Care and Feeding of Pirates (13 page)

Honoria turned to study him. The sheep looked
at them both, took another mouthful of grass, and chewed while
listening.

"My, but you are out of sorts today."
Honoria's face softened. "But then, you are naturally anxious about
your sister."

"You could say that." Christopher gazed down
the road again, furious at the trees that hid his view of the
house.

If Henderson didn't return in another hour,
Christopher would storm the place, damn Henderson and damn the
earl. Christopher's idea of negotiation was to put a sword to the
other person's throat and tell them to do exactly what he said.
He'd always found it effective.

"Well, do not let Alexandra or Mr. Henderson
hear you say you don't care about horseracing," Honoria said. "It's
very un-English, apparently. You'll be ostracized."

"I'm only half English, and that by
accident." Christopher kicked at a clump of dead grass. The wind
took it, and shards floated toward the sheep, who regarded the
wisps in faint disdain. "I don't belong here," Christopher said.
"Neither do you."

"I know." Honoria gazed across the
everlasting green fields again. "I can say it's lovely, but I don't
really like it. I've seen the ocean from my bedroom window all my
life, heard its music every night. Here I feel--landlocked."

"So do I. Having to trust devious horses to
get from place to place is insane. They plot, you know."

She smiled fully this time, her white teeth
charming him. "They do not, Christopher."

"Don't tell me you have a way with horses
too."

Her dimples deepened. "No. I'm just more used
to them."

"You can't steer the bloody things. They go
where they want to, just to spite you."

"Don't be silly."

Her eyes, green as the grass beneath them,
sparkled with good humor.

"That's dangerous, Honoria."

"What is?"

She looked so bloody ingenuous. "Scolding
me." His voice went quiet. "And smiling like that when you do
it."

"I have no wish to scold you. I beg your
pardon."

"And I'd rather have you scolding like a
fishwife than being so bloody polite."

Her fine brows arched. "Why should I not be
polite to my own husband?"

"Because I don't want you being polite."
Christopher turned from the view and caught her wrist, lifting it
to his lips to brush her skin with his tongue. "I want you to
spread yourself for me, like you did last night."

She flushed but held his gaze. "I'm afraid I
was quite improper last night."

Maybe she was driving him insane on purpose,
like the horses. He released her hand and slid his arms around her
waist, rubbing his thumbs in circles on the small of her back.
"That's fine, because I don't want a proper wife."

"Of course you do. All men do."

"How do you know? You've only ever been
married to me."

"I read books."

Now Christopher wanted to laugh. He took
Honoria's hand and guided it to the hard lump in his leather
breeches. "Does that feel like I want you to be proper?"

She looked at him in surprise then drew her
fingers down the hardness. Christopher clenched his teeth at the
harsh tingle that chased her touch.

"You want me to be brazen," she said, still
touching him. "I think I like being brazen."

"That pleases me, my wife."

"When you first kissed me, I wanted you so
much." Honoria rose on tiptoe and put her lips to his ear, as
though she wanted to tell him a secret. "I still want you,
Christopher."

He felt her warmth through the cool country
breeze. "Good."

"Everything is wrong and upside down from
what it is supposed to be."

"I don't mind, as long as you keep doing
that."

They stood for a long time, he holding her,
she rubbing him softly and driving him mad.

She looked up at him, her cheek resting on
his shoulder. "I still like to touch you, and I grow so excited
when you touch me."

He brushed the nipple that rose through the
silk of her bodice. "I see that."

Her hand continued its dance, and he was
losing coherence. "I love your body," she said softly. "I've always
craved it, and because I'm your wife, now I'm allowed to please
it."

"I'm glad you've grasped your wifely duties."
Among other things.

"If we weren't out here, I'd want to bring
you to climax with only my hand."

"You're very nearly there, love."

Christopher tilted her chin up and kissed
her. Her kiss was practiced now, but only with what he'd taught
her.

