The Pirate Hunter's Lady Read online

  “You must have been incandescent,” he said. “Waiting for your husband, who didn’t know what to do with you. It pours out of you, Diana. You need loving.”

  Her eyes snapped open, and she took a step back. Her bodice gaped. Windblown and half-bare, she was the most beautiful thing James had ever seen.

  “I do not,” she said, voice shaking.

  “That’s not what I’m feeling.”

  “No. I have Isabeau. She is more important. Much more.”

  “She’s a fine child. Pretty like her mama. But don’t hide behind her. It’s not fair to her.”

  Her glare could have peeled paint. “You know nothing about it. How could you?” Diana yanked her placket together and started buttoning.

  If James took her now, he had the feeling that Diana would kill him and dance with joy at his funeral. But what fires he’d taste on his way out.

  Diana whirled from him and ran for the path. James let her go.

  Without looking back, Diana nimbly climbed the rocks, her dress bunching up to reveal her long, athletic legs. She disappeared from view, and James let out his breath.

  He knew that Diana had meant to sear him and render him a pile of ash. Instead she’d stirred a dangerous thing inside him, one that wanted her and nothing else. That dangerous beast would undo him, and James would find his neck in a noose before he knew what had hit him.

  And he didn’t care. It would be worth it.

  About damn time something was.

  *** *** ***

  Diana had composed herself by the time her father, Isabeau, and Lieutenant Jack returned.

  Barely. Diana tried to convince herself that no one would think anything of it if she stayed in her room and pretended to have a headache. She’d invented one in order to remain home from the boat outing to see what James was up to in the first place.

  But Isabeau rousted her from her bedchamber, laughing with delight about the boat ride with her grandfather and Jack, and tugged Diana downstairs in time for supper.

  Diana sat at the head of the table, uncomfortable, while her father recounted what they’d found beyond the breakers, which hadn’t been much. They’d seen a few drifting pieces of board and that was all.

  Lieutenant Jack contributed to the discussion, his manner relaxed and at ease. James sat silently on Jack’s other side, eating Mrs. Pringle’s excellent fish in wine sauce without comment.

  Every time Diana looked up from her plate, however, she found James’s gaze on her.

  She’d made the excuse at the last minute to stay behind, because she’d worried about what James would get up to if left alone. He had too much intelligence in those ice-green eyes. Jessup and Mrs. Pringle would never be able to stop him.

  As Diana had suspected, as soon as James thought the boat gone, he’d sought the path to the caves. Diana had known that simple persuasion would not work to keep him out of the caves, so she’d tried another weapon.

  Last year, James had desired her. Men always desired Diana, heaven knew why. They fought to stand by her side, to dance with her, to gain her favors. They behaved like love-sick lunatics, glowering at friends and enemies alike who even spoke to her.

  At first, when Diana had been a young and foolish seventeen, she’d loved the attention. Being the belle of the ball was a heady thing. She’d grown a bit conceited, and she’d thought, idiot that she was, that these gentlemen had liked her.

  Diana had learned what they wanted soon after she married, once her taboo status of virginal miss was no longer an obstacle. She’d come to realize, when they whispered indecencies in the ballroom, or cornered her away from her husband, that these gentlemen had not wooed her for her conversation, her cleverness, or her wit.

  They wanted to bed her. That was all. Diana had discovered, still a fool, that she could wield their desires like a weapon. It had given her power. When Edward, the man she’d truly fallen in love with, had proved to be the one man who didn’t want her, she’d used that weapon to try to hurt him. She’d show him that other men wanted her. Not that Edward had noticed, except to accuse her of being a lightskirt and a disgrace.

  James desired her — he’d not hidden the fact. But he’d not done what he was supposed to do. He’d not begged for her, or tried to take her down to the sand, or quoted bad poetry at her.

  He’d laughed at her. Because James had the same power.

