The Pirate Hunter''s Lady

  James saw fear rise in Diana’s eyes, felt the tensing of her muscles. His hands shook as he held her. “Why?” he demanded. “Tell me why.”

  Diana’s answer came rapidly. “I don’t want to have another child.”

  James stopped. Diana’s blue-gray eyes were shadowed by pain.

  Was that it? James would have laughed, except it would have hurt her, and right now, he never wanted her to be hurt again. “Then you’re in luck, my fine Diana,” he said. “You’ll probably won’t conceive with my seed.”

  Diana’s mouth formed an Oh, fear turning to surprise, and then James was tired of waiting.

  He closed his hands around her hips, lifted her a little, closed her legs around him, and slid her down on top of him. She was so slick and hot that his cock went straight inside, no barriers.

  Diana closed her eyes and her head went back, fingers sinking into his shoulders. James licked moisture from her throat.

  “You’re tight,” he whispered into her skin. “I like you being tight.”

  She threaded her fingers through his wet hair as James pushed up inside her. He wanted to be in, in, higher, farther.

  Diana drove him wild. He’d been enclosed in a cocoon of nothing, and she’d come to batter it apart and break him free. He was almost there, almost there. Diana, what did you do to me, you demon of a woman?

  “James,” she whispered, and then her voice broke as she started to come, “I love you.”

  Oh, damn you. James didn’t know he’d said the words out loud until he heard the echo. She opened her eyes, dark with passion and also with pain.

  He cupped her hips and pulled her harder onto him. “Eat me alive, why don’t you?”

  James rose, lifting her with him, he still inside her. They toppled down to the mattress, Diana on her back, sinking into the featherbed.

  Everything was hot and dripping, his skin still wet from his bath, hers from him and her sweat, liquid heat where they joined. James thrust into her, again, again, fiercely finishing what he’d begun.

  This coming was like none James had experienced. A wave a pure exultation poured over him, wiping out all thought. He could live forever or die right here, he scarcely cared. James didn’t notice the lumps in the bed, the cold breeze from the window, the rain of droplets from his hair to his skin. He didn’t notice the narrow room, the moonlight on the spilled water, the confines of the tumbled bed.

  James felt only Diana, and her braid of hair sliding on his shoulder, her body warm and supple under his. Only Diana. She was the only person in his world, and always had been, and always would be.

  He had no idea what he shouted, but his throat went hoarse with it. He was shaking all over, and Diana was crying.

  He collapsed on her, still inside her. James kissed her eyelids and her wet cheeks. He was able to murmur a few broken, soothing sounds, before sleep hit him like a pile of boulders.

  *** *** ***

  Sometime in the night, James must have slid out of her, because when he woke again, he lay on his side, Diana spooned back against him. Her fine backside fit nicely against his cock.

  They were both naked, limbs tangled haphazardly on top of the covers. James’s left arm draped over her side, and his right was thrust beneath the pillow to cradle his head and hers.

  Diana slept. As gently as he could, James reached for the crumpled coverlet and pulled it over them both. Diana’s heavy, even breathing did not break.

  She was exhausted, poor woman. She’d had a hell of a day.

  James settled down beside her again, letting his limbs go slack. He’d had a hell of a day too, but it didn’t seem important anymore. He felt as though someone had scrubbed him inside and out with a coarse brush.

  He’d made a choice. James hated himself for betraying his brother’s dying wish, but if he’d chosen otherwise and shot Mallory dead, Diana would have hated him. James would be gone by now, halfway to France, and Diana would have raged over him with the intensity of a hurricane. Instead, she lay here against him, her face eased in sleep.

  James’s half-awake mind recalled how Grayson Finley, a pirate who’d roamed most of the world with his John Thomas out of his trousers, had told James, eyes serious, that what he felt for Alexandra Alastair was different from what he’d felt for every other woman in his life.

