Care and Feeding of Pirates

by Jennifer Ashley

"I did not say I would look askance."

  He finally turned his gaze to her, the heat of it like fine sunshine after a week of fog. "I've shot men who irritated me less. You'll see much of my grim side if you choose life with me, my wife. I hope you are resilient."

  "I do not swoon, if that is what you mean" she said, lifting her chin. "Nor am I a watering pot."

  "Good." Christopher put his hand on her elbow and steered her toward the crowd, the heat of his fingers searing through the thin sleeves of her afternoon dress.

  He walked close by her side, the strength of him coming through his hand to fill her with a thrumming that threatened to undo her. Honoria kept her head up and refused to allow the heat of the day or Christopher's presence unnerve her. They needed to find Christopher's sister and take her from this awful place, and that was all.

  Honoria and Christopher spoke to no one. They moved through the garden, smiling politely and pretending to admire the flowers--or at least Honoria did. Christopher mostly bathed people in chill glances that made them draw back. Honoria wondered how long Christopher's patience would last before he tore the house apart to find out what he wanted to know.

  They ended their stroll at the bottom of the summer garden. A large fountain trickled quietly, empty benches around it. Behind a thin stand of trees, a green lawn led to a lake that stretched flat and gray to hills. None of the guests had come this far--most remained near the center of the garden and the food and drink there.

  Christopher released Honoria, placed his hands behind his back, and gazed across the silvered lake. His face was still, his jaw rigid.

  Honoria wanted to comfort him, to say Don't worry, we'll find her.

  But she knew that finding Manda Raine was by no means certain. People disappeared all the time--they were lost at sea, or died of illness far from home, or became lost in some remote place, penniless and unable to return. If Manda had black skin, though she was a free woman, the chances of her being captured and sold as a slave were high.

  The free black men and women of Charleston had to carry papers with them at all times to prove themselves free. The darker their skin, the more they were harassed for them. If Christopher's sister had been raised aboard an English or French ship, if she had been free from birth with no papers to prove it, then she might be captured and sold to work the fields of Jamaica or Antigua, her captor claiming her an escaped slave.

  Honoria moved closer to Christopher and put her hand on his rigid arm. His gaze swiveled to her, pale lashes hiding the gray.

  She liked the solidness of his arm beneath the coat, hard with muscle, rocklike, immovable. She let her fingers drift along his forearm, enjoying the warm feel of him.

  No matter what her head told her, her heart and body craved him. Honoria knew now that parting with him was out of the question.

  She stroked Christopher's arm, idiotically happy to be touching him. She had no business wanting him, here in this overly ostentatious garden, while he searched for his sister. But her body ached, reacting to his nearness.

  As though he sensed her longing, Christopher slid his hand to her back and pulled her to him for a kiss.

  He tasted of champagne, and Honoria's desire built to a flood. She almost forgot about where she was, and why they'd come. She was only aware of his mouth forming to hers, his warm hand on her back, his breath on her cheek. Perhaps they could sidle behind a hedgerow and continue what they started. Perhaps he would slide his hands over her body and never stop.

  Thank heavens Christopher had self-control. The village church clock was chiming as he ended the kiss and eased his mouth from hers.

  "It is three," he said. "On to our host's entertainment."

  Honoria caught her breath, flustered. "Yes, of course."

  Christopher tucked her trembling hand under his arm and began to guide her back to the main part of the garden.

  Honoria spied Lord Switton not far away, half hidden by a corner of the large fountain. The earl was gazing straight at them, a knowing smile on his face.

  "Dear heavens, Lord Switton saw us. How embarrassing."

  "He doesn't mind," Christopher said as they walked. "He's a voyeur. He likes watching. He told me."

  Honoria felt slightly sick. "How unsavory."

  "For now, I want him to think me as unsavory as he is, until I can get solid information out of him."

  Honoria looked up at Christopher and the grim anger on his face. "You think Manda is his piece de resistance."

  He nodded. "If she is here, that is what she will be."

  Christopher propelled her onward, his stride slow but strong. If Manda did prove to be Switton's prize, the earl's only worries would be which method Christopher would use when he killed him.

