Care and Feeding of Pirates (16 page)

"Then I call you a strange rescuer," she
said. "Shouldn't you be having lemonade with the queen?"

Henderson growled. "I call you damned
ungrateful. We barely got you away."

"From a crowd of dead-drunk dandies? Not much
of a challenge."

She was tense, her hands gripping the
gunwale, her voice shaking. Christopher saw that, but Henderson
looked peevish. "I'd call it your lucky day," Henderson said.

The boat pulled harder against the oars, and
then a sudden wave of cold water engulfed Christopher's boots and
cashmere breeches. "And this, my friends," he said, keeping his
voice light. "Is called sinking."

"Good thing pirates can swim," Manda said.
She threw off Henderson's coat and dove over the side in a graceful
curve, the leopard skin falling away. Christopher shoved aside the
oars and followed her.

He surfaced in time to hear Henderson say,
"
Damn
it all, this is a brand new suit."

*** *** ***

The Earl of Switton sat on his chair before
the fire, his well-manicured feet in warm slippers pushed toward
the hearth. His valet had left him alone to drink port and sulk.
His deep velvet dressing gown caressed his body, and the port was
almost as soft, but these comforts could not compensate for the
loss of Switton's favorite exhibit.

Old Henderson's son had much to answer for.
Switton should have seen that Raine was a ruffian, despite having
an obviously well-bred wife, not to mention a viscount for a
friend. Switton had admired Raine's physique at first, but when the
Amazon had pulled Raine's shirt off, Switton had experienced
stunned horror.

Ruffian, that was the only name for him.

Henderson's boy, now, he was a real English
gentleman, with fair skin tanned by sun, and moon-blond hair.
Henderson should have been paired with Raine's lovely American
wife, in Switton's opinion. Raine was a common fighting man. A
brute.

Depression trickled through him. Raine had
stolen Switton's black Amazon, the tall, strong-limbed, beautiful
woman who could fight better than any man Switton had ever known.
He'd never find another like her.

A log fell into the grate, and flames shot
upward. The fire ought to have been better laid. It needed to last
until morning, and already, it was subsiding. Irritated, Switton
reached for the poker.

Something cold pressed his cheek. Switton
looked around and found himself staring at the open end of a
pistol.

Christopher Raine stood beside his chair, the
pistol in his bare hand. The man wore nothing but breeches and
boots, letting Switton see the whole horror of him. Raine's gray
eyes were ice-cold, and his long pale braid was damp.

Switton's attention riveted to the wreck of
the man's side. While Raine's shoulders were superb, his pectorals
square and honed, the entire left side of his abdomen degenerated
into a concave mass of scars and white streaks, stark against his
golden tan. It was as though someone had taken a statue of a
perfect Hellenic athlete, hard marble and skillfully sculpted, and
hacked a large, ragged piece from its side.

Someone had thoroughly ruined this man's
body, and that defect, rather than the pistol, made Switton feel
faint.

He tried to brave it out. "How dare you, sir?
You came into my house and stole my property."

The pistol dug into Switton's cheek. "Manda
is not a slave. She was a free woman you held in a cage."

"I paid her!"

"She says you refused to give her the money
and laced her food with opium so she'd be too exhausted to run
away."

"She's a liar, then."

The blow caught Switton on the temple and
sent him reeling. He fell to the hearth, his knees banging the
bricks. Switton choked in pain, and surreptitiously reached for the
poker.

The poker clattered across the rug, kicked by
Raine's muddy boot. "I am trying to decide whether or not to murder
you," The man's voice was colder than an Arctic winter. "My wife
worries about the consequences of killing an earl, but I don't much
care."

Switton shook all over. "You will hang. You
are a common criminal."

"I have already hanged. And I'm still
alive."

Switton struggled for breath. "I'd have sold
her to you if I'd known you wanted her so much."

Again the pistol dug into his face. "She is
my
sister
."

Good Lord. Did the man have no civilized bone
in his body? "That is nothing to boast about, sir."

