"Remind me what I'm doing here?"
Edward Teague hissed to his cousin.

"Accompanying me," Patriach hissed back, straightening the cuffs of his coat.

"And what are you doing here?"

"Rosabel is here."

Teague rolled his eyes.
Rosabel was a rich gentleman's daughter whom his cousin was courting.

He knew Patriach was playing with fire being involved with her, but nothing he said changed the older boy's mind.

Patriach adjusted the cuffs of Teague's coat and settled his borrowed hat more firmly on his head, then circled him, taking in every aspect of his appearance.

"You clean up nicely, little cousin. Just keep that little "P" covered an' nobody'll be any wiser."

Teague glared at him.
"I'm planning a painful death for you at the moment."

Patriach merely smirked.
"Mind, you're speaking English, Eddie."

"Don't call me "Eddie!" Teague called as his cousin slipped into the crowd of people moving into the mansion of the governor.

Teague kept an eye on his cousin's back as he made his way into the mansion, watching as he greeted Rosabel.

Rosabel was nineteen, a year younger than Patriach, dainty in build with dark hair and delicate features.

She kissed Patriach on the cheek, then slipped her hand into his and they disappeared into the crowd.

Teague yawned as he crossed the threshold into the hall of the governor's mansion, dodging the man holding the list of guests, which he knew he wasn't on.

The guests were ushered into a large room with a high ceiling.
A chandelier bathed it in light.
Little tables with refreshments dotted the room, with a large space left clear, evidently meant for dancing.

Teague swiftly claimed one of the tables that held a pitcher full of a familiar amber-coloured liquid.
Whiskey.

Filling himself a glass, he let his gaze travel around the room.

Then he sighed and settled back in his chair.
It was going to be a long, boring night.

************************************

Roxanne Sparrow stepped through the heavy double doors into the room beyond, curving her lips into a false smile.

She scanned the crowd, swiftly spotting her father's powdered wig. As she began to move towards him, a hand was laid on her shoulder, halting her movement.

"Roxanne, darling! It's been ages!"

"Petunia," said Roxanne curtly, nodding at her cousin.

Pale blue eyes swept over Roxanne's attire, as she did her own assessment of Petunia's.

Her dark hair was up, every strand perfectly in place and she wore a gown of ivory silk with heavy lace trimming. Diamonds sparkled at her throat and wrists.

Petunia smiled.
"Do you have your eye on anyone? Your father is expecting you to choose a husband soon, isn't he?"

"No. I'm to marry Lord Richard Dawkins in spring," said Roxanne shortly.
"It's arranged."

Petunia's eyes widened.
"I was never told of this!"

"Were you not? Terribly sorry..."

Roxanne was already bored with her gossipy, shallow cousin and looked to see if she could find an excuse to leave her company.

She met her father's eyes and he beckoned her.
"Excuse me, Petunia," she murmured before moving swiftly through the crowded room.

"Roxanne!"
Phillip caught her wrist, pulling her over to a quiet part of the room.

"You look beautiful darling. Now go out, greet people, make small talk until the music starts."

Roxanne nodded, scooping a glass off a table before slipping back into the crowd.

She took a long sip of water, silently cursing the inventor of corsets.
It was too tight, and she hated them anyway.

For the next three quarters of an hour, Roxanne wove through the crowd, pausing every few steps to greet a relation or someone her father had invited.

By now, the level of noise in the room was causing a throbbing pain behind her temples, which her hair, pinned up and threaded with pearls, did nothing to help.

Roxanne finally stood in a corner, catching her breath. She closed her eyes while her head pounded.
Her mind drifted, leaving the room and going to the stories of freedom and adventure she devoured so eagerly each night.
Stories of devils, cut-throats, scoundrels, or, as they were more commonly called, pirates.

She longed for that lifestyle, of being able to go anywhere the wind blew, free from corsets and fancy social events.

Roxanne sighed, leaning back against the wall.
The music still hadn't started.

************************************

Teague glanced down at himself, curling his lip.

The clothes he had been loaned were horrible.

A green coat with a hole in the left elbow.
A salmon-pink waistcoat.
Breeches, white stockings and shoes.
A hat, his hair hidden underneath.

Teague slipped the coat off and threw it over a chair before removing the hat, letting his long black dreadlocks fall into place.

He drained a glass of whiskey, relishing the familiar burn down his throat and poured another as Patriach appeared and sat down.

"Where'd you put your coat?"

"You're sittin' on it," said Teague, sipping his whiskey.