  They joined the crowd gathering near a folly at the end of the garden, the kind of building wealthy gentlemen constructed on their grounds to pretend they enjoyed Greek architecture. Today the folly was being used as a stage. Curtains screened it from the rest of the guests, while footmen wove through the throng with glasses of champagne and port for the gentlemen, rattafia and lemonade for the ladies. Two footmen were stationed on the steps to keep the curious away.

  Christopher guided Honoria with his hand on the small of her back until they joined Grayson, Alexandra, and Mr. Henderson near the folly. Honoria scanned the guests around her but she recognized no one--presumably these people did not figure into Diana's rather quiet London circle. In fact, she recognized no one but . . .

  "Mr. Templeton!"

  She said it out loud, so great was her surprise. Mr. Templeton stood not far from them, and for the first time since Honoria had met him, he did not have his mother with him. That he'd attend any social gathering without his mother was as much of a shock as seeing him here at all.

  Mr. Templeton turned as he heard his name, and his face went scarlet. "Miss Ardmore . . . er . . . Mrs. Raine. Pleasant day for a garden party."

  "Indeed."

  Mr. Templeton cleared his throat, but instead of saying more, he bowed, looking embarrassed, and edged out of sight.

  "What on earth is he doing here?" Honoria asked.

  Alexandra moved to stand next to her. "Yes, quite a surprise to see him at a gathering like this. Mr. Templeton is usually so punctilious."

  "He's sowing his wild oats," Christopher said mildly.

  Before Honoria could ask what on earth Christopher meant by that bizarre statement, Lord Switton walked up the steps to stand front of the draperies.

  He held up his hands, and his guests quieted. "We must be cautious, my friends," Lord Switton said, his voice rolling across them. "We have a wild animal in our midst, and it must not be allowed to escape."

  Little sounds of excitement ran through the crowd. Ladies fanned themselves.

  "Do not worry," the earl went on. "We will keep it caged. But in the event that it escapes, do look to yourselves." He paused, letting the words have their effect. "However, we have taken all steps to ensure your safety." He nodded, and two more footmen approached the folly. "Who here among us is willing to help me tame the savage beast?"

  The footmen snatched the curtains away.

  The object behind it was a cage. Made of wood, it looked plenty sturdy, and was large enough for a man to walk about in.

  Standing in the middle of it, head up, black eyes defiant, her form swathed in a leopard's skin that barely covered her, stood a woman. She was tall and slim, with sleek black hair, dark eyes, and creamy black skin. She looked very angry, but her anger was nothing compared to what Honoria saw in Christopher's eyes.

  *****

  Chapter Twelve

  Christopher's slow match burned out. He had no clear memory of handing Honoria off to Henderson, but he found himself moving toward the folly with the determination of a lava flow.

  Manda turned her head and saw him. Her dark eyes flickered once before she deliberately turned away, her expression neutral, as though she'd not just seen her brother alive again after four years of believing him
dead.

  "Mr. Raine," Lord Switton cried in delight. "Will you be the first to take on our Amazon?"

  Christopher sprang up the steps to the cage's door. Laughter and applause sounded and, this being England, men started calling out wagers. "Twenty guineas on the Amazon!"

  "Let me in," Christopher said to Switton.

  Switton beamed at him. "Mrs. Raine indulges you, does she? 'Tis a fine thing to have an understanding wife." He nodded at the two footmen, took a key from his pocket, and leaned to speak quietly to Christopher. "If you take her down, you may have her. If you don't, we will try to remove you in one piece. She's a Fury."

  Manda and Christopher exchanged glances through the bars, black eyes meeting gray. They'd learned long ago to understand each other without speaking.

  Christopher sensed Honoria watching intently. She had not offered argument or questioning, had not tried to stop him. She seemed to know what Christopher needed to do.

  He removed his coat and cravat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. When Christopher was ready, Switton passed the key to one of the footmen, who unlocked the cage with an unsteady hand.

  The footman quickly opened the cage door and allowed Christopher to slip inside, then at once closed the door and locked it again.