  James hadn’t believed him. James had known that the lovely Mrs. Alastair was an extraordinary woman, but he’d dismissed Finley’s declaration as aggrandized.

  Because James hadn’t understood. Now as he lay wrapped in Diana’s loosened hair, he at last knew what Finley had meant.

  Diana had found the empty places inside James and forced them open. What she’d done was brutal, and it hurt. He remained still, letting it hurt.

  He’d pursued vengeance for so many years — against his enemies, against Finley, against those who’d robbed his brother of his happiness, against those who’d robbed his brother of his life. Now that vengeance was gone, his quest over.

  James felt fragile. When he’d been a child, liking to linger in his father’s stables, he’d seen newborn foals staggering on spindly legs, shaking and uncertain. They’d stared at the world with amazed eyes and tottered weakly from the light. James now knew what they felt.

  When he’d washed up on Haven’s shore, he’d been like those foals, weak and bewildered. An enemy could have killed him as easy as anything. Instead, Diana and her father had taken him into their home and, together with the man James had been hunting, had healed him.

  He lay quietly, getting used to this newfound fragility. This woman, with her satin-smooth skin, fiery hair, and beautiful eyes, had broken him.

  The air trickling through the half-open window grew cooler, but James couldn’t be bothered to get up and close the shutter. Diana was warm. Good enough for him.

  This is different, Grayson Finley had said. A clumsy explanation. But no one who’d not experienced it would understand that the words were perfectly adequate.

  Once, years and years ago, James had fallen in love. Or thought he had. Diana had summed up the difference for him tonight. Infatuation, not love.

  Sara had been the Polynesian woman over whom James and Grayson had fought their first true battle. James had found Sara first, but she’d moved from him to Finley as soon as James’s back had turned. James’s rage had been incandescent.

  James had thought himself in love with the woman. In a brief two months, Sara had given him the sexual experiences of a lifetime. There didn’t seem much the woman had not known — she’d certainly known more than had the twenty-two year old James.

  Infatuation. James’s feelings for Sara had made him furious and frustrated. He’d returned to Tahiti after a fortnight away, sauntering back into the tavern he and Finley had favored. In the dim interior, he’d seen Finley, his pale hair bright in the gloom of the place, slide his muscular arm firmly around Sara’s waist. As James stood on the threshold, Finley had turned his head and given Sara a deep, long, lover’s kiss.

  James had tried to kill him. His former best friend had protested, his blue eyes wide, that he hadn’t known James still wanted her. Grayson had thought James finished with her. Honest.

  In the hot tropical night, with sweat and an out-of-reach insect crawling down his spine, James had believed him. Sara often lied to meet her own ends. But Finley had only given him that ingenuous blue stare. Said he was sorry. What was more, Finley, for a joke, had married her.

  It had taken five men to separate them. Then and there, James had quit himself of Grayson Bloody Finley and walked away. Ian O’Malley and a dozen others from the crew he and Finley had put together on a ship called the Majesty had followed James.

  Looking back, James realized that he and Finley would have broken apart anyway. Sara had simply been the catalyst.

  They’d been too different — Grayson Finley from an English gentleman’s family and James who despised Englishmen; Grayson a laughing prankster, James holding his emotions close to his chest. Grayson ha
d fled a miserable life for the sea at age twelve; James had come from a close family, finished most of a fine education, and still had a home to which to return.

  Here in the quiet of Haven, with Diana breathing softly beside him, the past seemed far away and insignificant. Grayson Finley had turned into Viscount Stoke, married, and was the father of four at last count. And James had fallen in love.

  Tomorrow, he’d have to decide what to do about it. Tonight, he wanted to make love to Diana again. He leaned down and kissed her lips. Damn, but she tasted good.

  Diana stirred. A few more kisses, and she opened her eyes. “James,” she murmured.

  “Hey, love.”

  Diana smiled at him but didn’t move. “I must go back to my room.”

  James licked her earlobe. “What for?”

  “What would my father say?”