Her hands ceased their delightful torture,
and she wrapped her arms about his neck and held on, as she liked
to do. She made a delicious armful. Christopher finished the kiss
and held her close, stroking her back and burying his nose in the
fine scent of her lacy cap.

Behind her, the sheep stared, bits of grass
dribbling from its mouth.

"What are you looking at?" Christopher
growled.

Honoria turned in his arms, saw the sheep,
and laughed. She shook wonderfully when she did that. The sheep
gave them a bored look, lowered its head, and continued its
luncheon.

Christopher made to draw Honoria into his
arms again, but she stepped away and hastily straightened her cap.
"Christopher, I want to explain why you returning is so difficult
for me."

"It doesn't matter," he growled, not caring
at this moment. "This has been a shock for you. You'll grow used to
it."

Honoria shook her head, making her sable
curls dance. "No, I want you to understand. You died, Christopher.
I loved you, and you died."

He brushed her cheek with a light hand. "But
I didn't, sweetheart. I'm here."

"Please, let me explain. I had you and lost
you in the space of a day. It hurt so much--I thought I would
die."

He touched her cheek. "I'm sorry, love. It
killed me to be so far from you, to not be able to touch you."

"I mourned you. And then I let you go. I had
to--the grief made me ill. I tied a black ribbon around my box of
mementos and pushed it to the back of the drawer."

Christopher raised her hand to his lips. "At
least you kept the mementos."

Honoria didn't seem to hear him. "I'd lost
the brother I loved more than my own life. He was my other self. A
pirate shot him when he was miles away from me, and I couldn't even
say good-bye to him. I lost him, and then I lost you. You coming
back to life, the idea that I will have to go through grief like
that again . . ." She shook her head, her eyes wet. "I don't know
if I can do it, Christopher. If I'm strong enough for that. I
missed you, I grieved for you, but now . . . Now, I don't know what
to do."

Her eyes glittered with tears as she looked
past him at the too-tame landscape.

Christopher had never embraced complicated
emotions. He'd lived his life making instant decisions,
yes
or
no, a
or
b
. Second thoughts or too much pondering
about a situation might be the difference between life and
death.

Every thought he'd had while he'd worked like
a slave on the merchantman or fought his way back to this side of
the world had been simple: Find Manda, find his crew, find Honoria.
He'd never stopped to muse that Manda, his crew, or Honoria might
not want him back. He couldn't, because if he let go of those
simple goals, he'd die.

Now Honoria struggled to accept that he'd
sprung back into her life, and Christopher was realizing that
getting her back wouldn't be quite a easy as he'd thought.

"You don't have to know what to do," he said.
"We are husband and wife, by license, in name, and in body, no
matter what we feel. We start with that and take things as they
come. Agreed?"

Honoria had her head bowed, but not in
submission. She was thinking--too much bloody thinking.

"That will still be difficult," she said.

"I never said it wouldn't be difficult. But
we are married, and I'm not divorcing you, annulling the marriage,
or leaving you behind. So we will have to find a way to deal
together. Now, agreed?" He stuck out his hand.

Honoria looked at it. "You are not giving me
much of a choice."

"No, I'm not."

Honoria drew in a breath, but when she looked
up at him, the pain had left her eyes and the determination had
returned. "Very well, Christopher. We will begin with being married
in name, and in body, and advance from there."

She took his hand. Christopher closed his
fingers over hers and jerked her to him.

"Remember what you've said." He smiled a
feral smile, his temper stirring again. What had happened to his
slow match? "You've just agreed to be my wife in body. I will hold
you to that in every way. Do you understand
me
?"

Her chin came up. "You mean you expect me to
obey you."

"Every order I give. So if I tell you to take
off your clothes and service me right here, even with your friends
waiting for us down the hill, you'd do it?"

Her eyes widened a little but they sparkled
with defiance. "Yes."

Her answer, and the clear voice with which
she said it turned his ache for her into unbearable pain.
Christopher yanked off the matron's cap, which he already hated,
and sent it dancing away on the breeze. He pulled her up against
him, lifting her from her feet, and forced his mouth on hers in a
bruising kiss.