  Manda paced like the animal Switton claimed her to be, nervous and restless. She wore nothing but the stupid leopard skin, which would no doubt drop from her body as soon as she began fighting. Manda would not care, but it was one more reason Switton would die.

  Christopher wondered if any man had bested her yet. From the fierce look in Manda's eyes, he knew that answer was No.

  He made a signal that would be visible only to her. Manda nodded imperceptibly, then came at him, launching her foot at Christopher's face. Christopher easily blocked her kick, then they began sparring, falling into patterns that they'd learned years and years ago.

  By some chance, the leopard skin stayed in place, much to the crowd's disappointment. Wagers on the fight, however, came thick and fast, some on Christopher, most on Manda.

  Perspiration glittered on Manda's dark skin. The gentlemen sang out lewd compliments to her, but Manda ignored them. Her gaze was on Christopher, watching him for instructions.

  They'd done this so many times together, practicing to stay fit or staging fights in taverns to win wagers. Manda kicked again, and Christopher caught her foot and spun her away. He made to grab her, and she easily evaded him, landing a punch on his back as he went by.

  Four years since Christopher had seen her, yet they fell into their patterns with ease. His heart beat hard with relief and joy. Manda was alive, and she was whole.

  He'd had no clear idea of what to do when he'd sprung up here, only anger, burning and intense. Christopher made himself calm, working out a strategy that would fit with what he, Finley, and Henderson had already planned for Manda's rescue.

  Christopher signaled Manda again, and she responded with another barely perceptible nod. When she next rushed him, she caught his shirt and pulled it from his body.

  The crowd gasped. Christopher heard Honoria's shocked intake of breath, and he knew why. The horrific scars on his side, which he'd hidden from her thus far, were now bared for all to see.

  Manda quickly twisted the shirt into one long piece of cloth. When Christopher came at her again, she looped it around his neck and pulled it tight.

  Manda was strong. Christopher tensed his neck muscles, but still felt the burn of the lawn on his throat. He coughed. Manda's slim arms worked as she pulled him backward, and Christopher clawed at the cloth, not entirely pretending. Men cheered as Manda made a show of tightening the shirt about his neck.

  "Please, someone help him!" Honoria's cry echoed over the noise. "Please! She's killing him!"

  Christopher heard Finley bellowing, quite close, "Get that cage open!"

  The key rattled in the lock, and the wooden gate swung open. Manda abruptly let go of the shirt, and as one, she and Christopher sprinted for the opening. Finley had already pushed one of the footmen from the stage, and Christopher sent the other flying after him.

  By now the crowd was in tumult, ladies screaming and men cursing. Gentlemen leapt forward, ready to stop Manda, ready to stop Christopher. Christopher heard the sound of fists hitting flesh as Finley pummeled them back.

  Manda kicked, and men ducked out of her way, but they were drunk and frenzied and wanted to fight. The crowd closed around them, ready to pull down both Manda and Christopher.

  Christopher heard a sudden, high-pitched scream, followed by agitated voices. Alexandra cried, "Help, help! Oh, help! Mrs. Raine has fainted!"

  Christopher grinned tightly. They were treasures, both of them. He'd show Honoria later how much he appreciated her timely intervention.

  First they had to get away. At Alexandra's cry, about a third of the fighters turned back, pleased to find an activity less dangerous. The other two-thirds battled on gleefully, eager to beat down the fugitives.

  Then Henderson appeared, a pistol in his hand. At the sight of the long-barreled gun held by a man who looked more than able to use it, more of the fighters changed their minds. They turned away with cries of, "Steady on, man."

  A final clump of men barred their path. Half drunk on port, their fighting blood up, they prepared to take back the Amazon any way they could.

  A small figure rocketed around Christopher and dove at the gentlemen in their path. The tails of his frock coat made him look even more like a small, determined comet. Rupert Templeton brandished something, someone's sword stick most likely, and shouted at the men in the way.

  They stared at him like wolves watching a puppy who'd suddenly decided to attack the pack. The astonished amusement left their faces, however, when Mr. Templeton started jabbing them with his sword point. Men shouted and reached for him, giving Christopher and Manda a clear path to the lake.

