The Pirate Hunter's Lady

by Jennifer Ashley

  “I plan to recover.”

  “We cannot fight you, my daughter and I. I am too old, and she is a woman, although I must warn you she has a hellcat’s temper.” Lockwood smiled fondly, and James stopped his laugh. The admiral didn’t know the half of it. “For instance, if anything happened to Isabeau, Diana would fight to the death. She loves Isabeau more than her own life. Understandable, because that is how I feel about both her and Diana.” Lockwood gave James a pointed look.

  “I can promise that I had no intention of hurting any of you,” James said. “I don’t harm innocents.”

  “Yes, I have heard that said about you. However, I never knew if that was a declaration you made yourself or an observation by others. All in all, I do believe you an honorable man, even if you are a ruthless one.”

  “Mmmph. Then you, admiral, are like no other man in the Royal Navy. I haven’t met a naval man yet who thought me honorable.”

  “I’ve followed your career with interest,” Lockwood said. “One ought to know one’s enemies after all. You have brought down a considerable number of pirates on the Barbary coast and in the Caribbean who were nothing but cutthroat murderers. I cannot condemn you for that.”

  “I do what I can,” James drawled.

  “You board English frigates for amusement. You release American prisoners and press-ganged sailors, and you terrorize the English captains.” Lockwood actually smiled. “I cannot fault you even for that. I heard about you having Captain Langford flogged. He was an ass and it was long overdue. You embarrassed him out of his career, you know. He never lived it down.”

  James inclined his head. “I do my best.”

  “And proud of it.” Lockwood gave James a long look. “But you are still young. Regrets will come later.”

  “Oh, I have regrets. I have them plenty.”

  “When you are my age, you will have plenty more.” For a moment, Lockwood’s voice saddened, but no answering sympathy moved in James’s heart. He knew exactly what regrets the admiral had.

  Lockwood gestured to a chair near the fire. “Let us sit down tonight as friends. I know I’m a fool and should have locked you up straight away to wait until another vessel arrives. But this is Haven. And if you’d wanted to kill me, you’d have done so by now.”

  James walked to the chair, leaving his knife behind. “That is true.”

  The admiral moved to a side table and poured brandy for them both. He sat down facing James and handed him a goblet. “I hope that you will relate some of your adventures to me. It will pass the long winter evenings.”

  James sat back in the comfortable chair and swallowed the warm brandy. “What have you told Lieutenant Jack?”

  The admiral fingered his glass. “I understand why you do not want Jack to know about you. It would be his duty to recapture you. But he has his hands full simply trying to recover his memory. When he does . . .” Lockwood made a shrugging gesture with his goblet. “I will keep your secret from the lieutenant for now. But in return, I want to know everything. Beginning with how you came to be onboard an English frigate in the first place.”

  “Now that,” James said softly, “is a long story.”

  The admiral smiled. “Excellent. We have all night.”

  *** *** ***

  Diana thrust her trowel into the earth and tugged at the root that entirely refused to budge. A bead of perspiration ran down her cheek from her mussed hair. Despite the March wind, her exertions heated her.

  Diana’s father had taken her aside this morning and explained what James had told him the night before, during their cozy chat in the admiral’s study. James had been a prisoner on the naval vessel, the Constantine, which had capsized. He’d been captured while helping the crew of a smaller American ship smuggle brandy past the British blockade. James had offered himself as a prisoner alone if the English naval captain would let the other Americans go. The English captain, happy to ensnare the infamous Captain Ardmore, had agreed.

  Diana did not think much of a crew who would sacrifice James for their own safety and then not try to rescue him. Or perhaps they had tried and failed, or they’d gone for help too late.

  In any event the storm had broken apart the English frigate and only James and Lieutenant Jack had survived. Where the Argonaut and crew had been during all this, Diana wondered, but apparently, Ardmore had not mentioned them to her father.

  Lieutenant Jack had unlocked James’s chains out of compassion, and James had saved Jack’s life in return. A tale fit for a ballad.

