Care and Feeding of Pirates

by Jennifer Ashley

"If we weren't out here, I'd want to bring you to climax with only my hand."

  "You're very nearly there, love."

  Christopher tilted her chin up and kissed her. Her kiss was practiced now, but only with what he'd taught her.

  Her hands ceased their delightful torture, and she wrapped her arms about his neck and held on, as she liked to do. She made a delicious armful. Christopher finished the kiss and held her close, stroking her back and burying his nose in the fine scent of her lacy cap.

  Behind her, the sheep stared, bits of grass dribbling from its mouth.

  "What are you looking at?" Christopher growled.

  Honoria turned in his arms, saw the sheep, and laughed. She shook wonderfully when she did that. The sheep gave them a bored look, lowered its head, and continued its luncheon.

  Christopher made to draw Honoria into his arms again, but she stepped away and hastily straightened her cap. "Christopher, I want to explain why you returning is so difficult for me."

  "It doesn't matter," he growled, not caring at this moment. "This has been a shock for you. You'll grow used to it."

  Honoria shook her head, making her sable curls dance. "No, I want you to understand. You died, Christopher. I loved you, and you died."

  He brushed her cheek with a light hand. "But I didn't, sweetheart. I'm here."

  "Please, let me explain. I had you and lost you in the space of a day. It hurt so much--I thought I would die."

  He touched her cheek. "I'm sorry, love. It killed me to be so far from you, to not be able to touch you."

  "I mourned you. And then I let you go. I had to--the grief made me ill. I tied a black ribbon around my box of mementos and pushed it to the back of the drawer."

  Christopher raised her hand to his lips. "At least you kept the mementos."

  Honoria didn't seem to hear him. "I'd lost the brother I loved more than my own life. He was my other self. A pirate shot him when he was miles away from me, and I couldn't even say good-bye to him. I lost him, and then I lost you. You coming back to life, the idea that I will have to go through grief like that again . . ." She shook her head, her eyes wet. "I don't know if I can do it, Christopher. If I'm strong enough for that. I missed you, I grieved for you, but now . . . Now, I don't know what to do."

  Her eyes glittered with tears as she looked past him at the too-tame landscape.

  Christopher had never embraced complicated emotions. He'd lived his life making instant decisions, yes or no, a or b. Second thoughts or too much pondering about a situation might be the difference between life and death.

  Every thought he'd had while he'd worked like a slave on the merchantman or fought his way back to this side of the world had been simple: Find Manda, find his crew, find Honoria. He'd never stopped to muse that Manda, his crew, or Honoria might not want him back. He couldn't, because if he let go of those simple goals, he'd die.

  Now Honoria struggled to accept that he'd sprung back into her life, and Christopher was realizing that getting her back wouldn't be quite a easy as he'd thought.

  "You don't have to know what to do," he said. "We are husband and wife, by license, in name, and in body, no matter what we feel. We start with that and take things as they come. Agreed?"

  Honoria had her head bowed, but not in submission. She was thinking--too much bloody thinking.

  "That will still be difficult," she said.

  "I never said it wouldn't be difficult. But we are married, and I'm not divorcing you, annulling the marriage, or leaving you behind. So we will have to find a way to deal together. Now, agreed?" He stuck out his hand.

  Honoria looked at it. "You are not giving me much of a choice."

  "No, I'm not."

  Honoria drew in a breath, but when she looked up at him, the pain had left her eyes and the determination had returned. "Very well, Christopher. We will begin with being married in name, and in body, and advance from there."

  She took his hand. Christopher closed his fingers over hers and jerked her to him.

  "Remember what you've said." He smiled a feral smile, his temper stirring again. What had happened to his slow match? "You've just agreed to be my wife in body. I will hold you to that in every way. Do you understand me?"

  Her chin came up. "You mean you expect me to obey you."

  "Every order I give. So if I tell you to take off your clothes and service me right here, even with your friends waiting for us down the hill, you'd do it?"

  Her eyes widened a little but they sparkled with defiance. "Yes."

