Care and Feeding of Pirates (14 page)

"If you are contemplating rushing over there
and beating information out of the earl, do not," Mr. Henderson
said sternly. "Switton saw me watching the ladies and told me they
would attend the party. If we behave like civilized gentlemen . .
."

Grayson broke in. "But we aren't civilized
gentlemen. We're pirates."

Henderson gave him a deprecating look.
"Nonetheless, it's best to get a feel for the lay of the land.
Charging in headfirst will do more harm than good."

"I agree with Henderson," Christopher
interrupted. He'd gone cold as ice-covered granite, his eyes chill
windows to the man inside. "We'll watch the house tonight to see
that nobody leaves it, then we'll attend this garden party. If
Manda is not there, and Switton truly knows nothing about her, then
we leave him alone." He let his gaze drift in the direction of the
Lord Switton's house, as though he could see it through the hills.
"But if he has my sister against her will, then God have mercy on
his soul."

The words were quiet, but Christopher's hand
curled until the skin over his knuckles whitened through the
tan.

The gesture told Honoria that Christopher
felt about this sister the way Honoria had felt about Paul. If
she'd thought Paul a prisoner in the earl's house, Honoria would
not have stopped herself flying there to rescue him by any means
necessary.

This small measure of understanding brought
her a step closer to the man she'd married. Honoria said nothing to
Christopher as she busied herself helping Alexandra clear up the
picnic, but she felt just a little bit better.

*** *** ***

The earl's wife looked a kindly sort of woman
whose only vice was using too much rouge. The small-statured lady
greeted her guests in the main hall of the crowded house the next
afternoon with undisguised delight.

"Lord and Lady Stoke, I am honored."

Lady Switton was a step above Viscount and
Viscountess Stoke in rank, but she appeared to be quite happy that
Grayson and Alexandra had condescended to appear at her party.
Grayson, in turn, presented Honoria and Christopher.

The countess was as delighted with them, and
she'd met Mr. Henderson the afternoon before. "I am so pleased you
have returned, Mr. Henderson. A single man is not alone long at one
of my gatherings, I vow. I have some of the prettiest ladies in
England in my garden." She laughed too loudly, and Henderson's
smile became strained.

Lady Switton turned to her next guests, and
Alexandra and Honoria withdrew to an antechamber to freshen
themselves while the men went on to the gardens.

The withdrawing room was empty, to Honoria's
relief. They seated themselves at dressing tables set here for
ladies' convenience, Honoria tucking a stray lock of hair into her
coiffure.

"Lady Switton does not look guilty of
anything but being rather silly," Alexandra said, straightening her
sleeve. "I never see the Swittons in Town. They keep themselves to
themselves. Not really in anyone's circle."

"Perhaps they prefer the country," Honoria
said.

"You are charitable, my dear. I think perhaps
people simply do not like them."

Honoria withdrew a hairpin and reaffixed it.
"I was trying to be polite."

In truth, Honoria cared very little about the
persons of Lord and Lady Switton. She, like Christopher, only
wanted to know if they held Christopher's sister and whether they
could get her free.

Christopher had been closemouthed and chill
yesterday afternoon and evening, spending most of his time with
Henderson watching the Switton house. Honoria had wanted to explain
to him that she understood his need to find his sister, that she
was prepared to help in any way she could. But she'd not been given
the chance. Christopher had been distant, in a close knot with
Henderson and Grayson, or simply not there.

He'd returned to the inn last night long
after Honoria had gone to bed. In the gray light of dawn,
Christopher had awakened her and made love to her swiftly and
perfunctorily.

Then he'd departed once more, leaving her
hot, tired, and bereft. Honoria had not seen him again until she'd
descended from the landau at the Switton house.

"If Lord and Lady Switton are so unpopular,"
Honoria said now, "why are so many people here?"

Alexandra shrugged. "It is summer and garden
parties are popular, and we are so near Epsom Downs. People will
forgive anything for a few tips on the races."