  “He already knows, darlin’. We made plenty of noise. They must have heard us all the way to Portsmouth.”

  “You made plenty of noise,” Diana retorted with a hint of her usual fire.

  James glanced at the ceiling. “I think you shook off some plaster.”

  “I did no such thing.” Diana’s hands flew to her scarlet cheeks. “Did I?”

  James chuckled. He kissed her hands and her embarrassed face. “You were enjoying yourself.”

  “I’ll tell them you seduced me. Stop kissing me, confound you.”

  James didn’t stop. “Now, what I recall is you coming in here without an invitation and washing me all over. And me telling you to leave.” He touched the tip of her nose. “And then you throwing off your nightgown and standing in front of me bare naked. I don’t recall any seduction. At least not on my part.”

  Diana gave him a mock severe look. “You showed no regard for my virtue.”

  “Nope.”

  “Or my status as a lady.”

  “True.”

  “You did not behave as a gentleman should.”

  James let himself smile. “If I’d been a gentleman and pushed you out the door, you’d have been mad as hell.”

  “Very possibly.”

  “So what could I do but take you down?”

  Diana traced his cheek. “We might have had tea.”

  “You would have thrown it at me.”

  “I do not always throw food at you, James.”

  “Only when you’re angry. And that’s most of the time.”

  Diana smoothed her thumb across his lower lip, her touch sending sparks through him. “I’m not angry now,” she said softly.

  “Sure seems like you’re angry.”

  “No, I’m pretending.” She laced one finger through his hair.

  “You pretending and not pretending sound a lot the same.”

  Diana gave him a little smile. “You’ll have to be careful which is which.”

  “How about if I just kiss you no matter what?”

  Diana’s smile widened. “I do not mind.” She stopped him with a raised hand as he bent to her. “Except when I am truly angry.”

  James grinned, feeling light and mirthful for the first time in years. “You’ll just have to get used to it whether you’re angry or not.”

  He kissed her, hungrily and deeply, then traced her lips with his tongue. “I’d like to show you a few things, love.”

  “Mmmm?” she said drowsily. “What things?”

  His cock, which had been steadily rising, tightened. “I think you’ll enjoy them.”

  “Will I? Perhaps I ought to return to my chamber.”

  James rolled full length on her, forcing her back into the mattress. She squirmed under him a little, a delightful thing. “I don’t think you should.”

  Diana pressed a feather-light kiss to his chin. “I should run away and be afraid. You’ve abducted me once already.”

  “Are you afraid of me?” James asked, very softly.

  Diana gave him a shy look. “No.”

  “Good. That’s good.”

  “What did you wish to show me?”

  His heart beat hard and fast. “Many things,” he said. “Many, many things.”

  And so he began.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Diana had always regarded herself as unladylike, wanting more passion than she really should. She realized, at the end of another several hours with James, that she’d only been standing beside the road of passion, a road that led to places she never could have imagined.

  He first made love to her with his body hard on hers, then he pulled her over on top of him, showing Diana how to straddle him. Diana had ridden him, James’s hands on her breasts, while his cock reached impossibly high inside her.

  He’d let her rest a little after that, but only a little. Then he’d licked her body, brushing the lingering water from it, and feasted on her breasts. He’d taken a long time over them, licking and tasting them, taking her skin between his teeth to leave little marks across her chest.

  He’d concentrated on her nipples next, drawing each to fine points with his lips. He’d closed his mouth over them, suckling each in turn, teasing with his tongue and his teeth.

  More licking — to her navel, across her lower abdomen, and then brushing across the little berry at the join of her thighs. Diana had cried out in need, and James had laughed, his breath heating her.

  He’d flicked the point with his tongue, slow licks and little nips until she thought she’d die. Then his strokes grew bolder, until his tongue was thrusting inside of her, his eyes closing as he savored her. He sucked and drank, nipped and licked, until Diana was screaming again.

