Brown eyes regarded him calmly above the blade. The man’s face was a little too pale, a little too thin, as though he’d endured a long illness. He had dark blond hair, and he wore the uniform of a British naval officer. James knew him best as Lieutenant Jack.
James kept the knife at Jack’s throat for a long moment. Then his hand relaxed, and he lowered the blade.
Lieutenant Jack returned James’s gaze silently. Then just as silently, Jack turned his back and walked away.
*** *** ***
In Alexandra’s grandiose front hall, Diana caught Isabeau in a fierce embrace. “I’ll never leave you alone again, sweetheart, I promise.” Isabeau squirmed a bit, confused by Diana’s vigor.
But the thought of leaving Isabeau here until who knew when had frightened Diana badly, no matter how kind Lady Stoke and Maggie might be. It was one thing for Diana to know Isabeau was safe with her grandfather and Mrs. Pringle on Haven; abandoning her on the coast of England with naval men searching the area was something else.
Lieutenant Jack had left them without a word. They’d heard him announce to the marine sergeant that he’d found no trace of them in or around the folly. Diana and James had waited in tense silence as Jack and the marine crunched away into the woods. A long time later, Lord Stoke had reappeared to tell them it was safe to return to the house.
“It’s only safe here for so long,” James said now. “They’ll be back. They’ll search the town and surrounding area for a while.” His eyes were like green ice. “I’d hoped to slip away quietly. Now we’ve got to evade a marine patrol.”
“We’ll come up with something,” Lord Stoke said. “They’re nothing if not predictable. We’ll get around them.”
They began planning. The rest of the afternoon and into supper, James and Lord Stoke came up with and discarded plans. Diana sensed that James wanted to do this on his own, as he did everything else, but he pretended to listen to Lord Stoke’s ideas. Alexandra had no hesitation about throwing in her own contributions, and Diana had never been shy about interrupting. A spirited, four-way argument ensued.
“The Majesty is the only real way out,” Lord Stoke said again, much later that evening.
“And the way to your arrest,” James said. “I don’t mind so much seeing you on a prison hulk, but Alexandra might get mad at me.”
Diana was exhausted. Her eyes felt as though fine grains of sand swam in them, and her back ached from the stone floor of the folly. James, the man who had battled fever and wounds from a flogging, downed brandy and paced the sitting room with perfect strength.
Alexandra mostly watched the two men. They were handsome specimens, worth watching. James, dark-haired, eyes like jade, his swarthy face strong; Lord Stoke, with his blue eyes and smile that could light up the room.
Alexandra had told Diana of the two men’s history — how Grayson had long ago rescued James from a pirate ship then invited him to help take over a naval frigate. They’d succeeded in leading a mutiny, and two pirate legends had been born.
They looked like pirates. Diana could imagine them boarding a fallen ship, Grayson’s hair glinting like sunshine, laughing as he made some quip; James quieter, his Southern drawl cutting with cynical coolness.
Somewhere along the way, the two pirate legends had turned enemies. Even now, Alexandra confessed, she was not certain which way the balance swayed.
“My idea is the best,” James said to Grayson now. “It’s something I would do, and it saves your neck from the noose. You’ve got children to look after.”
Grayson studied James with eyes as cool as James’s own. “I don’t want Alexandra caught up in your schemes. I remember what happened the last time.” They eyed each other with knowledge that Diana didn’t have.
“May we keep to the point?” Diana asked. “James must escape. His plan is audacious enough to work. We must do something.”
“I agree,” Alexandra said in her quiet voice.
“No,” Grayson said sharply. “Alexandra, I don’t want you in this. I’ll go along with it, but not you.”
“She has to,” James said. “No one will believe it unless she plays along. You stand on precarious ground, old friend. The Admiralty might seem in awe of your title, but they’re not happy about all that fun you used to have in the Pacific. I bet they don’t even know half of your activities there.”
“Don’t threaten me, James.”
“Not a threat. I’m pointing out where you stand. One hint that you helped me, and they start coming after you for all the rest.”
