On a Long Ago Night (38 page)

It was James who looked around after a while and said

breathlessly, "We'd better get back to your bedroom."

Honoria adjusted her askew spectacles and responded

practically as she took his hand, "There are over thirty bedrooms in

Lacey House. We simply have to find the nearest one."

Honoria slipped out of bed and into a robe without waking James.

Dawn was just breaking and she walked out onto her balcony to

look down on the neatly tended gardens below. A maze of

blooming rose bushes was laid out beneath her bedroom. Bright

color and heady aroma filled her senses even though she could not

make out details without her spectacles. She wasn't quite sure

where she'd left her glasses this time, and didn't much care. Huseby

would find them, and Honoria had several spare pairs. Maggie had

arrived from London yesterday and put herself in charge of picking

up all of Honoria's and James's dropped and misplaced items.

Honoria was not sure how many times they had made love, or

in how many places in the last twenty-four hours. She shook her

head as she curled her hands around the balcony banister and tried

to work up a sense of chagrin. She had sore muscles and was

seriously under-slept. She was starving, and wanted a long, hot

bath. But all these were physical reactions to what she'd been doing

with her husband. She was also deeply, deeply satisfied, physically

and mentally. She searched for a sense of shame within herself, but

could find none.

She smiled out at the dawn and spread her arms wide to the

world. The rose scented breeze blew coolly across her skin, teasing

tender nipples to hardness beneath the thin turquoise silk of her

robe. When James came to stand behind her, naked as the day he

was born, she leaned back against his sturdy body. He put his arms

around her and she tilted her head back against his shoulder.

"Come inside," he said. "It's cold."

She smiled at this reminder that he was a creature of the

sunny Mediterranean. "It's a beautiful morning."

"Which in England means it isn't raining."

"You are always so grumpy before you've had your morning

coffee." He only held her tighter. She paused for a moment, then

added, "I, on the other hand, am always grumpy."

"It's one of your chief attractions for me," he responded, and

drew her backward off the balcony. He shut the glass door behind

them, to keep the mild air out and the warmth in, she supposed.

"Shall I ring for breakfast?" she asked.

He kissed her and ran his hands over her body, sliding the

silk erotically over her skin. "I'm hungry," he said, after she was

quite mad with desire. He picked her up and tossed her back on the

bed, then he jumped on top of her.

Sometime later, warm and content with the afterglow of

passion, she tried again. "Breakfast?"

"Mmmm."

She nudged his shoulder. "I'll take that for a yes, why don't

I?"

She started to get up to ring for a servant, but his hand shot

out to grasp her wrist. "We need to talk," he said when she turned

curiously to look at him.

Oh, no
, she thought.
We most certainly do not
. Her blood ran

cold at the very thought of conversation. She did not want to

communicate in any way other than through touch and taste and the

other senses. For the first time in years she was free of anger,

resentment, and repression. She did not want to analyze, she

wanted to live! She was out of control, and perfectly happy to stay

that way. "I'm happy," she said. "Leave me alone."

"You don't want to hear what has to be said."

She nodded emphatically. "Precisely."

He sat up, and they sat on the green satin bedspread, cross-

legged, facing each other. His look of concern disturbed her. He

reached over and ran his fingers through her tangled hair, spreading

it out like a copper blanket over her shoulders.

"You've been asking me why since we met again. Don't you

want the answer?"

She shook her head. "I don't need answers."

He bent forward, peering at her from an inch away. "Excuse

me, madam, but I seem to be in bed with a stranger."

She bent back and pulled on her discarded robe. "You're here.

That's enough."

"It would not be enough for my Honoria." He put his hands

on her shoulders. She, who had become so very pliable, stiffened

beneath his touch. He did not ask what was wrong. He said, "Ah,

that's better."

She was not amused. "I hate being like this! I hate always

having to think. To watch what I feel and do and say! If we start

talking now, we'll argue, and I'll hate you for only marrying me out

of duty—because that's what you want to explain to me—and then

I'll go all cold and hard and turn into
her
again!" She sounded

foolish and childish and did not care. She was so very sick and tired

of being mature. She was so very—tired.

He pulled her into a warm, tender embrace and they settled

down on the bed, lying face to face. He brushed hair out of her

face, and tears from her cheeks. "I like you all tart and testy," he

told her. "I love your wit and intellect. I don't want to lose those

parts of you."

"What does love have to do with duty?" she asked, curious

for an explanation despite having denied wanting one. She had a

mind that wasn't good at not thinking, even if she wanted to escape

that part of herself.

"Everything," he answered. "Though I didn't realize they

were one and the same until sometime yesterday morning." He

continued to stroke her cheek with the pad of his thumb. She found

it very soothing. "It is a long and complicated story."

"You've said that before."

"You know my parents' history," he said after a few

moments. "How they lost each other during the Battle of

Talavares? They set a very good example to me about honor and

duty and the strength of love."

"I can see that, but what has that to do with—"

"My own life took a very bizarre turn. Even more bizarre

than their story."

"Thank you," she said tartly. "I enjoy being referred to as

'bizarre.' "

He smiled. "That's my Honoria. I did try to forget you, you

know."

