The Pirate Hunter''s Lady

  Her resemblance to James, however, was striking. If Diana had encountered Honoria anywhere in the world, she would have known at once she was James’s sister.

  “James,” Honoria said. Her voice was like his, low, contralto, lilting with Southern gentility. “You should have sent word. I would have had a meal prepared. It isn’t fair to Cook that you have such bad manners.”

  James expression didn’t change. “I would have arrived before the message, in any case.”

  “In a hurry as usual. You are lucky Cook is still so fond of you.”

  Behind Diana, Mr. Henderson murmured, “Is it not touching? They have not seen each other in three years.”

  Honoria heard, but ignored him. “Please, Daniel, show our guests to the drawing room. Bring them refreshments. I imagine they are hot and weary if they have been following James.”

  Daniel snapped to attention without losing his dignity and began to motion to two waiting footmen with his white-gloved hand.

  “By the way, Honoria,” James said. “I’m getting married. To Lady Worthing, here. I thought we could do it in a couple weeks. You can fix up the wedding if you like.”

  Honoria’s coldness vanished like ice under June sun. “A couple of weeks? I can’t possibly prepare a wedding in a couple of weeks!”

  “It doesn’t have to be a grand affair. Just something small with family and friends.”

  Diana’s sympathy for Honoria rose. “It will take a least a month to plan any sort of affair, James,” she said.

  “Yes, indeed,” Honoria said. “We need at least two months. You are the most thoughtless man I’ve ever met.”

  James gave Diana a look of amused triumph. “I knew you two would get along.” He started up the stairs, passing the openmouthed Honoria. “You’ll like her, Honoria. Diana, why don’t you make the introductions?”

  He kept walking, up the stairs and out of sight, damn the man. Honoria glared after him. “Really, James. I can take your coming and going without a word, but I cannot countenance your being rude!”

  James said nothing, but a whistled tune drifted down to them.

  *** *** ***

  James stood in his bedchamber, and the memories came.

  He’d grown up in this room. He’d lain on the tester bed recovering from boyhood injuries from climbing or riding or exploring where he shouldn’t. In this room, he’d asked his father what it was like to fall in love, and was lying with a woman as enjoyable as he’d heard? In this chamber, too, James had lain awake, eyes burning, the night his parents succumbed to illness and died — together, as they’d done everything else.

  The memories came, and strangely, did not hurt. James had avoided this house and this bedroom ever since he’d taken up his career as a pirate, then pirate hunter. His cabin aboard the Argonaut was his sanctuary now.

  But this house held him, too. The brocade curtains had been updated as others wore thin, and chairs he’d broken as a child had been replaced, but the chamber was much the same. He’d woken here every morning to the smell of bacon, hominy, and cornbread, the sound of his mother’s lilting voice, his father’s answering baritone.

  These memories had no part of Captain Ardmore the famous pirate hunter. And yet, they were him, down to his core.

  James had wanted to face the room alone first, in case it hurt too much. He’d bring Diana up later, when the dust of his memories had settled. Perhaps they could consecrate the room with new, happier memories. The taste of her lips would be fine, her body soft beneath him.

  He’d known that a way to get stickler Honoria to accept Diana right away was to unite them in annoyance against him. Honoria would want the wedding of the season. The head of the Ardmore household getting married was no small event. James’s ploy had worked, from the sound of chaos below.

  James left the room and made for the bedchamber at the head of the stairs. His pace slowed as he reached it.

  Facing his own boyhood memories was one thing, but this was truly what he’d been dreading. He could avoid it — James could walk downstairs and become part of the warmth below. Diana would look at him with her beautiful eyes, and he’d feel fires in his soul. But James knew he’d put it off too long.

  He opened the bedchamber door and walked inside.

  The room faced the courtyard, French windows opening to a small balcony covered with flowering vines. The walls had been painted a light green, the cornice lined with a relief of classical Greek figures planting and harvesting crops. The bed was covered in ivory damask, matching the drapes at the windows, and a fine rug covered the floor.

  The room was elegant, painstakingly neat, and anonymous.

  “Honoria!” James roared. His voice shook the walls. “Honoria!”

  Chapter Thirty

  From below, he heard his sister say, “Your pardon,” followed by the whisper of her slippers on the stairs.

  James waited for her in the middle of the bedchamber. Honoria stopped on the threshold and did not come in. She neither asked why he’d called nor berated him as usual for his lack of manners. She knew.

  “What have you done?” James demanded.

  “I needed another guest room. The other bedrooms are rather small.”

  James swept a delicate porcelain figurine from the mantelpiece to the floor with a crash. “A guest room for who? How many guests do you entertain in my absence?”

  “Hardy any at all. I spend every Christmas alone, unless friends who pity me allow me to share their celebrations.”

  James was too angry to let her goad him into guilt. He’d tried to spend Christmas with Honoria several times, and they’d only quarreled. Likely she had a better time with her sympathetic friends.

  “What did you do with Paul’s things?” he asked tersely.

  “Put them in the attic. Do not worry, I didn’t sell them or anything vulgar like that.”

  “Put them in the attic? Why didn’t you put my things in the attic if you wanted another spare room? You know I wouldn’t give a damn.”

