The Care & Feeding of Pirates

  He needed to persuade her quickly, or else he'd throw her over his shoulder and carry her somewhere to rip off her clothes. Preferably on board his ship, which was nearly ready to sail. And then, off to find Manda and his legacy.

  As he circled the ballroom, Christopher noticed himself being watched. Not in a sinister way--the gentlemen studied him in curiosity and the ladies sent him promising smiles. By the time Christopher reached the other end of the ballroom, he'd had more unspoken propositions than a gigolo in a ladies' bathing house.

  "They are hoping you will take your clothes off," Diana Ardmore said, stopping beside him.

  Christopher nearly spilled his whiskey. "What the devil for?"

  "It is why Alexandra's parties are so popular," Mrs. Ardmore said calmly. "The chance of glimpsing a naked pirate."

  Christopher had heard the tale of Alexandra's famous pirate-infested soiree. It had been, and still was, Finley said, the talk of the Town. He shook his head. "The people of London need more to do."

  "Can you blame them? You are a handsome specimen, Mr. Raine."

  Mrs. Ardmore was being matter-of-fact, not flirtatious. Still, the other ladies in the room watched enviously as Diana stood tete-a-tete with him. The only lady who seemed oblivious to it all was Honoria.

  Honoria danced with Henderson now in a stately dance called the cotillion. They were well matched, the aristocratic-looking gentleman and the Southern lady.

  "Give her time," Diana said, following his gaze. "You startled her. She's confused."

  "And angry," Christopher said, unable to take his eyes off her. Honoria held her head proudly, her cheeks flushed, her every movement a symphony of grace. "No one can be angry like Honoria."

  "I cannot blame her. You men simply sweep in and decide we should be yours. You barely give us time to grow used to you before you carry us off. James was the same."

  Christopher understood why Ardmore had swept this woman away. It wasn't simply her beauty, he saw, but her core of steel and good common sense. She'd have to have both, to withstand Ardmore.

  Honoria possessed that same steel, as well as the Ardmore trait of stubbornness.

  Christopher watched his wife parade through the steps of the cotillion. "It might have been abrupt for her," he said. "But not for me."

  In the last four years, there had been many nights he thought he'd not live to see the dawn, let alone find this side of the world again. Thoughts of Honoria had kept him from despair.

  Even in the direst of nights, Christopher had warmed himself thinking of her green eyes that could darken with passion, her lips parting so readily beneath his. He'd worked and fought and lived with one thought in his mind--holding Honoria in his arms again.

  "I have no doubt you care for her," Diana was saying. "You don't bother to hide it. But you must give her time."

  "Time is what I have in short supply, Mrs. Ardmore. I have things to do and no time to wait for Honoria to sort out her feelings."

  "Perhaps you should run your errands, whatever they are, and return for her later."

  Christopher studied Diana's guileless eyes and chose his words with care. She might be Honoria's friend, but she was married to James Ardmore, and Christopher couldn't trust her not to repeat every word to her husband. "And give her a chance to marry Temple-toes? Not bloody likely. I need her to choose, and choose soon."

  "You say choose, Mr. Raine, but there is only one choice you want her to make."

  Christopher let himself smile. "Of course. She's a beautiful woman, and I want her."

  Diana rested her tapered-fingered hand on his arm. "I believe I understand. But if you merely seek a companion, I'm sure there are plenty of women who would be happy to oblige you. You could leave Honoria alone."

  "Not the point. I'll tell you bluntly that I've never in my life needed to work hard for female companionship. I'll also tell you that I've never known a woman like Honoria. She was worth coming back from the dead for."

  "She won't tamely run to you when you call," Diana said. "But I believe you are liking the challenge."

  "It adds flavor." Christopher watched Honoria again, her black curls moving as she turned in the dance. Those tightly woven curls would come down his hands, bathing his body in warm silk. "I intend to win her, Mrs. Ardmore," he said. "I'd be obliged if you didn't stand too much in the way."

  Diana gave him a quiet look. "Honoria is my sister now, as well as my friend. I want only her happiness."

  "If you want her to be happy, then make sure she doesn't marry Templeton."