  Manda ran. Her foot caught on a clump of grass, and Henderson caught her arm to steady her.

  She drew back, ready to strike him, but Christopher stopped her. "He's with us. Finley, get the ladies."

  Grayson was already turning back. Christopher, Manda, and Henderson ran on through the elegant garden, down the green to the lake. As they passed Mr. Templeton, he stopped and saluted.

  Christopher acknowledged this by dragging Mr. Templeton out of the way of the enraged dandies and shoving him back toward the garden. Templeton ran, shouting all the way, a man enjoying his first triumph in battle.

  Manda, Henderson, and Christopher sprinted for the flat sheet of water stretching from the estate to empty hills beyond. One small boat lay at the end of the little pier.

  Much of the pursuit had dropped behind, most of the gentlemen at the soiree liking little more exercise than a Sunday stroll. The rest, the fit ones, still reveled in the chase. They laughed, they made ribald commentary, they joked about what they would do to Manda when they caught her.

  Christopher's boots pounded on the pier, and then he, Manda, and Henderson dropped into the boat. Christopher found the two pistols he'd readied the night before and pointed them both at the gentleman at the head of the pursuit. "Stop," he said clearly.

  The man threw up his hands and halted, his boots scraping the boards of the pier. The men behind him piled into him one by one.

  Henderson unlocked the oars and rowed away. The pier, not meant to hold ten drunken gentlemen pounding and shouting, gently crumpled and fell into the water.

  Christopher uncocked his pistols and sat down, ignoring the splashing and chaos behind him.

  He was shirtless, Manda mostly naked. Henderson's clothes were still impeccable, his spectacles gleaming in the moonlight. Even Henderson's hair was unruffled.

  Manda looked at Christopher and said, "What the hell are you doing still alive?"

  "Looking for you," Christopher said. "Here, Henderson, take the tiller. I'm too cold not to row."

  They exchanged places. Henderson paused long enough to unbutton his coat and drape it ove
r Manda's bare shoulders.

  Christopher held his breath, waiting for Manda to grab Henderson's wrist and toss him over the side. Instead she stared at him as though she'd never seen anything like him before.

  She turned to Christopher as Henderson sat down again. "So you didn't really get hanged? I should have known."

  "Raines are hard to kill." Christopher grunted a little against the pull of the oars. Now that his adrenaline was cooling, he wanted a strong drink and a good tumble with Honoria, and he wanted both right now.

  Henderson cleared his throat. "I'd find this reunion a bit more touching if I knew Honoria and Lady Stoke were safe."

  "Finley will get them to the carriage." Christopher smiled to himself, thinking about drawing Honoria into his arms as soon as he saw her again.

  Of course, she'd seen the ruin of his torso when Manda had stripped off his shirt, and she'd have many questions. He felt Manda's gaze on him, she wanting to ask as well, but deciding to wait for a better time.

  Henderson grimaced. "There's water all over the bottom of this boat. That is the end of my shoes. I hope you appreciate this, Miss Raine."

  Manda gaped at him again. Christopher didn't think anyone had referred to Manda as Miss Raine in her life.

  "I don't call this much of a boat," she said deprecatingly.

  "I call it the best we could find at the time," Henderson answered, words clipped.

  "Then I call you a strange rescuer," she said. "Shouldn't you be having lemonade with the queen?"

  Henderson growled. "I call you damned ungrateful. We barely got you away."

  "From a crowd of dead-drunk dandies? Not much of a challenge."

  She was tense, her hands gripping the gunwale, her voice shaking. Christopher saw that, but Henderson looked peevish. "I'd call it your lucky day," Henderson said.

  The boat pulled harder against the oars, and then a sudden wave of cold water engulfed Christopher's boots and cashmere breeches. "And this, my friends," he said, keeping his voice light. "Is called sinking."

  "Good thing pirates can swim," Manda said. She threw off Henderson's coat and dove over the side in a graceful curve, the leopard skin falling away. Christopher shoved aside the oars and followed her.