  Her answer, and the clear voice with which she said it turned his ache for her into unbearable pain. Christopher yanked off the matron's cap, which he already hated, and sent it dancing away on the breeze. He pulled her up against him, lifting her from her feet, and forced his mouth on hers in a bruising kiss.

  Honoria's lips softened under his, her mouth opening to let him sweep his tongue inside. Whatever confusion she might feel, or tell herself she felt, her passion for her husband flared high.

  Christopher broke the kiss and set Honoria back down with a thump. She stared at him, her eyes wide, her loosened hair teasing her forehead. Disheveled, she looked so delectable.

  If they'd had time, and Manda were safe, and Finley and his wife weren't waiting down the hill, he'd have given the order in truth to see if she obeyed. But there was no time, damn it.

  His mood foul, Christopher seized Honoria's wrist and began towing her down the hill toward the waiting Finley and Alexandra.

  "We're going back already?" Honoria asked, disappointed.

  "You're lucky the sheep was here," he growled.

  *** *** ***

  Mr. Henderson returned as the picnic drew to a close. Honoria could eat nothing, and she noticed that Christopher only pushed his food around his plate.

  Alexandra had warned her, in the carriage, that explaining one's feelings to a man was always a tricky task. Gentlemen, Alexandra said, so intelligent in many ways, often fell short when it came to their emotions. They simply did not understand that which came so naturally to women.

  Honoria had not confessed to Alexandra the exact nature of her own feelings, and she wasn't certain that Alexandra was right.

  She did thank Alexandra for her idea of very literally interpreting Christopher's orders to buy whatever she wished. It had been quite useful to remind Christopher that Honoria would not be dutifully obedient, willing to be set aside until she was called for. Alexandra had smiled, pleased. A similar thing, she said, had worked well on Grayson when he and Alexandra had been stumbling through their own courtship.

  Mr. Henderson now adjusted his spectacles and accepted Alexandra's offer of wine and cake. He sipped wine, took a bite of cake, and dabbed his mouth with a napkin, the perfect gentleman.

  Christopher waited, surprisingly patient, for Mr. Henderson to set down the plate, clear his throat, and give his report.

  Switton had been flattered to receive Mr. Henderson's letter, and pleased to let Mr. Henderson pay a call to catch up on old times. However, when Henderson introduced the topic of Manda Raine, the man claimed to know nothing of her.

  Christopher's hands balled to fists, but his only change of expression was a whitening about his mouth.

  Mr. Henderson continued that Lord Switton had extended an invitation to them all to attend a garden party the earl and his wife were hosting the next day. If Christopher went, he could question the man directly.

  Christopher nodded once. Tension emanated from him, but still he remained silent.

  "But," Mr. Henderson concluded, "I do not believe the ladies should go."

  The ladies, of course, clamored to know why not.

  "The earl is unsavory," Mr. Henderson said, his mouth turning down. "He likes to talk about women--in detail--ladies and courtesans both."

  "But if his wife will be there," Alexandra said, "it should be perfectly proper."

  "Yes, but Switton still struck me as odd," Henderson said. He took another sip of claret. "I hadn't seen hi
m since I was a boy, and I don't remember him well. But there is something--many things in fact--that I don't like about him."

  "We all go," Christopher said. He sat a little apart from the others, one arm circling his bent knee. He looked enticing like that, his coat open, his shirt parted at his throat. "Honoria and Alexandra can corner the earl's wife and question her while Finley and I tackle the earl."

  "What does your sister look like?" Henderson asked. "I saw two ladies passing through one of the lower halls, but I could not see them clearly."

  "Tall," Christopher said tersely. "Slim. Black hair. Looks like she could kick you from here to Jamaica, and probably could."

  "Does she have black skin?"

  Christopher's head snapped around. He rose to his feet in one smooth movement, like a lion who has scented prey. "You've seen her."

  *****

  Chapter Eleven

  "Might have seen her," Henderson corrected. "There was not much light in the halls, and more than one woman in England has black skin."

