Care and Feeding of Pirates (28 page)

In this pool, he found his wife.

Honoria hadn't bound up her hair, only pulled
it back, and the black tail floated on the water. Her body, white,
sleek, and graceful, gleamed in a slice of sunshine as she swam
across the pool.

Christopher stood on the bank, supporting
himself by holding a branch above him. Honoria's white breasts
mounded up from the water, tapering to dark tips, and a brush of
black hair dusted the split of her thighs. She rolled over,
revealing smooth, creamy buttocks before she dove again under the
water's surface.

When she came up again, she noted Christopher
in the shadows. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, the tail of it
hanging between her breasts. "Hello, Christopher. Did you find the
gold?"

Christopher's aching cock told him to rip off
his clothes and dive in with her. "No, sweetheart. We'll look again
tomorrow."

His seductress smiled. "I imagine James is
wild with impatience."

"Yes, your brother wanted to row up to the
beach, find a huge chest labeled
Mexican Gold
, and haul it
away with him."

Honoria laughed. She was delectable. The
water lapped her hips, and her dark fall of hair curled wildly in
the damp.

There was nothing for it. Christopher
stripped off his shirt and boots, and his breeches soon followed.
Bare, he slid his body down into the pool, ignoring the chill bite
of the water.

Honoria waited while he swam to her, her
green eyes taking in his every movement. Christopher got to his
feet again in front of her, rising to his full height.

The buoyancy of the water let him lift her
easily. Honoria wrapped her legs around him, pressing herself
against his hardness without letting it slip inside. She rubbed him
a little, whether consciously or not, firing his blood.

Her heat belayed the chill of the water.
Christopher closed his eyes to kiss her, and she kissed him back,
tasting him to the corners of his mouth, just as he'd taught
her.

He'd taught her so many things. She'd been
innocence itself when they'd first met, gasping in shock when their
lips had touched for the first time. He'd given her a vast helping
of carnality in the daintily tiled room of her Charleston
townhouse. Honoria had been surprised by that carnality but not at
all unhappy with it.

The sweet girl tasted just as sweet now. He
let her finish playing in his mouth then he tilted her head back
and nibbled his way along her neck.

"Christopher." Her eyes were heavy,
languorous, her scent as fresh and clean as the water.

"Mmm?"

"I still feel as though I'm on the ship. As
though the land is going up and down."

"You will for a while, before you get used to
being still."

"Then I'll go back on the ship and have to
get used to that all over again."

He smiled. "Then I'll have to make you go up
and down all the time so you'll always be used to it."

She flushed. "I'd like that."

"Would you, brazen hussy?"

"I like how you make me feel." Honoria ran
her fingers through the wisps of his hair that had come loose from
the braid. "Is that so wrong?"

"I've no objection." He stroked her hair,
squeezing the water from it. "Be brazen with me all you want."

"We
are
married, after all."

"You were brazen with me before we were
married," he reminded her.

"Because I was so much in love with you."

He loved how her voice went dark and low when
she said that. Her clinging, wet body was doing wonderful things to
him, but Christopher delayed the satisfaction of slipping inside
her right away. He so rarely just got to hold her. He knew he'd
sprung back into her life out of nowhere and probably scared the
piss out of her. He'd not had time to build her confidence in him,
and her trust.

"I don't want you to stay with me because
it's your duty, Honoria," he said. "Go home with your brother, if
all you want is duty. Be dutiful to him instead."

She raised her head and looked at him, eyes
quiet. "You always tell me I should obey you."

"That's different." The cold water was not
calming his erection the slightest bit. "Though I enjoy ordering
you about. Not that you ever listen."

Her lashes were wet little points. "I would
never obey someone without question. That would be foolish,
possibly even dangerous."

"You should trust your husband to know what's
best."

That made her grin. "You're such a
man
, Christopher."

Christopher took her hand and closed it
around his arousal under the water. His cock throbbed even hotter,
hardening to its fullest length. "I think that's obvious."

