The Pirate Hunter''s Lady

And now she’d caught James kissing Diana, in a most compromising situation. He could almost hear Honoria’s voice — Really, James, what on earth were you thinking?

  The answer came easily. I was thinking I liked kissing her.

  Isabeau saw James and made an abrupt turn toward him, as smoothly as ship with a practiced crew. She reached him and patted him on the forearm, the gesture Isabeau made when she had something to say.

  She began various signals with her hands, accompanied by a series of squeaks and muffled noises. James recognized a few signs, the one for mother and the one for there, but none of the others.

  He shook his head. “Sorry, Isabeau. I don’t understand you.”

  Isabeau began again. She got to the end of her lecture and waited, hands on hips.

  Again James shook his head. “My apologies, sweetheart. I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

  Isabeau rolled her eyes, an eight year old annoyed at grownup ignorance. James would have to ask Diana to teach him more signs.

  Giving up, Isabeau thrust her hands into James’s and dragged him out into the open space in front of the garden gate. She started to run in a little circle around him, still holding tight to his hands. The look she gave him told him she hoped he’d understand this at least.

  James caught on. He tightened his grip on Isabeau’s hands and pulled her around swiftly enough to lift her off her feet. Isabeau’s legs flew out as she spun, and she laughed out loud.

  Honoria had liked this game when she’d been Isabeau’s age. She’d also liked to slide down the banister of the sweeping staircase of their big house. James wondered with sudden mirth if she still did it, but he very much doubted it.

  They whirled around and around. So long ago it had been when James, at a tall fifteen, had twirled his little sister in their wide front hall on a rainy day.

  The admiral walked back their way, leaned on the gate, and watched them. James whirled Isabeau around a few more times, then tossed her up and gently landed her on her feet. He was panting, his nearly healed side beginning to ache.

  He released Isabeau’s hands and held his own up in surrender. “That’s all I have, sweetheart.”

  Isabeau giggled. She walked away from James and her grandfather, exaggerating her staggers, playing dizzy.

  Lockwood watched her with fondness in his eyes. “She wasn’t born deaf,” he said when James reached him. “She was a normal little girl, very loud, as I and my tender ears remember. Diana was so proud of her. Took her everywhere to show her to people. Diana’s friends grew embarrassed for her, obviously besotted with her own child.” Lockwood smiled in memory. “Then, when Isabeau was two, she caught a fever. Diana had it too — it laid them both low for a long time. Diana recovered first, but we feared for Isabeau’s life. Isabeau eventually got well, but the illness left her deaf. Her hearing faded little by little, until it was gone. I think she can still hear a few things, very loud noises perhaps. But perhaps not.” Lockwood paused. “Sir Edward blamed Diana.”

  James had decided long ago that he didn’t like Edward Worthing. “Why?”

  Lockwood pushed himself from the gatepost and started down the path Isabeau still staggered along, James falling into step beside him.

  “Edward wanted a boy, of course,” Lockwood said. “Diana’s joy over the girl angered him. When Isabeau lost her hearing, Edward told Diana it was because of Diana’s pride, her frivolousness. Punished by God, he said, and all her fault.”

  James said mildly, “I am sorry he’s dead. I would enjoy killing him.”

  Lockwood glanced at him sideways. “No doubt. Edward was embarrassed by Isabeau. He wanted to put her in an isolated house in the country with a caretaker and never speak of her again. Diana argued with him over it day and night, even threatened him to openly leave him. Edward wouldn’t have been able to hold his head up if she did that. So, in the end, Edward gave up and let Isabeau remain at home, though he did not do it gracefully.”

  Isabeau ran ahead of them through the breakers that slithered up the beach, holding her skirts high, water splashing from her boots.

  James imagined Diana confronting her husband over the daughter she loved so passionately. He pictured her blue eyes blazing in rage, her flyaway hair snaking about her like a medusa’s. Her barbs could cut, and James hoped she’d flayed Worthing alive.