  Honoria watched Christopher pull himself in, trying to calm himself, and failing utterly.

  "If you are contemplating rushing over there and beating information out of the earl, do not," Mr. Henderson said sternly. "Switton saw me watching the ladies and told me they would attend the party. If we behave like civilized gentlemen . . ."

  Grayson broke in. "But we aren't civilized gentlemen. We're pirates."

  Henderson gave him a deprecating look. "Nonetheless, it's best to get a feel for the lay of the land. Charging in headfirst will do more harm than good."

  "I agree with Henderson," Christopher interrupted. He'd gone cold as ice-covered granite, his eyes chill windows to the man inside. "We'll watch the house tonight to see that nobody leaves it, then we'll attend this garden party. If Manda is not there, and Switton truly knows nothing about her, then we leave him alone." He let his gaze drift in the direction of the Lord Switton's house, as though he could see it through the hills. "But if he has my sister against her will, then God have mercy on his soul."

  The words were quiet, but Christopher's hand curled until the skin over his knuckles whitened through the tan.

  The gesture told Honoria that Christopher felt about this sister the way Honoria had felt about Paul. If she'd thought Paul a prisoner in the earl's house, Honoria would not have stopped herself flying there to rescue him by any means necessary.

  This small measure of understanding brought her a step closer to the man she'd married. Honoria said nothing to Christopher as she busied herself helping Alexandra clear up the picnic, but she felt just a little bit better.

  *** *** ***

  The earl's wife looked a kindly sort of woman whose only vice was using too much rouge. The small-statured lady greeted her guests in the main hall of the crowded house the next afternoon with undisguised delight.

  "Lord and Lady Stoke, I am honored."

  Lady Switton was a step above Viscount and Viscountess Stoke in rank, but she appeared to be quite happy that Grayson and Alexandra had condescended to appear at her party. Grayson, in turn, presented Honoria and Christopher.

  The countess was as delighted with them, and she'd met Mr. Henderson the afternoon before. "I am so pleased you have returned, Mr. Henderson. A single man is not alone long at one of my gatherings, I vow. I have some of the prettiest ladies in England in my garden." She laughed too loudly, and Henderson's smile became strained.

  Lady Switton turned to her next guests, and Alexandra and Honoria withdrew to an antechamber to freshen themselves while the men went on to the gardens.

  The withdrawing room was empty, to Honoria's relief. They seated themselves at dressing tables set here for ladies' convenience, Honoria tucking a stray lock of hair into her coiffure.

  "Lady Switton does not look guilty of anything but being rather silly," Alexandra said, straightening her sleeve. "I never see the Swittons in Town. They keep themselves to themselves. Not really in anyone's circle."

  "Perhaps they prefer the country," Honoria said.

  "You are charitable, my dear. I think perhaps people simply do not like them."

  Honoria withdrew a hairpin and reaffixed it. "I was trying to be polite."

  In truth, Honoria cared very little about the persons of Lord and Lady Switton. She, like Christopher, only wanted to know if they held Christopher's sister and whether they could get her free.

  Christopher had been closemouthed and chill yesterday afternoon and evening, spending most of his time with Henderson watching the Switton house. Honoria had wanted to explain to him that she understood his need to find his sister, that she was prepared to help in any way she could. But she'd not been given the chance. Christopher had been distant, in a close knot with Henderson and Grayson, or simply not there.

  He'd returned to the inn last night long after Honoria had gone to bed. In the gray light of dawn, Christopher had awakened her and made love to her swiftly and perfunctorily.

  Then he'd departed once more, leaving her hot, tired, and bereft. Honoria had not seen him again until she'd descended from the landau at the Switton house.

  "If Lord and Lady Switton are so unpopular," Honoria said now, "why are so many people here?"

  Alexandra shrugged. "It is summer and garden parties are popular, and we are so near Epsom Downs. People will forgive anything for a few tips on the races."

  That was likely true. Honoria studied her reflection. Her color was high, her eyes sparkling. She had to admit that she'd looked much better since she'd thrown her reputation to the wind and admitted she'd married Christopher. A strange thing, but there it was.

