reach the edge of a rear balcony. Agility and determination pulled him up and over the rail, landing lightly outside the window.
As luck would have it, the window was open and he slipped in. Too late he discovered that the room was occupied. A man and woman were in bed, sufficiently preoccupied, however, that he judged his chances good of going unnoticed. Tiptoeing, he was well passed halfway when he heard a deep voiced, “Hey, mate! Wait yer turn. She’s on my shilling.”
“Sorry.” Nathan sidled toward the door, tipping his hat. “Concentration, mate. No lady ’ tis flattered to think her charms aren’t sufficient to hold a man’s attentions… or vice versa. Madam.” He flashed a smile meant to charm as he backed out the door. “Please, pray continue. By all means...”
He slammed the door shut behind him and breathed a sigh of relief.
He checked the hall. Rooms were to larboard and starboard. Some doors stood open, instantly eliminating them as possibilities: the good Commodore would definitely desire his privacy.
The first closed door was unlocked, the room empty; same for the second. The third was unlocked, as well, and he pushed it open without pausing to listen.
“Hoy! What the bloody…!”
Occupied.
The next door was unlocked. Leaning to listen, he heard the movement of someone inside and tapped lightly.
“Come in!” It was a female voice.
Nathan's heart leapt. The door was open, before he could heed the internal voice screaming that it wasn’t Cate. He skidded to a halt at the sight of the occupant: female well enough, large, blowzy-haired, and naked.
“Oh, you sweet thing!” Her pendulous breasts wobbled as she charged at him with open arms, squealing, “I’ve always liked the dark ones.”
Her embrace drove Nathan back against the door, the force slamming it shut behind him. His objections were cut off by an onslaught of a tongue to a gagging proportion, while a hand latched expertly onto his crotch. Floundering to fend her off—a bloody octopus, she was!—he groped for the doorknob at his back. At last, he wrested free of her grasp enough to get the door open. He slipped around and outside, pulling it shut as a barricade. He gripped the knob, his arms nearly jerked from their sockets as she threw her weight into tugging at the door, all the while pleading for his return.
Soon enough, the pounding ceased; inside went quiet. He cautiously released the knob. Safe enough.
“I’m getting too old for this,” Nathan muttered, trying to wipe the taste of her off on his sleeve.
Several minutes later, he stood in the hallway, struck with indecision. The other three rooms had been empty. There was no sign of Cate or Harte, leaving him to wonder if they were already done and gone.
Snorting aloud, he instantly negated the idea. He wasn’t made of wood. In the process of imagining what sounds Cate might make in the height of passion, several scenarios of his own doing had come to mind, none of which could be completed in anything less than an afternoon. Come to think on it, however, Harte didn’t strike him as the sort to possess enough imagination to go much past the knowledge of a virgin whore: 10 minutes, and he’d be back to limp as an old sock.
All options exhausted, there was nothing left but to take his leave. Voices echoing up the stairs told him the taproom was still full—no sense in risking that—and no servants’ steps were to be had. And so he backtracked to where he had begun.
Stopping at the door, Nathan listened carefully, and swore under his breath.
This cove has the stamina of a racehorse!
Cautiously turning the knob, he winced at its squeak. Stealthily slipping in, a canny eye for the pair in the bed, he tiptoed through. As he reached the window, one leg over the sill, he felt someone watching. He slid a sideways look to find the woman looking back. Legs wrapped around the panting and thrusting one atop her, she winked, nodding approvingly. He tipped his hat to the whore’s disappointed pout and slipped out the window. Slithering over the rail, he dropped to the ground, grunting softly with the impact. Towers and Smalley still hovered against the shed where he had left them.
“Anything?” he demanded, shaking one leg from the sting of landing too heavily.
“Nothin’, Cap’n.” Towers put a hand to his nose, making a face. “Blimey! What's that smell!”
Nathan’s first urge was to blame Towers; he announced his arrival well in advance to anyone who had