  They both turned to study Mr. Templeton, who was chatting animatedly with his mother on the other side of the room and flourishing his false sword.

  After a moment of watching, Diana said. "I believe you are right. Though I wish I knew more about you."

  "Ask your husband. But wait until Honoria and I are far away before you do."

  Diana studied him a long time, then she gave him a nod. Christopher felt a small taste of triumph. An ally was a useful thing to have.

  Templeton approached them then and asked Christopher if he'd show him the proper way to use a pirate sword. Christopher's mood had lightened enough that he led the man out of the ballroom, fetched a real sword from Finley, and took Templeton down to the garden.

  *** *** ***

  Honoria watched with direst forebodings as Mr. Templeton departed the ballroom with Christopher. She turned her head to try to keep them in view, not easy with the complicated patterns of the cotillion. She craned her head this way and that and missed several steps, earning a puzzled frown from Mr. Henderson.

  When the dance ended, Mr. Henderson led Honoria back to her chair and fetched her an ice, which she did not want. She was about to push the ice on Mrs. Templeton and rush after Christopher, but Grayson turned up to claim his country dance.

  When Honoria tried to beg off, he said, "Oh no you don't," and towed her without mercy to the middle of the floor.

  The former pirate danced with enthusiasm and exuberance. He whirled Honoria with such force she feared she'd fly across the room if he let her go. But Grayson also moved with feral grace, and other ladies cast her looks of envy.

  When the dance finished, Honoria, breathless, sought the balcony, needing air and solitude. Grayson cheerfully let her go and went in search of his wife.

  The balcony was dark and relatively empty. Honoria rested her hands on the balustrade, happy for the silence and the coolness on her aching brow.

  She would stand here a moment, then scour the house for Christopher and Mr. Templeton. If Christopher had revealed the secret of their marriage, she would . . . well, she would speak to him quite sharply.

  Mr. Templeton deserved to be told, but in a gentle way. Christopher might spring it upon him, as blunt as ever, and Mr. Templeton would be upset. And Honoria wouldn't blame Mr. Templeton one bit.

  She leaned on the stone balustrade, drawing in air scented with roses, coal smoke, and whatever happened to be in the River Thames tonight. The other ladies' reactions to Christopher in the ballroom had not escaped Honoria's notice. They'd watched him either openly or coyly from behind fans, as though they'd like to lap him up, suit and all.

  They made her quite irritated, really. Christopher was hers to lap, if anyone would do any lapping.

  Honoria suddenly wished Christopher would enter the terrace behind her, come to her, slide his broad hands around her waist. She'd lean back against his warmth, feel his breath on her skin, hear his strong voice whisper her name. She drew her hand across her abdomen as heat coiled there.

  A noise below startled her out of her fantasy, and she looked down into the garden.

  What she saw froze her blood. A cluster of gentlemen stood on the grass, their attention riveted on two swordsmen near the fountain. One was Mr. Templeton. The other was Christopher.

  Mr. Templeton held his makeshift sword clumsily, fearfully eying the steel sword in Christopher's hand. As Honoria watched in horror, Christopher came at Mr. Templeton, driving
him backward, the point of his sword aimed straight at the other man's heart.

  *****

  Chapter Six

  Honoria stifled a shriek and dashed from the balcony and back through the ballroom, pushing through the crush of guests lining up for another country dance. She flew down the stairs and through the dark back hall to the garden door.

  The ringing of steel on steel and shouting male voices spurred her on. Honoria burst through the door and ran across the grass toward the fighting men.

  Mr. Templeton had his back against the garden wall, his ridiculous costume bright against the dark ivy. His sword hung uselessly in his grasp, and Christopher's sword was at his throat.

  "Yield," Christopher said in a harsh voice. "Yield, or I'll not be merciful."

  "Christopher, no!" Honoria shouted. Her dancing slipper slid on a wet stone, and she went down into grass and mud in a flurry of draperies. She felt a sharp stab of pain then a rush of darkness.