  There were too many ballads sung about Captain Ardmore already. Diana had no doubt that James had twisted her father around his little finger. The admiral liked a man of courage and integrity, and believed James had both. Hence her father would not lock James in the cellar, as he should, and throw the key into the sea. But the admiral had decided to trust him.

  Diana jabbed the trowel into the earth. Bits of hardened dirt broke apart and sprayed the leaves of the weeds she was trying to clear from the bougainvillea. Her father and James had made a pact that neither would harm the other while on Haven, had shaken hands on it. Then the two gentlemen had stayed up all night swapping stories and draining the brandy decanter.

  That was men all over, Diana thought darkly. They forgot danger and betrayal as long as they could crony together over a bit of brandy.

  The root came away abruptly, and Diana nearly lost her balance. She flung down that weed and started on the next one.

  While her father and James were becoming fast friends, she’d dreamed of lying next to James all night. She’d envisioned his large body filling her bed, his hands on her skin.

  After he’d let her go last summer, Diana had dreamed of him every night for months. She’d never had exactly the same dream, but the same sort of thing always happened. James would kiss her, and she’d melt. Then they’d make love wherever they happened to be — on a beach, in an inn room, in a carriage.

  She’d wake up, shaking, hot, and itching with need. It had been a long time before the routine of her life had let the longing dreams fade.

  Now the dreams were back, as vivid as ever. Diana gave the next weed a vicious jab.

  Boots stopped next to her. Diana pretended not to notice. She cared nothing for the worn leather creasing his ankles, the scuffed squared toes on the flower bed, tarnished buckles on black leather. She cared nothing that he went down on one knee beside her, his strong thigh stretching the leather breeches until they molded to every muscle.

  Never mind that James rested a large, scarred, bare hand on his knee, never mind that the masculine scent of him clouded her senses.

  She became suddenly aware that the top hook in the back of her dress had come undone with her labors, that her hair had escaped its braid, that her skirts were hiked to her knees.

  Lieutenant Jack had taken Isabeau with him down to the beach to look for shells. The garden was otherwise deserted, so they were quite alone.

  “Captain Ardmore.” She bit off the words. “And my father. Two legends swapping stories. You certainly swayed him to your side.”

  “Maybe,” James drawled. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  His voice sent warm sensations up and down Diana’s spine. Did he draw out his vowels like that on purpose, did he make his consonants liquid simply to distract and unnerve her?

  “My husband was a legend,” Diana said. “My father disliked him.”

  James spread his fingers across his knee. “Your husband was much decorated, I hear.”

  She dug mercilessly. “He was a complete fraud.”

  “Really? Now, that’s interesting.”

  Diana jammed the trowel into the dirt. It stuck. “I told you, my father admires you.”

  “Does he?”

  Diana looked up. James watched her with the stillness of an animal assessing its prey.

  “He does. I cannot think why.”

  James gave her a hint of a smile, then asked, “Why do you say your husband was a fraud?”

 
Diana had never in her life voiced her speculations to anyone, but she could not seem to stop the words now. “Because Edward tricked everyone into believing he was a great naval captain. Half his victories were won by subordinates, and Edward stepped in and took the glory.”

  “Did he? That’s interesting to know.” James shook his head. “A man is a sorry thing when his wife despises him. On the other hand, all the stories about me are true.”

  “Are they?”

  “Every damned one of them.”

  Diana wondered. After her encounter with him, she’d paid attention to the accounts of James sinking pirate ships single-handedly with the small, sleek Argonaut. Stories said that Captain Ardmore boarded English ships and reduced their captains to quivering mounds of fear, while he freed press-ganged sailors and anyone else he perceived to be enslaved.

  If Diana had not met James face to face, she might not have entirely believed the tales, knowing that naval men loved to spin yarns. But James had something in his eyes that said he would do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, whatever it took. Even a frigate, fully gunned, could not stand in his way. Were Diana a naval captain, and James boarded her ship, she too would swallow her pride and let him do as he willed.