Honoria blushed rosy red. He made himself let
go of her wrist, to let her do as she pleased. She squeezed a
little, experimenting, sending wild sensations through his body,
blotting out all thought.

"I meant that a man cannot possibly know
what's best for a woman," Honoria said.

Christopher let his eyes go soft,
surrendering to sensation. "Manda obeys my orders without
question."

"Manda knows you. She has learned when to
listen to you and when to ignore you."

"True."

Honoria snuggled closer, her fingers moving
along the length of his cock, and Christopher lost the thread of
what she was saying. He only heard her voice, the low Southern
tones that always drove him insane.

"I imagine I'll learn when to listen," she
said, "and when to tell you to go to the devil."

"Glad to hear it," he answered, jaw tight.
She squeezed so tightly that the sensation was almost like being
inside her. Almost. "You keep doing
that
, you can stay with
me as long as you want."

Her light green eyes held flecks of emerald.
"I don't want to go home with James."

"He thinks differently."

Honoria clenched her hand in emphasis, and
Christopher let out a soft grunt of pleasure.

"I don't care one whit what James thinks,"
Honoria said. "I am legally married to you, and he can't drag me
around any more."

If she wanted to cling to her marriage to
stay away from her obnoxious older brother, fine with Christopher.
As long as she kept . . . holding . . . on.

The sun was sinking rapidly. If he and
Honoria didn't leave the pool and get dressed soon, they'd have to
scramble over rocks in near darkness.

Christopher found it difficult to care. He
only cared that his wife was a lovely armful, and that she'd just
declared she'd stay with him through thick and thin.

She was an obstinate, proud woman who made
his heart dance with delight. He breathed her fragrance--spring
water, honey, and some delectable spice. He could never get enough
of her.

She not only made his heart dance--his cock
danced too,
oh sweet, sweet Honoria.

Dragging in a breath, Christopher firmly
removed her fingers from his shaft. He experienced a flash of
disappointed loss, but the water made Honoria's body light, so easy
to lift and fit over him.

That was it, they
fit
well. Their
bodies knew they'd been made for each other. Their arguments got in
the way sometimes, but their bodies knew. Christopher and Honoria
had never been able to keep their hands off each other whenever
they met--nature had tried to tell them that they were meant to be
together.

She was so lovely, so slippery, and so warm.
Christopher drove into her once, twice, before he spilled his seed.
She shouted with him, her eyes hot with her own climax, and their
mouths met in a fierce kiss.

"I love you," he said, voice raw. "I don't
give a damn whether you believe me."

"I believe you," she whispered. "I so very
much believe you."

*** *** ***

Christopher kept her on shore with him that
night, wanting her next to him. He'd slept with her every night for
two weeks, a fine habit he never wanted to break. They wrapped
themselves in blankets before the fire, she spooning back against
him for warmth.

The fires were small, dry wood scarce, and
the air chilled as the sky darkened. The flames popped and snapped,
but Christopher found their glare soothing, and his eyes
closed.

The fire and Honoria were the only soothing
things about that beach. Even as he lay still with his wife,
Christopher sensed the tension from the crews, both his men and
Ardmore's.

Gold lay nearby, and no matter how much
Christopher feigned nonchalance, his crew wanted it and resented
Ardmore taking it from them. If Christopher's men did what they
were told, everything would go well. But he knew good and well
that, at any moment, someone on either side could say to hell with
the plan and start fighting for the money.

That was the trouble with gold. It brought
out the worst in people. Integrity and loyalty went to hell as soon
as there was money to be made.

They needed to find the cache--or not find
it--soon. Christopher did not want to lose half his crew to
violence over a stash that no longer existed.

The only reason he allowed himself to drift
to sleep was because Manda was awake and watching. He'd missed the
comfort of knowing he had Manda behind him, and he very much liked
having that comfort again.

He closed his eyes, kissed Honoria's fragrant
hair, and sought slumber.

