Free Care and Feeding of Pirates by Jennifer Ashley Page A

cannot live in a bedroom
without a chair," Honoria said. "I need a place to sit."
    "Sit on that." Christopher pointed to a small
bench-like seat in the corner with a lid and a clasp.
    Honoria knew what that was. When the
lid was raised, a round hole opened to the water below. She'd be
able to relieve herself here, in private, instead of making her way
to the bows and the head, where she'd be visible to the entire
crew.
    She gave him her best proper-lady look. "I
meant somewhere more elegant."
    Christopher's continued grin told her he knew
good and well what she'd meant.
    He led her into the main cabin, opened one of
the cupboards, and pulled out a pouch that jingled. "Take this, go
into Greenwich, and go shopping. Buy what you like. Curtains,
carpets, whatever fripperies you need to make yourself
comfortable."
    He was being much too capitulating. "Anything
I want?" Honoria asked, studying the pouch. "What if you don't like
what I buy?"
    Christopher took her hand and closed her
fingers around the pouch. "I'll throw it overboard. Enjoy
yourself."
    Honoria toyed with the pouch's drawstrings.
"Will you come with me?"
    "To feather the marriage nest? No, love, that
is your preserve. I have pirate things to do."
    "What?" she asked, suddenly worried. "What
did you need to speak with Grayson about last night? He was the
true reason you came to Alexandra's ball, wasn't he? It had nothing
to do with me."
    "You're right," he said, with painful
bluntness. "I've been reduced to begging help from Grayson
Finley."
    "Help with what?"
    "Help finding the last of my crew. Rescuing
her if necessary."
    Honoria's brows went up. "Her?"
    Christopher nodded. "Manda Raine. My
sister."
    *** *** ***
    Christopher made his way back upriver and met
Grayson and the ubiquitous Mr. Henderson in a tavern near Covent
Garden. Smells of ale, cabbage, horses, humans, and warm river
wafted through the open door and settled inside the close room.
    Henderson wore a fine cashmere suit,
dandified cravat, and boots so shiny he must have to polish them
every time he crossed a street. Christopher wondered how the man
managed to survive on board ship where baths were scarce and dirt
was a way of life.
    Finley, on the other hand, looked comfortable
in a loose coat and shirt, worn breeches and boots. The viscount's
Mayfair house was lavish, his wealth vast, his wife respected, his
position in society assured, yet he still looked more at home in a
working-class tavern.
    "You miss it," Christopher said.
    Finley knew exactly what he was talking
about. "I do sometimes."
    "You could always go back to sea."
    Finley shrugged, wrapping his hands around
his glass of ale. "Alexandra has her social calendar. The ladies,
as you'll come to know, live by their social calendars."
    Honoria could do all the socializing she
wanted, during the day. At night, however . . . "What about you,
Henderson?" Christopher asked. "Why aren't you out with your
captain scouring the Barbary Coast?"
    Henderson took a fastidious sip of port and
wiped his fingers on his handkerchief. "I needed to visit my
tailor."
    "You braved interrogation by the Admiralty to
buy a suit?"
    Henderson looked surprised. "My tailor's Bond
Street shop has been making clothing for the Hendersons for
generations. There is none better in the world."
    Finley shot Christopher a don't ask look and drank his ale.
    Christopher knew that men from all walks of
life ended up on the sea for various reasons. Ships, especially
pirates, became a melting pot of many cultures and social strata.
Christopher was half French and half English, though he'd been born
and raised a pirate. He'd learned to tie lines and climb rigging at
the same time he learned to walk.
    Christopher's father, Emile Raine, had been a
smalltime pirate of French birth who ran between Barbados and the
Carolinas. His mother was an English captain's daughter who'd been
sailing with her father on a merchantman bound for the West Indies.
Her world and that of Emile Raine had