  *** *** ***

  When Honoria fluttered open her eyes again, Christopher was bending over her, a fierce expression on his tanned face. Mr. Templeton peered over Christopher's left shoulder, the man safe and sound. No sword protruded from his throat, belly, or any other mortal place.

  "What the devil are you doing, Honoria?" Christopher asked her.

  Honoria looked up at him through a numb haze. "I had to stop you killing him."

  To her astonishment, and her fury, the men gathered around began to laugh, including Mr. Templeton.

  "Your kind heart becomes you well, Miss Ardmore," Mr. Templeton said. "But there was no need to swoon. Mr. Raine was simply teaching me the ins and outs of swordplay."

  Honoria did not believe that for a minute. "He was, was he?"

  "He was," Christopher answered. He held out his hand to help her up.

  Honoria's draperies had loosened at one shoulder. She snatched at them before they could tumbledown altogether, grasped Christopher's hand, and made to stand.

  Wrenching pain made her cry out. Christopher caught her with his strong arm, more gently than she could imagined. "What is it?" he asked quickly.

  "I believe I have sprained my ankle."

  She sounded like a heroine in a silly romantic novel, she thought, face heating in embarrassment. They were always twisting their ankles or swooning and having to be carried away by the overly handsome hero.

  The circle of men closed around her. Honoria looked up at a mass of black cashmere splashed with waistcoats of ivory white, banana yellow, violent purple, and cherry red, each topped with cravats tied every way imaginable.

  These were Corinthian gentlemen who had disdained costumes tonight but were mad for any sport, such as an impromptu sword fight in the garden. They began offering various words of advice--"Bind it up," "No, walk it out," "I know a doctor chap who's the end on ankles," "Shall I carry you to a couch, Miss Ardmore?" "Stubble it, I'll carry her."

  Christopher put an end to the debate by lifting Honoria into his arms and starting for the house. Mr. Templeton, trotted beside him, looking relieved that he wouldn't be expected to carry her.

  Diana, catching sight of them, rushed upstairs and led Christopher to Alexandra's bedchamber. The Corinthians dropped out one by one, losing interest now that the swordfight, and the bets they no doubt had been making on it, was over.

  Mr. Templeton, once Christopher carried Honoria inside Alexandra's bedchamber, announced that he'd better go down and tell Mother what had happened. He would not even look inside the obviously feminine room, but turned away, red-faced, and dashed off.

  Christopher laid Honoria on the bed. She'd registered their progress upstairs only dimly--she'd felt nothing but Christopher's strong arms, the beating of his heart, and the sensation of how safe she felt against him.

  Diana slid the slipper from Honoria's left foot, and Christopher took her ankle between his large hands, probing gently. "It's not broken."

  "Thank heavens," Diana said. "I'll wrap it for you, dearest. Then we'll go home."

  Honoria lay back, feeling wretched. "No, no, do not spoil your evening. Besides, I'd rather lie here and rest than ride in a rocking carriage."

  "Certainly," Diana said, briefly resting her hand on Honoria's cheek. "We'll stay as long as you like."

  Diana found clean bandages then untied Honoria's garter and stripped off her stocking. Christopher took the bandages to wrap Honoria's foot himself. Diana, Honoria's treacherous sister-in-law, let him.

  Christopher's lashes flickered as he watched his work. His touch was warm through the bandages, and the pain began to recede as he cradled her ankle in his big hand.

  Diana lingered when the bandage was in place, bathing Honoria's face with a cloth dipped in scented water.

  "I'm fine," Honoria said. "I likely only twisted it. Thank you."

  Christopher lowered her foot to the bed. His hand rested on it, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin of her instep. "Why did you think I was trying to kill Mr. Templeton?"

  "Weren't you?" Honoria asked.

  He shook his head. "He wanted a real pirate swordfight. So I gave him one--at least, a stage one."

  "I saw your sword at his throat."

  Christopher eased his thumb over the top of her foot. His touch was warm, soothing, heart-melting. "If I'd wanted to kill him, my wife, I'd have done it much more quietly. Someplace private, with no witnesses."

  "Why does that not make me feel any better?"

  "I don't plan to kill Templeton," Christopher said. "I don't need to. You and I are already married."