Switton found himself being pulled upright by
the hair. Raine's cold face and horrible eyes came close. "I raised
her from the time she could walk. Do you know what I think of a man
who'd put her in a cage?"

Switton wet his lips. "You will not kill me.
If you'd come to murder me, you would have already."

To his amazement, Raine smiled. It was not a
nice smile. "Were this a pirate ship, yes, you'd be dead. The
sharks would already be tearing up your body. But I'm trying to be
civilized."

Switton seized on the word. "Civilized. Yes,
if you were civilized, you'd call me out, so we could settle this
like gentlemen." His mind worked feverishly. If he could get the
ruffian to make an appointment for a duel, Switton could find
someone to stand in for him. Beg poor eyesight or something. Honor
would be satisfied, Switton safe.

Raine's smile widened, making him look a bit
like the sharks he'd mentioned. "Well then, we'll make this more
sporting." He leaned down and took up the poker. Then, still
smiling, he passed the gun to Switton.

Swiftly the earl turned the pistol on Raine
and fired. An explosion of sound rocketed through the room, but it
could not drown out the deadly silence of the poker coming
down.

*** *** ***

Honoria warmed her hands on the delicate
porcelain cup of coffee, breathing the liquid's heady aroma. She
sat curled in a shawl in Alexandra's London drawing room, listening
to the others tell their part in the tale. Diana had arrived,
children in tow, and now she too sipped coffee and listened, her
red hair bright in the candlelit room.

Honoria had moved through her own story
quickly. When she'd feared that Christopher and Manda would be set
upon by too many, she'd decided that a dramatic swoon would be just
the thing.

Alexandra and several helpful ladies had
carried Honoria back to the house. Once left alone, Honoria and
Alexandra had hastened to the front drive, where Grayson had herded
them into their carriage. Because those chasing Manda and
Christopher had gone through the gardens, the lane had been
deserted, and the carriage departed without mishap.

Honoria, Alexandra, and Grayson had
rendezvoused with the rather wet rescuers on the other side of the
lake. Manda had returned with them and Mr. Henderson in the
carriage, while Christopher had explained that he'd meet them in
London after he spoke with Switton.

Manda Raine had been absolutely astonished
when Christopher had said to her casually, "By the way, Manda, the
dark-haired one is my wife." Manda had studied Honoria in shock all
the way to London.

Grayson raised his glass of spirits in
Honoria's direction. "You are a fine actress, Honoria. I commend
you."

Honoria thanked him, but she felt far from
clever. Christopher had not said much to her since his return from
Switton's, and she'd been able to think of little else but the
horrific wound in his side.

Christopher had never once removed his shirt
in her presence, Honoria realized, since he'd found her in London.
Back in Charleston, on their wedding day, his body had been strong
and whole. Something had happened to him between then and now, and
he had not wanted to tell her about it.

He sat casually on a straight-backed chair
across the room from Honoria, his arms on his knees, listening
while Manda related her story. He'd dressed again in his pirating
clothes--breeches and boots, with a coat and loose shirt hiding his
scars.

Manda told them she'd come to London six
months ago looking for work, and had met one of the Lord Switton's
lackeys. She was offered pay to pretend to be a wild woman of the
Amazon for a gathering of Switton's friends in his country house.
She'd thought it sounded a good lark and accepted. Switton
displayed her in a cage then wagered that none of the gentlemen
present could take her, and Manda had proved him right.

Switton had decided that the performance had
gone over so well that he wanted Manda to remain a permanent part
of his household. When Manda declined and asked for her money,
Switton refused to pay her and would not let her go. When she tried
to fight, Switton's six footmen overpowered her then locked her in
a room, where she was either starved or given food laced with
opium.

Manda seemed none the worse for wear for this
adventure. She sat with her legs folded under her on Alexandra's
sofa, wearing a shirt and pantaloons, having refused Alexandra's
offer of a gown. Her black hair hung down her back in loose and
wonderfully ropy curls. Her sable eyes swung to observe each of
them in turn with avid curiosity. Her wide mouth smiled or frowned
openly, a young woman who did not bother to hide her feelings.

