Care and Feeding of Pirates (7 page)

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."

His face registered no sympathy, but he
continued the light, maddening patterns on her arm. "I need to
leave England as soon as I can. I don't have time to wait until you
sort out your feelings or talk things over. As soon as I put my
hands on my second-in-command, I am setting sail, and I want you on
that ship. You will have to break the news to Mr. Templeton, say
your good-byes, write your brother a note."

Honoria started to sit up, but pain shot
through her ankle, and she sank back to the pillows. "It is much
more complicated than that."

Christopher drew a lazy circle in her palm
with his thumb. "Why?"

"It just is."

He laid her hand at her side. "Do you still
want me?"

Honoria's tongue felt thick, and she said
nothing.

Christopher drew his blunt fingertip along
her cheekbone and to her lips. "I want you," he said in a low
voice. "I'm about insane with it."

Honoria struggled to breathe. "You seem very
calm."

"I have to be. And I tell myself that I'll
have time. It's a long voyage across the Atlantic."

"Are we going to Charleston?"

He smiled a little, and she realized she'd
said
we.
"Is that where you want to go?" Christopher
asked.

"I belong there."

"You belong with your husband."

Honoria half raised up on her elbows. Her
ankle throbbed again, but less so. "Do not begin again about wifely
obedience. We married in haste, and now we are repenting."

Christopher lowered her back to the pillows
with his hands on her shoulders, and bent over her so that she
could not rise without fighting him. "I don't feel repentant. In
fact, I feel more alive than I have in years."

Her heart beat still faster. "Perhaps that's
because you have been able to take regular meals, and now have
baths and a bed to sleep in."

He leaned closer. "Perhaps it's because I
found you again after so long. Speaking of beds, I'm happy to
finally have you in one."