  Diana must have been desperate to threaten her husband with abandonment. No doubt the legendary Sir Edward had been horrified to contemplate such a stain on his honor.

  He was a fraud, Diana had said.

  “How did Worthing die?” James asked. “I hope it was messy and senseless.”

  “Messy, yes,” Lockwood said. “He was torn apart by cannon fire. Died instantly. His ship was in a battle off Cadiz, two frigates against five French ships. Never should have happened. They buried him at sea.”

  “Was he really a hero? Or just lucky?”

  “I don’t know.” Lockwood sounded depressed. “Edward was much decorated, and now he is dead. Perhaps we should leave it at that. What about you? Are you simply lucky?”

  James thought about the many times in his career that luck had been decidedly against him. “I make my own luck. And take any opportunity shoved at me.”

  Such as finding Admiral Lockwood’s daughter alone in a garden at a house in Kent. A woman who knew the secrets of the island called Haven.

  “I think happenstance guides us more than we like to think,” Lockwood said, studying the sand at his feet.

  James had never in his life believed in remorse. Remorse never helped the living. But looking at Lockwood now, James felt a twinge of it.

  James might destroy this man in his search for justice. Haven held the key, and James was very close to unlocking it. He thought of his dying brother, the blood caked around Paul’s mouth as he’d extracted James’s promise from him. What James had done fulfilling that promise had lifted Captain Ardmore and the crew of the Argonaut to the status of legend.

  Remorse had no part in that. It would be damned inconvenient for James to start having it now.

  “I’d have strapped Sir Edward Worthing to the front of a cannon, myself,” James said. “Made certain he felt that first shot.”

  Lockwood’s look said he shared the sentiment. “You are a man of violence, Ardmore.”

  “I’d not have lasted this long if I wasn’t. And an English admiral is not exactly the most peaceful of men.”

  Lockwood shook his head. “Battle is different.

  “Different from hunting men down and making them beg for mercy? The men I’ve killed deserved it. The English captains I humiliated equally deserved it.”

  “Perhaps they did. But do you have to enjoy it so much?”

  James felt his mouth quirk into a smile. “I’m afraid I do. I hear much romance spun about pirates and privateers, but in truth, most of them are violent and murderous bastards. Few books in circulating libraries mention pirates who slice open a woman from throat to crotch because she won’t capitulate. That is why I am violent.”

  They walked a few minutes without speaking, while Isabeau capered in the waves, singing tunelessly.

  Lockwood said, “You must have found it bit of a shock to be rescued by an English admiral and his family.”

  James shrugged. “There are diamonds in every dung heap.”

  “You flatter me. You will forgive me for observing, Captain Ardmore, but you are not the kind of man I wish my daughter to fall in love with.”

  Chapter Eleven

  James hesitated a half step, then walked on. “Diana is not in love with me.”

  “Isabeau told me she found you kissing her. Diana did not deny it, and she was certainly embarrassed enough for it to be true.”

  “That doesn’t mean she’s in love with me.”

  James might fantasize about taking Diana home with him, showing her Charleston and the house his grandfather had built, the slow warmth of Southern nights, the other side of James. But pleasant fantasies did not al
ways come true.

  “I don’t wish to watch her break her heart,” Lockwood said.

  If any heart breaks, it will be mine, Admiral.

  “Diana won’t break her heart over me,” James said. “She doesn’t trust me at all. I’ll leave here, and she can fall in love with Lieutenant Jack.”

  Lockwood went silent. Clouds on the horizon had jumbled together, the sun bleaching the tops of the thunderheads a painful white.

  “What do you know about Lieutenant Jack?” Lockwood asked.

  James shrugged. “What I told you when I arrived. Nothing. I never learned his name. He didn’t exactly stop and introduce himself.”

  “Yet you rescued him. Why?”

  James watched the thunderheads and Isabeau stopping her dancing long enough to bend and pick up a shell.

  “Jack unlocked my manacles when the storm hit, so that I might have a chance to save myself,” James said. “When I saw him floating by, I thought I’d repay his kindness.”

