Care and Feeding of Pirates

The Care and Feeding of Pirates

by Jennifer Ashley

Regency Pirates

Book Three

The Care and Feeding of Pirates

Copyright 2005, 2012 by Jennifer Ashley

All rights reserved.

Excerpt from
The Hanover Square Affair
copyright 2003, 2012

by Jennifer Ashley / Ashley Gardner

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment
only. All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or
reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from
the author.

This book is a work of fiction. The names,
characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's
imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be
construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead,
actual events, locales or organizations is entirely
coincidental.

Regency Pirate Series by

By Jennifer Ashley

The Pirate Next Door

The Pirate Hunter's Lady

(originally published as
The Pirate
Hunter)

The Care and Feeding of Pirates

* * * * *

The Care and Feeding of Pirates

*****

Chapter One

June 1813

Honoria Ardmore looked across the dark London
street and straight into the face of the pirate Christopher
Raine.

Mists swirled between her and the apparition,
obscuring the pale smudge of his hair, the bulk of his tall,
raw-boned body, and his tanned and handsome face.

As Honoria stood, frozen, lips parted, three
ladies in opera finery and enormous, waving headdresses nearly ran
her down. One sniffed to her companions, "Well, really."

Honoria craned to see around them, searching
the mists, but by the time they'd moved out of her way, the
apparition had gone.

He'd never been there, of course. Christopher
was dead. He'd been hanged by the neck in Charleston four years
ago, captured by Honoria's brother James, tried and condemned to
death for the crime of being a pirate and liking it.

Sailors afterward spoke of seeing
Christopher's ghost in a haunted ship on the seas with a demon
crew, the notorious Captain Raine scouring the world to seek his
vengeance.

None of the tales mentioned him turning up
after a deplorable production of
Love's Labor's Lost
at
Covent Garden Theatre at the end of the London Season.

As the crowd parted and Honoria could again
see the place she'd spied him, the black bulk of her
sister-in-law's hired carriage rolled in front of her, blocking the
view. The footman hopped down from his perch and opened the door,
looking disappointed when Honoria simply climbed in past him, too
distracted to give him a tip.

She plopped to the seat, limbs weak, and
peered anxiously through the window to the shadows of the street.
There was nothing to see, of course.

There never had been. Her imagination alone
had conjured Christopher out of the rather thick air.

Honoria's sister-in-law Diana climbed more
gracefully into the carriage, settled herself beside Honoria,
passed the footman a coin, and gave him a nod to close the door.
The carriage jerked forward. The fog grew dense, swallowing the
crowds, the street, and ghosts of pirates.

"Are you all right, Honoria?" Diana asked. "I
know it's been a rotten day."

Honoria dragged her attention from the
window. "Yes, perfectly fine, thank you." She kept her tones
moderated, aware of Diana's scrutiny.

Diana was right, this day had been awful.
First, a maid had let Honoria's best pair of gloves fall into the
fire, where they'd burned merrily in a stench of roasting leather.
When Honoria and Diana had gone to a glovemaker in Oxford Street to
replace them, they'd encountered three ladies who'd amused
themselves making fun of Honoria's Charleston accent.

Diana had grown coldly angry at them, but
Honoria had only held her head high. She would never dream of
responding to anyone ill-mannered enough to taunt a stranger.

Then Diana's deaf daughter Isabeau had cut
the ribbons from all Honoria's slippers, saying they were the
perfect length to finish the rope she'd been weaving. She wanted to
swing across the landing in the townhouse, like her step-papa did
on his ship.

The predictable disaster had ensued.
Isabeau's bruises had been kissed before she'd been put to bed, and
Honoria's slippers hastily repaired. Then the carriage had been
late, a dirty rain poured down, the play had been dreadful, and the
crowd in the theatre unruly and rude.

All this paled next to the stunned shock of
Honoria looking into the fog and seeing Christopher.

Do remain calm,
she told herself
silently.
You cannot possibly have seen him.

And Honoria would not, absolutely would not,
let herself remember the weight of Christopher's body on hers, the
cold floor of his cell against her back, and his wicked smile when
he whispered, "That's my Honoria."

No one knew,
and no one would ever
know,
she added firmly. Honoria would keep her secret forever.
She had to.

Diana leaned back into the seat and let out a
sigh. "I had forgotten how wearying an evening at the theatre could
be. Everyone peering at us as though we were fascinating insects.
No wonder I ran away from London."

"Then why did we come out?" Honoria stared
into the fog as they rolled into James Street and made their way to
Long Acre. She saw no sign of a blond, gray-eyed, sinfully handsome
pirate anywhere.

"I thought it would be a treat for you."
Diana gave a soft laugh. "No, I'm lying. I wanted you to myself
tonight. After you marry Mr. Templeton, I shan't have the time with
you that I've had this past year. It's been a joy to have such a
friend."

The panicked words
Who is Mr.
Templeton?
rolled through Honoria's mind before her senses
returned. "I should think you'd like me settling down with Mr.
Templeton. I'm sure I've been no less than a clinging limpet to
you."

"Well, of course you haven't," Diana said.
"If James has said so, I shall speak to him."

"No, no," Honoria said quickly.

Diana peered at her in concern. Honoria had
never confided in Diana about Christopher, preferring to leave the
past in the past. The only one who'd known of her frightful
infatuation with Christopher Raine had been her brother Paul, and
Paul had died long ago.

Honoria had never, of course, breathed a word
of it to James. Her older brother was not a man to whom one bared
one's soul.

