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."
Christopher's shirt smelled clean, of washing soap, overlaid with his male scent. Not fair. Honoria loved him so near, she'd always loved that. Perhaps that was why every time they met, she flung herself into his arms.
"We were speaking of Charleston," she said.
He kissed the line of her hair. "We can have beds there too."
"We'd live there? You're a pirate. Besides, everyone in Charleston thinks you were hanged."
"I'll change my name. People can be amazingly obtuse, my wife. But we can live anywhere you like. I'll buy you a house, two houses, three even, in case you get tired of the first one."
She touched his cheek, enjoying the feel of the sandpaper bristles there. "Where I'd live while you went out pirating again? Until my brother caught you a second time?"
His face was close to hers, his body heavy and warm. "I have more imagination than that. You can have anything you want, your own tropical island if that's what you like. And I'd be there with you. Every day. Finley retired from pirating, and so can I."
"Because he became a viscount. And had a daughter. And fell in love."
"I'll never inherit a title, I promise you that. But I fell in love. As for a daughter, well, that's up to you."
"Is that what you want? Children?"
"I want you. If children come, so much the better." Christopher traced the pad of her lower lip. "And I know you want me."
Honoria swallowed, her throat dry. "How can you know that?"
Christopher moved his hand and the clasp holding her gown came away. He'd distracted her by touching her lips, and now he tossed away the clasp with a satisfied look.
He lowered the muslin to bare her shoulder and one breast, which was already lifting and tightening to fit his hand.
"I can feel you wanting me." He slid his fingers under the loosened gown to her abdomen, his palm warm. Without meaning to, she arched to his touch.
Giving a soft laugh, he moved his hand obligingly over the heat between her legs. "As brazen as I remember."
Her face heated, but she could not bring herself to squirm from his touch. It felt so right. She loved it.
"You'd stay with me, just because I want you?" she asked.
He smiled a dark smile. "For now. But I get to try, my wife."
She barely heard him as his fingers teased the sensitive folds between her legs. Hot darkness wove through her body.
Christopher went on, "I said, it's a long voyage." He slid one finger firmly inside her, and Honoria groaned.
"Every night," he went on, and his fingers did too. "I will persuade you to fall in love with me. I will try every method I know, and if that means I seduce you every night, so be it. By the time we're across the sea, if you still do not want to be my wife, then I will take you to Charleston and let you go. But you will give me this voyage."
He pressed a second finger into her, his touch strong. Something wild spun inside her. "All right," Honoria whispered.
His gaze was intense, pupils swallowing the cold gray irises. "Excellent. Shall we seal the bargain?"
"With a handshake?"
"No." He snaked his other hand to the nape of her neck, pulled her up to him, and kissed her. A slow, hot kiss filled with promise of a very exciting voyage indeed.
As Christopher he finished the kiss, he eased his fingers out of her. The disappointment was unbearable. "No, Christopher, please don't stop."
"You'll hurt your ankle."
"I feel much better. I think I only wrenched it."
He brushed his palm over the join of her thighs one last time. "I love your fire, my wife. You bury it behind your proper lady's mask, but it's there."
"No one but you has ever seen it."
"Good." He touched his fingers to his lips, tasted one with his tongue. "Mmm. Sweet as ever."
He gave her a warm smile, and Honoria's heart turned over. Christopher stretched out on his side and draped his arm over her.
"Tomorrow I'll take you to my ship," he said. "You'll need to send for or buy what you need. I'll give you the money for it. Shop to your heart's content."
"Tomorrow? No, that's too soon. I need--"
He stopped her lips with his. "It is not too soon. We've waited for years."
Honoria's ankle hurt, the pain cutting through the fierce longing he'd stirred. "You rush me into things every time. I never have a chance to think about what I want, or how I feel. We never talk about what we feel."
Christopher lifted a loose curl from her cheek. "No, we act on what we feel."
"But what if it's the wrong thing to feel?"
His eyes glinted. "You like to talk things to death, my wife. We feel instinct. We can't keep our hands off each other. Nothing more to be said."
He was already driving her mad. Instinct, he said. Instinct was killing her. "But, we really should discuss--"
Christopher growled and kissed her, effectively silencing her. He slid his hand beneath her costume again, across her bare flesh.
"Rest, love. I want you well to get on my ship."
Christopher pulled the blanket back over her and started to rise, but Honoria caught his arm. Words welled up in her throat, and none came out.
Christopher waited, his eyes watchful, though his face was calm. She traced the muscle of his forearm. "Stay," she whispered.
Honoria thought he'd shake his head and leave her cold and forlorn, but Christopher lay down beside her again. The bed sagged with his weight, rolling her against him.
She could not explain that she needed time to savor him, to become used to the idea that he was alive and whole. "I'm not ready, yet," she whispered.
