“I have every sympathy for you, darlin’. You’ve gone through a world of hurtin’.” His fingers traced her navel. “But you have to let the hurtin’ go. I should know.”
She looked at him, tense. “Why? Because of today?”
“Because I wasn’t there when my brother was shot. If I had been, I could have stopped it. What do you think that feels like?” James gave a grim laugh. “I always pride myself on not feeling remorse. But I’m lying to myself. I feel it all the time.”
His green eyes were bleak, as they’d been when she’d come in tonight and found him washing himself. He went on. “At least Isabeau forgives you. Paul’s dead and he can’t. My sister hasn’t forgiven me either. One of the many reasons I don’t go home often.”
“That’s not fair of her.”
James shrugged. “She feels guilty, too. After Paul’s wife was killed, Honoria spurred him on to find her killer. Honoria wanted vengeance too, even if she couldn’t have a direct hand in it. We Ardmores are a vengeful family.”
He fell silent, finished with the subject. He traced patterns on her abdomen but would not look at her. Diana did not pursue it. Too soon.
She asked instead, “Why did you tell me I would never conceive with you?”
“And I don’t really want to talk about that. A man doesn’t like to admit his seed is no good.”
“But how do you know?”
He slanted her an ironic look. “Let’s just say I have cause to know.”
A pang squeezed Diana’s heart. “You mean that your mistresses never produced children.” Why was it so difficult for her to say the word mistresses? Of course he’d had lovers before her, and likely would again when he went away. A man like James wouldn’t be alone for long.
“Something like that,” he said.
“Perhaps they simply could not have children. Many women cannot, you know.”
“Not that many.”
Diana sat up. “Good lord, James.”
“And no, I’m not telling you how many.”
“Do you think I’d truly want to know?”
“You’re damned curious, even if you won’t say it out loud.” James kissed her before she could protest. “Turn over.”
“What?”
“Turn over. I want to show you something else.”
Diana glanced quickly at the window, which had already lightened. “I don’t want you to show me anything else. It is almost morning.”
“It’s not morning, yet.”
“James . . .”
“What’s the matter? You too tired?”
Diana ran her tongue across her swollen lower lip. “Not really.”
“Then turn over.”
Diana knew she shouldn’t. She should go now, and leave this place of happiness behind.
But she rolled onto her stomach, her body tingling with anticipation. She pushed the twisted sheets about, trying to find a comfortable place to lie.
Not that it mattered. Without a warning, James clasped her hips, pulled them firmly toward him, and entered her from behind.
Diana’s eyes widened, and the gasp pried from her lungs turned into a moan.
She’d thought she’d felt pleasure in the night. Now she knew what it was really like. The fluttering thought that perhaps he’d show her still more later danced just out of reach, exciting her beyond comprehension.
For now, coherent thoughts were mere shadows. James was inside her, large and hard. Diana bunched the sheets in her fists, lifting them against her mouth to stifle her screams. The hot friction of James inside her made her writhe and cry out, and his hands on her buttocks were heavy.
He said, “Still think you love me, darlin’?”
Diana was never certain what answer she shouted, but he seemed satisfied. James laughed, and then he was pressing her down into the bed, his chest on her back, whispering her name, kissing her hair, still hard inside her.
Diana slowly, slowly returned from the far-flung place of pleasure. She felt the rumpled sheets beneath her, the damp pillows, the dawn breeze on her sweating skin.
James was heavy on her, but not uncomfortable. She loved lying beneath him, she decided. He was so strong and so beautiful that she wanted to snuggle in next to him for the rest of her life.
James withdrew himself, spent, and lay half on and half off her, his lips plying light kisses to her skin.
“Are we going to sleep now?” she whispered.
She felt a puff of breath on her back, though his laugh was too soft to hear. “Yes, Diana. I’ll let you sleep.”
“’nk you.”
Diana was already falling into the warm arms of slumber, and barely heard his answer. “Your welcome, darlin’.”
*** *** ***
Thick slices of bread with plenty of goat’s cheese. Oranges still bright from the trees in the garden. Early berries made into jam. Dried cuts of pork fried like bacon. Rich coffee fresh brewed and sweetened with sugar and rum. James piled everything he could reach onto his plate, ate his way through it, and drank the heady coffee while sunshine poured through the breakfast room window.
Admiral Lockwood sat with him, nibbling on toast and pretending to read a newspaper six months out of date. They needed to talk over myriad things, but James was too hungry to address the questions right away.
James hadn’t been this hungry in a long time. Then again, he hadn’t made love all night with a woman like Diana before.
Last night the barrier James had erected between physical love and his emotions had crumbled like a wall under cannon fire. James had never realized how draining and how wonderful experiencing pleasure in his heart and his body at the same time could be.
He finished the pork slices and helped himself to more. A jar of mint jelly sat next to the platter. James slathered it on his meat then reached for another slice of bread.
“Mrs. Pringle is a fine cook,” he said.
The admiral let one corner of his paper fold down, and he peered at James over it. “That ship.”
James swallowed his bread and began separating his orange slices. “What about it?”
