“Kiss me, Patrick.” She slid her arms around his neck and their lips found each other’s. “Do you love me, Patrick?”
Surprised, he managed only to gasp a yes. Then he asked his own question, and his voice was weak with what he could only describe as fear. “Do you love me?”
“Certainly,” she responded gently. “Why do you think I brought you here?” She smiled. “I don’t bring just anyone to meet Father and his latest mistress. Now pick me up.”
Facing her, he put his arms on her sides and lifted her easily, aided by the buoyancy of the water. Thus supported, she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist with a strength that astonished him. Then they stood there and kissed even more deeply. “Now touch me,” she said, her voice hoarse. He moaned and ran his hands down from her shoulders and over her breasts and from there around her back to her firm buttocks. They swayed in the water as his hands repeated the journey again and again, daring also to slide beneath the overblouse she wore and be as close to her bare skin as he could without removing her suit. He felt her nipples harden. Between kisses she stared at him in wonder, her upper teeth biting down on her lower lip.
She took her legs from around his waist. He easily slid the loose pants of her suit over her knees and began to caress her silken hair–covered thighs, moving his hands up to her waist. It was only when he touched her belly and below that she stopped him and then only with the utmost reluctance. She was awash with feelings she had never before experienced. The long and intimate conversations with Molly had been her only source of specific information on how to arouse a man and be aroused herself without losing total control. In a way, she had thought wryly at the time, it was a sad commentary on her life that an immigrant girl more than a decade younger than she would be her instructor. But lord, how right she was.
Finally, Trina took his hands and held them on her bosom. “Do you truly want me?”
Patrick no longer cared if she felt his penis against her. He wanted her to. She had slid lower on him and he was pressed against her abdomen. “Great God, yes.”
“Then you’ll have to marry me.”
“Marry?”
“Yes, dear Patrick, marry. As in living together for decades and having children. You said you loved me, didn’t you?”
“Of course I love you, and I want very much to marry you, but how can I compete with this castle, with everything else you have?”
She separated from him and moved a step away. “You don’t have to, you ninny. When we marry, this’ll be as much yours as it is mine. We can live in your precious Michigan and visit here whenever we wish. Now, are you going to propose to me or not?”
Patrick thought she had just done that for both of them, but obediently he complied and she accepted. “Well,” she said, “it may be very unladylike, but I think I want you as much as you want me. However, I am afraid you might get a case of misplaced honor or something equally foolish regarding my family’s wealth, and change your mind about marrying me if we make love before the wedding. I want it perfectly understood, mighty general: you are not marrying me for my money. I am marrying you because I love you and you are marrying me because you love me.
“So we are now going to call it an evening. We shall try to sleep soundly, if that is possible considering how I feel, but we will sleep separately.” With that she left the pool and began to towel herself off. He followed a moment later. “Patrick, they do have forests in Michigan, don’t they?” Many, he assured her, and close by, along with boats and trains to take them farther north—as far as Mackinac and beyond if she desired. Fully robed and fairly dry, they walked down the hallway from the pool. “Trina, just what problem did you share with your mother today? What question did she answer?”
“I told her what I planned to do to you tonight.”
“And?”
“She approved wholeheartedly.”
When Lt. Micah Walsh, U.S. Navy, told his family and friends that his first command was a converted yacht, they naturally assumed that his craft was a sleek and racy wooden vessel that looked like a clipper ship when all sails were rigged, or one of those marvelous vessels that raced for the America’s Cup. What they didn’t realize was that the
Chesapeake,
previously
Anna’s Favor,
had been built for a Pittsburgh steel magnate who preferred comfort with his speed, and had opted for steam as the basic means of propulsion. Sails were a secondary consideration, although very useful to conserve precious coal.
