lashes. “Did you really lose your eye battling the pirates?” she purred.
Jamie grinned, tempted to oblige her by lifting the black leather triangle. That’s what they wanted…men and women alike…a peek under his patch. Well, jaded ladies like this one wanted a bit more, a quick tumble to judge for themselves if he was as dangerous as he looked, as hedonistic as his reputation. Many’s the time he’d been only too happy to oblige. But not tonight. “Not pirates, milady,” he replied, cool but courteous. “I fear the story is far less colorful.” Far more tragic.
“A jealous woman, then?” she asked archly, wetting her lips, clearly not discouraged by his lack of warmth. “I know I’d not take kindly to sharing you.” Leaning forward, she pressed her ample bosom against his leg, giving him an unimpeded view of the charms spilling over the bodice of her low-cut cotehardie.
Jamie groaned inwardly and struggled against the nature with which he’d been blessed—or cursed, depending on your view. Women fascinated him. They were soft, fragile and endlessly pleasurable creatures. Coy, seductive packages whose silken wrappings he could no more resist exploring than he could stop breathing. Since that near disaster with Celia, he had been celibate as a monk. His life was currently dangerous enough without added complications. “Another time,” he said gallantly. “I must first seek out my lady mother.”
“Have you come back to stay?” asked a tall man. Though older and grayer, Jamie recognized Gilbert Thurlow, chief of his father’s vassals. Gilbert had often criticized Jamie’s wild ways and doubtless preferred Hugh’s stable hands at the helm. With Gilbert stood several other Harcourt retainers, faces equally concerned as they waited for his response.
“I fear I cannot stay,” Jamie said. The sigh of relief that went through the group confirmed the difficult decision he’d made seven years ago. They were better off without him. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t linger, but I am anxious to see my parents.” He inclined his head cordially, winked at the blonde, because old habits die hard, and wheeled Neptune toward the stables.
Grinning over the whispers he’d left in his wake, as usual, he dismounted and tossed his horse’s reins to the stable boy along with a penny. “We’ve had a long ride. See he gets a rundown and an extra measure of oats, lad.”
The boy stared at Jamie. “Ye are Lord Jamie. I’ve heard tell of ye. Are ye truly a pirate, milord?” he whispered.
Jamie grinned. “Aye, that and more. What’s your name, lad?”
“Rob. I’m George of Walken’s son. Please, milord, take me with ye when ye leave.”
“Pirating’s a hard life, Rob.”
“I don’t care,” the boy said passionately. “Tis deadly boring duty here, and I’ve wanted to go to sea ever since I went with yer sire to London harbor and stepped aboard his ship.”
Jamie knew the feeling well. He’d been smitten when he was five and his father had taken him on a short voyage aboard The Sommerville Star. Later, when he’d run off to sea, his father had understood…up to a point. “You need to grow some before you’re big enough and strong enough to manage the sails,” Jamie said gently. He didn’t want to pinch Rob’s pride, but he was not taking him into harm’s way. And that’s exactly where his own ship, Harcourt’s Lady, was sailing.
“I could be yer cabin boy till I’m grown.”
“I already have a lad to serve me, but we’ll talk of this again next time I come home.”
“Promise?”
Jamie nodded. Another lie. When he returned, ‘twould be for burial in the family plot. Presuming traitors were allowed such privileges. “Saddle my horse after you’ve rubbed him down and leave him just inside the stable in case I must leave quickly.”
The last was no whim. It was as deeply ingrained a habit as sitting with his face to the door and back to the wall, or sleeping in his clothes with his sword to hand. A sad commentary on what his life had become. But more often than not a man did not choose the path he trod; it chose him. Just a little longer, he told himself. A month or so and he’d be free of this terrible responsibility. Free to get on with his own life.
And then what? mocked a harsh voice.
He knew nothing else but death and deception. Where did spies and murderers go when they gave up the craft? To hell. The now-familiar weariness crept in to weigh on his spirit and conscience. He pushed it away, having neither time nor patience for selfpity. He’d wallowed in both the year he’d lost his eye, and nearly himself. Never again, he’d vowed when his father had succeeded in hauling him back from the brink of self-destruction. Squaring his shoulders, he started for the house.
“Lady Jesselynn’s greetin’ her guests in the gardens, sir,” Rob said. “Just follow that path ’round the back.”
“I remember.” Only too well. Jamie strode down the walk that ran alongside the manor. On one side it was bordered by the stone keep, on the other by the gardens put in by his Aunt Gaby, because his mother preferred managing the estate to domestic tasks. So why couldn’t she understand why he preferred the sea to land? Because she knew it for a lie. Much as he loved sailing, he’d have stayed here if he could. But that was impossible.
Jamie rounded the corner of the castle and stopped, every muscle in his body tensing. Damn, half of London was here. The crush was too much even for the vast hall, and tables had been set about in the grassy verge between the blocks of flowers and trees. Laughing and drinking, the noble lords and ladies milled about before the stately old manor. Torches stuck in rings in the old stone walls shimmered on costly silken gowns and the precious gems banding them at throat and hip.
No expense had been spared, it seemed. To one side, a pair of sweaty-faced boys turned an oxen over a blazing fire. Platters of roasted game, pink salmon and a dozen accompaniments he recognized as his mother’s favorites crowded the long tables. Musicians played in the shadow of a pin oak tree for a line of merry dancers. Maids bearing heavy trays worked the crowd, making certain no ale cup or wine goblet went empty.
Footsteps behind him brought Jamie around. In one swift move he drew the knife from his belt and crouched to repel an attack.
“We’ve had our differences, but I hoped it hadn’t come to this,” drawled the voice that had dispelled his childhood fears.
“Papa.” Jamie sheathed his blade and straightened. Uncertain what to do, he stood still, struggling not to squirm beneath the piercing scrutiny of midnight eyes so like his own.
Time had laced silver hair at his father’s temples and etched deep lines around his mouth. Or was his own behavior responsible for his father’s air of weary resignation, Jamie wondered. An apology bumped against the lump in his throat. But what could he say that would make up for all he’d done.
“I prayed you’d come,” his father said.
“I…I shouldn’t have, I suppose,” Jamie murmured. “I’d hate to taint you with my trouble.”
“Nonsense.” The fire that never quite left Alex’s eyes flared. “You were acquitted of that girl’s murder.”
That wasn’t the trouble he’d meant. Strong was the urge to unburden himself to the one person who might understand what he was doing and why. The need for caution kept him silent.
‘Is