“Very convenient it turned up just when you wanted it.”
“Very convenient,” James agreed.
Admiral Lockwood folded the paper and laid it flat on the table. “How long had you been planning this little adventure?”
“Years.”
“You make conveniences work for you, is that what you mean?”
“I try to.” James lined up his orange sections into a neat, bright row on his plate. “You also keep your secrets, Admiral.”
Lockwood conceded this with a nod. “What will you do now?”
“Go. Staying here with Mallory is not a good idea. I spared him for your sake, but that doesn’t mean I might not lose my temper and try again.”
“That won’t matter.” The admiral looked grim. James threw him a questioning look. “Mallory is dead. We found him out in the cove this morning. He’d drunk most of a bottle of laudanum and just went to sleep.”
James paused with an orange slice halfway to his mouth. He put it down. “Hell.”
Lockwood looked sad. “The story you told was terrible, James. I know in my heart that Mallory reformed, but you were right. His reform does not erase his crimes.” He sighed. “He told me last night he would go. I did not realize what he meant — I thought he’d take the gig and sail off. But it’s for the best, I suppose.”
James bent his face to his hand. He tried to decide what he felt, but he didn’t know. Anger and relief, grief and sorrow tangled inside him in a confusing net.
He raised his head. “I can’t pretend I’m sorry he’s dead.”
“I feared you would be angry that he robbed you of your vengeance,” the admiral said.
“I made my decision yesterday in the caves, and I stand by it. I spared him for your sake, Lockwood. And for Diana’s.”
“I thank you for that. You let Mallory make his peace his own way.”
James frowned. “Don’t m
ake me a hero. I was a hair’s breadth from shooting him. If Mallory walked in here right now, I’d be tempted to shoot him again. Nothing’s that simple.”
“I know.”
They shared a look. James couldn’t tell whether Lockwood was angry or relieved at this end to the matter. Perhaps both.
The admiral lifted his newspaper again and began reading, his expression a careful blank.
Damned English, James growled to himself. They put a brave face on everything, chin up, carry on, don’t fuss — even about important things like life and death, and love.
“We’ll give him a burial at sea this afternoon,” Lockwood said behind his paper. “I’d like you to attend.”
James’s lips tightened. “Best I don’t.”
“Very well, then. You’ve not answered my question about that ship, by the bye.”
“It was a French merchantman. I asked the captain to stroll around these waters, but to lie back unless he saw a signal from me.”
“Why did he not land? A French captain might think it a fine thing to come upon an island, however tiny, belonging to an Englishman. We are at war, you know.”
James slathered soft cheese onto his toast. “I told him that if I needed him to land, I’d signal. If not, to stay away and not bother this place.”
“And you have not signaled him?”
“No. Don’t worry. He’ll obey me. He knows what will happen if he doesn’t.”
“You could have brought him in and left with him yesterday.”
“I know. But I have one more thing I want to do before I go.”
Lockwood glanced up at him again. “Which is?”
James spent some time spreading the white cheese into the exact corners of his bread. “Ask for your blessing. I want to marry your daughter.”
Chapter Nineteen
The room got very quiet. James laid down his toast without taking a bite. Lockwood stared at him with blue-gray eyes that were mirrors of his daughter’s.
“You want to marry Diana,” Lockwood said slowly. “Why?”
James hid his surprise. He’d expected the admiral to say something like you’d damn well better marry her. The man must know that James had spent all night furrowing her.
“Because she’s a beautiful woman,” James said. “And I’m in love with her.”
Lockwood blinked once, then his stony glare softened. “She had a very unhappy first marriage, you know. I never should have approved it. But Edward Worthing’s captain spoke highly of him.”
“You mean he was a man with a fine career ahead of him.”
“Exactly what his captain told me. Why I thought his fine career would make him kind to Diana, I do not know.”
“You heard what a father wanted to hear,” James said. “And you didn’t know Worthing well.”
“But I should have.” Lockwood looked ashamed. “I should have made it my business to know everything about him. For that matter all I know of you are the stories of your heroic deeds — how you seem to appear every time a ship is under attack by brigands, how you save the day and sail off without reward. It’s the stuff of ballads.”
James gave a short laugh. “I don’t write the damn ballads. Some claim the Argonaut is a ghost ship, charging in when things are the most desperate, but we’re real enough.”
“I know you’re not an honest man,” Lockwood said. “Far from it. You lie to serve your own ends, however honorable those ends might be. But I’ve observed you. You’ve been kind to Isabeau, you saved Lieutenant Jack’s life when you didn’t have to, and you do not take Diana’s temper as a slight to yourself.”
“I like Diana’s temper. She’s pretty with her eyes all fiery.”
“She looks like her mother,” Lockwood said, a break in his voice. James picked up another orange slice and slid it into his mouth.
The door opened, and Diana walked into the room. James’s gaze went to her as though pulled by chains. The admiral also looked up and fixed his eyes on her. Diana turned beet red.
She’d combed her hair and tightly braided it, but little wisps curled softly against her forehead. Her plain gown was clean and pressed, ruffles of a chemise lining the gown’s rather high décolletage.