Honoria's lips softened under his, her mouth
opening to let him sweep his tongue inside. Whatever confusion she
might feel, or tell herself she felt, her passion for her husband
flared high.

Christopher broke the kiss and set Honoria
back down with a thump. She stared at him, her eyes wide, her
loosened hair teasing her forehead. Disheveled, she looked so
delectable.

If they'd had time, and Manda were safe, and
Finley and his wife weren't waiting down the hill, he'd have given
the order in truth to see if she obeyed. But there was no time,
damn it.

His mood foul, Christopher seized Honoria's
wrist and began towing her down the hill toward the waiting Finley
and Alexandra.

"We're going back already?" Honoria asked,
disappointed.

"You're lucky the sheep was here," he
growled.

*** *** ***

Mr. Henderson returned as the picnic drew to
a close. Honoria could eat nothing, and she noticed that
Christopher only pushed his food around his plate.

Alexandra had warned her, in the carriage,
that explaining one's feelings to a man was always a tricky task.
Gentlemen, Alexandra said, so intelligent in many ways, often fell
short when it came to their emotions. They simply did not
understand that which came so naturally to women.

Honoria had not confessed to Alexandra the
exact nature of her own feelings, and she wasn't certain that
Alexandra was right.

She did thank Alexandra for her idea of very
literally interpreting Christopher's orders to buy whatever she
wished. It had been quite useful to remind Christopher that Honoria
would not be dutifully obedient, willing to be set aside until she
was called for. Alexandra had smiled, pleased. A similar thing, she
said, had worked well on Grayson when he and Alexandra had been
stumbling through their own courtship.

Mr. Henderson now adjusted his spectacles and
accepted Alexandra's offer of wine and cake. He sipped wine, took a
bite of cake, and dabbed his mouth with a napkin, the perfect
gentleman.

Christopher waited, surprisingly patient, for
Mr. Henderson to set down the plate, clear his throat, and give his
report.

Switton had been flattered to receive Mr.
Henderson's letter, and pleased to let Mr. Henderson pay a call to
catch up on old times. However, when Henderson introduced the topic
of Manda Raine, the man claimed to know nothing of her.

Christopher's hands balled to fists, but his
only change of expression was a whitening about his mouth.

Mr. Henderson continued that Lord Switton had
extended an invitation to them all to attend a garden party the
earl and his wife were hosting the next day. If Christopher went,
he could question the man directly.

Christopher nodded once. Tension emanated
from him, but still he remained silent.

"But," Mr. Henderson concluded, "I do not
believe the ladies should go."

The ladies, of course, clamored to know why
not.

"The earl is unsavory," Mr. Henderson said,
his mouth turning down. "He likes to talk about women--in
detail--ladies and courtesans both."

"But if his wife will be there," Alexandra
said, "it should be perfectly proper."

"Yes, but Switton still struck me as odd,"
Henderson said. He took another sip of claret. "I hadn't seen him
since I was a boy, and I don't remember him well. But there is
something--many things in fact--that I don't like about him."

"We all go," Christopher said. He sat a
little apart from the others, one arm circling his bent knee. He
looked enticing like that, his coat open, his shirt parted at his
throat. "Honoria and Alexandra can corner the earl's wife and
question her while Finley and I tackle the earl."

"What does your sister look like?" Henderson
asked. "I saw two ladies passing through one of the lower halls,
but I could not see them clearly."

"Tall," Christopher said tersely. "Slim.
Black hair. Looks like she could kick you from here to Jamaica, and
probably could."

"Does she have black skin?"

Christopher's head snapped around. He rose to
his feet in one smooth movement, like a lion who has scented prey.
"You've seen her."

*****

Chapter Eleven

"
Might
have seen her," Henderson
corrected. "There was not much light in the halls, and more than
one woman in England has black skin."

Honoria watched Christopher pull himself in,
trying to calm himself, and failing utterly.