How to Rob a Captain

It's been a while since I've posted anything I've written, and so I decided to insert yet another plot piece from Kingston, a part I've always been a little more unsure about, so if I could get your cruelest criticism, I'd be much obliged.

So! Last time we checked, Liv and her new partner in crime Finch Killigrew were off to nab a ring off of some poor unsuspecting decorated post captain. Why, Liv doesn't exactly know, but it's good money and that's really all that matters to her. They've infiltrated the governor's palace in disguise as servants. This is from Liv's POV.

The parlor, thank God, wasn’t difficult to find. I shouldered through the door, unnoticed, into a room large enough to be airy, yet the bright lights and closed windows managed to make even that great a space feel stuffy. There were maybe forty or more gilt chairs set up facing away from the door, towards the opposite end of the room, laden with blue-coated naval officers and red-coated soldiers with a handful of civilians and ladies in bright gowns, a sea of wigs and seamen’s pigtails. Beyond them sat a young lady in a sea-green taffeta gown playing a complicated piece on a cello for their entertainment. She was very good, as far as I could tell.

There was a table fairly near the door, set with several little pewter goblets. I quickly took my station here and set down my bottles to begin pouring. I cocked an eye about the room, trying to spot Finch among the gentlemen’s valets standing in attendance. I didn’t need to find him however. He came to me.

“There you are,” breathed a voice not far behind me. “I was beginning to wonder what you were about.”

“Which one is he?” I breathed back, ignoring him. “Drake, which one is he?”

“I will cough when he comes for a drink.”

“Mind you don’t before.”

Presently, the entire room erupted into applause, nearly drowning the final fleeting notes of the girl’s cello. The young girl dipped her curtsies, smiling sweetly at her audience from under a plush feather done up in her golden hair that curled over her forehead, bobbing with each motion, and then, as soon as she exited the sphere of attention and the guests began to stand and mill about, she made a direct line towards a sea officer with a thick, dark queue. Gentlemen and ladies began to flock to my table for refreshments, as well as some valets. I noticed a few men still in their chairs, deep in discussion with each other. What if Drake was one of them?

Suddenly, I found myself staring into a pair of the most piercing blue eyes I had ever seen. I nearly let the bottle slip. His face was rugged, unshaven and noble, slender-jawed and straight-nosed, with a firm, intelligent mouth that turned up the slightest bit when his eyes met mine. Behind me, I heard Finch give a violent hack. My eyes traveled down the man’s arm, entwined with the cello player’s, all the way to his left hand, on which shone a familiar design. Two white suns divided by a river.

So this was Captain Drake.

An answering smile spread across my face before I could stop it as I handed him the wine goblet. He met my hand halfway with his and retained my hold on it for a moment. Our hands would have touched if it weren’t for the goblet in between. The cello player, sensing that his attention was slipping, prattled on sharply to regain it.

“No, no, my dear Miss Webb,” said Drake, turning to her and offering her the goblet, “I believe you played very cleverly, exceedingly well. Did she not?”

The question was addressed to me, shockingly. I was taken aback.

“Oh, quite, sir,” I replied, managing to sound casual, even though the proper response would have been surprise.

I began pouring for him next. How to get at his left hand? It was around the girl’s arm.

“Oh, Lord, how warm it is in here! I thought I should faint!” trilled the girl.

Her voice was like a cello too, I thought. And she was right, it was warm. If only they would open a window... Inspiration. I reached across to hand him his wine, just as the girl sipped hers. Swiftly, so that no one saw, I knocked the back of my hand against her tipped goblet and watched in feigned horror as bright red port splashed across the sea-green taffeta. She gasped.

“Oh dear!” I cried stupidly. “Let me help you.”

I dodged around the table, focusing all my physical skills on fatigue. Sluggish motions, panting breaths, sweat... I could summon them on demand. Captain Drake, meanwhile, was gently wiping the spill with his handkerchief until I arrived with a napkin. It was a shame really, it was a pretty dress, but it wasn’t as if there was much on it, not more then a few spots.

“Hurry, will you?” hissed the girl.

I pretended not to hear her. With sobs for breath, I toppled sideways, falling straight onto Captain Drake. I expected him to step back, so I reached for his left hand, but suddenly it was around my waist.

“Steady! Steady there! What ails you, my girl?”

I found myself tipped back, looking into his eyes.

“Forgive me,” I panted, tears springing to my eyes. “Forgive me, it’s too warm...”

I felt his hand sliding under my legs and next thing I knew, I was lifted against his chest.

“Come now, I will bring you out. I beg your pardon, Miss Webb!”

The girl stood there with the napkin easily hiding the stain, ready to fly away and change her gown. She wouldn’t suffer much embarrassment for this. Captain Drake, however, was seen by the entire room carrying a servant girl from the parlor.

Oh, Liv, you really are a bad girl, aren't you. Impressive acting ability, she really should've gone for the stage. Now Drake-- do we trust him or don't we? What are the reader's initial thoughts on him?

God bless, everybody!