margaret McPhee Page B

in invitation. His fingers caressed her chin, moving up to capturethe smoothness of her cheek. His heart thumped loudly within his chest, he lowered his mouth towards hers and—’
    A short sharp knock sounded at the door.
    Brandy splashed on to the captain’s desk. Georgiana jumped so high that Nathaniel’s hand brushed against her breast. Even through the depth of her bindings she felt his warmth. She gasped. Blue eyes held brown in confused horror.
    ‘Quickly, slip into the night cabin and don’t make a sound,’ Nathaniel whispered in her ear. His large hand covered hers, gave one brief squeeze of reassurance and was gone.
    She reacted instinctively, moving quickly and quietly to the connecting door.
    When Lieutenant Anderson entered, it was to find the captain engrossed in some charts, and no sign of ship’s boy Robertson.
    ‘First Lieutenant Anderson.’ Nathaniel’s voice was laconic and mellow, betraying nothing of the turbulent emotions simmering so recently in his breast.
    ‘Captain Hawke, sir. I beg your pardon for the intrusion, but my hourly report is due.’ The young man’s face appeared a trifle flushed.
    Nathaniel leaned back in his chair and surveyed his lieutenant. ‘Indeed, it is, Mr Anderson. Please proceed.’
    John Anderson cleared his throat and recited his list. ‘All stations have been checked. The first dog watch passed without event and the first watch proper commenced. All is in order. Ernie Dobson’s tooth has been extracted and he’s been allocated an extra quart of grog. There’s no change in the weather and we are continuing on course as per your instructions. That is all I have to report, sir.’
    ‘Thank you, Mr Anderson. That will be all.’
    But the first lieutenant stayed firmly rooted to the spot, an awkward expression plastered across his face.
    ‘Was there something else, Mr Anderson?’ Nathaniel had a fairly accurate idea of what was causing John Anderson to linger.
    ‘No, Captain…Well, perhaps …’ Mr Anderson appeared to be finding a spot upon the cabin floor of immense interest.
    Nathaniel decided to put the officer out of his misery. ‘Would you care for a brandy, Mr Anderson?’
    The first lieutenant looked up in surprise. ‘Yes, thank you, sir.’
    ‘There’s been talk of my dealings with ship’s boy Robertson.’ It was a statement, not a question. He passed the glass to Anderson.
    ‘Yes, sir.’ His cheeks were glowing with all the subtlety of two beacons.
    Nathaniel’s jaw clenched grimly. That the captain had ordered a private bath for the boy within his own cabin would be known by every man on the
Pallas
by now. He was under no illusion as to what the common interpretation of his action would be, and that was something that would have to be dispelled as quickly as possibly. Nathaniel was thinking and thinking very fast. John Anderson’s green eyes had raised to his in quiet anticipation. Whatever Nathaniel told him, it could not be the truth. ‘It’s a delicate matter over which discretion is required. I trust that I have your complete confidence in the matter?’
    ‘Of course, sir!’ Lieutenant Anderson had drawn himself up to his full height and was regarding his captain with more than a little curiosity. He sipped at the brandy.
    ‘The boy, Robertson, is not who he seems.’
    Anderson’s eyes were positively agog. ‘No?’
    ‘No.’ Nathaniel’s tone was conspiratorial. ‘Indeed, Robertson is a pseudonym he’s used to his own ends.’
    John Anderson nodded triumphantly. ‘I knew that all wasn’t as it appeared, sir.’
    ‘Master Robertson—we’ll continue to call him that for reasons that will soon become apparent—should not be aboard the
Pallas
or any ship. Mr Anderson, the boy is my nephew.’ He paused for effect. ‘My brother, Viscount Farleigh, has strictly forbidden George a career at sea. The boy, naturally, wants nothing else. He has therefore run away from home to pursue his dream. He didn’t, of course,