When configured for comfort, the
Chesapeake
could make an impressive eighteen knots. Now, however, she would be lucky to make fifteen under steam and half that under sail. The difference was the result of the additional weight required for her to become a warship. First, there was the unturreted 3-inch gun located just in front of the bridge, and the additional deck supports needed to ensure that the gun didn’t fly off the deck when fired. Some further weight was added with the two 1-pound pom-pom guns located fore and aft and the two machine guns located amidships. What really slowed her, however, was the crew of fifty men, the ammunition for the guns, and the supplies for the crew.
It didn’t matter to Walsh that the yacht was such an irregular type of warship. For that matter, he was an irregular naval officer. After ten years of serving his country in quiet poverty, he had opted for civilian life and resigned his commission. For the past five years he had been a rising manager in a Boston-based import company while still retaining a reserve commission. He had responded to the query regarding his temporary return to service with delight and trepidation, and the
Chesapeake
had been his reward for saying yes. His country and his navy needed officers, and he would help fill those needs.
Lieutenant Walsh was presently chasing and gaining on his prey, the heavily rusted freighter
Astrid
out of Hamburg. At the same time he was keeping an eye out for the telltale signs of other ships in the area. If spotted by a German cruiser, he would flee immediately, and he had already decided to throw everything overboard, including the guns and ammunition, in order to regain some of that lost speed. He would not even think of fighting a real warship. First flight, then surrender, if it came to that.
It wouldn’t be long now, he thought. They had gained rapidly on their target and were within hailing range of the
Astrid
. He guessed her at about two thousand tons. From the fact that her Plimsoll line was well out of the water, it was evident she was running home empty. Although some German transports were returning with plunder, such as bullion from the banks and artwork from the museums—these sailed in convoys and were protected by warships—the majority, such as the
Astrid,
were empty. The Germans had decided that the
Astrid
and others like her could travel alone in safety.
Bad idea.
In a burst of logic and cunning, Admiral Remey, who commanded the American navy’s efforts off the East Coast, had decided that a ship sunk on the way back to Germany would be unable to return again with another cargo. It wasn’t as effective or desirable as sinking one with a full load of supplies or ammunition, but it would work. And that was why the
Chesapeake
and other small craft like her had started prowling the sea-lanes off New York looking for strays like the
Astrid,
whereas the larger warships tried to interdict the incoming convoys.
“Signal her to heave to and that her crew has ten minutes to leave.”
It was done and there was no response. Perhaps no one understood Morse. They were closing rapidly on her, and Walsh was concerned that she might be armed. Although sturdily built, the
Chesapeake
was a wooden ship, and even one machine gun could cause substantial damage.
“Forward pom-pom, fire one round in front of her bridge.”
The order was repeated and the front gun barked angrily. That brought a burst of activity from the
Astrid
as her crew exploded onto the deck and started lowering lifeboats. Midshipman William Halsey laughed. He was nineteen and had just completed his second year at Annapolis. The war had given him a temporary commission. “I think they’ll all be gone well within your ten minutes, Captain. Are you going to send over a boarding party? They could open the sea cocks and we wouldn’t have to expend any more ammunition.”
It was tempting. The
Chesapeake
simply didn’t have room for many shells, and each round of ammunition was precious. “No, Halsey, not this time. It would take more than an hour to get there, do the job, and get back. Remember, we scoot if we see something we can’t handle coming over the horizon. I wouldn’t want to have to run and leave you there to explain to the German navy just what you’re doing trying to sink one of their ships.”
As soon as the lifeboats were clear, Walsh ordered the pom-poms to each fire three rounds into her hull below the waterline. When Halsey asked if such a small weapon would penetrate, Walsh said the ship was so rusted that a pair of scissors would probably work. The guns fired in rapid succession and raised small splashes by her hull.
“Sir, the 3-inch crew wants to fire.”
“William, how many 3-inch rounds do we have?”
“Thirty, sir.”
“Well, then, we shouldn’t waste them when the pom-poms can do the job, now should we?”
“Just a reminder, sir, the men in that crew have trained on the gun, but they’ve only had dry runs; they’ve never fired it. It might be good experience for them.”
