Dunham

Chapter 17

17

The Silver Shilling's bo'sun's mate (a valet by profession before being impressed aboard the HMS Iphigenia) (though not by Elliott) (who was also extraordinarily talented at firing a swivel) fussed over Elliott's cravat as if the success of his wedding depended upon it. He had no looking glass and thus must trust Piefke and his assessment.

"You look quite fine, Sir," Piefke finally announced with some gravity. "You will be sure to impress the lady."

Lady.

He had not thought of Fury as a lady. "Lady Jacqueline Tavendish," Elliott whispered, though not softly enough, because he caught Piefke's quickly hidden amusement. No, he must leave off thinking such things. It was not possible, and Elliott had the best plan he could muster under the circumstances. He must become satisfied with it.

"These togs are quite spare, Piefke. Are you certain of them?"

He sniffed, affronted. "I believe you are better served without excessive ornamentation, Sir." Then he leveled a significant and bitter glance at him. "You left off ornamentation six years ago. We all did."

Ah, yes. At his arrest, during which every medal, stripe, and epaulette he and his officers had ever earned and worn were stripped from them all.

"I am not the only one who prefers the pirate's uniform, then," Elliott murmured, looking down his body, unable to take a true measure of his appearance. He had forgotten how it felt to be accountable for his sartorial choices.

"The Lady Captain Fury cannot help but approve, Sir," Piefke murmured.

"We can hope."

Elliott had been hard-pressed to hide his unusual jewelry from Piefke, but managed. Barely. He had been perpetually at quarter-mast ever since Fury had tossed him out of her cabin to dress. His waistcoat was long enough to hide the fact that he was still a bit stiff-and he did not mind the ongoing sensation at all.

Still, he was nervous. It had been more than twenty years since he had been in Society, and the last time he had worn any type of formal dress was in the House of Lords the year before, which no one saw but his fellow nobles. The fact that he possessed this suit of clothing spoke more to Piefke's pride in his rightful occupation than any desire on Elliott's part to attend ton soirees.

"Shall I put your cabin to rights while you are gone, Cap'n?"

Elliott looked around, but saw nothing wrong with it. The floor was relatively clear. Everything was secure. His bunk was a tangle, though.

"Is it that bad?" he asked, bemused. "Fury does not find it to her liking, but I cannot see-"

"I wouldn't bring a lady here, Sir."

He sighed. "If it will make her happy, do what you will."

He left his cabin and swung down to her deck. He popped down the hatch just six feet in front of her cabin door. Like a smitten boy, he hesitated before he knocked.

But his nervousness disappeared as soon as Fury opened her door.

"Almighty God," he whispered, thoroughly awestruck.

She was a vision in mint silk, heavily embroidered with peach flowers and dark green leaves, her stomacher a work of needle art. Her décolletage was low, the nipples of her already magnificent breasts near to bursting out of the peach-piped edging. It was then he noticed that her stomacher was embroidered in the pattern and color of her scars, to make her ridged flesh part of her gown.