  “It was good of you.”

  “Jewels on a dung heap, like I said. How is Jack, by the way? He looked pretty sick when we were climbing around.”

  “He came home with a screaming headache, but refused to admit it until he fell over. Jessup had to carry him upstairs. Jack’s in bed now with the shutters drawn and a cloth over his eyes.”

  James locked his hands behind his back. “I wish I did know more about him.”

  “So you could help him? Or so you can know what kind of threat he might be to you?”

  “I like Jack,” James said mildly. “When it’s time for me to leave, I don’t want to have to battle him.”

  “Because he could stop you?”

  “Because he would lose. I don’t want to have to make the choice to kill him.”

  Lockwood studied him. “I will ensure it does not come to that.”

  “Kind of you.”

  “You are a complicated man, Ardmore.”

  “So many have told me. Except my sister.” He felt another smile coming on. “She thinks I’m simple. Do everything James’s way, she says, and he is sweet-tempered. Not that she ever follows her own advice. Honoria has a determination that would make any French admiral flee straight back to Le Havre.”

  The admiral laughed appropriately.

  James wondered why he kept thinking about Honoria. Their last parting had not been amicable. She’d told him, in fact, to go to the devil and not come back until he was dead.

  Well, she might just get her wish.

  “That storm will likely hit,” Lockwood said, gesturing at the clouds, which were blue-black on the bottom. “Weaker ones blow off. We’ll have to help Jessup batten down the hatches. Lieutenant Jack is abed for the night.”

  Lockwood turned back toward the house, holding out his hand for Isabeau. Isabeau whirled once more in the wind, then scampered back to her grandfather and seized him by the hand.

  James felt her little fingers close around his hand as well. He looked down, and Isabeau grinned up at him with her gap-toothed smile.

  He remembered again the day he’d found his mother and father spooning in the garden. Silly parents, he’d thought. But at the same time, he’d felt warm and happy, secure in their love for each other. James had sensed the difference between love and vulgar display. Perhaps Isabeau did too.

  They walked back to the garden, the two men holding Isabeau’s hands between them, as the wind rose at their backs.

  *** *** ***

  The storm broke just as Diana put Isabeau to bed. A flare of lightning lit Isabeau’s room like brightest fire, and the clap of thunder that followed drowned out Isabeau’s squeal.

  Diana delighted in the fierce storms, and at the same time they terrified her. London rarely had lightning works like those which lashed at unprotected Haven. Winds moaned in the eaves and the chimneys, and the entire house creaked, as though any moment it would blow into the sea. Trees scraped the roof and across the windows, tearing at the shingles and glass.

  Isabeau shared Diana’s joy and fright. She’d stare at the windows with round eyes, then when the lightening glared, dive headfirst into the pillows. A few seconds of hiding, then she’d creep out again and watch the window.

  Diana felt the soaring thrill in the storm as well as the terror. It was much like kissing James.

  To Diana’s horror, Isabeau had relayed to the admiral the tale of finding Diana and James kissing on the grass. Isabeau thought the whole thing enormously funny. The admiral had given Diana a sharp, worried look, and she’d nearly died of mortification.

  Jessup had come in then to say that poor Lieutenant Jack was in a bad way, and Diana had hurried off to minister to him. Her father had said nothing further of the matter.

  Diana had given Jack some chamomile tea and had soothed his brow with a damp cloth. That seemed to have helped. She hoped the thunder did not keep him awake.

  Another lightning bolt struck close, and Isabeau squealed and hid. The crack of thunder sent Diana down after her.

  She heard voices in the hall — James’s rumbling baritone. “Is everything all right?”

  Then her father, chuckling. “Isabeau is afraid of lightning. Diana is afraid of thunder. They will weather it.”

  James’s warm laugh joined her father’s. “Good night, Admiral.”

  “Good night, Captain.”

  Go away, gentlemen, Diana thought crossly. Let us ladies have our little fright in peace.

  Doors closed. Silence pervaded the house.

