On a Long Ago Night (33 page)

As Huseby was taken out again, Honoria was pushed forward

to stand with Diego before Ibrahim Rais.

"I am no traitor," Diego declared to Ibrahim Rais's

accusation.

"Aren't you?" the corsair admiral asked mildly. "Do you

think you can hide your plans from me forever? I've had you

watched all your life, boy." His gaze shifted to Honoria. He looked

her over from head to foot with bold interest. "I confess I did not

know you had purchased this one, or why you bought her when you

could have had her as a gift." His fingers caressed the hilt of a

knife stuck in the wide sash at his waist. His smile was slow, evil,

and anticipatory. "No doubt I will learn everything you both know

by the time I am finished with you."

Diego moved protectively closer to her. His gaze did not

leave Ibrahim Rais's face.

"But I have done nothing."

"You sent a large bribe to the Bey to obtain the release of

prisoners due to be ransomed," the corsair informed him. "Why

would you do that if you did not plan on taking them with you when

you go?" Ibrahim Rais was still looking at her. His eyes reminded

her of a reptile, a particularly poisonous snake. "No one leaves me.

Especially not you." He moved close to Diego and grasped the

edges of his robe, pulling them face to face, holding the cloth

tightly in his old, strong hands. "I made you everything you are."

"A pirate," Diego responded with cold disgust. "A schemer. A

man who has learned to live in shadows. A man who has no chance

to live with honor and honesty." His voice was full of bitterness as

he added, "You turned me into scum like you. I would rather you

had left me as a galley slave."

"I'll make you much worse before I'm done with you." The

corsair cast an ugly look her way.

"Did you do it for her? Why? I would have given her to you."

"I wanted something in my life not tainted by you. At least I

bought her with my own coin."

Honoria had forgotten for a few days that she was a slave, a

piece of property. She supposed she should be appalled and

offended by Diego's words, but she was deeply affected by them.

It did not seem that Ibrahim Rais had yet tumbled to the fact

that his second in command was not only trying to defect, but to

take the pirate's treasure with him. She knew why Diego really

wanted her, yet she thought
—
hoped
—
that she meant more to him

now than merely a means of escape. The look he turned on her

after he spoke told her he felt something for her, but it was too brief

and fleeting.

She looked around desperately at the trio of guards filling the

room. She saw the hopelessness of the situation, the madness in

Ibrahim Rais's eyes, and realized how very afraid she was. She had

no idea what they were going to do.

Everyone jumped and turned when sound exploded up from

the harbor, louder than thunder. The house shook in response to

the many voices of booming cannon. Heads turned. Bodies jerked

defensively as the cannon roared out again. Then the barrage

started in earnest.

One of the guards shouted above the booming, "The city's

under attack!"

So was he, a moment later. Diego moved in the space of a

breath, faster than Honoria's racing heartbeat. In one swift move

he broke from Ibrahim Rais's hold and was on the guard. An

instant after that he had the guard's scimitar and the other man

was on the floor, bleeding. When Diego turned again, he held the

sword in one hand, a pistol in the other. "Down!" he shouted.

Honoria had the good sense to get out of his way. The sound

of the pistol was louder in the enclosed room than the cannon fire

from the harbor. Another of Ibrahim Rais's men fell. The third

guard rushed forward, sword raised. There was a brief flurry of

blows, metal ringing on metal. Then there was blood and the third

guard was down. Then Diego turned on Ibrahim Rais.

Honoria shrieked in pain as Ibrahim Rais grabbed her by the

hair and pulled her from where she knelt against the wall. The old

man was strong and held her easily, though she kicked back, hitting

him in the shins. When he rested the tip of a knife at her throat she

had the sense to go perfectly still.

"Good girl," he murmured, holding her before him as a

shield.

The sword dropped from Diego's hand. He still held the

empty pistol in the other. Honoria watched him move very

cautiously forward as the tip of the knife blade slowly pierced a

spot just above her collarbone. She didn't feel any pain, but was

aware of the trickle of blood that seeped from the small wound onto

the white caftan. Her spectacles were tilted askew on her face, but

she had no trouble making out Diego's grim, hard expression as he

slowly advanced. All the while the cannon in the harbor continued

to shake the small house while attacking the city. But the chaos

within, with a madman holding a knife at her throat, was worse.

"Let her go," Diego said.

"I think not. I will slit her throat in front of you, of course."

The man sounded far too cheerful about his intentions for

Honoria's peace of mind.

"If you touch her you know I will kill you."

"She's bleeding already."

Diego smiled. It was chilling, yet she found it somehow

reassuring. "Then you're a dead man, aren't you?"

"She'll die first."

"Don't you know what's going on?" Diego asked, gesturing

with the pistol. "There's a French fleet in the harbor. The English

Navy is probably with them. We've known they would strike for

months. We've all made our escape plans; our world is ending. Let

her go. Let me go. Save yourself, old man."