  He’d turned Diana’s weapon around on herself and wielded it with practiced brutality. When he’d pulled her into his arms, Diana had felt the hunger she thought she’d never experience again come awake, just as it had come awake when James had kissed before he’d left her in England. His kiss today had been skilled as ever — this man was an expert in seduction.

  Had Diana torn herself away from him, fainted in shock, or scolded him for taking a liberty? No, she’d thrown her arms about his neck and kissed him back, delighting in his hard mouth, his fiery taste, the thick line of his erection inside his breeches. Propriety had vanished into the sun and sand.

  The only triumph Diana had snatched from the situation was that she’d successfully misdirected him. By showing obvious worry about James walking into the innocent caves, she’d made him focus on them instead of the real secrets the island held.

  As James’s gaze flicked to her again, Diana realized that he knew that she’d tried to distract him with the caves.

  And he knew that she knew that he knew it.

  Her head began to ache. She viciously stirred her soup.

  “Come with us next time, James,” Lieutenant Jack was saying. “The sea was fair, and the view of the island from offshore is beautiful.”

  James took a sip of wine. “When I heal.”

  “We found little of the wreckage,” Jack went on. “I can only hope the rest of the crew came upon as safe a haven as we did.”

  “Let us hope,” James agreed. “How far can the gig sail?”

  “A good distance in fair weather,” the admiral said. “All the way to Plymouth, if need be, though I prefer a larger ship under me for that journey. But the seas are high here. We are more or less cut off, I am sorry to say. The odd frigate or merchantman calls, but we are effectively on the way to nowhere.”

  It was a lie, and Diana’s father told it well.

  James nodded, as though not very interested. “I took a walk today,” he said. Diana shot him a look, which he returned steadily. “Down through the back garden. To the caves at the end of the path.”

  The admiral swiftly looked down at his food, hiding consternation behind lowered lids. “Did you?”

  “Yes. The caves aren’t very deep, but worth seeing. Come with me tomorrow, Jack.”

  Jack nodded, his look eager. “Certainly.”

  James returned his gaze to Diana, his green stare burning her. She remembered, very precisely, the exact feeling of his arousal as it pressed her abdomen through her thin skirts. Her face scalded.

  Drat the man.

  After the interminable supper, Diana fled to the refuge of her father’s study. The room had been built on the end of a wing on the first floor above the ground floor. Three walls set with windows overlooked the sea, a beautiful room, one Diana had always loved.

  She strolled to the west window, enjoying the last fingers of light that tore at the clouds on the horizon.

  The admiral shut the door and came to stand behind her. “He found the caves?”

  James had found much more than that. He’d found the spark that lit Diana, just when she’d thought she’d banished sparks altogether.

  “Yes, he found them. The wretched man went exploring.”

  “What else did he find?”

  “Nothing. He did not go beyond the dry caves.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  Diana turned. “What do we do if he finds it?”

  Her father studied her for a long time before he answered. He was still a handsome man, with silver gray hair pulled into an old-fashioned queue, his eyes blue-gray like hers. His face had st
rong bones, no sagging flesh. Isabeau’s face was as clean-lined and pure.

  “If he finds it, he finds it,” the admiral said with a shrug.

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “Nor do I. But I have the feeling that Captain Ardmore can keep secrets.”

  Diana looked at him in alarm. “You do not mean we should take him into our confidence?”

  “Of course not. But I far more worry about Lieutenant Jack than Captain Ardmore. Lieutenant Jack is a member of the Royal Navy, and he will call on the Admiralty the moment he lands in England.” The admiral slanted his daughter the smile that always warmed her. “You know how untrustworthy we naval chaps can be.”

  Diana stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Oh, Papa.”

  He hugged her. “Have I mentioned how happy I am that you and Isabeau joined me here? I thought I’d be content in my retreat alone, but Lord, how I always missed the both of you.”

  “You’ll never have to be alone again, Papa.”

  The admiral smiled at her, his eyes sad. “You are sweet girl, my dear, but your cage will soon grow confining. You’ll long for the real world.”

