"I know," Christopher answered. He'd once had the great honor of moving Finley's nose to another part of his face in a fight long ago about who knew what.
Finley began making his way across the room to them as though he'd noticed Templeton and was coming to greet him. Men moved aside for him, as per usual. Finley towered over lesser beings, and the hardness in his eyes generally sent gentlemen scrambling for cover.
Women, on the other hand, found him handsome, so Christopher had been told. Except Honoria. She'd never had anything polite to say about Finley, another thing Christopher liked about her.
Finley's hair was a light smudge in the smoky darkness of the tavern. He stopped at the end of their table, and Templeton leapt to his feet. "My lord, how excellent to see you. Would you join us? Unless, that is, you came to meet someone else?" He was a friendly dog, begging for a pat.
"I'd be glad to join you," Finley said. He glanced at Christopher, his expression neutral.
Christopher gave him a nod. "Your lordship."
Finley's face did not change. A stool vacated itself magically, and Finley drew it to the table and sat. The barmaid, responding to Finley's blue eyes, slid a tankard in front of him, and blushed when he smiled at her.
"Mr. Raine had just been telling me he is acquainted with my betrothed's family," Templeton said as Finley took a long draught of his ale. "Funny how one encounters people by chance, and they prove to have a connection after all."
Finley stopped drinking for a split second, and then swallowed and carefully set his tankard on the table. "I am always encountering Mr. Raine by chance."
"Are you? How interesting."
It must have been Templeton's happiest evening ever. He had the attention of a viscount, though he seemed equally pleased to have met Christopher. Templeton and Finley talked like old friends, while Christopher sat back and drank ale, assessing Finley, whom he'd not seen in many years.
Finley's marriage had given him a new stillness. Grayson Finley the pirate had always been recklessly brave, as though he'd not cared whether he lived or died. Now he seemed to have found a reason to live.
Christopher also noted that, while Finley seemed to drink quite a lot as Mr. Templeton talked on, in truth, he took in very little.
At long last, Templeton professed that he must return home, although Mother would be that tickled to know he'd spent his evening with a viscount. Finley gallantly offered to return Templeton home in his carriage. Templeton tried to refuse, but Finley insisted, and finally, Templeton slurred an acceptance.
The two wove their way out of the tavern and into the elegant carriage that pulled up in front of the door. Christopher quietly entered the carriage with them, again saying little as they wound north through Mayfair.
The carriage deposited Templeton in front of a house near Cavendish Square, then rolled south again toward Grosvenor Street.
Finley suddenly became much less drunk. "Where are you staying?" he asked Christopher.
"Lodgings near the docks."
"Alexandra will insist you take a room with us. We have many."
Christopher shook his head. "Colby and St. Cyr are there. I'll use the lodgings."
The carriage moved slowly through the dark, the light of the single lantern inside throwing shadows on the satin padded walls. "Fine coach, this," Christopher said, touching the fabric.
"Alexandra's idea. A lordship isn't allowed to walk around the city, it seems. On the other hand, in the country I'm supposed to be terribly hearty. Eight-hour walks, three-day hunts, shooting in the freezing cold. The soft life of the aristocrat."
"Surprised you came back to claim the title at all."
Finley shrugged, his face in shadow. "It had its compensations. You find another ship?"
"A brigantine. I'm refitting her in Greenwich. I've rounded up most of my crew--except my first officer."
"Manda," Finley said.
"I traced her to England, but my information is old, and the evidence is not very good."
The news that Manda had traveled to England had come from a Frenchman, and it was not reliable, but the Frenchman had said he'd heard of her taking a ship across the Channel. France was knee-deep in war with England at the moment, and Christopher faced the reality that the ship could have been captured, sunk, all aboard killed.
"I haven't seen her," Finley said. "I've traveled a bit since my marriage, but I've never noticed Manda." He chuckled. "And she's noticeable."
"I know."
The first thing men noticed about Manda was how shapely she was. The second thing was her boots kicking their teeth in. Christopher had never bothered to intervene when a man tried to take Manda. Much more fun to watch what happened to him.
