A King's Trade by Dewey Lambdin Page A

face and form of the then-tempting young Sally Blue
did
cross his mind. Black hair, blue eyes, promising poonts, and a waist ‘bout as slim as a sapling pine… !
    â€œAnd
was
Commander Fillebrowne’s ship at the Nore at this time?” Twigg pressed, looking grimly intent. “And, do you believe Lady Lucy was aware of your doings, as well?”
    â€œNo, don’t think so,” Lewrie had to confess, going as slack as a sail in the Atlantic Doldrums. “So, damme if I know who.”
    â€œNo other suspects, then?” Twigg asked, one dubious brow raised.
    â€œWell, in my madder moments, I sometimes fancy it was you!”
    Both
of Twigg’s brows leaped upwards at that statement. He sat back so quickly in his chair that Lewrie could hear the joinings squeak in protest. Then, to make Lewrie feel even worse (was such a thing possible at that instant), Twigg quite uncharacteristically threw back his head, opened his mouth, and began to guffaw right out loud!
    In an evil way, it went without saying.

CHAPTER SIX

    L
ewrie had to bite the lining of his mouth to keep a tranquil face on, as Mr. Twigg exhausted his highly-amused outburst; he eased off from red-faced brays to napkin-covered “titters,” thence at last to a top-lofty and nose-high sardonically-superior air of very
faint
humour—lordly chuckles of the arrogant kind, which more suited Mr. Twigg’s usual nature.
    â€œOh, Lewrie …” Twigg finally drawled, after a restorative sip of wine. “Believe me, sir, did I wish you destroyed, professionally or personally, such a nefarious ploy would never be required. All I’d have to do is sit back and watch you do in yourself! Besides…what reason would I have to attempt such… hmm? Merely because your ways of prosecuting the King’s enemies now and then row me beyond all temperance?”
    â€œWell…”
    â€œWhich they do…now and then,” Twigg intoned, with a vicious twinkle in his eyes, as if he enjoyed turning this particular victim on his roasting spit. “Despite the mute insubordination you’ve shewn me whenever we’ve been thrown together…your truculent reluctance to sully your hands with underhanded duties that force you to get out of bed earlier than is your wont…or, out of some
doxy’s
bed, more to the point…I have always been
more
than amply-gratified with the results you achieved, and have expressed my satisfaction with you, and your methods of fulfilling my aims, to your, and my, superiors following our ev’ry assignment.
    â€
Secret
reports, of course,” Twigg added, with a casual wave of his freehand, the sort of gesture that put Lewrie in mind of someone tossing tidbits overboard to the sharks. “Bless my soul, must I have
gushed?
Does your longheld enmity arise from a lack of vocal praise? Was I remiss in not patting you on the back…or the top of the head? Would a box of
sweets
make up for it?” Twigg posed facetiously.
    â€œDamn my eyes…!” Lewrie began to say.
    â€œNo matter what you’ve thought over the years, Lewrie, I admire your good qualities,” Twigg stated as he reached for his knife and his fork once more. “On the other hand, your good qualities have at times been rather
damned
hard to
find,
but…”
    A mouthful of food, a cock of the head as he savoured it, then a palate-cleansing nibble of bread and a sip of wine followed Twigg’s admission.
    â€œI will confess that my sense of duty, and urgency in the fulfillment of that duty, might have given you the impression that you’re little more than an occasionally borrowed gun-dog of doubtful lineage,” Twigg said on, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. “I have gathered that I sometimes
do
act more brusquely with others than they might’ve preferred, but…to use a military simile, it little matters to me do the officers’ mess dine me in as a