Viva Jacquelina! Read Free

growls Lord Allen to the poor middie. “I have custody of the lady.”
    I give Midshipman Jonathan Harrington a smile, a wink, and a final squeeze of his arm as he flushes, salutes, casts a look upon me, does an about-face, and strides off, full, I am sure, of young male resentment.
    â€œCould it be that you have made another conquest, Princess? Another Pale and Loitering Knight in Thrall to La Belle Jeune Fille Sans Merci?” asks Allen, watching the lad retreat, with some contempt writ on his face. “Seems to me there would be scant sport in bringing one such as him to heel.”
    I laugh. “Oh, come on, Richard, he and I are of the same age and he is a nice young man. He was good company to me while you were off supervising the daily disposal of several tons of horse manure, or whatever other manly things of great importance that you do when you are not trying to toss my fallible self into a handy bed.”
    Allen gives a lordly snort. “The beasts do produce a lot of that rather smelly commodity, and they are difficult to care for at sea, poor devils, being afraid of the constant movement,” he says with a smile. “But enough of horsy lore.” He bows slightly, taking my hand and kissing the back of it. “May I say, you look lovely, my dear little woodland sprite?”
    â€œThank you, sir. And may I say in return that you look absolutely smashing?”
    â€œYou may,” replies the rogue, running his tongue over his lips. “But, I must say, the dear little hand tastes of soap . . . and as for that bed—”
    â€œI have just come from my bath.” I sniff, all prim and proper, and withdraw that same hand. “And never mind about my bed.”
    â€œHmm . . . An interesting image comes to mind—young Princess Pretty-Bottom, late of the Shawnee Tribe, the
Belle of the Golden West,
various backwaters of the Mississippi River, the
Lorelei Lee,
and other similar environs, lolling about in luxurious suds. Ummm, yes. However, I must banish it from my mind, lest I go mad with lust.”
    I give him a poke. “Be good, you.”
    â€œMind you, soap is fine, in its place, but I much prefer your natural flavor—or flavors—Princess.”
    Time to change the subject.
    â€œNever mind me and my meager charms, milord,” I say. “Tell me about our situation here.”
    Lord Allen turns and guides me to the rail of the ship, such that we might observe the goings-on at the dock.
    â€œOur gallant forces, under General Wellesley, have just won a great victory at Rolica. Of course, we outnumbered the Frogs four to one, but no matter. It is still the first British victory over Napoleon and we will take it, however one-sided things were. The French, under the command of General Delaborde, were retreating in disorder and our army could have overwhelmed and slaughtered them, but Wellesley, hearing that this force of six thousand was arriving at Lisbon, instead sent the army here to cover our debarkation.”
    â€œSo he is a careful man?”
    â€œYes, though Old Nosey is a bold fighter, he is never one to take foolish chances, and the loss of the six thousand of us would be quite a blow to his cause.”
    â€œOld Nosey?”
    â€œYes. He has a rather prominent nose. I would advise you not to stare at it when you first meet the great man.”
    â€œUm, I shall take that to heart,” I say, nodding. “What sort of leader is he?”
    Allen considers, then says, “His men respect and admire him and are glad to have him as their general, for their safety depends on his sound judgment, but they do not love him.”
    â€œAnd why not?”
    â€œHe has a rather harsh personality. It is said that he does not suffer fools gladly.”
    â€œHmm. I wonder if he suffers jumped-up young female twits gladly,” I say with some trepidation. “Where is he headquartered?”
    â€œHe has taken over a