  Diana’s mind conjured a picture of herself in knee breeches and blue coat, her eyes wide as James walked across the deck to her. After laughing at her for being a female captain, James would drag Diana off to her cabin, where he would do . . . whatever it took.

  She closed her eyes briefly as the vision segued to herself and him stripped of clothing, James’s mouth on her flesh, his hands on her body. They’d lie in the narrow bunk, his weight on hers, and make love far into the night.

  Diana opened her eyes again. James was watching her, his green eyes intense. He reached out and smoothed a strand of hair from her forehead.

  Diana clenched the trowel’s handle until she thought it would break. James’s fingers were strong, yet gentle. He knew how to touch a woman.

  He moved his feather-light touch across her temple, smoothing the already smoothed strand. Diana wanted to turn her cheek into his palm, to lean to its warmth. She wanted it so much she stiffened her muscles to keep her head from turning of its own accord.

  James’s eyes darkened as though knowing her thoughts. Diana had kissed him like a wanton every time she’d had the chance, and likely he knew she’d do it again if he asked it.

  Women must make fools of themselves over him all the time. And no wonder. To be touched by those large hands, gentled for her, to look into those green eyes and find them fixed on her and her alone must be . . . well, like it was now.

  James stroked his thumb across her cheekbone. It was no use. Diana turned her head, leaning into his hand.

  “Darlin’,” he breathed.

  Diana kissed the tip of his thumb. James held still, watching.

  Her sensibilities screamed for her to stop. Too late. Diana gently bit his fingertip.

  His gaze riveted to her. Her would-be suitors in her salad days and those gentlemen who had pursued her after her marriage had all been masqueraders, playing at passion. What James had for her was real.

  Unpleasant memories suddenly flooded her and wouldn’t stop. The vision flashed of a night after her return when she’d entered Edward’s bedchamber and confronted him. For some reason, Diana believed that if she told Edward exactly what had happened with Captain Ardmore — now that the Argonaut and Mr. Kinnaird had gotten safely away — things would somehow be made right.

  Edward did not react as she’d supposed. He’d swung on her. “You’re a bigger fool than I thought you were, Diana. Ardmore laid a trap and caught you, didn’t he?”

  Diana had looked at him in surprise. “It was pure happenstance. Captain Ardmore came to rescue Mr. Kinnaird. I’m surprised that you and your Admiralty friends didn’t tumble to that. A spy, sitting in your midst. You are the fools.”

  Edward had been so far gone in rage, he’d overlooked the insult. “Do not be stupid. Ardmore must have watched the house for days, discovered who you were, and known what kind of an affront it would be to abduct Sir Edward Worthing’s wife. I’m surprised he didn’t ask for ransom, but he must have feared that we’d be scouring the coast for him. That is why he let you go.”

  Diana had wanted to laugh at his naïveté. “He never intended to kidnap me. I simply got in the way.”

  “Or perhaps he did ask for ransom.” Edward’s eyes narrowed, glittering and mean. “What did you give him? Or do I need to ask?”

  “I gave him nothing.” She hadn’t. She’d stopped herself, as difficult as that had been.

  Edward went on. “He did nothing to you? I cannot believe that.”

  Diana’s fury had matched his. She hadn’t wanted to tell Edward the entire truth, but now she threw it at him to hurt him. “He kissed me. That was all. But it was enough.”

  Edward did not react as she’d thought. She’d been prepared for him to try to strike her, had been poised to flee. Instead, he’d looked thoughtful. “He only kissed you? What happened, Diana, did you not beg him hard enough?”

  She’d slapped him. Diana felt the sting of it on her palm even now.

  Edward’s eyes had filled with raw rage, and Diana had found herself on the floor. He’d stood over her, red-faced with fury, called her several colorful names, and snarled that he no longer wanted to sleep under the same roof with her. She could go to Haven with Isabeau and stay there.

  Edward had died a hero’s death not long after that, in a battle near Cadiz. There hadn’t been enough left of him to put in the family crypt. Edward’s mother had blamed Diana, but then, Edward’s mother had blamed Diana for everything.