  “Because you were more likely to come home.”

  Brother and sister regarded each other for a long moment. Outside, bees droned in the flowers, and far below, Isabeau laughed.

  “So you took everything away,” James said. “Everything that reminds us of him. I know it hurts — why do you think I stay away? But I never expected you’d erase him altogether.”

  “You at least have the luxury of going away, James. How do you think I feel, living here day after day, year after year, knowing that Paul will never come home? With his trinkets scattered about the tables, waiting for him? You were never close to Paul like I was, so don’t you dare talk about how his absence hurts you.”

  “I was never close to him?” James thundered. “I sailed with him, fought beside him. I held him when he died, for God’s sake.”

  “But you weren’t beside him when he was shot. If you had been, maybe you would have been shot instead. I would gladly have thrown away all your things!”

  She was on the verge of tears. James’s greatest regret, the one that gnawed at him in the dark of the night, was that he’d departed to pursue that privateer and decided to meet up with Paul later. Paul had chased and attacked the Majesty and Grayson Finley, a foolhardy choice that James would have talked him out of.

  But Paul, crazed with his pursuit of revenge, had determined to wipe out every pirate, especially the notorious Grayson Finley. He’d rammed the Majesty, shot Grayson almost at once, then was struck by another bullet. He’d stayed alive long enough for O’Malley to get him back to James, so that Paul could die while James held him.

  “Paul lived here with me when you abandoned us,” Honoria said. “I knew his wife, helped deliver her children. Where were you? Tearing about the world with your friends, turning up every once in a while with your foolish gifts and tall stories. Where were you when Paul’s wife was killed, and I stayed with him through that horrible night? Why were you not practicing law in Charleston, living here with us, watching
out for us like you were supposed to?”

  “I’d have been no good at law, Honoria,” he said. “I’m better at pirate hunting.”

  “Your own form of law. Of course, the grand Captain Ardmore cannot bow to anyone else’s rules. Good luck to Lady Worthing making you conform to them.”

  “We are going to live here,” James said, his lips stiff. “Like a family. This is my house, Honoria, and if I want Paul’s things in his room, then I want them there.”

  “Why?” she asked. “You’ve not walked into this room in seven years. Seven! What were you afraid of?”

  “I at least thought that when I wanted to remember him, I could.”

  Honoria’s green eyes were wet, luminous. “This is not your house, James. Your name may be on the deed, but this house is mine. I lived here when everyone else left it behind. I have kept it alive. You walked out and never came back.” Tears tumbled down her face.

  “Hell and damnation.”

  Diana hurried into the room. She closed the door, crossed to Honoria and gathered her into her arms. James watched his haughty sister actually put her head on Diana’s shoulder.

  James looked on, hurting and numb. “For pity’s sake, Honoria.”

  Diana smoothed Honoria’s hair and glared at James. “I believe any sister who has put up with you all these years deserves a commendation.”

  “This isn’t a game, Diana,” James said, gritting his teeth.

  “Neither is life, James.”

  She was so achingly beautiful. He knew that regardless of whether he won or lost an argument with Diana, his heart would stop whenever she walked into a room.

  Diana shot him a mischievous smile. “I know exactly how to make him sorry,” she said to Honoria. “Should the oldest son of one of Charleston’s first families not have the wedding of the century? No, indeed. Let’s you and I plan the grandest wedding Charleston has ever seen. I’m certain people would come from miles around to attend.”

  Honoria wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, looking a bit cheered. “An excellent idea, Lady Worthing. We’ll decorate with orange blossom and pink roses and have Madame Madeline do your gown. She is the best in Charleston. White and pink, yes, that will make a lovely theme, with perhaps some gold thrown in.”

  Diana smiled. “And a banquet for after, perhaps a ball. James will have to wear a cravat. And a hat. Perhaps Mr. Henderson can suggest something.”

  She looked so lovely, and so happy planning his doom, that James did not have the heart to grow angry again. “You’re lucky I love you so much, Diana.”

  Honoria lifted her head, throwing off her melancholy. “I must see to hiring the musicians, and planning decorations for the ballroom. You really ought to have sent word, James. I could have had half the plans in place by now.”

  She left the room, details of his upcoming nuptials humming through her head. Diana closed the door again, and blessed silence fell.

  James sank onto the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed. This room had once been a mess with Paul’s things, and then Paul’s children’s things. Model ships and insects from the garden and lengths of string had given way to hair ribbons, building blocks, and dolls. Now it was blank, empty.

  Diana hesitated by the door. “Do you want me to go?”

  “No,” he said. Not then, not ever.

  Diana came to him, her gown moving in a way that made him think of her legs underneath. Her long, elegant legs.

  “She did not mean you should forget your brother entirely,” Diana said.

  James reached out and traced his finger across Diana’s abdomen, where his son or daughter lay. He still could not quite believe he’d managed to sire a child.

  “I was supposed to look after Paul,” James said. “And I didn’t when it was most important.”

  “You cannot know that.” Diana’s voice was gentle. “He might have died just the same. You might not have been able to stop him.”

