Care and Feeding of Pirates (18 page)

Her eyes were green fire. "Are all husbands
this highhanded?"

"I have no idea. Take it off."

Her glare returned, but the hands that moved
to the hem of her nightgown shook. She slid the garment off over
her head, further dislodging her hair so that it tumbled down
altogether.

Christopher caught her hair in his hands,
wrapping the warm strands around his fingers. She was bare beneath
her tangled curls, her breasts peeking from between the
ringlets.

"Pretty lady," he said in a low voice. "I
wager the fine gentlemen of Charleston ate their hearts out over
you. How many asked you to marry them?"

She rested her hands, slick with oil, on his
thick biceps. "Fifteen."

"
Fifteen?
" Christopher tried to banish
the dart of jealousy, but his possessiveness reared its ugly head.
"What, is that all?"

"Only two were worth serious consideration,"
the proper Honoria said. "The others merely wanted connection with
the Ardmore family and our money."

Christopher looked her up and down, so
delicious and naked and smelling fine. "I'm damn sure they wanted
more than that. Who were the two worth considering?"

"Gentlemen of good families whose wealth were
enough that my brother need have no worries about them being after
his," she said. "A match with either man would have been
acceptable, in other circumstances."

"Such as not being married to me?"

Honoria looked surprised. "These proposals
were made long before I married you. I turned them down because the
gentlemen in question had too many defects in their
characters."

Christopher wanted to wrap his arms around
himself and laugh until the tears came. "So you threw them over and
to marry a pirate who was condemned to death?"

"Well, yes, I suppose I did."

"I'm glad you did." He slid his hand beneath
her hair, finding her warmth. "They'd never have been good enough
for you."

"I suppose not."

"But a cutthroat pirate was?"

Honoria inclined her head, still the proper
lady, despite kneeling next to him mother-naked. "It was not the
same thing."

"You're right. You're never the same after
you've had a taste of pleasure. Once a man has made you wet and
dance with ecstasy, you look differently at the men who
haven't."

Her frown deepened, Honoria still not
understanding. "My decision not to marry had nothing to do with
you. At the time I turned them down, I had no reason to believe I'd
ever see you again. The fact that I was not yet engaged when you
were brought to Charleston to be hanged is pure chance."

"The hell it was."

"You are arrogant."

Christopher uncurled her hands and pressed
them flat to his chest again. "You think it chance that I didn't
have a wife when I landed in that cell? I tried to pretend that a
highborn Charleston girl was not the woman for me. I tried and
tried to make you not matter. But when you came to see me in that
prison, I knew you did matter."

"I never should have come," Honoria said
softly. "But I couldn't stop myself. I shouldn't have been alone
with you the first time you came to the house either. Paul should
have kept me in my room instead of helping me sneak down to see
you."

"I'm glad he did." Christopher's blood heated
at the memory of her tripping into the garden room, fresh and
pretty, and oh-so-innocent. "You were the kind of young woman I
disliked most, dressed like a fashion plate, looking superior to
every creature around you. I kissed you to teach you a lesson. And
then you stuck your sweet tongue into my mouth."

An intense heat had flared through his body,
obscuring all reason. Christopher hadn't felt gentle passion for
the young lady in her ringlets and muslin, her French perfume and
the tiny earrings that jingled when she moved. He'd felt carnal
wanting like he'd never felt in his life. In two seconds, he'd had
Honoria on her back on the marble tile floor, his arousal nearly
bursting his breeches.

She'd clung to him and kissed him all the way
down. He'd cradled her body from the cold marble, and she'd wrapped
her arms around him and let him put his hands on her and drive her
wild.

He'd kept kissing her to keep her from crying
out, from alerting the household that he was ravishing the daughter
of the family on the garden room floor. But she'd not cried
out--she'd nibbled his earlobe, tiny pinpricks of pain, and
whispered, "
Please,
Christopher," as she'd reached the first
climax of her life.

