Care and Feeding of Pirates, Page 3

  "Mr. Templeton is a good and respectable gentleman," Honoria said.

  Christopher's famous temper stirred. He did not release it often, but when he did, lesser fleets sailed for their lives.

  He'd not expected Honoria to welcome him with open arms. He had been, in fact, surprised to find her still unmarried. But in that cell in Charleston, when she'd promised to be his wife, he'd read in her eyes true grief and caring, not just pity. She'd loved him.

  When Christopher had read the announcement of her engagement in London, his strong reaction had also surprised him. He didn't blame Honoria for wanting to marry again--no woman should live her life in solitude because the man who'd been her husband for one less than a day had vanished.

  Even so, Christopher had told himself that he'd speak to Honoria, discover how she fared, and make arrangements to release her from their marriage contract so she could go to her Mr. Templeton.

  But when Christopher had seen Honoria tonight, walking so regally out of the theatre, he'd known he could never let her go. If this Tuzzlewitz truly loved her, the man would be magnanimous and not stand in Christopher's way.

  "A woman when she marries, agrees to obey her husband." Christopher said.

  "You were my husband for all of one day."

  "I have been your husband for four years."

  "In name only," Honoria said, jaw tight.

  Christopher smiled. She made his blood hot. "In all ways, Honoria. You gave me your maidenhead in that cell, remember?"

  Honoria flushed and glanced at Diana. "I was distraught. I didn't understand what I was doing."

  "Really? I believe your words were, Please, Christopher."

  "If you'd been a gentleman, you'd have sent me home."

  Christopher got to his feet. The whiskey burned through his veins, and he wanted to laugh, loud and long. "I was a pirate. I was about to be hanged, and you had half your clothes off. When a beautiful woman wants a pirate, the pirate obliges." He went to her. "You were made for me, Honoria. You know it, and your body knows it."

  At the head of the table, Ardmore's son made a small mewl of protest as their voices penetrated his sleep.

  Christopher threw Diana a look. "Will you excuse us, Mrs. Ardmore? My wife and I want to argue."

  "I think I had better stay," Diana said.

  "Why?" Christopher wanted to laugh and rage at the same time. "Are you afraid Honoria will try to make herself a widow?"

  "I am not certain what I fear," Diana answered. "But I will stay."

  Honoria shoved back her chair and jumped to her feet. The chair fell over backward with a bang, and Baby Ardmore squeezed his eyes shut and let out an irritated wail.

  "I beg your pardon, Diana," Honoria said, her voice ringing. "I certainly will not stay here and embarrass you further. Please have a servant show Mr. Raine the door. Good night."

  She nearly fled the room, shoving aside a few more chairs in her haste. The dressing gown slid down, baring her kissable shoulders. A most enticing picture.

  Diana crooned to her son and bounced him in her arms. After the bedroom door slammed--the draft of it rocketed down the stairs--the child settled down again into his peaceful slumber.

  Christopher let Honoria go. For now. There would be time, plenty of time. He had to search for Manda, and he could not leave England until he found her. Before Christopher departed, he would scoop up Honoria and carry her off. It was inevitable.

  Her body had fit to his again so easily. She belonged to him--Christopher had known it in his bones since the day he'd first met her in the garden room at the Ardmore house. Circumstance had had other ideas, but circumstance had led him back to her once more.

  It would be a fight. Honoria would not come easily. But Christopher would have her, even if he had to drag her off, kicking and screaming.

  Christopher took leave of Mrs. Ardmore and let himself out of the house. Outside, London was still misty, but a certain warmth had penetrated his blood, which began to burn him hotter than the sun in the Pacific islands.

  *** *** ***

  "Do you want to talk about it?" Diana asked, sitting on Honoria's bed.

  Her sister-in-law had put baby Paul to bed, looked in on Isabeau, seen the house locked for the night, and returned to Honoria's bedchamber. Honoria supposed Diana had tactfully been giving her time to compose herself, but Honoria thought she'd never be composed again.

  She felt limp, sick, and worried, and at the same time very angry. How dare Christopher come back to life just as she'd gotten her own life put in order?