  Alexandra finished, and she and Honoria left the withdrawing room to join the garden party.

  The Earl of Switton's house was a Palladian mansion that had been redecorated in the austere classical style of about twenty years before. A black-and-white marble hall ran the length of the house, leading to the gardens. They passed a sweeping staircase on the way, leading upward to a wide gallery, all walls covered with the previous earls and countesses, children, horses, and dogs.

  The garden opened from the base of a marble terrace with a view of the downs. Green and graveled paths led between pristine beds of flowers, pruned hedges, and topiary. Fountains trickled in corners, and the main path led to a series of fountains, each larger than the last, pouring water into huge granite basins. The fountains' spray gushed high, and any passing breeze showered the guests with cold droplets of water.

  Alexandra and Honoria found their gentlemen on one of the lawns, speaking to Lord Switton.

  The earl was much as Honoria had supposed he would be, a man in his fifties, plump from port and beefsteak, red-faced from the same. He was straight-backed and dressed impeccably--in short, a typical English country peer.

  Christopher, Mr. Henderson, and Grayson stood arrayed before him, three broad-shouldered men in black coats. Christopher's wheat-colored hair was plaited into a single tail, held in place with a plain black ribbon. Queues were no longer in fashion for military or naval men, but Christopher's seemed to be accepted and admired by every passing lady.

  Christopher, oblivious of this attention, kept his cold gaze on Lord Switton while letting him drone on.

  When Mr. Henderson introduced the earl to Honoria and Alexandra, Honoria at once understood why Mr. Henderson had not liked the man.

  Lord Switton focused brown eyes on Honoria as he raised her hand to his lips in greeting. His gaze was too interested, too assessing, as though the earl busily speculated about exactly what Honoria looked like beneath her clothing. Behind his geniality, Honoria saw no kindness, only pure, prurient interest.

  She saw Grayson put a protective hand on Alexandra's arm and draw her closer to him. Christopher was not as overtly protective, but under his stare, the earl released Honoria's hand rather more quickly than he'd taken it.

  Honoria curtseyed and held her fan demurely, incidentally using it to cover her bare neck and bosom.

  "What charm
ing ladies," the earl said. "I understand now why you did not want to leave them behind."

  Grayson's hand tightened on Alexandra's arm. Christopher did not touch Honoria, but she sensed him as tense as a violin string. Mr. Henderson took a surreptitious step closer to both ladies, regarding Switton as would a watchful guard dog.

  Lord Switton went on a bit about the Derby, which would occur in a few weeks, then he declared he would continue his duties as host, leaving the gentlemen to their so-charming ladies. He began to walk away, then stopped as though remembering something.

  "You will join me won't you, for my piece de resistance?" Again, Switton's gaze seemed to try to sneak beneath Honoria's clothing. "I'll unveil it at three o'clock. You will not be disappointed, I think."

  Without waiting for reply, he turned and strolled away.

  "I do not like that man," Grayson growled.

  "He's a boor," Mr. Henderson said. "His grandfather obtained the title only because he knew some titillating gossip about Queen Anne. The peerage was apparently granted to shut his mouth."

  Grayson slid his arm around Alexandra. "My love, I am torn between wanting to send you far from here and not wanting to let you out of my sight."

  "I thought we were supposed to quiz the countess," Alexandra said.

  "I've changed my mind. You will stay next to me until this is finished."

  Henderson said, "We will have to find out things somehow. The sooner I can leave this place the better. Lord Switton makes even conversing with Finley seem pleasant."

  "Well said," Grayson drawled. "Let us talk to people, ladies and gentlemen, and then meet for the piece de resistance. I have a feeling it will be important."

  He walked away, Alexandra's hand held firmly under his arm. Henderson took out his quizzing glass and moved in the opposite direction.

  Honoria was left alone with her fierce, silent husband.

  After a time, she said softly, "You do know, Christopher, that society will look askance if you shoot the earl."

  Christopher's eyes were like cold glass. "Do you think I give a damn?"