such tender, fair skin.
Her bright eyes were full of many conflicting feelings,
and Diego could read them all. "You'll find veils useful,"
he told her and stepped behind the cabin's scarred
writing table. "Come here, Honoria Pyne."
She stood tensely in the center of the cabin for a few
moments, swaying easily with the movement of the ship.
The galley cut swiftly through the calm southern
Mediterranean, the rowers obeying the steady drumbeat
that set the time of their strokes. To Diego the drum was
as familiar as his heartbeat. He perceived it now only
because he noticed the subtle way her body moved to the
primitive rhythm. It was not the sound that quickened his
pulse, but the sensual sway of the woman's beautifully
rounded hips and breasts.
He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to
see her dance.
"Why are you smiling like that, James?"
James looked at his father's puzzled face, then tilted
back his head and laughed.
"Some things," he said, "a man cannot discuss with
his father."
"Things of a delicate nature, I presume?" James
expected his father to look disapproving, but instead saw
fond amusement in his pale blue eyes. "It's a blessing that
you're still attracted to the young lady." He tilted his head
to one side. "You were thinking of Lady Alexandra, I
trust?"
The question struck James like a blow. His first
thought was, Who ? He stared at the fish on his plate,
which stared blankly back, because he could not face his
father's discerning gaze as he replied, "Of course."
Lady Alexandra. Who the devil was Lady
Alexandra? Haughty, he recalled, stiff as a board, and
proud beyond bearing. There had been no life in her cold
eyes, nothing but disdain in her demeanor. She was a
duke's daughter, too good for the likes of him, and she
knew it. She was also Honoria Pyne. The two were one
and the same, and nothing alike. A rush of pain and anger
went through him with the knowledge that his Honoria
had lied to him. Every word she spoke, every deed, every
look and touch, all the passion, from the moment they
met, had been a lie.
His. Oh, yes. She had been his, in every way a
woman could belong to a man. His lips lifted in a grim
smile as he remembered how alike he and the duke's
daughter were on some basic, primeval level. It wasn't
just in how their bodies fitted so perfectly together; there
was a matching of souls between the duchess and the
pirate. After all, everything he had done was a lie, as
well.
"You should save your smiles for the lady herself,"
Edward Marbury said, and tossed a pile of envelopes
across the table. James looked up questioningly as the
fine, heavy stack of paper landed beside his plate.
"What's this?" He rifled through the pile.
"Invitations, of course," Edward Marbury answered.
"And a few letters."
Letters. James fought the surges of both bitterness
and irony. Everything between them had begun because
of a letter.
"What is this?" Honoria asked, as the pirate thrust
several pieces of paper across the table at her. A bright
smile flashed across his bearded face.
"We should have done this yesterday. How is your
sick friend?"
" My betrothed," she corrected swiftly. It shamed her
to admit that she reminded herself of the sacred
relationship she shared with Derrick as much as she did
the corsair whose touch … "
Derrick and I will wed," she reminded the Spaniard .
"If you make it home."
His tone was a dangerous, frightening purr. Honoria
swallowed her fear. "If?" she asked coolly. "It is my
understanding that there is an unofficial agreement about
the return of captives between His Majesty's government
and the Bey of Algiers."
"Understanding?" He laughed softly. "Sweetheart,
you understand nothing."
She understood that he was large and dangerous
and frightening. She understood that she was in chains,
that the man she was to marry and her best friend were
locked in the hold of a corsair galley. She understood that
she was
Her bright eyes were full of many conflicting feelings,
and Diego could read them all. "You'll find veils useful,"
he told her and stepped behind the cabin's scarred
writing table. "Come here, Honoria Pyne."
She stood tensely in the center of the cabin for a few
moments, swaying easily with the movement of the ship.
The galley cut swiftly through the calm southern
Mediterranean, the rowers obeying the steady drumbeat
that set the time of their strokes. To Diego the drum was
as familiar as his heartbeat. He perceived it now only
because he noticed the subtle way her body moved to the
primitive rhythm. It was not the sound that quickened his
pulse, but the sensual sway of the woman's beautifully
rounded hips and breasts.
He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to
see her dance.
"Why are you smiling like that, James?"
James looked at his father's puzzled face, then tilted
back his head and laughed.
"Some things," he said, "a man cannot discuss with
his father."
"Things of a delicate nature, I presume?" James
expected his father to look disapproving, but instead saw
fond amusement in his pale blue eyes. "It's a blessing that
you're still attracted to the young lady." He tilted his head
to one side. "You were thinking of Lady Alexandra, I
trust?"
The question struck James like a blow. His first
thought was, Who ? He stared at the fish on his plate,
which stared blankly back, because he could not face his
father's discerning gaze as he replied, "Of course."
Lady Alexandra. Who the devil was Lady
Alexandra? Haughty, he recalled, stiff as a board, and
proud beyond bearing. There had been no life in her cold
eyes, nothing but disdain in her demeanor. She was a
duke's daughter, too good for the likes of him, and she
knew it. She was also Honoria Pyne. The two were one
and the same, and nothing alike. A rush of pain and anger
went through him with the knowledge that his Honoria
had lied to him. Every word she spoke, every deed, every
look and touch, all the passion, from the moment they
met, had been a lie.
His. Oh, yes. She had been his, in every way a
woman could belong to a man. His lips lifted in a grim
smile as he remembered how alike he and the duke's
daughter were on some basic, primeval level. It wasn't
just in how their bodies fitted so perfectly together; there
was a matching of souls between the duchess and the
pirate. After all, everything he had done was a lie, as
well.
"You should save your smiles for the lady herself,"
Edward Marbury said, and tossed a pile of envelopes
across the table. James looked up questioningly as the
fine, heavy stack of paper landed beside his plate.
"What's this?" He rifled through the pile.
"Invitations, of course," Edward Marbury answered.
"And a few letters."
Letters. James fought the surges of both bitterness
and irony. Everything between them had begun because
of a letter.
"What is this?" Honoria asked, as the pirate thrust
several pieces of paper across the table at her. A bright
smile flashed across his bearded face.
"We should have done this yesterday. How is your
sick friend?"
" My betrothed," she corrected swiftly. It shamed her
to admit that she reminded herself of the sacred
relationship she shared with Derrick as much as she did
the corsair whose touch … "
Derrick and I will wed," she reminded the Spaniard .
"If you make it home."
His tone was a dangerous, frightening purr. Honoria
swallowed her fear. "If?" she asked coolly. "It is my
understanding that there is an unofficial agreement about
the return of captives between His Majesty's government
and the Bey of Algiers."
"Understanding?" He laughed softly. "Sweetheart,
you understand nothing."
She understood that he was large and dangerous
and frightening. She understood that she was in chains,
that the man she was to marry and her best friend were
locked in the hold of a corsair galley. She understood that
she was
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