“Captain?”
Blinking his eyes open again, Thad turned from the Tonnant and back to the Masquerade and the crewman needing his advice. Seeing to such needs filled the hour until the six newly arrived British vessels made their way into port, and then that pull in his feet toward the rowboat told him it was time to go ashore.
Minutes later the wooden vessel bobbed beneath him on the turquoise waters of the bay, and the white sand beckoned from the beach. He had always enjoyed his stops in Bermuda—looking up the cliffs at Mount Wyndham—the Admiralty House—that sat hunkered amid the rocks and tropical trees.
Perhaps he and Gwyneth could sail here some winter after the war was over, warm their toes in the water that matched her eyes, and lounge about on the beaches. It would make a happy wedding trip, if she accepted the proposal he intended to offer.
Assuming she would even speak to him when he got home.
The boat slid onto the sand beside a row of similar small craft, and Thad exchanged a nod with Michaels, his first mate. They both knew the plan.
Of course, they had no sooner angled toward the tavern where General Ross had been taking his dinners than Thad paused, that familiar sensation sweeping up his back. He looked to his left and saw Ross striding along with Vice Admiral Cochrane, their feet pointed up the hill toward Mount Wyndham.
Time to adjust course. He opened his stride, dodging the throngs of red-coated pedestrians choking the streets.
Michaels ran after him. “What’re ya doing, Captain? At this rate, you’ll catch them!”
“Exactly.” He had learned long ago that a man of his height best not try to slink about unseen. When he went information seeking, he did it under the pretense of openness. “Do try to keep up, Mr. Michaels.”
His first mate sidestepped a brutish-looking fellow. “You shoulda brought Arnaud with ya. He can actually grasp the fool workings of that brain o’ yours.”
A chuckle slipped out. “That he does. Unfortunately, neither of us excels at obeying the orders of the other, so we make it a point to stay off each other’s vessels. And so, my friend, it falls to you to dog my heels and try to convince me I have gone daft.”
Michaels grunted. “I daresay ya know it already.”
“Aye. I daresay I do.” And if he were going to be mad, he might as well do it wholeheartedly. Jogging up the sloping road, he held up a hand and called out, “Admiral! General!”
“Heaven help us,” Michaels muttered under his breath.
The men were already halfway up the incline that curved toward the Admiralty House, looking so deep in conversation that Thad doubted they even noticed his shout. However, one of their aides glanced over his shoulder at him.
Good. He had been noticed, which would make his following them look purposeful and not surreptitious.
The aide held up, his countenance reflecting idle curiosity. “Have you business with the admiral or general, sir?”
“I have.” Thad drew even with the man—a lieutenant, given his insignia—and then brushed past. As he spoke, he was careful to maintain the clipped syllables of his English cousins. “I am Captain Thaddeus of the merchant brig Masquerade, and I have a profitable proposition to make Cochrane. Or Ross, if he will be taking authority of the forces in America.”
“Now see here, Captain.” The lieutenant pivoted and then jogged a few steps to keep up. “They are busy men. They cannot be expected to give an ear to every merchant’s ideas and concerns.”
“Of course not. I only ask them to give an ear to mine.” He nearly laughed at the incredulity in the lieutenant’s small brown eyes.
“I am sorry, sir, but now is not a convenient time for them.”
Thad breathed a scoffing laugh. He had only to keep the man talking a while longer. The Admiralty House was just ahead, its verandas giving it an inviting look. “Nonsense. They will be eager to hear my proposition, and it must be now. I have precisely twenty minutes to spare.”
“You seem to be missing the point.” But the young man looked more baffled than put upon by his obtuseness. “As…interesting as I am certain your business is, neither General Ross nor Admiral Cochrane have the attention to spare. They are fully engrossed in the matters of the campaign—”
“Come, man.” He slapped the lieutenant’s shoulder, friendly but too hard. “You think me an imbecile? My proposition has to do with the campaign!”
The officer frowned, looking dubious and mildly irritated on top of it. Perfect. “Does it now? Prithee, how?”