If Christopher had fallen from atop a
mainmast, smack onto the hard surface of the sea, he could not have
hurt himself more. He'd destroyed himself that day and hadn't even
known it.

He'd left the Ardmore house feeling young and
smug, never realizing that sweet Honoria would haunt his dreams
forever.

"
Mine,
" he said now with fierce
intensity.

He rolled onto his knees and jerked Honoria
up to face him. Christopher crushed his wife against him, oil
running like thick rain. He caught her hair in his hand and pulled
her head back to crush a kiss to her lips.

Mouth and tongues met, and wildness
began.

*** *** ***

Diana Ardmore napped in her chamber at her
father's house on Mount Street the next afternoon, exhausted from
her late night, her worry, and from saying good-bye to Honoria that
morning.

The parting had given Diana a wrench. She'd
asked Honoria to remain in London until the time came for them to
rendezvous with James on Diana's father's island, but Christopher
was adamant that his ship sail right away. Honoria had said calmly
that she would accompany her husband.

Christopher and his half-Jamaican sister
looked a wild pair whom no one would dare cross. Diana wondered,
and felt anxious about, how Honoria, used to the finest things in
life, would fit in with Christopher on his small ship and with his
sister and pirate crew.

What James would do when he found out about
Honoria, even Diana could not guess. James might go on a rampage
and drag Honoria back home, or he might give a cool shrug and say
that Honoria had made her choice and could expect no help from
him.

Diana's worried speculation ran down as the
June sun warmed the room. She tried to stay awake and keep
fretting, but her limbs loosened as her body moved toward slumber.
At last her eyes drifted closed, and she dreamed of her father's
island, the cool air and savage ocean, and its sea-drenched caves
where a green-eyed pirate hunter dragged her into his arms for a
kiss.

A callused hand smoothed her hair from her
face. The warm touch threaded its way through Diana's dream, and
she smiled sleepily, inhaling the familiar scent of ocean and spicy
musk.

Her dreams of her husband could be so real.
Even now, she felt his warmth at her side, his strong hand move
across her belly to the curve of her breast.

Diana jumped awake with a gasp. James lay
beside her on the bed, his black hair unruly, his green eyes as
assessing as they'd been the faraway day she'd first met him--when
he'd abducted her.

"James!" She flung her arms around his neck,
the joy of seeing him always intense.

James cradled her in strong arms then pulled
her into a deep kiss that stole her breath. He took his time
exploring her mouth, and Diana savored every moment of it.

When she could speak again, Diana asked
worriedly, "What are you doing here? In London? In broad
daylight?"

James Ardmore was a wanted man in England,
mostly for his habit of boarding British ships and freeing
press-ganged Americans. If someone from the Admiralty spied James
strolling about London, they'd arrest him on the spot. Diana
doubted that even Grayson or Diana's father, with all their
connections in the Admiralty, could save him.

"I concluded my business early," James said,
as though he were an ordinary husband coming home after an ordinary
day. "Gather the children and Honoria, and we'll sail tonight for
Haven." It was just like James to change the plans on an instant,
without a word to anyone. He smoothed his hand across Diana's
belly, his eyes full of promise. "But we can delay a minute or
two."

Diana kissed him again, losing herself for a
few glorious moments in his warmth and his strength. "I missed
you."

"I missed you too, wildcat. There was no one
spitting fire at me. Or throwing food."

"I do not throw food at you all the time,
James," Diana said, trying to sound dignified.

"No. But I wouldn't mind if we could find
some strawberries and a little bit of cream."

Her blood warmed. "I could speak to
Cook."

"Later." James rested his back against the
headboard and pulled her into his lap. "If you get up and go
downstairs, you'll straighten your hair and button your dress. I
like you a little disheveled."

He demonstrated by easing his hand inside her
bodice to rest it on the curve of her breast. Diana closed her
eyes, basking in the warmth of him. She hated when they had to be
apart.

She started to ease into the pleasure of his
caress, but her conscience pricked her. James deserved to know and
know at once, no matter how selfishly Diana wanted this moment to
go on.