Walsh saw the logic and reluctantly gave permission for one round. He heard the gun crew whoop; seconds later, the larger gun fired with a racket that made the pom-poms sound like dogs yipping. Walsh was gratified that the deck supports held. The
Astrid
was little more than a hundred yards away, so missing was almost impossible, and the ship was nicely holed, with a secondary explosion following quickly. They must have hit a boiler.
“Sir, the machine gunners would like a chance to fire as well.”
Walsh rubbed his eyes. “Oh, what the hell. One short burst each. Then check and see if the cook would like to throw some garbage at her before she sinks.” Warriors all, he thought, but maybe the experience of actually shooting at another ship might be helpful someday.
As he continued to watch, the
Astrid
started to settle lower in the water. A shouted voice from one of the lifeboats attracted his attention.
“Captain, will you not take us aboard?” The caller, an older man with a short white beard, appeared to be the captain of the
Astrid
. There were almost a score of men in two boats, and not all were German, as some very dark and swarthy faces attested. Not all were men, either; many were scarcely boys. But could Walsh take them on board? If he did, how would he keep them secure while he sought out other ships? What about his mission? If he took them, he would have to feed them out of his meager stores. And what about crews from future ships? It was certainly not intended that he should return to Norfolk every time he sank a rusting freighter.
The voice from the lifeboat continued, a small note of fear evident. “Captain, we have taken what food and water we could, but it cannot sustain us for very long. We are three hundred miles from shore, and the prevailing currents will take us in the wrong direction. You must help us.”
A gurgling, rumbling sound emanated from the stricken
Astrid
. She was sinking much faster than Walsh would have thought.
“Engines, one-third ahead.”
Halsey was pale. “Aren’t you going to help them?”
“No.”
The voice from the lifeboat was desperate and fading slightly as the
Chesapeake
pulled away. “Captain, if you leave us, you are condemning us to die.”
Walsh leaned over the railing and yelled back angrily. “I believe your kaiser shares at least some of the blame for your predicament, and I find it likely you came to a war zone voluntarily and in search of profit.” He turned and confronted Halsey and others in the crew. The stunned expressions on their young and eager faces told him that what had been a lark had just turned deadly. Most were only students with some knowledge of sailing who’d enlisted for the duration.
“War is hell, Mr. Halsey. I’ll be in my cabin. Let me know if anything important happens.”
Ian Gordon had recovered from the minor wounds he’d suffered in the raid with Heinz. He looked fit and sounded ebullient as he relaxed in a folding chair in Patrick’s headquarters tent. “Patrick, my lad, how was your love tryst with the fair maiden Katrina?”
“We both survived. I met her father. A very interesting man.”
“The truly wealthy often are.”
“Trina and I will be getting married.” In response to that announcement, the dark-haired Scot jumped up and began pounding him on the back.
“Wonderful, or as your beloved president says, bully!” He allowed Patrick to recover his breath. “When will the sacred event take place?”
“Soon. Very soon. She’ll be back here in a couple of days with her father, and it’ll take place as quickly after that as possible.”
“Such a hurry,” he teased. “Either you want her in the sack real bad, or you’re afraid she’ll awaken from whatever trance she’s in and see you for what you really are.”
“A little of both,” Patrick responded, whacking Ian on the back with enough force to drive his breath out. “Now, what vile things have you been up to while I was gone?”
“Been to Ottawa.”
“Oh?”
“To see the king. Well, almost the king. The prime minister, Lord Salisbury, who, as you doubtless are not aware, is also serving as foreign secretary, along with the colonial secretary, Joseph Chamberlain.”
Patrick was impressed. “That is exalted company.”
“Indeed, although they also brought Joseph’s son Neville and that fatuous, stammering ninny Winston Churchill. The reason for the meetings with me and others is not a total secret, although I would appreciate not seeing it in the newspapers. Britain is very concerned that Germany might prevail over here and win the war.”
“Concerned enough to get involved, say, with your marvelous navy?”