But for all Manda's willingness to fight like a man and sail a ship like a man, she was shy with men emotionally. Christopher doubted she'd suddenly fallen in love and run off with one. Besides, if she had, he'd have heard of it. Such an elopement would be the talk of the shipping lanes.
"I heard a name," Christopher said. "An offhand remark in a tavern near Le Havre. The name was Switton. Mean anything to you?"
It was a long shot. The man in question had said, "Wasn't she one of Switton's?" and the seaman with him had shrugged.
"Never heard of him," Finley said. "But I'll ask my wife. Alexandra is a walking Debrett's Peerage. She knows every person in Mayfair, who their parents were, who they married, where they went to school, and the names of their butlers."
Christopher grinned. "You have a butler, Finley?"
"Not yet. Alexandra has her eye on one who works for a duchess. She's trying to entice him to give notice and come live with us. It's a hobby of aristocratic ladies to steal each other's butlers, apparently."
Christopher shook his head. "I still can't believe you turned into a viscount. The world has changed since I died."
"I knew you wouldn't stay dead. You never do."
The carriage halted before a tall, many-windowed house in Grosvenor Street. Finley asked Christopher to come inside, but Christopher declined and said he'd find a hackney to take him back down to the docklands.
Before parting, Finley invited Christopher to a fancy dress ball Alexandra was hosting the next evening. Their new friend, Templeton would be there, as well as Templeton's charming fiancee, Honoria.
Christopher told Grayson he wouldn't miss it for the world.
*** *** ***
The house in Grosvenor Street overflowed with guests for Lady Stoke's masked ball. Honoria usually loved fancy-dress balls, and she'd enjoyed coming up with the costumes with Diana, but tonight she was unnerved and restless, and thought she'd rather do anything than face scores of rather nosy ladies and gentlemen of the ton.
But Diana insisted. After all, no one knew about Honoria's secret marriage but Christopher and Diana. Until Honoria and Christopher decided what was to be done about it, Honoria must behave absolutely as usual.
Honoria bowed to her wisdom. She could do this--she had the strength to.
She and Diana arrived early and closeted themselves in Alexandra's dressing room to ready their costumes. They'd agreed to dress as Greek ladies, in simple gowns that fastened at the shoulders and hung to the floor. After all, Honoria said, Greek costumes were little different from fashions nowadays and easy to manage. She'd so enjoyed putting together the gowns with Diana, but now she was jumpy and irritable.
When they at last they went downstairs, the house was thronged with guests, Lady Stoke's parties always popular. Rumor had it that at one of her soirees a few years ago, a horde of pirates, many of them naked, had swept the house, battling with the men and ravishing the ladies.
Honoria knew the real story, told to her by Alexandra herself. The truth had involved one murderous pirate who'd been out to kill Grayson Finley, cornering him at Alexandra's soiree. Only one man had been naked--Mr. Jacobs, Grayson's second-in-command, who'd dashed from a bedroom, sword in hand, ready to defend Grayson and Alexandra.
The sight of Mr. Jac
obs, a very handsome young man wearing nothing but a cutlass, had sent most of the ladies into happy swoons. From that day forward, invitations to Alexandra's parties were much sought after, every lady inwardly hoping that such an occurrence would happen again.
Tonight Honoria hoped for nothing more exciting than spilled lemonade. But when she saw the cluster of gentlemen waiting for them at the head of the stairs near the ballroom, she wanted to turn and flee the other way.
But no, she could not let these things unnerve her. She lifted her chin and walked on toward them, Diana at her side.
Grayson Finley, Lord Stoke, smiled at the ladies as they approached. Next to him stood Mr. Henderson, the third-in-command on James's ship, the Argonaut. Mr. Henderson, a tall, fair-haired gentleman who dressed impeccably and wore gold-rimmed spectacles, had been assigned by James to accompany Honoria and Diana to London for their protection. Once they'd reached the safety of Diana's father's house, though, Diana had told Mr. Henderson to spend his time soaking up luxury in his sumptuous hotel and shopping for new suits.
