His Heart's Obsession by Alex Beecroft

Author:Alex Beecroft [Beecroft, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2012-08-15T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

Aboard HMS Swiftsure, off Dominica

A hot wind belled out the sails into such dazzling half-moons, it might have blinded a man to look at them. It smote Hal just behind the right ear and flicked the queue of his wig over his shoulder, drying the sweat on his neck. As he stood next to the helm, drunk on the pleasure of a fine following breeze and a full spread of canvas, a voice behind him, molasses sweet and full of amusement said, “Tell me, what do you see?”

When he turned it was to see Captain Hamilton in trousers as white as the sails and a thin, open shirt, wigless and informal. Smiling.

“At the moment, sir?” Hal smiled back, knowing that Hamilton would misunderstand him, relying on it. “Perfection.”

“Indeed. And I have you to thank for that.”

The reply felt too much like a fantasy—a nighttime mockery that dissolved in the morning into despair. Hal winced as the moment of peaceful pleasure filled up with old, familiar regrets. He tried hard not to show his sudden descent back into the pit. “I did order the weather up specially, sir. But…”

“Ah.” The wind flattened the shirt against the lithe lines of Hamilton’s back. Once, almost six years ago now, Hal had loved the sight as a painter loves the mountain peak, with a joyous but disinterested appreciation. Some of that lingered, like sugar in a cup of poison, but behind it there came the accompanying misery of wanting far more, and having far less than would ever satisfy.

“You’re not looking at what I am looking at,” said Hamilton. “Tell me what is wrong with this scene.”

Following his gaze, Hal peered down into the waist of the ship, where the eighteen pounders rode like polished gold, flames of sunshine incandescent about them. He narrowed his eyes, saw men industriously polishing; no one was slacking, no one chewing, no one spitting tobacco. The boys’ heads inclined together over a slate as they puzzled out the noon reckoning. The falls of each rope lay in spirals fit for an admiral’s inspection. Robert—on watch—gazed up judiciously at the trim of the sails.

Disconcerted, Hal checked again and came up a second time with the picture of a well-run, happy ship. “I can’t see a thing wrong.”

“Exactly.” Hamilton walked over to the windward side of the quarterdeck. He motioned with a small jerk of the chin for Hal to follow. There, in the sacrosanct hush of the captain’s private space, Hamilton said quietly, “Mr. Hughes tells me you had a word with him. You were unhappy with his performance, he said, and he is intent on proving that he can do better. To speak such a word to a friend in the interests of the service is hard, and to receive a reprimand from a man so much younger than himself, and act on it, is also hard. I confess I am impressed with you both.”

Hal almost laughed at the painful irony of this. To be praised for scolding like a bitter wife? How ridiculous.

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