I've always been rather shy. Too shy for my own good, Theo and Andrew tell me, and then they usually go on about how repressed I am. They despair of me ever finding someone with whom to share my life, but my career is my entire life, so why do I need to look for a mate when I already have my two best friends, who are truly the only people who could understand? Yes, I know. It's an excuse uttered by a man terrified of being rejected again. When Elizabeth turned down my proposal I was shaken, until I realized that I should have been devastated. Then I sat back and took a good hard look at myself. It seems I have even been shy about confronting my own feelings. If that isn't pathetic I don't know what is.

Anyway, what I saw, when I dared to look, was a man who had bowed under the pressure of his duty. The Navy rewards hard work, bravery and men who present the perfect picture of loyalty to King and country and who are family men. I have no family, save that of my friends. My parents have both passed on; I have no siblings nor aunts, uncles or cousins. I had proposed to Elizabeth out of a sense of duty, seeking that elusive family the Navy required of me without thinking about myself, about my true feelings.

Perhaps I'd found something even more pathetic than the previous. No wonder Theo and Andrew look at me with such pity. I should even pity myself.

I never loved Elizabeth. I am fond of her, though to speak the truth I would have to admit a sense of relief that the little spitfire is not my problem now. She's a lovely young woman, but I can envision a life spent either trying to bridle her or letting her having her head and watching her gallop madly off in search of adventure and freedom. It wouldn't be fair to either of us. Besides, she's not a horse. Terribly poor analogy but there it is. I never claimed to be a poet.

So what do I want out of life?

I want to rise higher in my career and perhaps retire as an Admiral. But then I'd need someone with whom to spend my twilight years. Perhaps I could try my hand at poetry then. It wouldn't warm my bed but it would keep me occupied.

What do I want in a partner for that sad and empty life?

I want someone who can challenge me without giving me grey hairs or burn my stomach with worry. I want someone who understands the sea and how it beguiles me. I want someone who appreciates adventure but doesn't crave it to the point of flinging his life away, to the point of recklessness. Yes, that's right. If there's one thing I do know for absolute certain it's that I want my partner to be a man. So much for the image of the dedicated family man that would gain me that rank of Admiral; if I'm true to my nature I'll be happy until the Navy strips me of my rank and hangs me.

This brings me right back to the original problem—that of a man too reticent to pursue happiness for fear of losing everything. This way, however, I gain nothing.

As I stand here at the rail of the Dauntless watching the Black Pearl sidle up broadside to us—that blasted Jack Sparrow has requested a parley for heaven knows what reason—I shake off the gloom that has descended on my thoughts. Instead I entertain the silly and embarrassingly romantic wish that true love would come along someday soon, and that we would find a way to grow old together with joy and fun.

Sparrow swarms up the rope ladder, and twirls and twitters his way through my men until he reaches me. Of course, he steps in too close. I'd forgotten how he gets inside my boundaries. Has he no concept of manners? His offer of information on a pirate other pirates fear and loath comes with a catch. He wants the Pearl to sail with us when we go after the brigand. I understood that much before he begins babbling some nonsense about full moons and black cats and an old woman in China who tells fortunes. At least there are no curses involved—so far. I try to shut him up but he continues to prattle. Since I'm in no particular hurry to return to Fort Charles and my reports-smothered desk, I let him have his say. He is entertaining if nothing else.

I'm practically mesmerized by his swaying side to side and back and forth, forward and away. I'm grateful I've never suffered seasickness, as his incessant movement is rather dizzying. I latch onto his black eyes as he tells his tale, just to have some point of focus. He has very profound eyes, almost fathomless like the sea. They are intense and expressive, open yet mysterious, and they draw me in. I feel like I'm swaying with him. His smile is sunny and kind, and the sensation is strong within me that he's offering something more than chatter on a bright afternoon at sea.

Then a flash of concern, or empathy, perhaps, shows in those amazing eyes. I don't know why I think that he has seen something in me that would engender such a reaction. I pride myself on being adept at hiding my thoughts and feelings, yet somehow he has seen right through me.

"There's nothin' like a fine day for sailin', is there?" he says, and grins knowingly at me.

I stare at his back when he turns to study the water off the starboard side, his ridiculous hair swinging around his shoulders like a separate, living thing. I listen to him speak of the sea as if it is an old friend of his and, in the heart of my soul, I understand perfectly every word.

I am breathless.

# end