  Diana shuddered. “No, indeed. Never again.”

  The admiral did not argue, but his expression told her he didn’t believe her. “Kiss Isabeau good night for me. She ought to be tired. She was most — energetic — on the boat.”

  Diana laughed, her heart lightening. “Isabeau is a born sailor. I hope she did not drive you to distraction.”

  “A most welcome distraction. The lieutenant is a bit melancholy, and no wonder. He’s frightened.”

  “I wish we could help him more.”

  Her father eyed her sharply. Diana raised her brows at him, but the admiral only softened the look and kissed her cheek. “Good night, love.”

  “Good night, Papa.”

  When she reached the door, her father called to her. “Oh, Diana, please tell Captain Ardmore I want to see him.”

  Diana froze with her hand on the door handle. “On the moment?”

  “When he can spare the time. But tonight, yes.”

  Diana drew a breath. She could speak to James, certainly. There was no reason why she should not speak to him.

  There was no reason why her fingers should have gone cold and shaking either.

  “Yes, very well.” Diana’s voice cracked. She hoped her father did not notice.

  Once in the hall, the door shut, Diana exhaled. She wondered whether her father suspected the manner in which she’d dissuaded James from searching beyond the caves. The admiral had always taken her side, no matter what her husband had claimed. But that had been in England, when she’d been more or less innocent. Was she innocent now?

  Squaring her shoulders, Diana descended the front stairs and made her way to the parlor.

  *** *** ***

  James knew the instant Diana walked into the room. He’d been standing just inside the French doors to the garden, breathing in the fragrance of hydrangea and bougainvillea, feeling a dart of homesickness. The gardens in the house in Charleston would be blooming now, early spring bringing a riot of blossoms to the Southern city. James had been gone a long time.

  Diana’s cotton gown made barely a rustle, but he turned, her presence tugging him like an unseen tether.

  Lieutenant Jack, absorbed in a book, looked up then rose to his feet, ever the gentleman. Diana acknowledged Lieutenant Jack’s welcoming smile with a nod, but James’s idea that she was smitten with Jack seemed ludicrous now. Diana was a woman of powerful passion, and what she gave the lieutenant was mere friendliness touched with pity.

  Diana stopped at least half the room away from James, as though she did not trust herself near him.

  “My father would like to speak to you,” she said stiffly. “When you can give him a moment. Upstairs in his study.”

  James inclined his head. Diana wore the tidy blue frock she’d put on for dinner, buttoned all the way to her chin. The disheveled woman of this afternoon at the cave had vanished. But James knew that woman was still inside Diana, hiding behind this neat and sensible lady like a nymph behind a rock.

  “I’ll speak to him,” James answered. “Please show me the way.”

  Anger flashed in Diana’s eyes. He knew the way well enough.

  James expected her to refuse, to stamp from the room, to leave him to walk to her father’s study on his own. But she schooled her expression and gave him a nod.

  Well, he could pretend if she could.

  “Good night,” Lieutenant Jack said to them. “I will likely turn in soon. Sailing tires me nowadays.” Sadness rang in the words, touching James. Times were strange when an upright English naval lieutenant stirred James’s compassion.

  James bade Jack a good night and followed Diana from the room.

  She waited for him at the bottom of the stairs. “Up there,” she pointed, her finger as rigid as his now-interested cock. “Through the double doors at the end of the hall.”

  James caught Diana’s wrist as she tried to slip away. “Perhaps we should say good night before I go up.”

  She tried to pull herself from his grip. “Isabeau is waiting for me.”

  “It won’t take long.” James put his fist beneath her chin, leaned down, and kissed her.

  Diana’s mouth remained tight, firmly resisting, then on a sudden, she relaxed and kissed him back.

  A brief, hot burst of passion. Their mouths locked for the barest instant, but enough for James to find the heady taste of her.

