In the end, Elizabeth hadn't really been able to say no when the commodore had appeared in the sitting room and asked her to picnic with him.

Her father, for one, was standing there beside him, barely suppressing a benevolent expression of paternal glee. Elizabeth wondered whether her father knew just how obvious he was in his desire to bring his daughter together with the commodore in marriage. She suspected that he did, but that he had little idea how tepid she herself was about the idea; and so she smiled back tightly at him and, with a hesitant glance at the commodore, accepted the invitation.

It wasn't, she reflected as he led her stiffly along the path towards a lovely secluded grove of trees overlooking the white beach, that she found the commodore unpleasant or disagreeable. It was more that he seemed so thoroughly uninterested in her; his countenance always so distant and formal, his voice so firm and clipped and authoritative, his brow always so stern and vaguely consternated. He seemed to care only for his beloved Dauntless and the Navy and his sailors, and such pursuits were so all-consuming that they left little time for frivolities, such as picnics – or her. And yet here they were, and Elizabeth found herself wondering at what the stoic officer could possibly wish to say to her in such a prolonged and private setting, when he'd said so precious little in the past.

They had unpacked their lunch – a tray of sandwiches and a handful of oranges from the orchards down the beach – and she wondered if he meant to say anything to her at all when at last he broke the silence.

"You must forgive me, Miss Swann. I am unaccustomed to idle conversation."

He appeared to be slightly – embarrassed? – and would not meet her eyes, instead looking resolutely down at the cucumber sandwich cradled in his large hands (had she ever really noticed his hands before?). She was torn between finding his discomfiture vexing or endearing.

"I see," she said, unable to resist lacing a bit of tart into her reply. "Perhaps if you had more beguiling company, your tongue would loosen of its own accord."

He looked up sharply, the sandwich forgotten in his (rather broad, and rather long) hands. He was not wearing his uniform or wig, having opted instead for a simple dark waistcoat and breeches, and a piece of his dark hair had come loose from its ribbon and fell rather rakishly against his face. Now there was a word she'd never thought to apply to Commodore Norrington before!

"I did not mean – I – of course you are beguiling! I – Miss Swann," he stumbled furiously over his words, unsure where he had gone wrong and looking at her almost pleadingly. His green eyes were wide and his brow furrowed, and she believed that she had seen more emotion in his countenance in these past few moments than in the past several years combined. Upon this epiphany (paired with her sudden realization that his eyes really were quite a striking shade of green), she decided to take pity on him.

"Oh, don't fret so, Commodore! I was merely teasing you!" She smiled brightly at him and realized belatedly that she hadn't needed to force the cheer. "A gentle bit of teasing is always a charming way to begin a conversation with a lady, provided that the gentleman maintains a lightness of spirit about it."

He returned her smile, fleetingly, and she found that she wished he would do it again; it suited his face very well.

"I see," he said, his nerves still evident. "I have – er – little experience in engaging in charming conversation with ladies, so I do hope you will forgive my utter ineptitude. There are precious few ladies to be found aboard a ship of war."

Elizabeth felt her smile fade a little. And here he was, turning the conversation back to the only thing he knew or cared for – the Navy and his ships. Looking down at the half-finished sandwich in her own hand, she noted that her hands were trembling ever-so-slightly. She was surprised to discover her keen disappointment that their conversation looked once more to focus on the commodore's interminable interest in his vocation.

"Which is, of course, as it should be. A ship of war is no place for a lady, what with all the unruly men and the constant danger of an attack by pirates or, God forbid, the French." He smiled privately at his little joke, and she managed up a weak smile in return, her hands idly peeling an orange as she wondered now whether he would launch into a dull tale of battling a French man'o'war off the port of who knew where.

"But regrettably, I find that when I am away from the sea, my ability to express myself in social situations is quite… inadequate." He fidgeted again, and she looked up from her orange to see that he once again wore a discomfited expression, his brows furrowed deep thought. His eyes met hers then and she felt a strange twinge in her stomach at the contact.

"I find that I wish to engage you – that is, I mean – a lady in polite conversation, and I have – well, as you can probably tell – little talent for doing so." He brushed the stray lock of hair from his face and she saw that his hands, too, were shaking slightly. She had the right of it, then: he was definitely nervous. "I do not mean to bore you, Eliza – Miss Swann, but I fear that I inevitably find myself doing so." He looked up at her helplessly, and she felt ashamed that she had been, only moments ago, girding herself against just that. That he had nearly used her Christian name did not pass by unnoticed, either.

"I think you are perhaps over-thinking it, Commodore. Conversation is merely – well, you can converse about anything, really! Ask me a question, tell me a story – though, perhaps, not the one about chasing the pirate flotilla through the Spanish Main as you do at every dinner party," she hastened to add, softening the blow with a smile, a smile she was gratified to find that he returned. Yes, smiling really did suit him; made him look younger, less stern. Less the commodore and more just, well, James. She tried his Christian name out in her mind – James – and decided she liked it. It made him, like his smile, seem less the steely imposing commodore and more, simply, a man.

"I was unaware of how drearily repetitive my stories were, Eliza – Miss Swann. I do hope you will forgive me. As I said, I am unaccustomed to – well, to this."

"That's the second time you've done that," she said suddenly, deciding to catch him out.