  She'd finally been able to begin a normal life, preparing to have a family of her own. So of course, Christopher would choose that moment to come back from the dead and turn her heart inside out. He'd done it on purpose. Honoria was certain of it.

  "What is there to say?" she told Diana. She lay facedown on the bed, her head at its foot. She hadn't cried--Honoria rarely cried. "You heard Christopher's story. It is true."

  Diana leaned down and hugged her. "Oh, Honoria, why did you never tell anyone?"

  "Who was I to tell?" She tried to sound nonchalant, as though it hadn't hurt to keep the secret. "James disappeared the day of the hanging, and I did not see him for nearly a year. And then it seemed pointless. The marriage had only lasted the day. I thought Christopher dead and gone, everything over." She sat up, raking her hair from her face. "Are you going to tell James?"

  "Well, I do not see how I can keep it from him."

  Honoria took Diana's hands in hers. "Please say nothing for now. I do not want Mr. Templeton to hear of this in a roundabout fashion, nor do I want to face the gossipmongers."

  "I would never say anything outside the family, dear."

  Honoria was in too much turmoil to apologize. Her body still quivered from Christopher's touch, and she'd wanted to taste his mouth far into the night. If Diana had not interrupted them, Honoria would gladly have succumbed to him on the floor. Or on the bed. Or on the windowsill for that matter, while passersby in Mount Street looked up in astonishment.

  "Please let me think on it," Honoria said. "Perhaps he will see reason and release me."

  "An annulment is not as easy to obtain as you might think," Diana said. "Especially when one party is unwilling. There must be very special circumstances or an embarrassing affliction on the man's part."

  Honoria very much doubted Christopher would say that he wanted an annulment because he was impotent. Which he wasn't. Honoria had felt that quite plainly. Even now she grew warm as her treacherous mind remembered the exact shape, length, and feel of his hardness against her body.

  "There is some precedent for a marriage ending when one of the parties goes missing," she said, her throat dry.

  In these times of risky traveling, war, and uncertainty, husbands or wives could be missing for years with no word. In that case, the remaining person could assume the other dead and marry again.

  "Yes," Diana said. "The trouble is, he's turned up again. And you have the license, and he seems determined to keep the marriage." She slid her arm around Honoria's shoulders. "But if you like, I can ask my father's man of business, in pure speculation, of course, what legal steps might be taken."

  "Please, not yet. I want to think."

  Diana patted her shoulder and fell silent. Honoria hated to impede Diana like this, but she wanted no one to know her folly until she could decide what to do.

  She needed to talk to Christopher, to explain, but that might do her little good. Whenever they were together, Honoria melted into a puddle of lust. Perhaps if the two of them could meet somewhere neutral, facing each other across a very wide table, perhaps, with witnesses, she might see a way out of this mess.

  The trouble was, she could not prevent Christopher from striding up and down London, proclaiming their nuptials far and wide. Christopher knew Grayson Finley, who was now Viscount Stoke. Wouldn't Grayson laugh to hear that the oh-so-proper Honoria had let herself be talked into marriage with Christopher Raine?

  Gra
yson would tell his wife, the beautiful and ladylike Alexandra, and Alexandra would be shocked. Gossipy Lady Featherstone would hear the news and delightedly spread it throughout the ton. Honoria could not run about London scolding everyone to silence.

  All this was nothing, of course, to what James would say.

  She needed to speak to Christopher again, once she had calmed herself. There was no reason they couldn't speak to each other as reasonable and rational beings. James had set Christopher free to begin a new life, and now he must begin it.

  Honoria closed her eyes, feeling again his hands on her hair, his warm lips parting hers.

  Christopher would go away again. He had to. Because if he didn't, Honoria would burn up, quickly and quietly, and be of no use to anybody.

  *** *** ***

  Christopher slid into the shadows of the Mayfair streets as he made his way south to Piccadilly. He probably did not need stealth, but it came as a habit. He liked to observe the world around him without being too closely observed himself.