*** *** ***

Manda leaned against the longboat and crossed
her booted ankles. She let her gaze drift from the sleeping form of
her brother to the bespectacled face of Alden Henderson, who stood
not far away near Ardmore's gig.

Her blood boiled. She wished the damned man
had stayed aboard the
Argonaut,
because seeing him again had
made Manda realize how much she'd wanted to see him again.

She told herself not to be stupid. Henderson
had sailed across to the island today only to help his captain, not
for her. She knew that. So why did it hurt so much when he barely
acknowledged her, as though they hadn't shared hot kisses in her
cabin, or below in the hold? Why had it hurt so much when he'd
calmly climbed into the gig when leaving the
Starcross
,
without so much as a good-bye?

She shouldn't feel like this. She'd endured
Switton treating her like a caged animal without breaking down, but
one dandified Englishman's rejection sent her into a world of
heartache Manda had never experienced.

Of course, when she'd lain in a stupor in
Switton's locked room or been taken to the garden in the cage,
she'd always believed in the back of her mind that Christopher
would rescue her. Even though the reasonable part of her told her
that Christopher was dead and gone, she couldn't help clinging to
the idea that he'd come for her.

And then, unbelievably, when the drapes had
come down from before her cage in the folly, she'd looked through
the bars to see Christopher looking back at her. Manda had nearly
choked in astonishment.

She had no idea how he'd done it, but
Christopher had defeated even death to come for her. Her brother
could do anything. She'd always known so.

In the realm of love, however, Manda knew
that Christopher could not help her. She had to face it alone, and
the thought terrified her.

She glanced over at Christopher, who was
snuggled into Honoria, one hand on her hip, and couldn't help a
smile. Christopher had the fond thought that he had the upper hand
in his marriage, but Manda knew he bloody well hadn't. The little
wench had wrapped him around her pretty fingers, and Christopher
was happily letting her.

Manda returned her gaze to the shadowy form
of Henderson--and found him gone. Her heart skipped a beat as she
scanned the beach but found no sign of him.

The ocean sighed across the sand, the foam
luminescent. Moonlight silhouetted the bare masts of both ships
standing well off shore. Too far for cannonballs to reach the
island, Christopher had insisted.

Sleeping forms mounded by the fire, dark
blankets on the sand. A few men wandered restlessly outside the
firelight, eyeing one another, tension rife. Manda looked
everywhere for a pale smudge of blond hair and the gleam of
spectacles, but didn't see them.

A sudden noise came behind her, the sound of
a scuffle. Manda whirled, drawing her knife.

Beyond the jutting end of the longboat, two
men struggled in the shallow water. One was small and wiry, the
other tall and strong. The tall man had shed his coat, his linen
shirtsleeves pale in the darkness. Light glinted off his knife and
his gold spectacles.

Henderson was fighting hard and silently,
fending off the other man's knife blows with his own. Manda stood,
frozen, watching for what seemed an eternity, before she threw
everything to the wind and rushed to Henderson's rescue.

*****

Chapter Twenty-Two

Manda splashed into the water, dragged the
wiry man away from Henderson, and put her knife to the attacker's
throat. Henderson backed away, panting, his sleeve stained red.

The man Manda held was Ian O'Malley,
Ardmore's second-in-command. She stared in surprise. "What the
hell?"

O'Malley glared at Henderson. "You trumped up
English twit. Who the devil's side are you on?"

"You tell me," Henderson said, his voice taut
with anger. "I see you sneaking up on the woman I love, ready to
stick your knife into her. What do you expect me to do? Stand back
and watch?"

"Oh, you
love
her now, do you?"
O'Malley asked, incredulous. "That's a change, Mr. High-and-Mighty,
too good for any but the loftiest ladies."

"Don't change the subject."

Manda blinked at Henderson, but she didn't
let O'Malley go or move her knife from his throat.

"Why were you trying to kill her?" Henderson
sapped at O'Malley.

"I never was."