The two men faced each other like circling dogs, blue gaze meeting green.
Finally, Grayson let out his breath. “All right. Damn you. I’ll contact Jacobs, tell him what to expect.” He sent another glare at James. “But if you so much as scratch the varnish, I will come after you. That ship is Maggie’s legacy. I want it in one piece for her.”
“I know how to sail a ship, Finley. Better than you do.”
Grayson growled and said nothing.
They broke and went up to bed after that, but Diana could not sleep. She went to the nursery to look in on Isabeau.
The little girl slept on her cot, one fist resting on the pillow beside her. Diana pressed a kiss to her forehead. Isabeau had taught her about love and caring, and about courage. Diana could not imagine life without her. She touched her hand to her abdomen and hoped that something equally as precious would happen with her next child.
She left the nursery and went back downstairs. A footman, ever wakeful, sprang to attention at the bottom of the stairs, ready to offer her a glass of water, a cushion, a full feast, whatever she wanted. Diana nodded to him and continued to the drawing room, thinking to find a stray book to read and ease her mind.
She found the viscount instead. Lord Stoke was staring moodily at the fire, his hair bright in the gloom. Diana made to tiptoe away, but he looked around and saw her.
“Lady Worthing.” Lord Stoke beckoned to her. “Come and sit down.”
Diana took the offered chair, curious to know what he wanted to say.
“In London,” he began, “I told you to forget about Ardmore. And then I find you here, very much with him.” Lord Stoke’s eyes twinkled. “In my folly.”
Diana’s face grew hot. “I beg your pardon about that, but . . .”
“You’re not sorry, lass. You’re in love. But you really ought to know what you’re getting yourself into.”
Diana made an irritated noise. “I know already. James is exasperating, high-handed, and bad-tempered. But then, so am I.”
Lord Stoke grinned. “I like you, as I’ve told you. You have fire and courage, and you just might be what Ardmore needs. That and you are damn beautiful. How did he get so lucky?”
Her face heated still more. “Your observation is unseemly.”
“But right on the mark. Men must fall over when you walk down the street. You only have to quirk your finger and they all come into line, don’t they?”
Diana thought of the ballrooms of London, the parade of her admirers, their empty flattery, their indecent suggestions. She was glad that part of her life was finished.
“James does not really want to go to Charleston,” Diana said. “He is taking me there because it is the only safe place we can marry.”
Lord Stoke nodded. “James used to love Charleston. When he first took me there, he showed me every corner of it. The people of Charleston love him back — they bow down and worship the Ardmores. His sister is lovely, fine-mannered, and as arrogant as James is. She has every lady of Charleston society wrapped around her fingers. No one makes a social move without the approval of Honoria Ardmore. Her power would frighten you.”
“It already does frighten me. What will she make of me, I wonder?”
“Once she discovers you have a backbone and that you tamed her hopeless older brother, I predict she’ll take to you.” He grinned. “She’ll have someone to complain about James with if nothing else.”
“Is it because of
Honoria that he does not want to return?” Diana asked. “He speaks of her with affection. She sounds a formidable woman, but James likes formidable women.”
“He and Honoria don’t get on well, but only because they are too much alike. No, the true reason Ardmore does not want to return to Charleston is because of Paul.”
Diana went quiet. “I see.”
“Do you know the full story? James blames himself for Paul’s death. He’d ad gone off to settle some privateers who were terrorizing the Carolina coast, and Paul decided to go on a rampage of his own.” Grayson’s smile turned sad. “James does not entirely blame himself. He blames me. Paul was doing his best to kill me when he died. I lived. Paul didn’t.”
Diana digested this in silence. She could never get complete stories from James, and having to piece things together frustrated her. “I know he grieves still.” She spread her hands. “But what can I do? I want to help him, but James won’t let me. I don’t know if I can in any case.” She trailed off, glum.