  Tonight, though, he was too preoccupied about Honoria to pay much attention to the world--distracted by the remembered feel of her, the taste of her, the glorious fact that she was still his wife.

  His eyes and ears automatically registered carriages, horses, and people, as well as the thieves who also tried to keep to the dark. His feet moved him toward Piccadilly and St. James's, and his meeting there.

  His mind and his heart, however, remained with Honoria. He wanted her with every breath he drew. Their usual course was to see one another, stare at each other for a few moments, then grab each other and start kissing. Laces tore, buttons spun across the room, linen ripped while they sought each other with hands and mouths in desperation.

  And then they'd be on the floor, her skirts raked high, his breeches open, his hands on her thighs, parting them for the inevitable and final phase of their greeting.

  They simply couldn't keep their hands off each other. And, Christopher reflected, why should we?

  Honoria was a beautiful and sensual woman, and he was a man who needed her. Christopher wanted her with an intensity that had driven him across the world to find her again.

  St. James's Square, elegant by day, was a far more interesting place by night. The entire area of St. James's--the square itself, Jermyn Street, St. James's Street, Piccadilly--were riddled with clubs for the highest gentlemen in the land. Aristocrats, military leaders, wellborn gentlemen, old friends, old money, old ties--a gentleman's club was more his home than his own house.

  Or so Christopher had heard. He'd never had the pleasure of entering a gentleman's club and had no interest in doing so now.

  The aristocratic St. James's had another side to it. Tucked among the respectable clubs were the hells, gambling dens in which gentlemen rubbed shoulders with blacklegs and hardened gamblers ready to fleece young, soft aristocrats. Upper-class gentlemen came to slum, play games both legal and illegal, and talk with lovely, well-dressed ladies who enticed gentlemen to wager.

  Christopher had come to meet a man who could help him. He entered the Nines, a tall, narrow establishment in St. James's Square, paid his fee, and went up to the first floor.

  They call this vice, he thought as he looked around the gaming rooms. Compared to the vice he'd seen in the ports of Siam, China, and Brazil, the Nines was a child's tea party. The cardsharps with smooth faces and watchful eyes kept to their places at tables. They busily took money from young men who were confident that their names, their father's names, and their inheritance would allow them to lose whatever they liked.

  Christopher quickly spied the man he was to meet. Grayson Finley stood at the foot of a hazard table, a tall man, broad of shoulder, with sun-streaked hair, his face tanned and weathered like Christopher's. Finley watched the dice and the thrower with a cynical expression, but Christopher noted that he won nearly every wager he made.

  Finley had once been one of the most ruthless and feared pirates on the seas. These days he wore frock coats and finely tied cravats and owned several estates. He'd been Ardmore's partner before Ardmore had turned pirate hunter, then years after they'd gone their separate ways, Finley had inherited a title. Now he was married, had four children, and was a respectable aristocrat called Viscount Stoke.

  Christopher did not join the dice game. Instead he took a turn at Faro, a game in which the optimistic gambler wagered on what would be the value of the next card the dealer turned up. Christopher won a few guineas and lost a few.

  He found himself coming under the scrutiny of a smallish man of about forty, with a pleasant face and a long, beaky nose.

  "Not got the taste for it?" the man asked, voice friendly. "I notice you do not throw down your family fortune on the turn of a card."

  Christopher's fortune could probably purchase the estates of a few of the aristocrats present, but he shrugged. "I'm a careful man, by habit."

  "I am surprised you came to the Nines then." The man smiled. "Not a place for a careful man."

  "It's a way to spend an evening."

  He chuckled. "A good answer, my friend. I too sought a way to spend the evening. Although," he lowered his voice a fraction, "I do not know if I care for the company here. But a man must come to a gaming hell at least once in his life, mustn't he? I am sowing my wild oats, you see."

  Christopher looked him up and down. "You've left it a bit late." Christopher's oats had certainly been wild, so much so that a few years of his younger life were fuzzy about the edges.

  The man laughed. "Too true, my friend. But I am to be married in a few months time, and I decided that 'twas better late than never."