"He is disgusting," Mr. Henderson said. He
drank claret rather than coffee, candlelight dancing on the facets
of his glass. "I'll see to it that the Hendersons cut him dead from
now on."

Manda snorted. "Well, I'm sure that will
terrify him."

Alexandra nodded decidedly, "Oh, it will,
Miss Raine. The worst thing that can happen to a gentleman of the
ton
is to be shunned by other gentlemen. He'll be cut by
anyone who matters. When Grayson has a word with the Duke of St.
Clair and others at White's, the Earl of Switton will find all
doors closed to him."

Manda studied Alexandra, brows raised, then
addressed Christopher. "Are they real?"

Christopher nodded. "Finley's become an
honest-to-God peer."

Manda turned to Grayson. "Honest to God?"

"I'm afraid so," Grayson said.

"I meant to ask,
Miss Raine
,"
Henderson said. "Why did you not try to get away from Switton?"

Manda's frown reappeared when she looked at
him. The tension between the two was thick. "What do you mean, I
didn't try?"

"I saw you walking in the house yesterday
with Switton's wife. I will not believe that you could not escape
from one small woman armed with nothing more than a reticule."

Manda's scowl turned dangerous. "I was only
allowed out of my room when Lady Switton had pumped me full of
opium. I was too disoriented to run anywhere."

The room stilled. Christopher said quietly,
"I'm sorry now that I didn't kill him."

Grayson nodded, eyes grave. "Leave Switton to
me. We'll get him, and I don't care if he is a peer. I'll make it
my personal mission."

Honoria had not asked Christopher what he'd
done to the earl. When Christopher had parted from them at the
lake, his face had been so grim, she'd not wanted to ask what he
meant to do. If Christopher had left Lord Switton alive, the man
was luckier than he deserved.

Manda shrugged. "I would have got away from
him eventually. I never dreamed you'd come back to life and rescue
me, Chris." She turned a smile on her brother that would have
melted the hardest heart.

They looked much alike, Honoria decided,
Manda's high forehead and firm jaw womanly versions of
Christopher's. Their eyes were a different color but of similar
shape, and both pairs held a glint that proclaimed they were people
who feared little in the world. Rather, the world needed to worry
when it saw Christopher and Manda coming.

Brother and sister sat across the drawing
room from each other, neither having betrayed joy or excitement at
their reunion. Still, Honoria sensed the bond between them, one
very much like the one she'd had with her brother Paul.

Christopher and Manda fell into easy
conversation right away, as though they'd been parted only days
rather than years. Sometimes they finished each other's sentences
without noticing they'd done it.

Honoria's limbs were heavy now that the
excitement was over. Christopher had said they'd rest here for what
remained of the night and take ship the following morning.

The day had been long and grueling, but
Honoria did not want to sleep yet. She'd had an interesting
conversation with Alexandra while Christopher had been out, and she
wanted to try tonight some of the ideas she'd gained from that
conversation.

It was already past two. Christopher abruptly
told Honoria that she looked tired and should go to bed.

Honoria gave up. She said her goodnights and
returned to the chamber Alexandra had given them. After she
undressed, brushed her hair, and cleaned her teeth, she climbed
into the heavy tester bed, where she tried to remain awake, but her
treacherous eyes kept closing.

Christopher would not come upstairs tonight,
of course. He'd stay and talk with Manda, probably all night.
Despite Manda's apparent resilience, Christopher would want to
ensure that she was well. That, and they had four years of
conversation on which to catch up.

Honoria woke when Christopher entered the
room. His warmth covered her, and his scent of spice as he leaned
down and pressed a gentle kiss to her hair.

*** *** ***

Christopher had supposed Honoria would be
asleep, but his wife opened her eyes as he kissed her.

Downstairs in the drawing room, she'd looked
exhausted, her face flushed, her eyelids drooping, but Christopher
was just as happy to find her still awake.

He kissed her softly parted lips, shifting
his grasp on the decanter of whiskey Finley had pressed on him on
the way upstairs. Finley had said that Christopher had the look of
a man who needed to get drunk if ever he saw one.