His brows furrowed in befuddlement and she amusedly wondered if he would ever crease them so thoroughly together that they would remain that way. "The second time you've nearly called me by my name," she said.

"I apologize, Miss Swann – I meant no disrespect – nor did I intend to seem overly familiar – "

She laughed, now decidedly amused by his loss of composure. "You must stop apologizing for everything, J – Commodore!" She flushed at her own near breach of etiquette. "I do not mind if you call me Elizabeth. In fact, I would prefer it," she said boldly.

He smiled again, a genuine, bright, smile, and she decided that he really was quite handsome beneath the stern façade he usually adopted. (Had she really just thought of Commodore Norrington – dull, distant, duty-first Commodore Norrington – as handsome?)

"Very well, Eliz – Elizabeth, if that is what you wish, then that is how it shall be." He gave her a long, searching look, before at last turning away to regard a brightly-hued bird that had alighted in a branch overhanging their picnic spread.

"I wish I were better at this," he groused. The bird flew away, wings beating in a kaleidoscope of colour. "I am no wordsmith. And I find that I am rendered even more tongue-tied and addle-witted when I am around you. I see now that I have done myself no favour in your eyes."

A whisper of comprehension ghosted at the edges of her mind as she regarded her companion with the nascent dawning of a new light. "I don't understand quite what you mean, Commodore," she said, which was not quite true. But she needed to hear it from him.

"Please – Elizabeth. I feel as though you are a sailor on my ship when you call me by my title. It will not do. I wish for you to call me James."

"Very well – James." His name was even more pleasing on her tongue than it had been in her head. "But I must confess that your declaration rather perplexes me. I do not know why I in particular should render you either tongue-tied or addle-witted. I was quite under the impression that you, in fact, held me in little esteem."

"Held you in little esteem?" His stunned and crestfallen expression completed the picture that had been forming in her mind of the man who sat before her. "Elizabeth, I assure you that nothing could be further from the truth."

"But you have always been so formal and indifferent towards me!" The words burst from her, intemperate and impolite. "Interested in speaking at length only of your military exploits, and holding me aloof and at arm's length! What was I to think?"

"I was not – that was never my intention!" He was heated now and whatever coldness she had once thought he possessed had utterly melted away. "Miss Swa – Elizabeth, you are a fine woman! I am – I am just a sailor, at my heart. I am an officer, yes, but whatever prestige I have, whatever wealth, is accorded to me solely by my exploits of office. I was not born into society as you were. I do not – as you have seen – know the proper way to court a lady of your stature. These are uncharted waters for me, Elizabeth. I have wondered at how best to express to you my feelings and come up short, every time, for fear that I will blunder and somehow humiliate myself – or, worse, offend you in some way. And it seems that I have even yet managed to make a bollocks of it." He stood hastily, flushing red as he realized that, on top of everything else, he had managed to let slip a vulgarity in front of her. "I am sorry for subjecting you to this altogether ill-considered outing. I bid you a good day and pray you will forgive me my terrible lapse in judgment."

He made as though to stride away, his head down, gaze shadowed, and a panic gripped her breast – the idea of him walking away now when at last she'd cracked that icy exterior and seen into the heart of him was unbearable.

"James!" She reached out and grasped his hand in hers and gripped it with all her might. "James, don't you dare leave!"

He stopped, and hazarded her a wary look. His face was still flushed with his embarrassment and she could have wept for how silly and misguided it was. His hand was indeed large, and hers fit perfectly inside. A tingling warmth arose within her. She tugged at his hand, silently requesting him to sit beside her once more, and he obliged her, their hands still entwined as she revelled at the feel of his skin against hers.

"I told you that you were over-thinking it," she said, locking her eyes with his. "There, James. You've just told me how you feel. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

He cursed inaudibly and looked down, away from her. "I blustered about like a fool. I lost my composure."

"Then I wish you would lose your composure more often."

He looked back at her, an expression of wild wonder and hope in his eyes, and she afforded him an impish smile. She felt a shiver through her insides as he slowly, tentatively, ran his thumb across the back of her hand, and wished he would do it again.

She could not say, afterwards, whether she had leaned forward first, or whether he had; but eventually they met in the middle, his lips brushing ever so shyly against hers in a tentative kiss. Elizabeth had never felt so alive, and she quickly silenced the trenchant voice in the back of her head that reminded her that she'd been entirely indifferent to the idea of picnicking with James merely an hour ago.

Well, that had been before she'd discovered the true nature of his heart – and now that she had, she found herself seeing James with new eyes. Boldly, she leaned in and kissed him more fully, and as before, she could not say which of them deepened it, but what had started as a warm but chaste peck between a gentleman and a lady quickly became something much more wild and passionate.

"James?" she said after they broke apart at last to catch their breath in great ragged gasps. She slipped her hand from his arm and peeled apart a slice of the orange, and before he could respond, she popped it into his mouth, giggling at his surprised expression.

"I think I should like to go on another picnic with you soon," she murmured, leaning in to kiss him, savouring the sweet taste of citrus on his lips.

She gasped as he grasped her waist and pulled her into his lap, shocked at his boldness – but then again, hadn't she just told him to lose his composure more often? And so she smiled as he trailed a line of kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

"Yes," he said, his deep, low voice sending a thrill through her body. "I should like that too." He kissed her shoulder and she sighed happily, melting against him. "I should like it very much."