She felt the strong arms holding her begin to tremble. There

was a waver in Ibrahim Rais's voice when he said, "My treasures."

"Get to your house," Diego urged, voice low and rushing

with warning. "Gather what you can. Escape. Hurry."

"My—"

Diego threw the pistol. The heavy gun whooshed past

Honoria's head to hit Ibrahim Rais squarely in the forehead with a

bone-cracking thud. He grunted and fell, the knife clattering to the

floor a second before he did. Suddenly released and off-balance,

Honoria fell forward. Diego caught her and drew her into a hard

embrace.

"Is he dead?" she panted, breathless after a swift kiss.

"I think so," Diego answered. He gave only a swift glance to

the old man in passing as he hurried her toward the door. "Let's

get out of here."

Honoria touched the small scar just above her collarbone as she

recalled her last sight of the four men James had defeated to secure

their escape from Algiers, just before he abandoned her to her fate.

She had seen the man in a real fight; she would not fear for him

fighting a duel. "Well," he persisted. "What shall I choose?"

"Swords or pistols?" she questioned back. "Choose what you

will, my lord." It was not as if any choice she ever made had any

meaning for him, anyway.

"We're here."

Honoria came awake at the touch of James's hand on hers,

and at the sound of his voice. For a moment she had no idea where

she was, other than that her head was resting on his shoulder and

that his arm was around her. She was quite comfortable, or as

comfortable as one could be sitting upright in a traveling coach.

She blinked her eyes open as a flood of memories from the

day before rushed back to her. She was married. To James

Marbury. And they had traveled through the night at her insistence,

rather than stop at an inn to reach—

"We're here," James repeated as a footman threw open the

carriage door. "Lacey House." He slipped out the door and turned,

holding a hand toward her to help her descend.

Honoria stared at the Palladian mansion that loomed behind

Marbury's imposing breadth of shoulder. Its domed facade, the

design a cross between an Italian villa and an ancient Greek temple,

was of white polished marble that gleamed brightly in the early

morning sunlight. Lacey House. The family seat. Her beloved

home. She knew every room from garret to cellars, knew every

pathway through the extensive woods and gardens; knew every

servant, every horse in the stables, every dog in the kennels. Lacey

House had been her haven and refuge for the last eight years, and

now her nemesis was here in the one place she'd felt safe from the

world and all its betrayals. Worse, her nemesis had brought her

here and was waiting for her to follow him out of the carriage. For

a panicked moment Honoria nearly shouted for the coachman to

drive on.

James reached into the carriage and put his arms around her

waist. The next thing she knew, she was cradled in his arms and he

was marching resolutely up the shallow steps that led to the grand

entrance of the ducal mansion. A long row of liveried servants

stood on either side of the door waiting to greet them, and she

realized that her father must have sent word of her returning with

her husband. They served the Duke of Pyneham first, and perhaps

they would serve her husband before answering to her. It galled

her, but there was nothing she could do. Some of the maids held

bouquets of flowers in their hands, and there were welcoming

smiles on all the faces. Everyone but the blank-faced butler gaped

as James carried her forward. To them this was a joyous occasion,

even if the groom made their entrance less than dignified.

She did not demand that he put her down as they reached the

doorway. She said, "I sincerely hope you are straining your back."

He laughed. "No you don't. You need me healthy."

"I can't think for what."

"I'll remind you shortly." She made a disgusted sound and he

went on, "You're tall, not heavy. I like you tall."

"I am an overgrown cow, and everyone knows it. Don't flatter

me. I won't have it."

He paused on the top step of Lacey House, and looked at her

with great seriousness as the butler bowed and held the door open

for them. He ignored the people to either side of them, seeming to

have eyes only for her. The intensity of his look took her breath

away. "Someone gave you the idea that you aren't beautiful," he

said softly. "I'm going to teach you how beautiful you are."

"How do you plan to do that, break every mirror in the

house?"

He smiled as he put her down, letting her body slide down the

length of his. Then he kissed her, right there in front of the butler

and everybody. Honoria was vaguely aware of applause breaking

out around them, but she was far more aware of the texture of his

lips and of the questing tongue that teased her mouth open beneath

his. She knew intellectually that she did not want to be kissed, but

her arms went around his neck and her body molded itself to his

and relaxed in the shelter of his embrace. For a long, luscious

moment she
soared
.

When James lifted his mouth from hers, her glasses were

tilted askew. He didn't even seem to notice straightening them on

her nose, but the offhand gallantry of the gesture left her nearly as

weak and shaken as the kiss had done. What was the matter with

her? Probably lack of sleep, she concluded, and steeled her resolve

to confront him once more.

He disarmed her with one of his roguish smiles. "Tell me

what the protocol is, duchess mine—do I now carry you over the

threshold? Or do you carry me?"

"I am not a duchess."

He tilted his head to one side and studied her gravely. "But I

am now a Pyne. I am not happy about that—"

"Neither am I," she interrupted.