  Marriage seemed to be catching. "Best of luck to you."

  "Thank you. I say, would you like to adjourn to a tavern? I much prefer conversation with a careful man over a comfortable pint to sowing wild oats."

  Christopher glanced at the hazard table. Finley was still there watching the dice.

  He opened his mouth to form an excuse, but the gentleman thrust out his hand. "Ah, but we have not been introduced. The name's Templeton. Rupert Templeton."

  Christopher froze for half a second before he forced a cold smile and took the other man's hand in a very firm clasp. "Raine," he said. "Christopher Raine."

  Templeton winced a bit at his grip but betrayed no recognition. He'd never heard of Christopher.

  Christopher told Templeton to name the tavern, and then the two of them departed. Christopher felt Finley's puzzled gaze on his back, but nothing short of a volcano erupting in the heart of St. James's would keep Christopher from walking to a nearby tavern with Honoria Ardmore's intended.

  *****

  Chapter Four

  The tavern in Pall Mall poured excellent ale and was full. Christopher and his new friend Rupert Templeton squeezed onto a corner of a bench. Christopher stood two pints, which Templeton said was very decent of him.

  They could not have much conversation over the roar of the tavern's regulars. Near them, a few Scotsmen debated national issues with their English counterparts, and both proved that neither nation had yet bested the other in drinking ability.

  Templeton was proving to be friendly and open-minded, and had not much wrong with him, to Christopher's annoyance. The man turned to the subject of his upcoming nuptials easily enough.

  "Thought I'd be a bachelor into my old age, Mr. Raine, that's a fact. But when I met Miss Ardmore, I said to myself, Rupert, old man, why not give it a try? She's an American, of course, but I never held that against anyone." He chortled.

  "England is at war with America," Christopher pointed out.

  "Yes, that nonsense--that will be cleared up soon. I have many business interests in America, and I'll settle in Charleston. Miss Ardmore comes from a fine family, but she's felt at a loose end, poor thing, since her brother married."

  "Her brother," Christopher prompted, wondering what a respectable Londoner would make of James Ardmore.

  "I gather her brother is something of a legend. Captain
Ardmore's wife, however, comes from a most distinguished naval family. I imagine much of Captain Ardmore's reputation is a mix-up."

  Templeton was thoroughly wrong. Ardmore was a law unto himself and damned all those who got in his way.

  "I do admit," Templeton went on, "that perhaps Miss Ardmore's brother's reputation is the reason she settled for me. Perhaps better gentlemen than I refuse to believe he is wronged. I am not much of a catch, but I was pleased to be caught in Miss Ardmore's net." He raised his ale in salute.

  "Miss Ardmore is a fine young woman," Christopher could not stop himself saying.

  "Indeed she is. Do you know her?"

  "I am a . . . friend . . . of the family."

  "Reee-ly?" Templeton was all that was happy interest. "I had no idea. Miss Ardmore has never mentioned a Mr. Raine, but then, I have not known her or her family long."

  "I've been away," Christopher said.

  "Quite a surprise when she accepted me, I can assure you. I never dreamed a lady like her would favor me so. Mother was tickled something fierce. She has become very fond of Miss Ardmore, has Mother. My mother is a stickler for propriety, but Miss Ardmore is all that is right and proper, of course."

  "Of course."

  Proper Honoria had been kissing Christopher, her secret husband, in her bedchamber not an hour or more ago, and would have done more had Diana not come in on them. Poor Templeton. Christopher supposed he should breeze out of Honoria's life again and leave her to Templeton, quietly annul their marriage, let her get on with things.

  Something tightened inside him. No, Honoria would not rid herself of Christopher that easily. She belonged to him, even if Templeton was proving to be a likable rube.

  Christopher opened his mouth to continue the interesting conversation, but Templeton's face took on a look of delight. "I say, is that not Lord Stoke?"

  Christopher turned to see that, sure enough, Finley had entered the tavern. Templeton went on happily, "I thought I saw him at the Nines. I had the great honor of being introduced to him once. He too is a friend of Miss Ardmore's family."