Suddenly he heard a voice raised in anger and looked in the direction of it's origin.

It was a woman.

"That's the governor's daughter," hissed Patriach.

"She's beautiful," breathed Teague.

"Firey too," Patriach commented as the young woman let out a string of foul language, hands on her hips.

Teague nodded in agreement, his eyes lingering on the woman.
Her hair was pinned up, threaded with pearls, her skin flawless without the need of cosmetics.

"...Now fuck off you bloody bastard!"

Those were her parting words to an older gentleman before she turned on her heel, head high as she wove through the crowd.

"Slán, little cousin. See you at the homestead, a'right?" Patriach murmured as he stood up again.

Teague nodded, gaze fixed on the woman approaching.

She gestured at Patriach's vacated chair.
"Anyone sitting here?"

He shook his head, lifting the coat.

The woman sat, extending a hand to him.

"Roxanne Sparrow."

Her slender fingers held his hand in a firm grip.

"Edward Teague. Pleasure meeting you, Miss Sparrow."

"Call me Roxanne," she said, hazel-flecked green eyes narrowing.

"You don't look like the sort to be invited here."

"My cousin's dating someone related to you and forced me to come with him."

Teague raised his glass to his lips, his shirt sleeve falling back to reveal the Pirate brand on his wrist.

Roxanne's gaze flickered to it and her eyes widened.

"You're a pirate!" she gasped.

Teague swallowed nervously, waiting for her to raise the alarm.

"Do you have a ship?"

Teague held up a hand.
"Before I answer that, I just want to ask-Why aren't you screaming for my blood, running away, crying? You've just found out I'm a branded Pirate!"

"If you were going to hurt me, you'd have done so. A brand doesn't make you a bad man."

Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Now answer my question."

"Wha-Oh about the ship? Aye I have one. My father died a few months after my eighteenth birthday and I inherited his."

"I'm sorry-" Roxanne began awkwardly.

He waved a hand dismissively.

"I hated him. I rarely saw him and I hated him."

His tone declared the topic closed.

They sat in silence for some time.

"Your mother?" Roxanne asked gently, hoping it wasn't a touchy subject.

"Still alive, busy raising my siblings. We're staying with my aunt and her people here at the moment."

"You're Irish?"

Teague nodded.
"North Dublin coast."

"Where are you staying?"

"Near here," said Teague vaguely.
He wasn't stupid enough to answer her properly, not where they currently were.

Instead he murmured, "I can show you if you like."

Roxanne nodded.
"Just let me change into more suitable attire. Meet me outside."

Teague nodded, draining his glass before standing up.

He walked quickly out of the mansion and into the night, grateful for the cold air after the heat of the party.

The shadows of the garden were black, as there was no moon and the houses' lights didn't reach that far.

Teague rested his hip against a tree, fiddling with his shirt cuff.

Several moments passed.

Suddenly a hand covered his mouth and he was pulled backwards.

His heart racing, he tried to pull out the knife in the waistband of his breeches.

"Oi, calm down."

The voice that spoke in his ear belonged to Roxanne.

Teague relaxed, turning to face her.
"You scared the shite out of me!"

She smiled, eyes sparkling.
"Shite," she repeated, letting the Irish pronunciation roll around her mouth.
"Your accent is sexy."

Her gaze looked him over.
"So is your body."

"Even dressed like this?" Teague joked, gesturing as his borrowed attire.

"Yeah. Though I'd prefer if you wore nothing," she said suggestively.

"I'm pretty sure it's way, way too early for that kind of talk," said Teague.

Roxanne smiled slightly.
"What would you say if I said I may have fallen for you?"

"I'd say you're lying," he replied bluntly.

She raised an eyebrow.
"Why?"

"You met me an hour ago!" Teague exclaimed.

"And?"
Roxanne glanced at him, her eyebrow still raised.

"You seem very sure I'm your 'One'."
He sketched quote marks in the air as he said "One", his tone slightly sarcastic.

"You have the thing I've always wanted."

"What's that?" Teague asked.

"Freedom," she replied.

"So it isn't me you're falling for. It's what I have," said Teague flatly.

He turned away.

"Thanks for not revealing my identity. I'll leave now."

"Thought you were going to show me where you're staying?" Roxanne said, hurt in her voice.

"Not if you're going to use me. I'm not a pawn, Miss Sparrow."

He caught her hand, placed a light kiss on her knuckles and vanished into the night, leaving Roxanne alone in the dark garden, frozen in disbelief.