Diana could not take her eyes off James. He was standing within her reach, the tails of the frock coat hanging to his thighs. He looked as strong as ever, but the hand that supported him shook once.
“Where is Henderson?” he asked abruptly.
“What?”
He looked at her over his shoulder. “Alden Henderson. My third-in-command. I asked where he was.”
“I don’t know, James. He is not hiding under the sofa.”
James turned and leaned against the doorframe. “We made this our rendezvous point, to be used things went wrong. Best not tell Alexandra. She thinks I came here because in my heart I want to reconcile with her husband.”
Diana blinked. “You chose this as your rendezvous? Lord Stoke is in thick with the Admiralty. Certainly there must be safer places.”
“Not if things are bad, like they are. I never meant to get sick. Nothing I could do but go to ground. I knew Alexandra wouldn’t give me away. Neither will Finley. He owes me too much.”
Diana clenched her hands. “You might have told me.”
“I didn’t exactly have a chance. When I was chained up on the frigate, I couldn’t call out, I’m off to Cornwall to find my crew. And you still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
“Yes, I did. We took Lieutenant Jack to London.”
“London’s a long way from Cornwall. Why are you here?”
His look burned her. He didn’t want her here, was angry that she’d come. “I was looking for you,” Diana said heatedly. “Why the devil else would I be here?”
“And where is your charming father?”
“Still in London.”
They watched each other again. “You should both have gone back to Haven. I’m a dangerous person to look for.”
Diana pressed her balled fists against her sides. “How could I stay tamely at home, not knowing what had happened to you? The last time I saw you, that horrible captain was flogging you half to death. And then you disappeared. I had no idea if you were dead or alive, overboard or hiding.” She heard the tears in her voice and tried to stop them.
“You’d have been much safer on Haven,” he said stubbornly.
“Perhaps, perhaps not. But I had no intention of sitting at home without knowing what had happened to you. Besides, we had Captain Jack to return to London.”
“You could have sent him off in a frigate without holding his hand. I’d have come to you on Haven, when I was well. I supposed you safely there, until I saw you carrying a candle up Alexandra’s stairs.”
“And how was I to know you planned to return?” she asked hotly. “All you have to do is meet Mr. Henderson and the Argonaut, and you can be gone from England’s shores, safe forever. Why should I think you’d ever come back to Haven?”
His gaze was quiet. “I would have come to you again, Diana. Believe me. I found you twice before. I think that anywhere in the wide world I am, and you are, I would find you again.”
Diana’s heart pounded under his steady stare, her blood heating. This was how James declared himself — not with poetry and flowery speeches, but blunt statements. True ones.
“Would you?” she asked, her voice choked.
“I asked you to marry me, remember?” James said. “Before we were so rudely interrupted.”
“I remember.”
She remembered her stunned amazement, her fear, her sudden happiness, and then the terror of the marines bursting in to take him. Her emotions had been in complete turmoil every day since.
James didn’t answer. He jerked the French door open, and the fitful breeze gusted in, pulling Diana’s hair from its carefully placed pins. “Let’s walk,” he said.
Clouds roiled overhead. “It is going to rain,” Diana said.
“Good. Less chance someone will overhear us if we’re yelling at each other.”
James stepped out the door and took her hand as she moved woodenly to join him. He might have seemed weakened while he leaned against the door, and even now he did not walk steadily, but the pressure of his hand was strong.
The walkway led along the sea wall — to their left, breakers collided with rocks — and up to higher ground and a small wood. A little way under the trees stood a folly, columned and dome-roofed. Benches lined the inside, and James pulled Diana down to one.
Trees creaked and groaned overhead. James released Diana’s hand, but they sat very close together on the bench, hips and legs touching. James smelled of the soap from his bath and the male scent that was purely his.
“Are we going to shout at each other now?” Diana asked.
“I thought we had been.” He looked off into the trees as he spoke. This close, Diana saw the pale, almost gray tinge to his skin, and the lines of pain etched around his eyes.
James was not well, or strong. She realized they were sitting on this bench because he’d used up what strength he had walking out here.
“You should go back and rest,” Diana said in concern. She touched the sinewy hand that rested on his knee. “We can argue later.”
“Don’t fuss, Diana. You’re as bad as Alexandra.”
“Oh, do forgive me,” she returned, exasperated. “How awful that I don’t want to watch you fall dead at my feet.”
James’s lips twitched, his gaze thawing the slightest bit. “You know why I like you? Because you don’t cower and cringe. I strike out at you, you strike right back. And sometimes you hold me at gunpoint.” His amusement faded. “A man doesn’t always like his lady to see him when he’s not his best. It hurts his pride.”
“Is that why you wanted me to remain on Haven? So you could mend?”
“I wanted you to be safe from retaliation by Carter or any of his sycophants. But on second thought . . .”
James scooped her up and abruptly deposited her on his knee, making a soft grunt with the effort. He pushed his hand firmly between her thighs. “That’s better,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Diana’s backside felt good on his thighs. James warmed his hands in the folds of her skirt and enjoyed himself studying her lips. They were red and full, and moisture waited for him between them.