Christopher obviously did not understand, but he didn't argue. He drew her back against him, his chest to her back, and draped his arm over her side. Honoria snuggled into him, feeling oddly contented.
Her sleepless night, the dancing, the dreadful day, and the shock of seeing Christopher again dissolved against his warmth. The hardness pressing into her hip was unmistakable, and warming. Christopher wanted her, but he'd hold it at bay. For now.
Honoria's limbs loosened, and she slept.
When she awoke again, the room was full of people. Christopher lay behind her, his hand heavy on the curve of her waist.
Honoria started up, clutching her sagging costume, and met the gazes of a shocked Alexandra, a surprised Diana, a grinning Grayson, and a furious Mr. Henderson.
*****
Chapter Seven
It was over. Honoria was alone again, sitting on the bed in Alexandra's chamber. The cheval mirror at the foot of the bed told her she'd stood before her friends and family confessing her sins with one layer of her costume loose. The dark areola of her right breast pressed the thin fabric beneath. No wonder Christopher had looked amused.
The others had not. The news that Honoria was married to Christopher had come as a great surprise to all except, of course, Diana.
Mr. Templeton had behaved very well. He accepted Honoria's apology with dignity, and promised that the engagement would end quietly. He would not ask for compensation for breach of contract--after all, he'd wanted to marry for companionship, not Honoria's money. He'd been so reasonable that Honoria had almost grown angry at him.
Now Christopher and Grayson were off talking about other matters, as though relieved all the nonsense was over. Men.
Diana entered the room, followed by Alexandra. Diana's sweet perfume engulfed Honoria as she enfolded her sister-in-law in her arms. "That was brave of you, dearest."
"Indeed," Alexandra said. She sank onto the bed and gave Honoria her kind smile. "It is most difficult to explain to your friends that you've fallen in love with a roguish pirate. Believe me."
Honoria leaned into the comfort of Diana's embrace. She said to Alexandra, "At least yours is a viscount."
"In name," Alexandra said, her smile widening. "Not in spirit."
"And mine is an out-and-out villain," Diana said. "Wanted by the English Admiralty who long to hang him. Not an easy thing to explain to your great aunt in Coombe St. Mary." She smoothed Honoria's hair. "Would you like me to break the news to James for you?"
"No, I will do it. I am not afraid of James."
"He will have much to say," Diana warned.
"Then let him say it," Honoria said tiredly. "I am no longer interested in my brother's opinions."
The other two exchanged a glance. Diana was madly in love James, and Alexandra had always had a soft spot for him. Why, Honoria could not fathom. James could make her grind her teeth to nubs. He was so arrogant. But ladies had always been attracted to James, heaven help them.
"I am happy you both are pleased for me," Honoria said, then she, who seldom cried, let herself find comfort in tears.
*** *** ***
The home Christopher took her to was a brigantine, a two-masted ship, moored in Greenwich. He'd christened it the Starcross.
The Starcross lay small under a graying sky, her bare masts black, her rich wood sides low in the river. The ship had been stripped and her hull refinished, the quarterdeck removed to render the top deck one long surface.
The captain's quarters had been rebuilt below the deck and fitted with many-paned windows called lights. The beams, walls, and ceiling had been painted white, giving the cabin an airy look, but the quarters were cramped.
Christopher's main cabin held a desk, cabinets, and the log book. A small room opening to the port side contained more cabinets and a bed large enough for two.
Honoria studied the bed in some irritation. Ship's carpenters built the bunk to fit the man, so the sleeper had a better chance of staying abed in high seas. She glared at the obvious double bed and then at Christopher.
"You assumed I would come away with you."
Christopher leaned against the doorframe. He'd said little between Mayfair and Greenwich, sitting in the shadows of the hired carriage, not offering conversation.
"The carpenter finished it this morning, before I came to fetch you."
The bed was a mere box, bare of mattress and coverlets. Honoria had brought a few quilts with her, courtesy of Diana, but she saw that she'd have few comforts here.
Christopher entered the tiny cabin. He slid his arms around her waist from behind, resting his cheek on her hair. "It's a fine ship. Good bones. Do you like it?"
Honoria leaned back into him without meaning to, liking the feeling of his arms around her. She knew enough of ships to know this one was sleek, solid, and well built. "It's a bit small," she said.
"Small and fast. Built for speed." Christopher reached above him and fondly touched a beam. "She'll take us where we need to go."
Honoria also knew that men could go on at great length about their ships if not stopped. "Where are we going? Charleston?"
Christopher gave her an unreadable look. He hadn't answered her about Charleston last night, and it seemed he had no intention of doing so now.
"We'll leave soon," he said, his breath stirring the fine hairs at her hairline. "Take the time to get settled. I have unfinished business in London."