  He lifted his hands from her foot, taking away his beautiful warmth. Honoria wanted to cry out in disappointment.

  "I tore the license in half last night," she said with a touch of defiance.

  The corners of Christopher's eyes crinkled. "If that were all it took for divorce, my love, everyone would be doing it." He turned to Diana, who watched, wringing out the cloth. "Mrs. Ardmore, will you excuse us?"

  Honoria's heartbeat sped. "No need to go, Diana."

  Diana looked from Honoria to Christopher, and Honoria felt her panic rise. Surely Diana, her own brother's wife, would not turn against her.

  "Do not tire her," Diana said. Honoria stared at her in dismay. "Please send for me when she is ready to go home."

  "Diana!"

  "You need to speak to him, Honoria. He deserves that, at least."

  She did not even look ashamed. Diana eased a coverlet over Honoria then quietly left the room. Leaving Honoria alone with Christopher, when she could not run away.

  Christopher did not give Honoria time to begin her opening argument. He leaned over the bed and kissed her.

  Cool and smooth, his lips caressed hers, and his hair brushed her face. Honoria tried to murmur, no, but she was too caught up in kissing him back.

  She loved the warmth of his cheek beneath her fingertips, the strong muscles of his neck moving as he kissed her. She'd pretended to herself that she'd forgotten him, but she'd relived the memories of him all too often.

  When the house in Charleston had been at its emptiest, the servants below stairs, and the loneliness unbearable, Honoria would retreat to her room, shut the door, and remember.

  She'd lay on her bed, hands at her sides, and go over every moment of Christopher making love to her--every kiss, every caress, every touch, every feeling. The way his sweat coated her as they'd slipped and slid together, how the smooth round of his backside felt to her fingers, how the incredible heat of his mouth had burned hers. She'd loved him and craved him, love and lust getting all mixed up, propriety forgotten and dust.

  In the darkness, she'd hug her arms about her chest and dissolve into tears, dreaming of the joy she could never again have.

  Honoria's ankle throbbed, dragging her back to the present.

  She placed her hands flat on Christopher's chest but did not bother to push. Honoria knew exactly how strong he was, and knew she'd never budge him.

  "Christopher, we need to talk."

 
Christopher retreated a mere inch. "I'm busy right now, sweetheart."

  He eased himself down to sit on the bed, his hip resting near her shoulder, giving her a nice view of his taut-muscled thigh. He lifted her hand, peeled off her glove, and traced a circle on the inside of her wrist.

  "You and I are married, Honoria," he said. "We have the marriage license. There will be surprise, but it's done. Fait accompli."

  "Why didn't you tell me?" She recalled her years of loneliness, the emptiness that stretched before her each day. "Why didn't you send word? I would have waited for you."

  Christopher looked surprised. "I didn't have the chance, love. By the time I was in a place I could send word, it would have reached you the same time I did."

  That was probably true, she had to concede. "I thought you out of my life forever."

  "Yes? Then why didn't you marry again?"

  "I did. I mean, I will. To Mr. Templeton."

  Christopher kissed her palm, then her wrist, the heat of his lips erasing pain, and with it, coherent thought. "I meant that you waited a long time."

  "I was content being unmarried. There are many advantages to being single. Such as a man not driving me mad."

  Christopher kissed her wrist again. "What changed?"

  She let out a little sigh. "James brought Diana home. They have a family now, and I don't belong in it." Honoria couldn't keep the wistfulness out of her voice.

  "Diana is fond of you."

  "She is dear to me. But she wants to be with James." Honoria looked at him limply. "So I took Mr. Templeton's offer."

  She knew she couldn't explain what it felt like to have Diana always making certain Honoria was included in everything, when Diana and James were so obviously wrapped up in each other. Diana, by rights, was now mistress of the Charleston house. Honoria had run it for years, and Diana tried to make Honoria feel she still did run it, but Honoria knew that everything had changed.

  Christopher traced a line along the inside of her elbow, drawing heat. "If you need a husband, love, you have one."

  "A pirate husband. On a pirate ship."