  The thunder roared on for another hour. Isabeau wore herself out bouncing in and out of the covers and finally settled down, her cheek pillowed on her arm. Diana sank down next to her and closed her eyes.

  Lightning flickered. Diana counted — one, two, three, four, five. The thunder, less powerful now, rumbled, more than a mile away. Drifting.

  She heard Isabeau’s bedroom door softly open and close more softly still. Footsteps, slow and quiet, crossed the floor and stopped beside the bed.

  She lay still and breathed James’s scent, the warm smell of soap and musk. He’d stripped down to sponge himself off after their adventure in the cave and before supper. Diana knew this because his door had been ajar, and she’d glanced inside as she’d passed.

  She’d seen flash of his tall body and his taut backside, paler than the rest of his skin. Only an instant, and then he’d moved out of her line of sight. The vision had stayed with her throughout supper and remained with her now.

  Should a woman want a man so much? Should she want to reverse time, to enter the room where he bathed himself? In her imagination, James would embrace her, his body slick and soapy. Diana would get drenched, and then he’d kiss her.

  She let out her breath, longing for that kiss with all her might.

  The mattress listed as James climbed onto the bed and stretched his full length behind her. A strong arm came around her waist, warm through her thin nightdress, as he drew her back against his chest.

  The smooth velvet of the dressing gown Diana’s father had lent James tickled her arm, and a bare, strong foot brushed hers. James slid the covers over himself, Diana, and Isabeau.

  Isabeau looked sleepily at James over her shoulder. She smiled, patted his hand, and snuggled back down.

  Diana lay against James’s warmth, letting his strength seep into her. He didn’t caress her — he only rested his palm on her stomach, letting heat spread from there. His lips touched her hair, his breath warm on her temple.

  They lay thus for a long time, while Isabeau drifted to sleep. Despite her tiredness, Diana was wide awake, her eyes open. Lightening flickered again, far away and quiet.

  Downstairs, a clock chimed one. James unwound his arm from Diana’s waist and rose from the bed, so smoothly and quietly that he barely disturbed the mattress. He turned and reached for her.

  Diana climbed out of the bed less gracefully than James had, but Isabeau did not wake. Tired out from the storm, Isabeau slept on, even when Diana smoothed the covers over her
and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  James led Diana to the door, and together they left the room.

  The house was dark, but the clouds had cleared, and silver moonlight poured through the unshuttered windows on the landing. James pressed Diana back into the wall, resting his large hands on either side of her. Her lips formed a question, but before sound could emerge, James kissed her.

  Diana loved kissing him. James coaxed her mouth open and caressed her tongue with his. No teasing, no playing at seduction, just a long, warm, loving kiss.

  He softly untied the ribbon that closed her nightdress at the throat and slid his hand inside to her shoulder. His palm was rough but warm against her skin.

  This was what Diana needed. Kisses for the sake of kissing. No disappointed, swallowed passion, no suppressed emotion. Just James and his strength.

  In the morning, she would worry about herself, her father, the island’s secrets, and the turmoil in her mind. Tonight, she would enjoy this.

  James trailed light kisses down Diana’s throat, and she leaned her head back and let him. Heat touched her with his lips, points of rough warmth.

  Diana threaded her fingers through James’s hair, her heart beating swiftly. This, she thought, warming deliciously, was what it was like to be with a man who desired her as much as she desired him.

  The hardness of his cock pressed firmly through her thin nightdress. James never made any attempt to hide his desire — he saw no reason to tame his passion, probably never had in his life.

  He raised his head, easing his mouth from hers, but leisurely, as though he had all night.

  When Diana started to speak, James put his finger to her lips. He leaned down and kissed her again, briefly this time, then took her by the elbow and led her to her room at the head of the stairs.

  No candles had been lit inside the chamber, and the fire burned low, throwing a soft red glow over the whitewashes walls. Diana stopped in the middle of the room as James closed the door, a lump rising in her throat.

  He came to her in silence and began kissing her again, hands skimming from her shoulders down her arms, loosening the nightrail as he went.