“If anyone can, it’s you, Lady Worthing. I’ve seen Ardmore angry, I’ve seen him dangerous. I even knew him when he was young, pigheaded, and mostly happy. But I’ve never seen him like this. It’s like he’s come back to life. He’s not hiding in his cold shell any longer. He’s snarling at me, and looking at you like he wants to eat you up.”
Diana raised her brows in trepidation. “Do you mean that this is not his cold shell?”
Lord Stoke took her hand. His were large, tanned, and scarred, like James’s. “Not by a long shot. You’re waking him up. Whatever it is you are doing, keep doing it.”
Diana watched his fingers on hers a moment. “You are fond of him, aren’t you?”
Lord Stoke looked embarrassed. “I wouldn’t use the word fond. But we shared a past and a friendship. I am not entirely blameless in what happened between us. He intimidated me, and I loved to put one over on him. It was like shooting an arrow into a bear’s foot. Yes, I hurt him, but what I mostly did was make him angry.”
Diana couldn’t help but smile at the image. James’s sudden temper and ruthless retaliation was very like that of a slightly wounded bear.
She sensed it now as James leaned over the backs of their chairs. His hands gripped the upholstery until his fingers went white. “Finley,” he asked, his green eyes like ice. “What the hell are you doing?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Grayson released Diana’s hand, his blue eyes going cool and wary. “Calm yourself, Ardmore. All is well.”
They shared a long look, as though they battled without words.
“Not this time, Finley,” James said in a slow, careful voice. “This is different.”
The tight gaze continued. They seemed to be continuing a conversation they’d begun years ago, one they weren’t going to share with Diana.
Then Grayson broke into a sudden smile and said, “You’re right, old friend. Sit down and have some brandy. It’s the best from France, never mind the blockade. I have the feeling this will be the last time we’ll be drinking together for a while.”
*** *** ***
In the small hours of the morning, Diana roused Isabeau and prepared her to leave.
Diana had packed everything before putting Isabeau to bed, and now they gathered in the downstairs hall, she, James, and Isabeau; Alexandra, Grayson, and Maggie.
The hall was surprisingly free of servants, and no lights flickered in the sconces. Grayson still was not happy about James’s plan, but he’d made the necessary arrangements.
Alexandra, obligingly, provided the rope.
Grayson made his disapprobation of the plan known until James tied a gag into his mouth, not gently. Grayson could only glare at him over the white linen.
Diana bound Maggie’s hands. Maggie insisted they be tighter than Diana wanted to tie them because that would be more believable. She even volunteered to wear a gag.
Diana straightened up from finishing Maggie’s bonds to see James tying Alexandra’s wrists behind her back. He said quietly. “Just like old times, isn’t it, Alexandra?” And Lady Stoke blushed.
Diana had no time to ask what that was all about, because James took Diana’s hand and quickly led her and Isabeau out into the night.
They reached a rowboat hidden under the shadow of a wharf, and James rowed them across the black sea, stars in a riot of light above them. Very soon, they pulled up alongside a three-masted ship, the Majesty in all its glory.
James climbed onboard the ship with confidence, but then, once upon a time, he’d owned half of it. Mr. Jacobs, the young first officer, eyed him askance, but Jacobs’s beautiful wife welcomed Diana and Isabeau. Mrs. Jacobs made them all comfortable while the men readied the ship to sail to the rendezvous point.
Diana had no time to speak to James, or to argue with him, while he stood on the quarterdeck with Mr. Jacobs, watching as Jacobs headed the Majesty along the coast.
An hour later, they rounded a point and found the Argonaut waiting in the moonlight, sleek and low in the water.
One of the Majesty’s sailors rowed James, Diana, and Isabeau across, and there was Mr. Henderson, spectacles gleaming, to help Diana climb aboard. The small Irishman, Mr. O’Malley, lifted Isabeau onto the deck and watched with interest while Isabeau started signing like mad.
“What’s she doing?” the Irishman asked.
“Saying hello,” Diana said. “And telling you how we escaped and sailed here, and asking if you’d let her climb up the rigging. No.” She signed firmly to Isabeau. Isabeau only grinned, and giggled when Mr. O’Malley winked at her.
