On a Long Ago Night (24 page)

hunting had been reported by the bey's spies, and amused everyone

in the city. So that was the truth she hid about
—
the man she loved.

"I will not have you mentioning that man's name." His words were

a cold, hard warning. "He is a coward and a fool. You deserve

better
."

She was pale as milk but for two bright spots on her cheeks.

Her eyes blazed, and an eyebrow arched sarcastically at his words.

"Who do I deserve, sir? You?"

Diego very nearly tossed her down on the table and took her

then and there. "If I choose."

"You would not force yourself on a woman."

He did not know if she believed what she said, or merely

hoped it was the truth. He knew that it was, but the temptation was

strong. Desire flared higher as he cupped her chin in his hand.

"Won't I?" Her gaze slid nervously from his, though he held

her face trapped very close to his. "I intend to kiss you again," he

told her. "Look at me, Honoria."

She glanced over his shoulder at the table instead. He

thought at first that she had read his thought about taking her on it,

then realized she was looking at the letter
. She
remembered what

they had been discussing, though he'd forgotten why he needed her

—
the practical reason he needed her
.

"Derrick is a prisoner with the other officers. He is wounded

and needs me to tend him. And Huseby is a prisoner as well. They

both need my help."

"He's safe."

"No, he's not." She looked frantic and frightened. He doubted

she would ever look that way for him, though he was fighting for

his life. "If you rescue Derrick and Huseby from their captivity,

then I will translate your letter for you."

"You want to strike a bargain?" His voice was soft and

menacing. "Do you know what power I have over you? Life and

death. I own you."

She tried to pull away from him. When he let her go she

touched the spots where his hands had been on her, tenderly, as

though he'd left bruises, or his touch burned her. He felt burned,

especially when her gaze bored into his. Even behind a pair of

glass lenses her eyes carried weight and force
—
and fire. "I will not

obey as a slave
."

He knew she believed every word. Perhaps she was strong

enough to act on that belief, at least for a while. "I have learned

over the years that a strong will is not wise for a slave."

She nodded as if she completely understood, but that knowing

the cost of defiance did nothing to change her mind. "Make a

bargain with me," she pleaded with him. "Help me for Derrick's

sake, and I will help you. That is all I ask."

"Demand, you mean."

She nodded again, with firm stubbornness. "He needs me.

Huseby needs me. I'm responsible for protecting them."

He hated her dear Derrick, her Huseby, and for a moment he

hated her. Spoiled, privileged, pampered, and protected all her life,

born to wealth and ease. But she was not standing up to him and

making demands for herself. She was not raging at the unfairness

of what had befallen her. She was bargaining with him for the sake

of those she cared for. How could he hate anyone so brave and

selfless?

He had never seen anyone so beautiful, a creature of spirit

and conviction. He wanted nothing more than to change that blaze

in her eyes into a lover's passion, for her to concentrate all her

fiery emotions on him. He wanted her, so she had him. He hated

anyone having power over him, even this woman with her blasted

righteous convictions. He could not afford to lose control of the

situation. He could not let her have her way. Her friends did not

need her, but he did. What to do to get her to back down? How to

frighten her into doing the one simple thing he required of her?

Fight fire with fire, he thought, and smiled at the simple

solution. She was a good girl. A virgin. A prim and proper English

miss. "I will make a bargain with you, my sweet. You want Derrick.

You want Huseby. That is two things you want of me. I want you to

read a letter. That is one thing. For this to be a proper bargain, it

must be fair and equal. Shouldn't it?"

She hesitated suspiciously for a few seconds, biting her lower

lip nervously. It left

her lips moist and red, which made him want to kiss her even

more. Finally, she nodded. "Yes, I suppose it would be fair." She

looked around the room. "Do you have something else you'd like

me to read?"

He shook his head and moved slowly toward her, a large cat

stalking a gentle dove. "No more letters," he told her. He drew

close enough to touch her cheek, softly, with just the tip of his

finger. He drew his fingers across her face, traced the outline of

her lips, ran his knuckles slowly down the length of her throat.

Their gazes locked. He didn't think she was breathing. He knew she

wasn't when he let his hand move lower. He heard and felt her

sharp gasp as he brushed his hand over the ripe curves of her

breasts. They were safely concealed beneath several layers of

cloth, but nothing could hide their sweet softness. He let his hand

come to rest on the flare of her hip.

"You want me to save
—"
He couldn't bring himself to say the

name. "
—
Him. Then give yourself to me. I won't force you. But I

will have you as the price of a bargain
."