She looked at him in surprise. "If we are not leaving immediately, you might have let me stay with Diana a little longer."
Christopher stepped away from her, and she felt suddenly cold. "We must be ready to leave on an instant. You won't have time for tearful farewells."
He'd abandoned the gentleman's suit from the night before and returned to his black broadcloth breeches, boots, and a shirt. The shirt was open enough to reveal the end strokes of the tattoo on his collarbone, a Chinese dragon with overlapping scales.
He had another tattoo on his hip, that of a lion, a Chinese creature with claws held ready to attack. The last time Honoria had seen it, she'd traced it with her tongue.
Christopher caught her gaze on him and shot her a sinful smile.
She flushed and said swiftly, "I meant that I was in such a hurry to leave Diana's I didn't have time to pack enough. I will need bedding."
His smile widened. "I know. I plan to bed you every night."
"You know what I mean. A featherbed and pillows. And a chair."
"I can bed you in a chair as well."
"Christopher!"
His eyes were sparkling, teasing, but behind the teasing lay a watchfulness, anger at bay but still present.
"I meant that I cannot live in a bedroom without a chair," Honoria said. "I need a place to sit."
"Sit on that." Christopher pointed to a small bench-like seat in the corner with a lid and a clasp.
Honoria knew what that was. When the lid was raised, a round hole opened to the water below. She'd be able to relieve herself here, in private, instead of making her way to the bows and the head, where she'd be visible to the entire crew.
She gave him her best proper-lady look. "I meant somewhere more elegant."
Christopher's continued grin told her he knew good and well what she'd meant.
He led her into the main cabin, opened one of the cupboards, and pulled out a pouch that jingled. "Take this, go into Greenwich, and go shopping. Buy what you like. Curtains, carpets, whatever fripperies you need to make yourself comfortable."
He was being much too capitulating. "Anything I want?" Honoria asked, studying the pouch. "What if you don't like what I buy?"
Christopher took her hand and closed her fingers around the pouch. "I'll throw it overboard. Enjoy yourself."
Honoria toyed with the pouch's drawstrings. "Will you come with me?"
"To feather the marriage nest? No, love, that is your preserve. I have pirate things to do."
"What?" she asked, suddenly worried. "What did you need to speak with Grayson about last night? He was the true reason you came to Alexandra's ball, wasn't he? It had nothing to do with me."
"You're right," he said, with painful bluntness. "I've been reduced to begging help from Grayson Finley."
"Help with what?"
"Help finding the last of my crew. Rescuing her if necessary."
Honoria's brows went up. "Her?"
Christopher nodded. "Manda Raine. My sister."
*** *** ***
Christopher made his way back upriver and met Grayson and the ubiquitous Mr. Henderson in a tavern near Covent Garden. Smells of ale, cabbage, horses, humans, and warm river wafted through the open door and settled inside the close room.
Henderson wore a fine cashmere suit, dandified cravat, and boots so shiny he must have to polish them every time he crossed a street. Christopher wondered how the man managed to survive on board ship where baths were scarce and dirt was a way of life.
Finley, on the other hand, looked comfortable in a loose coat and shirt, worn breeches and boots. The viscount's Mayfair house was lavish, his wealth vast, his wife respected, his position in society assured, yet he still looked more at home in a working-class tavern.
"You miss it," Christopher said.
Finley knew exactly what he was talking about. "I do sometimes."
"You could always go back to sea."
Finley shrugged, wrapping his hands around his glass of ale. "Alexandra has her social calendar. The ladies, as you'll come to know, live by their social calendars."
Honoria could do all the socializing she wanted, during the day. At night, however . . . "What about you, Henderson?" Christopher asked. "Why aren't you out with your captain scouring the Barbary Coast?"
Henderson took a fastidious sip of port and wiped his fingers on his handkerchief. "I needed to visit my tailor."
"You braved interrogation by the Admiralty to buy a suit?"
Henderson looked surprised. "My tailor's Bond Street shop has been making clothing for the Hendersons for generations. There is none better in the world."
Finley shot Christopher a don't ask look and drank his ale.
Christopher knew that men from all walks of life ended up on the sea for various reasons. Ships, especially pirates, became a melting pot of many cultures and social strata. Christopher was half French and half English, though he'd been born and raised a pirate. He'd learned to tie lines and climb rigging at the same time he learned to walk.
Christopher's father, Emile Raine, had been a smalltime pirate of French birth who ran between Barbados and the Carolinas. His mother was an English captain's daughter who'd been sailing with her father on a merchantman bound for the West Indies. Her world and that of Emile Raine had collided after a larger band of pirates had raided the merchantman, murdered the captain and most of the crew, stolen the ship, and condemned the captain's daughter and the few men left alive to a longboat.
The Care & Feeding of Pirates Page 6