  Cold wind whipped her, and Diana found herself in the garden again, gasping for breath.

  “What is it?” James’s voice was strangely tender.

  “I hated him, James,” she whispered. “I hated him so much.”

  He smoothed her hair again. “I know you did.”

  Their gazes met. In that instant, Diana knew that James understood her rage and her helplessness, understood it as no other human being ever had, not even her father.

  Yesterday, she and James had thrown themselves at each other. Today was this quiet tenderness, James’s fingers warm on her hair.

  Diana could remain here all day on her knees, while James stroked her hair and watched her in this calm, understanding way. She was saved from this fate by her daughter’s piping voice, and Lieutenant Jack’s answering tones.

  James withdrew his touch, and Diana dragged in a breath of mixed disappointment and relief.

  James turned just as Isabeau came bounding into the garden, her hands full of shells. “Maa,” she shrilled, then grinned at James. “Joo,” she said, making the noise that meant him.

  “Let us see, sweetheart,” Diana said, the mother once more.

  Jack panted up behind Isabeau, looking animated. “We must have walked most of the way around the island. She found dozens of the things.”

  Isabeau knelt on the ground and spread out her findings. Diana bent over them, pretending her heart was not beating as rapidly as a rabbit’s.

  Her daughter began to sort her shells into piles — flat oyster shells in one, conch shells in another, fluted shells in a third. Isabeau had several collections of shells, which she kept carefully in lined boxes, sorted according to size and type. She would frequently open these boxes and pour over the shells, examining each with the seriousness of a member of the Royal Academy.

  Diana had once thought to teach her how to make pretty trinkets from the shells, but Isabeau had not liked that. She wanted them to remain as they’d been found.

  Isabeau lifted the largest conch shell from its pile and held it in both hands out to James, who still crouched on the ground. “Joo,” she said.

  Chapter Nine

  Diana held her breath. Before her eyes, James the hardened pirate hunter softened.

  He reached for the shell. “Why thank you, Isabeau
.”

  “Like this.” Diana made a fist and touched her heart. “That is her sign for thank you.”

  James curled his thick fingers together, bits of earth clinging to his fingertips. He touched his breastbone. “Thank you.”

  Isabeau smiled. One of her upper teeth was growing in.

  “What is this one?” Lieutenant Jack crossed his wrists, touched them to his chest, then opened them out. “I see both of you do that one all the time.”

  Isabeau giggled, and Diana’s face heated. “It means I love you.”

  “Ah.” Jack grinned.

  James absently brushed sand from the conch and rose to his feet. Isabeau skipped back to her shells, pleased.

  James stood looking down at the shell for a long time, seemingly mesmerized by its beauty. Then he looked up, catching Diana staring at him.

  His eyes were light green, like layers of ice, and yet warm. A tingle laced the tips of Diana’s breasts, pulling them to tight points.

  Jack, oblivious to what was between them, said, “Now what about these caves, Ardmore?”

  The legend glanced at Jack. He gave Diana another long and nipple-tingling look, then turned away and gestured for Jack to follow him.

  Jack made a polite bow. “Lady Worthing.” Giving her and Isabeau a cheerful wave, he followed James, who said nothing at all, down the path to the little gate.

  Diana sank to her hands and knees again, turning her back so she didn’t have to watch them go. She yanked the trowel out of the earth and slammed it back into the root of a recalcitrant weed, as Isabeau began to hum a happy tune.

  *** *** ***

  James took the path more quickly than he had the day before. He knew the route, and the warm memory of Diana throwing herself into his arms at the end of it sped his footsteps.

  The tension in her today in the garden had been palpable. The muscles of her arms and shoulders had tightened as soon as she’d noted his presence.

  The tendril of hair trickling down her back had beckoned him. The button of her bodice had been undone in the back, and it had taken all James’s willpower to not run his finger over the triangle of smooth skin it bared. If Lieutenant Jack and Isabeau had not come up, James would have taken the sweet seduction he’d started yesterday as far as he could have.