James started bellowing orders even before his feet touched the deck, and the Argonaut sprang to life. Men swarmed about, the rowboat slid back across the water, the anchor came up, and they were away.
James took Diana’s hand, but instead of ordering her below, led her and Isabeau to the quarterdeck with him. Mr. Forsyth relinquished the wheel with a welcoming smile, and James stepped to it, balancing against the pull of the ship, his body upright and entirely healed.
He belonged there, his coat moving in the wind, moonlight touching his bare head, his hands competent on the wheel. For the first time since Diana had met him, she knew that Captain Ardmore had found his haven.
He was home.
*** *** ***
The Ardmore house in Charleston astonished Diana. Graceful and white, it rose four stories from the street, each floor replete with a lacy white balcony. It resembled nothing less than a bride in finery, a flirtatious bride who smiled and beckoned and dared the passerby to discover her secrets.
A sumptuous wrought-iron gate set in the wall opened to a courtyard paved with white and golden tiles. A small fountain, surrounded by geraniums, bubbled away in the middle. A wide black door, surmounted by a graceful fanlight, stood closed at the top of a short, curved flight of stairs.
Houses in London sported anonymous façades, revealing the riches inside to a privileged few. This house tantalized with tall windows coy with lace curtains, balconies strung with bougainvillea, whicker chairs placed so a sitter could enjoy a view of the cool courtyard.
Diana had been warm since the Argonaut had entered Charleston Harbor. Her father had mopped his brow as their hired carriage made its way to the Battery and Meeting Street. Isabeau, on the other hand, had found everything delightful, and Diana had gaped like a tourist.
Diana had supposed that James would take them to a hotel and approach his home alone, but he’d commanded the coachman to drive them straight to the Ardmore house.
They’d all come, including Mr. Henderson and Mr. O’Malley. Diana wondered, as they crowded into the courtyard, whether James had brought them to remind his sister that he was still master of this house. Or perhaps, considering what Lord Stoke had told her about Honoria, as fortifications if he found difficulty facing her.
The front door opened as James climbed the stairs to it. A tall man in a butler’s kit, with gray-white hair and coal black face, waited for them. His smooth face
was as dignified as an English butler’s, more so even, until joy flashed in his dark eyes.
“Mr. James,” the man greeted him. “I’ve informed Miss Honoria of your arrival.”
The man opened the door wide and ushered James inside. He stood aside deferentially for the lot of them, but he kept his eyes on James.
Diana found the inside of the house to be even more stunning than the outside. The walls of the entry hall were a light shade of yellow, as though sunshine had been swallowed and dispersed. A yellow-and-black floorcloth led through a set of double doors to another wide hall that housed a magnificent staircase.
The stairs swept upward without obvious support, twisting from ground to first floor, and from first to second, and on up to the top of the house. Isabeau eyed the staircase speculatively, and Diana knew it would be only a matter of time before Isabeau’s little backside was dusting the railing.
“You have a fine home, James,” Admiral Lockwood said, looking about him.
The butler intoned in a soft, musical accent, “The original house was built in 1778 by Mr. James’s grandfather. In 1795, Mr. James’s father had it repaired and expanded, adding the formal rooms in the back of the house.”
James was peering up the staircase. “Never mind, Daniel. You can give the tour later. Is Honoria still showing it off on Saturday afternoons?”
“Miss Honoria likes to keep on the tradition,” Daniel answered.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs above, and James’s face became as neutral as a blank page. He stopped talking and stood sentinel at the bottom of the staircase while his sister descended.
Diana remembered the portrait of the young woman with black hair she’d found in James’s cabin on her first adventure on the Argonaut. A round face and pointed chin, a Grecian nose, a riot of black curls, and eyes as green as James’s own.
In the portrait, Honoria had been smiling. Now the smile was gone, and lines about her eyes attested to grief. Her dark green overdress and lighter green slip suited her coloring, but it was subdued and elegantly plain, the garb of a woman who had given up dreams.
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