That was likely true. Honoria studied her
reflection. Her color was high, her eyes sparkling. She had to
admit that she'd looked much better since she'd thrown her
reputation to the wind and admitted she'd married Christopher. A
strange thing, but there it was.

Alexandra finished, and she and Honoria left
the withdrawing room to join the garden party.

The Earl of Switton's house was a Palladian
mansion that had been redecorated in the austere classical style of
about twenty years before. A black-and-white marble hall ran the
length of the house, leading to the gardens. They passed a sweeping
staircase on the way, leading upward to a wide gallery, all walls
covered with the previous earls and countesses, children, horses,
and dogs.

The garden opened from the base of a marble
terrace with a view of the downs. Green and graveled paths led
between pristine beds of flowers, pruned hedges, and topiary.
Fountains trickled in corners, and the main path led to a series of
fountains, each larger than the last, pouring water into huge
granite basins. The fountains' spray gushed high, and any passing
breeze showered the guests with cold droplets of water.

Alexandra and Honoria found their gentlemen
on one of the lawns, speaking to Lord Switton.

The earl was much as Honoria had supposed he
would be, a man in his fifties, plump from port and beefsteak,
red-faced from the same. He was straight-backed and dressed
impeccably--in short, a typical English country peer.

Christopher, Mr. Henderson, and Grayson stood
arrayed before him, three broad-shouldered men in black coats.
Christopher's wheat-colored hair was plaited into a single tail,
held in place with a plain black ribbon. Queues were no longer in
fashion for military or naval men, but Christopher's seemed to be
accepted and admired by every passing lady.

Christopher, oblivious of this attention,
kept his cold gaze on Lord Switton while letting him drone on.

When Mr. Henderson introduced the earl to
Honoria and Alexandra, Honoria at once understood why Mr. Henderson
had not liked the man.

Lord Switton focused brown eyes on Honoria as
he raised her hand to his lips in greeting. His gaze was too
interested, too assessing, as though the earl busily speculated
about exactly what Honoria looked like beneath her clothing. Behind
his geniality, Honoria saw no kindness, only pure, prurient
interest.

She saw Grayson put a protective hand on
Alexandra's arm and draw her closer to him. Christopher was not as
overtly protective, but under his stare, the earl released
Honoria's hand rather more quickly than he'd taken it.

Honoria curtseyed and held her fan demurely,
incidentally using it to cover her bare neck and bosom.

"What charming ladies," the earl said. "I
understand now why you did not want to leave them behind."

Grayson's hand tightened on Alexandra's arm.
Christopher did not touch Honoria, but she sensed him as tense as a
violin string. Mr. Henderson took a surreptitious step closer to
both ladies, regarding Switton as would a watchful guard dog.

Lord Switton went on a bit about the Derby,
which would occur in a few weeks, then he declared he would
continue his duties as host, leaving the gentlemen to their
so-charming ladies. He began to walk away, then stopped as though
remembering something.

"You will join me won't you, for my piece de
resistance?" Again, Switton's gaze seemed to try to sneak beneath
Honoria's clothing. "I'll unveil it at three o'clock. You will not
be disappointed, I think."

Without waiting for reply, he turned and
strolled away.

"I do not like that man," Grayson
growled.

"He's a boor," Mr. Henderson said. "His
grandfather obtained the title only because he knew some
titillating gossip about Queen Anne. The peerage was apparently
granted to shut his mouth."

Grayson slid his arm around Alexandra. "My
love, I am torn between wanting to send you far from here and not
wanting to let you out of my sight."

"I thought we were supposed to quiz the
countess," Alexandra said.

"I've changed my mind. You will stay next to
me until this is finished."

Henderson said, "We will have to find out
things somehow. The sooner I can leave this place the better. Lord
Switton makes even conversing with Finley seem pleasant."

"Well said," Grayson drawled. "Let us talk to
people, ladies and gentlemen, and then meet for the piece de
resistance. I have a feeling it will be important."

He walked away, Alexandra's hand held firmly
under his arm. Henderson took out his quizzing glass and moved in
the opposite direction.