“What do you want to argue about?” she asked, her eyes still tight.
“Anything you want, darlin’.”
He breathed in the fragrance of her hair and closed his eyes. Though the short walk had tired him to the point of queasiness, having his arms around her was already bringing back his vigor.
“James,” she said. “We have to talk about a few things.”
James pried his eyes open. When a woman said that, nothing good could come of it. “What things?”
“How you managed to escape, for one. What happened to Captain Carter?”
James knew that was not what she’d wanted to ask. “I didn’t kill him,” he said.
Diana looked at him then, her eyes full of fire. “What a pity.”
James wanted to laugh. “I took him with me. I had to. He caught me right after I’d unscrewed the manacles, and he’d have roused the ship. I did beat on him a little to repay him for hitting you.” James had taken great satisfaction in connecting his fist to Carter’s face. Again and again. “I’m sorry he touched you,” he said, hand smoothing her back. “I made him pay for that. What I did to him will be much more humiliating than death — that is, if he survives it. I’ll tell you someday.”
Diana looked down at her clasped hands, her lashes hiding her eyes as though not really listening. Didn’t matter — James didn’t want to talk about any of this. When he’d awakened last night, all he’d wanted to do was get better and send for Diana. He’d wanted to hold her and kiss her, forget the past, and have everything simple.
He wanted to face her whole and strong, to sweep her into his arms and carry her off. As it was, he could barely keep his balance on the bench.
Diana looked up again, but stared off into the woods. “You must have been in a bad way as you traveled here. And yet you did it. It’s a long way from Plymouth.�
�
“I have friends to help me. And I knew Alexandra would take me in.”
He studied the line of Diana’s hair, the fine bones of her face. She had vibrant, brutal beauty.
He remembered how the sight of bruises upon her skin, put there by Captain Carter, had beaten a primal rage through him. Carter had sensed that — hence, he’d ordered the second flogging.
James had barely felt it. When it was done, Captain Carter had ordered James lifted to his feet. He would have to remain there, against the mast, Carter stipulated. If James fell, he’d be whipped again. James had felt only disgust at the man’s stupid cruelty. He’d remained on his feet, just to spite him.
He’d used up his strength on that, unfortunately, which had left him barely any stamina to swim to shore. He still felt the dark water closing over him, the cold waves pulling him back, his lungs burning, his back searing like a lava flow. Hatred had kept him going. He was damned if he’d give the English the satisfaction of pulling his dead body from the drink.
Carter had fought him hard. On the beach, he’d scraped James’s ribs with a knife before James had turned the tables. The arrival of James’s friends, more trustworthy than Tolliver had proved, finished the fight.
James had ordered Carter trussed up and gagged, to be hauled to the first passing American privateer or merchantman, and press-ganged onto its crew. The smugglers in the cove gleefully agreed.
James let his fingers find the smooth silk of her skin above her garter and stocking. “What did you really want to talk about, Diana? Tell me.”
“You are quite demanding,” Diana said with a touch of her usual verve.
James thought about the demands he’d made on her in the inn near Plymouth. And those she’d made on him. He started to get aroused. Again. Even in his invalid state, his dreams of Diana had given him a more or less permanent hard-on.
“But you always get your own back, don’t you?” He wanted to break this spell, to nudge their banter back where it belonged. “Did you bring a pistol out here with you?”
She glanced at him sideways, surprised. “No.”
“I thought you might point it at me and tell me to take down my breeches. You enjoy that.”
Diana at last looked at him fully. Her eyes were bleak. His stiff erection didn’t like that one bit.
“I’ll do something more shocking than that, James. I will tell you that you are going to become a papa.”
James stopped. The world rushed on by outside the folly — wind, leaves twirling in the coming storm, the breakers not far away. Inside the folly, all was stillness. James’s heart missed one, two, three beats, then it started up again with a vengeance. “Are you sure about that?”
She nodded. “I have been increasing before and know what it feels like. It is early days, but I am fairly certain. I am very ill in the mornings.” She made an irritated noise. “Well, most of the day, actually.”
More stillness while rain started to patter, very softly, on the roof. Hope, impossible hope rose through James, scouring him from the inside out.
“I know you told me that you’d never make me conceive,” Diana said. She touched her hand to her abdomen with an expression that made the pain of his flogging nothing. “But one of those seeds has decided to take root.”
James’s thoughts spun. “I told you that,” he said slowly, “mostly because of Sara.”
Diana didn’t look startled at the name. “You mean Maggie’s mother.”
Alexandra must have told her the story. Alexandra must have told Diana a lot about everything. Ah, well, better she knew. Saved him the embarrassment of explaining.
In his two months with Sara, they’d coupled more hours of the day than they hadn’t. If any woman would have conceived James’s child, it should have been Sara.
But she hadn’t. She’d waltzed away to Grayson Finley, and then, twelve or so years later, took Grayson to a child he must have gotten on her right away. James had hoped at first that Maggie was his, but one look at her had wiped out that hope. She looked like Grayson, talked like Grayson, smiled like Grayson.