Next to the pair of them stood Mr. Templeton. He was dressed, of all things, like a pirate. Or at least, like a fictional pirate. He wore striped trousers, a red shirt, a black sash, a papier mache saber that was too long for him, and an eye patch. He looked absolutely ridiculous.
Grayson's eyes twinkled with mischief, and Honoria had a feeling she knew who'd engineered the costume.
But none of this made Honoria's heart pound more sickeningly than the sight of her husband Christopher Raine standing casually next to Mr. Templeton, watching Honoria with sharp eyes, and giving her a small smile.
*****
Chapter Five
Like Grayson and Henderson, Christopher wore an evening suit rather than a costume. He looked perfectly calm, gray eyes dark in the lamplight, tanned skin golden. He wore his pale hair in a plait, as usual, the hair that swirled back from his temples a darker blond than the rest.
A large lump worked its way into Honoria's throat. She'd not slept at all last night, and things had gone fuzzy about the edges. Seeing Christopher, hard and handsome before her, was not helping matters.
She wanted to do the little things a wife did for a husband, brush a nonexistent piece of lint from his lapel, smooth the coat on his shoulders, touch the strand of hair that was just going gray.
It annoyed her that she wanted to do this with Christopher but she had never, ever pictured herself doing such things for Mr. Templeton. To hide this sudden realization, she lifted her Grecian draperies and prepared to sweep past them all and into the ballroom.
"No," Diana said. Her sister-in-law's fingers were like vines that wrapped a trellis, light and thin, but strong enough to crush. "We finish this."
"Ladies," Grayson said. He had a half grin on his face and that blasted twinkle in his blue eyes.
Diana smiled at him and held out her hand. Grayson bowed over it. He bent over Honoria's hand as well, giving her a wink with the impudent grin.
Honoria scarcely noticed. Christopher's presence filled her vision, and all her senses burned at the nearness of him.
Mr. Henderson bowed to the two ladies, leaving their hands alone. Mr. Templeton greeted them both with delight and pressed a light kiss to the backs of Honoria's fingers. He made some jesting reference to his costume, but Honoria did not hear a word.
Christopher's gaze was fixed on her, his eyes holding a mixture of humor and impatience.
She wondered what the devil had been the four gentlemen's conversation before she'd arrived. The very idea that Christopher and Mr. Templeton had met at all gave her palpitations. What on earth had they discussed? Had Christopher said, "Good evening, I'm Honoria's husband. I believe you are engaged to her?"
No, from the look of things, Christopher had kept silent, at least to Mr. Templeton. What Grayson and Mr. Henderson knew, she couldn't tell.
"Mrs. Ardmore," Grayson was saying to Diana. "May I present Christopher Raine? Raine, Diana Ardmore. She married my good friend, James."
Good friend, my foot, Honoria thought distractedly. The enmity between Grayson and James had been legendary.
Christopher took Diana's hand and lifted it to his lips. Neither his look nor Diana's steady gaze betrayed that they'd already met.
"And Honoria Ardmore, James's sister."
Christopher turned to Honoria. His hand, ungloved, closed over hers.
The look he gave her was possessive. He was obviously not going to step aside and let her engagement to Mr. Templeton stand. The fireworks would begin soon, it was just a matter of time.
"We've met," Christopher said dryly.
"Ah, yes," Mr. Templeton said. "So you told me last night."
Last night? Honoria glared at Christopher and snatched her hand from his grasp. "Mr. Raine and I are acquainted, yes."
"More than acquainted," Christopher said.
Honoria's heart beat swiftly and lights spun before her eyes. He could not announce it here, could he? Not now. She was not ready. She gave Christopher a hard look, wishing she could send her thoughts straight into his brain.
Christopher continued, "I am an old friend of her brother's."
Honoria's panic shifted to anger. Was this what he would do all night--begin the startling announcement and then back off at the last moment? Light the fuse, then stamp it out before it reached the bomb? From the amused glint in his eyes, yes.