Honoria was left alone with her fierce,
silent husband.

After a time, she said softly, "You do know,
Christopher, that society will look askance if you shoot the
earl."

Christopher's eyes were like cold glass. "Do
you think I give a damn?"

"I did not say
I
would look
askance."

He finally turned his gaze to her, the heat
of it like fine sunshine after a week of fog. "I've shot men who
irritated me less. You'll see much of my grim side if you choose
life with me, my wife. I hope you are resilient."

"I do not swoon, if that is what you mean"
she said, lifting her chin. "Nor am I a watering pot."

"Good." Christopher put his hand on her elbow
and steered her toward the crowd, the heat of his fingers searing
through the thin sleeves of her afternoon dress.

He walked close by her side, the strength of
him coming through his hand to fill her with a thrumming that
threatened to undo her. Honoria kept her head up and refused to
allow the heat of the day or Christopher's presence unnerve her.
They needed to find Christopher's sister and take her from this
awful place, and that was all.

Honoria and Christopher spoke to no one. They
moved through the garden, smiling politely and pretending to admire
the flowers--or at least Honoria did. Christopher mostly bathed
people in chill glances that made them draw back. Honoria wondered
how long Christopher's patience would last before he tore the house
apart to find out what he wanted to know.

They ended their stroll at the bottom of the
summer garden. A large fountain trickled quietly, empty benches
around it. Behind a thin stand of trees, a green lawn led to a lake
that stretched flat and gray to hills. None of the guests had come
this far--most remained near the center of the garden and the food
and drink there.

Christopher released Honoria, placed his
hands behind his back, and gazed across the silvered lake. His face
was still, his jaw rigid.

Honoria wanted to comfort him, to say
Don't worry, we'll find her.

But she knew that finding Manda Raine was by
no means certain. People disappeared all the time--they were lost
at sea, or died of illness far from home, or became lost in some
remote place, penniless and unable to return. If Manda had black
skin, though she was a free woman, the chances of her being
captured and sold as a slave were high.

The free black men and women of Charleston
had to carry papers with them at all times to prove themselves
free. The darker their skin, the more they were harassed for them.
If Christopher's sister had been raised aboard an English or French
ship, if she had been free from birth with no papers to prove it,
then she might be captured and sold to work the fields of Jamaica
or Antigua, her captor claiming her an escaped slave.

Honoria moved closer to Christopher and put
her hand on his rigid arm. His gaze swiveled to her, pale lashes
hiding the gray.

She liked the solidness of his arm beneath
the coat, hard with muscle, rocklike, immovable. She let her
fingers drift along his forearm, enjoying the warm feel of him.

No matter what her head told her, her heart
and body craved him. Honoria knew now that parting with him was out
of the question.

She stroked Christopher's arm, idiotically
happy to be touching him. She had no business wanting him, here in
this overly ostentatious garden, while he searched for his sister.
But her body ached, reacting to his nearness.

As though he sensed her longing, Christopher
slid his hand to her back and pulled her to him for a kiss.

He tasted of champagne, and Honoria's desire
built to a flood. She almost forgot about where she was, and why
they'd come. She was only aware of his mouth forming to hers, his
warm hand on her back, his breath on her cheek. Perhaps they could
sidle behind a hedgerow and continue what they started. Perhaps he
would slide his hands over her body and never stop.

Thank heavens Christopher had self-control.
The village church clock was chiming as he ended the kiss and eased
his mouth from hers.

"It is three," he said. "On to our host's
entertainment."

Honoria caught her breath, flustered. "Yes,
of course."

Christopher tucked her trembling hand under
his arm and began to guide her back to the main part of the
garden.

Honoria spied Lord Switton not far away, half
hidden by a corner of the large fountain. The earl was gazing
straight at them, a knowing smile on his face.

"Dear heavens, Lord Switton saw us. How
embarrassing."

"He doesn't mind," Christopher said as they
walked. "He's a voyeur. He likes watching. He told me."