"As I tried to forget you," she conceded. "I failed miserably."

"As did I. I escaped from Algiers disguised as an English

sailor. I had a small chest of gold and jewels that I managed to take

out of my house with us… along with a certain book." He grinned

wickedly.

She flashed him a smile in return. "I do not have the decency

to blush, James, so you might as well go on with your tale."

"What I brought with me was nothing compared to what I

would have claimed if I'd gotten to Ibrahim Rais's treasure."

"Sorry about that."

He managed to shrug while lying down. "What I truly wanted

was the silver scimitar. It was rightfully mine; the rest was corsair

plunder. But what mattered most was your safety. After that, I

concentrated on returning to my mother and providing for her."

"You never thought to search for your father?" She put her

hand on James's chest, directly over his heart. She hadn't noticed

before, but she realized that her leg was thrown over his. She

needed to be touching him, even when she wasn't aware of doing

so.

He put his hand on the curve of her hip. "I assumed he was

dead. It never occurred to me to claim my English heritage. Then,

one day, on a day when I was roaring drunk," he added, a faint

blush coloring his cheeks, "this Englishman showed up at our

tavern and claimed to be Edward Marbury, my father. I wouldn't

have believed him if my mother hadn't rushed into his arms. They

were happy; I went on being drunk. And whoring. And brawling,"

he added unapologetically. "I was empty inside," he went on, his

eyes full of pain and regret. She touched his cheek, and he kissed

the back of her hand. "I missed you."

"Did you? Why?" She was genuinely curious. "I mean, after

all those years… all those women…"

"Women who weren't you."

"Hmmph."

"It's true. Why is it that
you
didn't marry? Was it because you

missed me?"

"No. It was because both you and Derrick betrayed me."

After a moment, she added, "It was also because I knew I could

never make love to anyone but you. I suppose you are infinitely

smug to hear such a confession?"

"Infinitely. But I didn't think I'd betrayed you: I thought he'd

married you. That you were happy in England, with lots of babies."

"He threw me over the first moment he could when we were

out of Algiers. I had been compromised in the eyes of society, as

far as he was concerned. He thought that even though I was the

daughter of a duke, my soiled reputation would jeopardize his

career. Bloody fool didn't seem to recall that I could buy him the

Admiralty! His breaking the engagement did start rumors about me,

and tainted me in the eyes of the
ton
. The rumors were quite true,

of course, but for my father's sake, I went on pretending to be a

paragon of propriety."

"And for my father's sake I began a quest to find the young

woman I seduced and abandoned—his words, not mine."

"Really?" she asked sarcastically. "I thought you thought I

was happily married."

"Malaga is a port town," he told her, "and Captain Russell's

ship put in at the harbor a few months ago. I found out through an

acquaintance—a very nice lady of the evening—that she knew for a

fact that Captain Russell was not married. In fact, my friend—"

"I thought you said she was an acquaintance."

He ignored her jealous tone. "He wanted my friend to come

to England to be his mistress. But he told her that he needed to find

a rich wife first, so that he could afford to support a mistress

properly."

She laughed softly, without rancor. "That's my Derrick."

"He won't be anyone's Derrick much longer," James

promised grimly. "I was angry enough to kill him when I heard that

he hadn't married you, but his ship had left Malaga by the time I

heard the story. I didn't know what to think, or do. I thought that

perhaps you'd been happily married to the lout and died in

childbirth. It happens. But my lady friend was certain he'd never

been married at all. I knew then that he'd abandoned you, and that

letting you go with him was the biggest mistake I'd ever made."

"So you then romantically ran off to England to look for

me?" she asked eagerly.

He shook his head. "I nearly ran off in a blind rage to find

you, but my father had a better plan, and I listened to him." He

touched the tip of her nose, then kissed it. Her eyes crossed as she

watched his lips come toward her. "But not until after he made me

into a proper English gentleman. My father is very convincing in

the matters of duty and obligation. He insisted I owed it to the

woman I had seduced and abandoned to find her and make amends,

and practically dragged me by the ear to London to start the search

once I was polished enough to fit into society."

Honoria had gone tense; there was a bruised tenderness about

her. The confident, teasing young woman of the last two days had

been replaced by the wary creature he'd help make her into. But

wary, hurt or not, he owed her the truth. He went on, though the

very air around them seemed to darken and become more chill with

each word. "In my own way I was as hurt as you were. I had

survived life under Ibrahim Rais, but was still lost and soul-weary

when I returned to Malaga. I had nothing to live for, and a great

deal of guilt on my conscience. I did many evil things as a corsair,

even though I did them reluctantly. I did not even return with the

one thing I had earned. My father suggested that if I tracked down

Honoria Pyne and married her, then I would have at least made

reparations for some of my sins. I had his example of spending his

life finding my mother. I admired him, and wanted his approval. It

was my duty."

"You found Lady Alexandra instead." Her voice was so soft

and colorless he barely heard it.

He nodded. "I felt like a fool, but a vow is a vow. I was

determined to marry you."

"A fool. Of course."