  James finished that by rising up over her and entering her in one burning stroke, then loving her like a wild thing. He gave her no mercy, thrusting in a rapid rhythm, holding nothing back. Their shouts joined, and rang against the beams, their bodies locked together.

  Diana lay still when it was over, her voice hoarse and broken. Her wrists burned where James had held them fast against the bed.

  His warm weight covered her, his body as damp as it had been when she’d washed him, hours ago now. He was still inside her, hot from lovemaking and his seed.

  The core of her being was tired and content. James lay quietly on top her now, soothing her with soft kisses and little licks across her skin.

  Diana touched a line of bruises across his neck, where her fingers had pressed when she’d climaxed the final time. “I hurt you.”

  He smiled, wider and warmer than she’d ever seen him smile. “You’re a demon, woman.”

  “You liked it?” She was surprised.

  “I sure did.”

  Diana did not remember bruising him, but she could fit her stretch of fingertips precisely over the marks. She blushed.

  James had taken her in pure need, and she hadn’t minded giving herself to him one bit. But somewhere during the third or fourth time, things had changed. James could have eased his heart, finished, and sent her away. But their lovemaking had changed into something more personal. James had begun giving back what he’d taken.

  Giving back tenfold. He’d shown Diana pleasure she’d never known was possible, introducing it to her clearly and cleanly. She would never be the same again after tonight, and that was fine with her.

  James at last withdrew and moved to lie behind her. “Tell me why you were so afraid before,” he said softly. “Why you’re so afraid you’d conceive again.”

  Diana had been drifting to sleep, but now she came awake. “I would have thought the answer obvious.”

  “Not to me. And don’t tell me you fear having a child out of wedlock. You and your father and a good lawyer could rope me into marriage simple enough. It’s not that.” He kissed her hair. “So why don’t you tell me?”

  Diana lay still a long time, trying to slow her breathing. “Because of Isabeau.”

  “Because she’s deaf? You’re not making sense. Isabeau wasn’t born deaf.”

  “It makes perfect sense to me. I should not have another child. That is all. May we change the subject?”
br />   James raised up on his elbow. “You’re thinking Isabeau’s deafness is your fault? It’s not. She got sick.”

  “Yes, it is my fault.” The anguish Diana had felt when she feared Isabeau would die rushed back at her. “Isabeau fell ill because I did. I insisted on spending every moment with her, taking her with me wherever I went. I couldn’t leave her in her nursery where she belonged, could I? When I caught a fever gadding about London, Isabeau caught it too. I made her ill, and she suffered for it. What kind of mother does that make me?”

  James stared down at her, his eyes glittering in the darkness. “Are you telling me you’re carrying guilt for that? Fevers are tricky. She could have caught it locked in her nursery with smudges burning outside the door day and night.”

  Diana stared at the bowed ceiling, eyes dry. “I was so proud of her. I showed her off everywhere, to everyone. Look, look what I’ve done. I created such a beautiful child. Well, God certainly punished me for my vanity. It was stupid, stupid.”

  “Flog yourself all you like, Diana. It still doesn’t make it your fault.”

  Diana folded her arms over her bare chest. “Well, if you think that explanation feeble, listen to the rest. When we discovered that Isabeau was going deaf, I was horrified. Not only for her sake, but for mine. I didn’t know what to do for her. She frightened me. When Edward first suggested putting her in an asylum, I wanted to.” She pressed the heel of her hand to her eyes. “I wanted to, James. If I locked her away, I would not have to face my own shame and my fear. I could let her go, never see her again.” She wanted to cry, but the tears still wouldn’t come. “What does that make me? I was willing to lock away an innocent child. My Isabeau, the daughter I love so much.”

  James laid his warm hand on her belly, where she’d so proudly carried Isabeau all those months. “That explains why you’re so protective of her.” He kissed the line of Diana’s hair. “I’m surprised she turned out so normal, with you trying to smother her.”

  Diana tried to glare at him. “I should have known better than to expect sympathy from you.”