James wanted to smile. He’d left love bites all along the tops of her breasts, and she was taking pains to hide them.
Diana slid into her place at the foot of the table with pretended casualness, though her face remained a bright pink.
“We were just talking about you, darlin’,” James said.
Diana’s hand trembled as she reached for the bread. “Oh?” She dropped two slices of toast to her plate, plunked cheese on top of them, then snatched up jam and pork, mint jelly and oranges, as hungrily as James had.
Lockwood watched his daughter with love in his eyes, then he turned to James. “Where would you live?”
Diana froze in mid-bite. James pretended to ignore her. “Charleston,” he said. “And here as well, if you’d let us. No reason to abandon Haven, is there?”
“Except that you are an outlaw,” Lockwood said.
“Only in England. And I might be persuaded to curb some of my more extreme anti-English tendencies for your sake.”
“For how long? England is on the brink of war with America.”
James shrugged. “We will have to see.”
“And there is Isabeau to consider.”
“I have considered her. She is a fine and lovely child. Like her mama.”
Diana snatched up her knife. “May I ask you gentlemen what you are discussing?”
James countered, “Where is Isabeau this morning?”
“Mrs. Pringle is helping her dress. She and I went out for an early bath in the ocean.”
James’s desires, which he’d been sure he’d sated last night, snapped to life. The orange slice that hovered at his lips stayed there. He imagined Diana stripping off her dress and breeches, wading out into the water, letting the waves rise over her naked body.
Damn. He was sorry he’d missed that.
“Maybe Isabeau would like to take a walk later,” James said. “With us.”
Diana shot him a severe look as she spread cheese on her bread. “I am certain I will be busy all day. Mrs. Pringle needs my help.”
“Diana,” her father began.
He was interrupted by Mrs. Pringle, who walked in innocently to lay down another platter of toasted bread. “Good morning, my lady. You are all hungry today.”
Diana was now as red as her hair. She said quickly, “Where is Lieutenant Jack? He should have been down by now.”
Mrs. Pringle took up the crumb-filled plate that had held the first batch of toast. “He was still in bed when I took him some coffee this morning, saying he was feeling poorly. His head pains him again. He said he’d stay there quietly for a while.”
Mrs. Pringle left with the empty platter. As soon as the door closed behind her, Diana jumped from her chair and snatched a plate from the sideboard. “I’ll take breakfast up to him.”
“Diana,” the admiral said quietly. “Sit down. I need to speak to you.”
Diana tossed bread, fruit, and meat into a jumble on the plate. “While Lieutenant Jack starves? That would be rude. Carry on discussing this without me. You obviously did so before.”
She fled, plate in hand, and slammed the door behind her.
James and the admiral looked at each other, brows raised. After a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of the sea outside the open window, Lockwood said, “Tell me of your home in Charleston.”
James studied the door through which Diana had departed. “It’s a fine house, built by my grandfather. Looks right out into the harbor. My sister has had the keeping of it for a long while, so you can be certain everything in it is perfect.”
“Would you have room for a visiting English admiral? One retired and finished with his work?”
“The house has ten bedchambers. I’m sure we’ll find one to your liking. Honoria would be tickled to play hos
tess to someone as lofty as an admiral, and I wouldn’t mind repaying your hospitality.”
Lockwood sighed. “I’m tired, James. It has been a long war. I thought I would find sanctuary here, and then . . .”
“Then I came along,” James finished. “To ruin your peace and steal your daughter.”
“I only want to see her happy. She’s lived through so much distress. Edward made things as difficult as he could for her.”
James started to reply that he would make Diana happy if she’d let him, when Diana hurried back into the room, still bearing the full plate of food.
She clattered the plate to the table, worry banishing her anger. “Father, there’s something wrong with Lieutenant Jack. I can’t wake him. Please, come.”
*** *** ***
Isabeau stood at the top of the landing, peering anxiously down as Diana led James and her father upstairs. Isabeau turned and pattered through the hall in front of them them, her tight braid swinging against her back.
Jack had been given a small chamber at the rear of the house, which butted up against the cliff behind it. A small slit of window gave a view of the beach below the garden. The chamber had been unused before their unexpected visitors had come, and contained as little as James’s. Lieutenant Jack lay on the narrow bed in the middle of it, utterly still.
When Diana had first looked in, she’d thought Jack asleep. He looked peaceful enough, except that his face was so pale. Not liking the pinched lines about his mouth, she’d decided to wake him anyway and bid him to eat. She’d called his name then shaken him, but he’d only lain limply, barely breathing.
James went to Jack and put his hand on his too-still chest. “Jack. Come on, wake up.”
He shook him a little, but Jack’s head only lolled on the pillow, his golden hair dark against his white face. James lifted Jack’s eyelid and let it drop. “Not good.”
Diana’s father moved to the bed. “His wound might have opened up again inside his skull. It was a nasty one, his head all over blood when we found him.”
“What can we do?” Diana asked. Poor Lieutenant Jack. He’d never been well, and Diana had been so distracted worrying about James that she’d not paid much attention to the English lieutenant of late.