"James simply wants you to himself," Honoria
said, striving to keep up the conversation. "He'll be pleased that
Mr. Templeton will take me off his hands."

Diana gave Honoria a look that was all too
shrewd. "Yes, but will
you
be pleased?"

Honoria stopped herself plucking her skirt or
swallowing or an any way betraying her nervousness. "Why would I
not be pleased? Mr. Templeton is a respectable Englishman with fine
business prospects in America. And I've been on the shelf far too
long. It's time I got out from underfoot."

"You are mixing your metaphors."

"I am sorry. It's been a trying day."

Diana softened into a smile. "It has at that.
I will be happy when we return to my father's island."

Honoria felt suddenly contrite. She'd looked
forward to residing in London with Diana and her daughter in
Diana's father's townhouse. Diana had gallantly taken Honoria to
see the sights and buy a new wardrobe, and had introduced her to
people like Lady Stoke and Lady Featherstone, who had in turn
introduced Honoria to Rupert Templeton.

Honoria ought to have known that Diana's
heart was not in it. Scandals in Diana's past, not to mention her
marriage to James, made London uncomfortable for her. Only the
influence of Lord Stoke and Diana's father with the Admiralty let
the two ladies live in relative peace.

"I know you miss James," Honoria said,
squeezing Diana's hand. Honoria's relationship with her brother was
problematic at best, and she always breathed a sigh of relief when
he ran off to chase pirates. But Diana needed James the same way a
body needed air.

"The inconvenience of being married to a
villain," Diana said.

"Nonsense. You like him being a villain."

"I do, that." Diana's smile turned playful.
"Who knows? Perhaps Mr. Templeton will prove to be one too."

"Of course not," Honoria said, though her
heart was not in the banter. "Mr. Templeton is far too respectable
to be a villain."

"But you wish he would be. You have the same
craving for excitement that I have, Honoria."

"Don't be silly. Excitement only leads to
trouble."
And I should know.

Diana gave Honoria a long, assessing look, as
only Diana Ardmore could. Her sister-in-law was far too perceptive
and often saw through Honoria's facade, especially on the occasions
when Honoria did not want her to.

"I beg your pardon," Diana said. "I know I go
on too much about James. I'm certain it becomes cloying."

"Not at all." Honoria made her voice light.
"I think it mighty fine that you won James's heart. I was never
aware that he had one."

*** *** ***

Honoria's pen hovered over the blank page of
her journal. A droplet of ink trembled on the nib, waiting for her
to change it into words.

Her fingers were cold, despite the fire that
had been built high. She and Diana had refreshed themselves with
coffee and a late supper in the drawing room, chatting of the
pleasant island of Haven on which they would spend much of the
summer, before James rendezvoused with them there to take them back
to Charleston.

At least, Diana had chatted. Honoria's mind
had only whirled with thoughts of Christopher, despite her attempts
to curb them.

His name had never been recorded in the book
that lay flat on her bedroom table, waiting for her to write in it.
Nor had it been in any journal she'd kept since she'd met him the
first time.

James had brought Christopher to the
Charleston house long, long ago, along with Grayson Finley, who was
now lording it over London as Viscount Stoke. The three rogues had
been young, arrogant, and breathtakingly handsome. Grayson and
Christopher were both blond--Grayson with mischief-filled blue
eyes, Christopher's eyes cool gray. Her brother James was
black-haired, green-eyed, and the most arrogant of the three.

Honoria had been a giddy girl of eighteen
when she'd first met Christopher, and already madly in love with
him. She'd saved every penny pamphlet, every newspaper story, every
exaggerated picture book about the notorious pirate, Christopher
Raine. Christopher had a French father and an English mother,
captained a crew of mixed nationality, and was loyal to no one.

At the time, Christopher had been twenty-two,
hard-bodied, strong, and tall. He'd worn his wheat-blond hair in a
plait down his back and dressed in a dark blue coat and
breeches.

Honoria had first met him in the garden room
in the Charleston house on the Battery, a chamber of lovely
coolness, colorful tile, and a whispering fountain. Christopher had
regarded her with eyes as clear as ice and a smile that sent her
thoughts rocketing to unimaginable places.

Not that James had introduced them. In fact,
James had forbidden Honoria to leave her bedchamber while Grayson
and Christopher lurked in the house. Why they'd been there at all,
she didn't remember--they'd probably come to discuss some nefarious
scheme that James was good at hatching.

It had been Paul, Honoria's younger brother
and her other self, who'd noted Honoria's excitement and offered to
distract James so Honoria could slip downstairs and at least have a
look at the famous Captain Raine.

Christopher had stood alone in the garden
room, the quiet broken by the trickle of the fountain. Honoria had
crept forward, her knees going weak, when Christopher had turned
around and spied her.

The smile he'd sent her had made her blood
tingle and intimate places tighten. Honoria should have turned and
fled, but she'd gone to him, while Christopher had watched her
come, interested.

When she reached him, she'd looked up at him
and asked in her timid, well-bred voice if he'd autograph the
pamphlet she held crumpled in her hand. Christopher had taken the
pamphlet, his blunt fingers brushing her small ones, opened it, and
read it.

The pamphlet had amused him. The corners of
his eyes had crinkled as he'd leafed through it. He stopped and
read out some of the more amazing bits in his faintly
French-accented English and made her laugh.

Christopher had agreed to sign the book with
ink and pen she'd brought for the purpose, then he'd requested a
kiss for its return.