"James," she said. "About Honoria."

"Mmm?" James's lips brushed her hair. "What's
my sister railing about now?"

Diana sat up. She brushed back her tumbledown
hair, put her hands in her husband's, and drew a deep breath.

"I'm not quite certain how to tell you this .
. ."

*****

Chapter Fourteen

Far down the Thames a ship called the
Starcross
rounded a headland and entered the Channel. The
day was fair, the wind steady. The muted green of England slid
along on the starboard side while men on the yardarms unfurled
sails that caught the wind and snapped taut.

Honoria sat on a bench against the stern
gunwale, breathing the fresh fragrance of open sea. They'd left the
stink of port behind them--no more fouled and muddy river, no more
fish strewn on wharfs, no more towns packed with people living
shoulder to shoulder. Ocean and wind assailed her, and Honoria
drank it in.

The stiff breeze caught Honoria's tail of
hair and flipped it every which way. She'd decided to leave it down
in a braid, because the wind pulled out any pins she pushed into
it. The ship started to heave in earnest now, but her heart soared
with it. Voyages always reminded her of happy times sailing with
James when Paul had been alive.

This voyage, however, was taking her to a new
life. As a point of fact, Honoria had no idea where they were
going. Christopher had never definitely answered whether their
destination would be Charleston. England and America were at war,
an added complication. Ports were blockaded, and frigates prowled
the seas. Blockades had never stopped James, who viewed them as a
challenge, and Honoria suspected that Christopher would behave in
the same fashion.

Her husband stood not far from her now, his
coat billowing in the wind. He steadied the ship's wheel and spoke
with Mr. St. Cyr and Manda, who was dressed in breeches and coat
similar to her brother's. Crew worked the ship with energy,
hoisting or tying off sails, winding lines, scrubbing the deck, or
whatever job they had been assigned.

This morning, Honoria had said good-bye to
Diana, severing her link to family and home, to set off who knew
where with a husband she barely knew. And strangely, she was not
afraid. She'd married a pirate and now sailed on his pirate ship,
but Honoria experienced no panic as the shore receded and they
headed to open sea. Shipboard life was familiar to her, and she at
once felt more at home than she had in the most elegant townhouses
in London.

Christopher glanced over at her, his blond
braid sliding on his shoulder. "Honoria," he said. "Take the
wheel."

She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

He gave her an impatient look, not a husband
irritated at his wife, but a captain annoyed with a disobedient
sailor.

There are some orders I expect you to obey
without question
.

Honoria would understand an order to get out
of the way in a dangerous situation, but to take the helm of the
ship? In her blue lawn gown that lifted most perniciously in the
wind? She had chosen to sit with her legs curled beneath her for
that very reason.

Honoria unfolded herself, letting the wind
take her skirt, and padded across the small space of the deck.
Christopher stood with one hand on the wheel. "I'm shorthanded," he
said. "You know how to pilot a ship?"

"Vaguely." She'd
watched
James and his
pilot at work. James had never let Honoria touch anything on his
ship, at least not after she and Paul had pulled down the rigging
on his bowsprit while attempting a few bravely stupid pranks.

Christopher slid his arm around her waist,
drew her to the wheel, and stood behind her to place her hands on
the spokes. "Hold here, and here. Sight down the bow, and keep her
pointed that much to port of shore." He showed her a distance
between his thumb and forefinger, which, when Honoria sighted
through it, put a large slice of water between England's cliffs and
open sea. "Just hold her steady," he said.

Honoria tried not to be distracted by his
warm body at her back, his arms enclosing her. When she nodded, and
Christopher let her go, cold wind and disappointment took the place
of his warmth.

Honoria toyed with the idea of asking him to
show again her how
exactly
he wanted her to hold the wheel,
but he'd already walked away.

Manda flashed her a grin then followed
Christopher and Mr. St. Cyr down the deck. Leaving Honoria alone.
To steer the entire ship. By herself.