  Damn, but he’d love to spend all night tasting her. Tasting her would be one long orgy of discovery.

  James eased back. He brushed the moisture from her lip with the ball of his thumb.

  “Good night,” he said softly, then ascended into the darkening house.

  *** *** ***

  James had to wait outside the study door a good five minutes before his erection deflated enough so he could face the father of the woman he wanted to ravish.

  James hadn’t been so intrigued and fascinated by a woman in a long, long time. Not since Sara, the Polynesian woman who’d stolen his heart then crushed it beneath her shapely bare heel had emotions chased through him like this.

  Many women had tried to catch James’s his attention throughout his life, but he always held back from giving them everything he was. Not because he was coldhearted, as so many believed, but because James was the opposite of coldhearted.

  Whenever James fell, he fell hard. And so he made certain he didn’t fall.

  He could not fall now, much as the landing would be sheerest bliss. James was here on a mission, and at the end of it, he’d either be dead or forced to flee for his life. This sojourn with Diana would become another memory among the many memories in his past.

  James raised his hand and knocked on the plain wooden door. At the admiral’s called invitation, James opened the door and entered the room.

  The sun had descended, and the many windows in the long room were dark. A fire roared in the grate, bathing the room in a scarlet glow, both comforting and rather hell-like.

  Admiral Lockwood turned from lighting a candelabra and motioned for James to close the door. The admiral tossed the paper spill into the grate, where the fire devoured it with a hungry crackle.

  Lockwood’s long hair was pulled into a neat queue, no doubt the way he’d worn it all his naval life. He had the same gray-blue eyes as his daughter, set in a handsome face that age and the sea had hardened but not marred. Likewise, he was not bent with his sixty years but ramrod straight, his shoulders square.

  “Captain Ardmore,” Lockwood said cordially. “Tell me. What weapons are you carrying at the moment?”

  James stopped for a heartbeat. He and the admiral studied one another across the dark room, neither man moving.

  Then James slid his hand into his coat and withdrew his steel-hilted knife from the inner pocket. He displayed the knife in his palm then laid it on a nearby table.

  Chapter Eight

&nb
sp; The knife was plain, utilitarian, its iron-gray handle wrapped tightly with a leather strip. James had bought the thing long ago in Martinique.

  The admiral studied it. “Is that all?”

  James let his hand drop. “Not really.”

  “When I helped my daughter and Jessup carry you from the beach and put you to bed, I was astonished at the number of knives you had secreted about your person. I found no pistol, however.”

  “I didn’t have time to fetch one,” James said mildly. “The ship was sinking at the time.”

  “No doubt. And prisoners are rarely issued pistols, even to save their own lives. I wonder how you came by the knives.”

  James gave him a level look. The admiral stared back, unfazed.

  Lockwood was an experienced naval man, had been a captain of the line for a long time before being raised to admiral after Trafalgar. He’d know all about James and guess what he was doing on an English frigate.

  “The officers were lax about searching me,” James said.

  Lockwood gave him a nod. “No doubt so happy to have captured the famous Captain Ardmore that they grew careless.” He studied the knife again. “I guessed that the only way we’d have found you with an English lieutenant was if you’d been his prisoner, or he yours. But his weapons were intact, and you had a rawness on your wrists that comes from manacles.” He paused. “I saw you once before, you know, years ago. Only a brief encounter, but I could not forget your eyes.” Lockwood looked up and into them now. “They were the eyes of a man with no heart.”

  Before he’d arrived here, James would have agreed with him. Not anymore.

  James touched his breastbone. “I have a heart. It’s beating in there.”

  “So you say. I watch Lieutenant Jack. He has no idea who or what he is, and that terrifies him. He fears to learn what kind of man he used to be. You, Captain, know who you are and what you are. And you’ve closed yourself to that truth.” Lockwood traced the carved top of a chair drawn up to the table. “But I did not send for you to tell you about your heart. I wanted to ask what you plan to do.”