She wished Mr. Templeton wore a real cutlass rather than a papier mache one. She'd borrow it, back Christopher into a corner, and demand to know what he thought he was doing.
Christopher was calm, that was one thing. But it was the calm of the eye of a hurricane. The winds could shift at any moment and bear down on her with devastating force.
Grayson said to Diana, "Alexandra is asking for you, Mrs. Ardmore. She's in the ballroom. The dancing is about to commence."
Diana made some polite answer that Honoria missed, removed her fingers from Honoria's arm, and glided away.
Honoria felt suddenly bereft. Diana's grip had propped her up--she would fall any second now.
"Excellent." Mr. Templeton offered his arm to Honoria. "I claim the honor of the first dance, Miss Ardmore. But I am generous. I will give each of you fellows a turn."
Mr. Henderson, who could write etiquette books if he chose, bowed and said, "I would be most honored to join Miss Ardmore in the cotillion."
"I'll fetch you for a country dance," Grayson promised. Honoria tried not to flinch. Grayson was a good dancer, but a most exuberant partner.
Attention turned to Christopher. It would be impolite in the extreme for him not to offer a dance as well, but Honoria knew he didn't care two pins for what was polite.
Just as well. She'd not be able to plead him to silence on the dance floor, and if he touched her . . .
She knew what would happen the next time he touched her. Even the brief brush through her glove had stirred the troublesome heat in her body, the same heat that had made her lie awake all night.
In the dark silence of her bedchamber, she'd relived the kiss he'd given her, the weight of his body against hers, the knowledge that he only had to part her dressing gown and slide his hand inside to find her ready for him. Over all this lay the exciting fact that he was still alive and had come back for her.
As soon as Christopher took her hand to lead her to the dance floor, she'd melt. He'd have to scoop her into his arms and carry her off, and she would love it.
She looked at him with the others and struggled to keep from biting her lip while the silence stretched too long.
"I don't dance," Christopher said.
Disappointment wove dark fingers around her heart. Relief. That's what I should feel--relief. I won't make a fool of myself over him.
"A pity," Mr. Templeton said. He looked slightly pleased that he possessed a skill that such a handsome, well-fitted man lacked. "My mother, now, she always likes a caper. Ask her, and she'll teach you a few steps."
Christopher's eyes g
littered with mischief. Honoria glared at him. Don't you dare.
Christopher almost smiled. "I'll think on it."
His gaze remained fixed on Honoria, until she felt a scream building up inside. It would come out any moment, embarrassing her in front of Alexandra and all her guests.
Then Mr. Templeton was tugging her away, leading her to the safety of the ballroom as the music began. Honoria felt Christopher's gaze burning on her back all the way.
*** *** ***
Christopher had a reputation for patience. He'd been known to lie in wait for weeks for a prize, if it was worth it. He'd planned for nearly a year before taking the Rosa Bonita. He and his crew had executed every piece of that plan as though it had been one of the stately dances going on in Alexandra's ballroom, and they'd gotten away with it.
He also had the reputation for being slow to anger, but those who did manage to anger Christopher never forgot the experience, if they lived through it. A slow match, Manda called him. He burned long, but when the gunpowder was reached, nothing equaled the explosion.
Christopher was rapidly approaching the end of his slow match. The delay in finding Manda troubled him, and now his dear sweet Honoria expected him to tamely release her to marry another man. Christopher found himself liking Templeton, but that did not mean he'd step aside and give him his wife.
He'd let Honoria enjoy herself with her friends this night, and then he would force the issue. He had plenty to do without waiting for Honoria to make her choice.
Christopher wandered into the ballroom. Most of the guests were costumed--in the garb of Romany, kings and queens of old, jesters, shepherdesses, Turks.
He liked Honoria's costume, plain white muslin hanging to the floor in a straight line from her shoulders. Her body moved enticingly under the draperies as she danced with Templeton, letting Christopher know she was unfettered beneath. Clasps at her shoulders held the costume in place, and he enjoyed thinking about what would happen if he loosened one of those clasps.