They turned and turned again, the graceful movements of the waltz

carrying them elegantly around the dance floor. The orchestra was

not very good, but James Marbury did not need the musicians' help

to dance like a dream. With him leading her he made Honoria feel

like a graceful dancer, something neither years of lessons nor

practice at a hundred forgotten balls had ever managed to do. For a

few priceless moments, Honoria felt like she was flying. Her feet

were winged and she wanted nothing more than to dance forever

with the man who held her with such calm assurance.

When he was a pirate, he had put her glasses back on her,

letting her see at his whim. It was his way of showing her he held

power over her.
Or is it done as an act of kindness
? a more

reasonable voice whispered. She fought hard against that voice,

trying with all her strength to hold onto the tight, stifling sense of

anger.

But the music betrayed her, and so did the perfect ease and fit

of the way they moved together. Dancing in this man's arms was

both sinuous and sensuous.

He was watching her with the most provocative smile on his

full, wide mouth. She tried not to be affected by that familiar

expression, but an answering smile threatened to break through her

resolve. It was even harder not to react to his voice. "You're having

fun," he told her.

She tossed her head like a woman flirting with a suitor,

responding to him no matter her resolve not to. "Is that a question

or a command, my lord?"

He chuckled and the sound was sweeter to her ears than the

music. He always could disconcert her with frightful ease. His eyes

were bright with laughter, and full of sensual promise. She made

herself look away from his face, over his shoulder, and

immediately regretted it. She lost the light of his eyes, and realized

that people were watching her. People always watched. Why

couldn't they all go stare at the Queen just for a few minutes? This

was Victoria's ball; let her be the center of attention rather than a

mere ducal heir.

Then again, to be fair, perhaps no one was looking at her at

all. She was tall and plain, and wearing spectacles. However, the

graceful man who held her so surely in his arms was without a

doubt the handsomest man in the room, with his broad shoulders,

powerful physique, strong jaw and brow, his teasing, wicked mouth

and bright, bright eyes. Why would any woman want to look at

plain, prissy Honoria Pyne, except for an envious glance before

focusing their attention on her partner as they danced past? As for

the men, well, her beaming father was understandable. She did not

fathom the looks from other men. She nodded her head politely to

her father as she and James swooped past him.

Derrick Russell stood tensely next to the duke, glowering

fierce hatred. It was plain and ugly on his face. Their glances met

for only a moment, and old scars tore open inside her as she saw

that all the vitriol was aimed squarely at her. She looked quickly

away.

James's hand tightened on her waist. "He is nothing." The

words were spoken in a fierce whisper.

"I know," she answered. "I think I've always known." But she

was thinking,
Then why did I throw my honor away, if not for him
?

She'd always known the answer to that, as well. He was

holding her in his arms.

He let his hand come to rest on the flare of her hip. "You want me

to save him." His voice was low, intense, compelling. "Then give

yourself to me. I won't force you. But I will have you as the price of

a bargain."

"
I
—"
Honoria turned away from him. She looked around

desperately while her heart raced and her insides roiled with fear,

and a new, deeply intense indescribable feeling. Not completely

indescribable, this ache, this fierce melting heat that grew worse

with every encounter with the Spaniard. She had felt the first mad

flutter of—desire
—
the moment he stepped aboard the
Manticore.

Even as she tried to help poor, wounded Derrick she had been

intensely aware of the Spaniard's dangerous presence. She
—

desired
—
Diego Moresco. All right. She admitted it, but what did

that matter
?

It was base and disgusting, a flaw in herself. She was a

woman, the most imperfect of God's creations.

Women were easily swayed by their emotions; Derrick had

said so. They needed good, upright, stern men to guide their

actions if they were not to be led into error. If they were not to fall

prey to the sins of the flesh. It was a point she and dear Derrick

had had some disagreement on. It seemed he was right. Her flesh

was proving very weak indeed in the face of Moresco's virile

demeanor. He had but to touch her and
—
A tremor of excitement

shot through her even at the memory of his hands and mouth on

her
.

"Forgive me," she whispered, and didn't know if she prayed

to God or Derrick Russell for absolution.

"Decide, Honoria. Read the letter for me and I will ask

nothing more of you. Pay my price if you want your friends

released."

She clutched her arms tightly around her middle and swayed

a little as the enormity of what he asked struck hard against her

upbringing, her beliefs, her loyalties, and her sense of

responsibility.

Derrick Russell was known and hated by the corsairs. If they

found out who he really was, the cruel pirates would never ransom

him back to England. He would be tortured and murdered if she

didn't get him safely away from the prison where he was being

held. The pirates would take their vengeance out on a man who

was sick and weak from fighting valiantly to protect her.

And Huseby. Maggie Huseby was far more friend than

servant, and even a servant deserved the best a mistress could do

for her. What if Maggie was molested, or hurt? They needed her.

And she wanted him.

She turned back to Diego Moresco before cowardice and