“Finley gave Sara a child,” he said. “Not me.”
“That doesn’t mean she never conceived one,” Diana said calmly.
James stared at her a few more seconds before he realized what she meant. “She rid herself of it, you mean.”
“Possibly.” Trust matter-of-fact Diana to say the words out loud, to make him face it. “Perhaps that is why she turned from you to Captain Finley while you were away — so that if you found out what she’d done, he could protect her from you. Or, if she was kinder, perhaps she contrived not to conceive in the first place. Vinegar-soaked sponges and so forth.”
James swallowed, his throat hurting. “What do you know about all this? I thought you had a proper upbringing.”
“I traveled widely with my father as a girl, after my mother died, and saw things that — well, that he would disapprove of. It was quite informative, really.”
“Explains why your father’s hair is gray,” James muttered.
Diana flushed. “You certainly can sire children, James, because you have sired one on me.”
Her body was still stiff. Emotion of any kind upset her. She was like a rigid sapling, afraid to bend any direction in case she fell altogether.
He supposed that what she said about Sara could be true. The hope started to flutter again. He’d been blinded by his infatuation for Sara, and she had been a canny little deceiver.
James wished he were not so ill. His mind didn’t want to focus, and he didn’t want to talk about Sara, and his past, and his fears. He only wanted to sit in the cool shade and feel Diana’s backside on his knee and put his arms around her. He wanted to kiss her, to let her erase the pain inside him.
He’d not had her for too long. His erection was pushing itself up, making its presence known. He caressed her soft thigh again. “Are we finished arguing? I’d like to turn to other things right about now.”
He leaned to kiss her, but she said, “Wait, James. What are we going to do about the child?”
“Think of a name for it and decide what color to paint the nursery.”
“You want it, then?”
“Of course I want him. Or her. Why wouldn’t I?” The thought of having a child stunned him at the same time made him dizzy with joy. “I want his mama too.”
“Even after I told you how atrocious a mother I’ve been?”
James wanted to smile, but she looked so downcast. “Isabeau might debate that with you. She loves you with all her might.”
“And I love her.”
“Then what is the fuss? Isabeau won’t let you be a rotten mother.”
Diana gave him a hopeful look. “Do you truly believe that, James? Or are you trying to get me to stop talking?”
“I’ve told you, darlin’. Nothing makes you stop talking.”
She reddened. “You really are the most . . .”
James put his fingers to her soft, full lips. “Let’s not start the name calling again. Let’s just enjoy being out here together.”
Diana’s fingers moved across his back, her touch light as drifting snowflakes. “I should not let myself be alone with you. I don’t trust myself.”
“I’m damned pleased to hear that.”
Diana traced a line down his spine. He flinched, and she stopped, quickly lifting her hand away. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. The pain’s mostly gone. I’m a little stiff, that’s all.” James paused. “That’s not the only thing that’s stiff.”
He expected Diana to blush, maybe smile. Instead she raised her head and looked at him with eyes that had darkened with desire.
In one swift move, she swung around on his lap until she straddled him, her cream-colored skirt up around her thighs. “James, you make me wicked, and I do not seem to care. Even when I’m angry at you.”
“You were always wicked, love. And you’ll always be angry with me.”
Dian
a touched her lips to the bridge of his nose. Her cheeks were flushed, her lashes dark against the pink. She kissed James’s eyelids, then her fingers went to the little black buttons on her bodice, and she started undoing them.
“Hmm,” James said, trying to control his voice. “I thought those were only decorative.”
Diana didn’t answer. The placket loosened, showing the lace of a pretty chemise beneath.
James’s heart beat hard and fast. “Want me to help you?”
“No, indeed. You ripped everything last time, and this gown was expensive.”
Fair enough. James liked watching her undress anyway.
The slim fingers opened the buttons, which looked like juicy little blackberries. James wanted to lean forward and taste one. There were about twenty buttons in all, and it took her a while to reach the end.
James was good and hard again by the time Diana parted the bodice and began untying the little bows that held the chemise closed. He couldn’t remain still, and reached up to help her reveal the wonders within.
Diana’s skin, warm from the bodice, was flushed and damp. So easy for James to lean a little bit to her and lick the drops of perspiration from between her breasts.
Diana’s fingers furrowed his hair. She tasted like honey and cinnamon, and like Diana.
James’s legs were starting to shake. He laced his fingers beneath her buttocks and drew her closer.
The bench beneath him was hard and cold, but her thighs were warm, the skirt loose enough for him to run his hands beneath it.
James’s thumb found the curls between her legs, damp and sweet. Diana made a noise of contentment as he rubbed through the moisture. He’d never found her anything but wet for him, his fine Diana. Wicked and lovely woman.
“I wish I were a well man,” he said. “I’d certainly like to make this more interesting.”
Diana’s eyes were half closed. “Should we go inside?”
“I think I can sit here a while.”
“I don’t want your fever to return.”
“It’s gone. I got well as soon as I saw you drop your candle on the stairs.”
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