  “Maybe. We’ll never know, will we?” James took her hand between his. “See, I thought if I killed Mallory, that would make everything all right. But sittin’ in this room, I know it wouldn’t have. Even if I’d shot Mallory, right in front of you and your father, everything wouldn’t have been all right.” James let out a breath. “What I’m trying to face is that my promise to Paul made me everything I am and nothing else.”

  “A legend,” she said softly.

  James shook his head. “The legend never existed. Now the promise is gone. No legend, no promise. Where does that leave me?”

  Diana took both his hands in hers and settled herself on his knee. She’d made of habit of sitting on his lap like this as they’d sailed across the Atlantic, a habit he liked. They’d sat thus on a bench on the Argonaut’s quarterdeck every morning, James’s arm around her waist, while they watched the sunrise.

  “Remember when we came across the privateers sacking the merchant ships?” she asked.

  Four days out of England, he and Diana had been enjoying the cool of the morning when the lookout had spied a plume of smoke on the horizon. Smoke meant only one thing, and James had given command to change course for it.

  They found a French privateer who’d burned one English merchantman and was about to board the other. James commanded that his flag, plain midnight blue with one slash of gold from corner to corner, be hoisted in the Argonaut’s stern.

  The privateer ran up a flurry of flags in return, signaling James that he could join him against the English and have a half share of the plunder. James responded by firing all guns at the privateer.

  The privateer fired back. A gunner on the Argonaut fell, wounded. Diana, the reckless woman, had run to take his place. Her bright hair flashed in the sunlight, and her cries joined the shouts of victory when the privateer at last surrendered.

  The privateer captain, a Frenchman of fastidious arrogance, presented James the letters of marque he’d obtained from Napoleon himself, making his pillaging and murdering legitimate. James had burnt the papers, just to show him what he thought of Bonaparte’s signature.

  James had taken the captain prisoner, as well as the surviving crew, knowing he’d be kinder to them than the angry British merchants. When he returned to the Argonaut, his crew cheered him. Diana cheered with them, waving the cannon’s ramrod alarmingly and clapping the shoulders of the other sailors.

  James and Diana had stood together on the quarterdeck, his arm about her waist, Isabeau on the bench beside them as the Argonaut circled in a victory lap — Ian O’Malley’s idea. The merchant crew gave them three cheers. Henderson raised his cutlass in acknowledgement, the blade flashing as bright as Diana’s hair.

  Now in the quiet upstairs chamber of the Charleston house, Diana said, “That had nothing to do with Paul, or your promise. You enjoyed rousting those pirates. You were happy. You laughed.”

  James relived the taste of triumph, and better, the savage kiss he’d bestowed on Diana when it was over. “It had its moments,” he admitted.

  “That is what you are, James. An avenger. You like it. You began pirate hunting before your brother died, and you would have carried it on regardless. I believe your promise was only your excuse. Do you not see?”

  Her warmth was distracting. The Charleston climate made her perspire, and he turned his head to kiss the dampness between her breasts.

  James thought about the years he and O’Malley had torn up the seas after they’d parted from Grayson Finley. They’d charged recklessly at ships that outgunned them, taunted frigates, chased pirates to their dooms. James had been all over the world and sailed every water. He’d known stinking ports and exotic islands and the sweet peace of coming home.

  He’d been ruthless and cruel, compassionate when needed. He’d saved the lives of beleaguered crews, and then sailed away without acknowledgement, leaving the rescued to write yet another verse of the ballad.

  Diana was right. He loved it.

  James looked at her in despair. “I really am a ruthless bastard, aren’t I
?”

  She smiled. “I have always said so.”

  James pulled her closer. “I just told Honoria I was here to settle down.”

  “I see no reason she cannot join us on the Argonaut when we sail back to my father’s house. She would like Haven.”

  “Oh, so we are going back to Haven, are we?”

  “Of course. It is my home. We should spend the summers there and the winters here. And you can hunt pirates to your heart’s content.”

  James kissed the corner of her smile. “Well, you’ve worked out everything real nice.”

  “You need someone to work things out for you. Besides pirate hunting I mean. You are pretty good at that.”

  James stopped her talking in his favorite way, something else he was good at. When she emerged from the kiss, her eyes sparkled with happiness.

  He slid her from his knee and patted her on the backside. “Why don’t you go help Honoria with the wedding? She’s probably got the guest list already worked out and is planning what they all should wear.”

  Diana smiled again, and his heart turned over. She’d wormed her way into his life, this beautiful woman, and now he wasn’t sure how he’d ever survived without her. On the Argonaut, when he’d put his arm around Diana as they sailed past the grateful merchantmen, it had felt so right. Like he’d been missing something all these years.

  On Haven, when he’d faced Black Jack Mallory, the living people he’d cared about had suddenly become more important than long-ago promises of violence and death. Much more. James had known that truth in his heart, and so had shot his pistol into the gray-blue waters instead of into Mallory, and had walked away.

  It all still mattered. Paul mattered. Diana mattered. But James’s promises, like his anger and hatred, were of the past. Diana and their child were about the present. They were about love, and now, and the future.

  Diana kissed his brow, her scent soothing him, and glided from the room. Her smile as she departed was a bit smug.