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Part II- A Challenge

I felt her gaze upon me, even before I lifted my eyes to meet her honeyed brown stare. We'd sat in silence for most of the meal, me racking my brains for a subject to discuss, and nervously dismissing all that came to mind. As much as I'd resolved to not mention our adventure just passed, it suddenly seemed my best option.

"It will be a relief to finally hang that filthy pirate tomorrow," I said casually, searching her expression for any sign of remorse. Just the thought of her spending time alone with that rapscallion Jack Sparrow ignited a fire of jealousy deep within me. I reflected back on the urge to slit the man naval to nose, after finding him in his first encounter with her, leaning over her half-naked body on the dock. The urge only grew stronger as time passed.

Darkness overtook Elizabeth's expression; she made no effort to hide it. "There's no pride to be found in hanging a good man, James." Her voice rang sharp through the space between us, cutting me internally.

I furrowed my brow at the attack. "Elizabeth, he's a pirate!"

Raising a delicate hand up from her lap, Elizabeth ticked the following reasons off on her fingers, digits stabbing the air. "He saved me from drowning, helped me escape from Barbossa, saved Will from a slit throat...he's a good man at heart. He just doesn't see the world the same way as the rest of us. It's not his nature to conform."

"Because he's a criminal," I muttered under my breath.

"Because it's a crime to be interesting," she muttered under hers, just loud enough for my ears to catch. She raised one of those sculpted eyebrows, looking to me again. "If you listened to your own conscience, instead of the law, I think you would agree with me, James. Laws can be wrong, you know."

"What would you have me do, Elizabeth?" I demanded, frustrated. "Set him free?"

Where I'd expected some form of retreat from her as I raised my voice, she simply met my challenge with a knowing smile. "If our British justice is so civilized, then why not a fair trial, instead of hanging him immediately?"

"A trial, for a known criminal?"

"Did you personally catch him committing a crime?" she argued. "I dare say, the first crime you condemned him for was saving me from a watery grave."

I shook my head. "Out of the question, my dear."

Elizabeth went quiet, though her eyes burned holes directly through me. Fine work, James I told myself. The only dialogue of the night, ending in a bitter argument.

Once quite sure we were both finished with our meals, I made a peace offering. "Would you care to accompany me outside?"

She nodded. We walked slowly across the wide veranda, enjoying the night air, the subtle fragrance of the flowers constantly in bloom in the tropical heat, and the silver moonlight guiding our way. "Since we are engaged, James, can I ask for an absolutely honest answer?" Her question caught me off guard, perhaps the sincerity therein.

"Of course," I answered, suddenly wary. Something about her kept me en garde tonight, almost as though in some subtle, barely perceptible way, we were fencing with each other. Strangely, deep down, I found the challenge exciting.

"You promise to tell the truth?"

"I do."

"Do you love me?" I found myself confused by the question. Why else would I have asked her to marry me? Why else would I have so desperately fought for her agreement to become my wife?

"Most dearly, Elizabeth. How can you ask such a thing?"

"There are some who would find me to be a perfect prize wife. I was just wondering if you were one of them." She answered simply, but the words struck me like thrown stones. Had our fencing match escalated into a battle without me realizing it? Slowly, I was beginning to realize that perhaps I'd misjudged her, from the start. There was no doubt she was a fine lady, and yet there was a fierceness to her spirit I'd never encountered in any other. I wondered if she meant to toy with me, as a cat does a mouse?

"Are you trying to scare me off?" I asked with a small smile, studying my opponent. My fiancee.

She shrugged those slender shoulders; the moonlight caressed her skin bewitchingly, and my fingertips itched to do the same. "Just keeping you on your toes," she admitted. It was seemingly flippant, but I knew her far better than that.

Elizabeth looked out across the garden, out to the dark ocean. One could barely make out the breaking of the waves in the quiet of the night. Suddenly, I felt lost at sea, drifting away from her, although she stood at my side. Groping for some way to please her, I found myself saying, "I suppose it would be fair, to grant Sparrow a trial. Although I am reluctant to do so, he could be deported to England for a chance at justice."

She turned to me, and her smile illuminated the night. "Oh James, do you mean it?"

I swallowed reluctantly, but nodded. "Regrettably, yes."

Her slender fingers slipped into mine, squeezing them affectionately. "Now doesn't your conscience feel better, too?" she asked, stepping in closer. Against the cool night air, the line of warmth of her body threatened to burn my skin.

"Was my honor ever in question?" I enquired, mesmerized by her mouth that suddenly seemed to hover so close.

"No, James, I already knew you're a good man," she said softly. Unable to resist any longer, I cupped her cheek lightly, drawing her the last few inches into a gentle kiss. Elation coursed through my system as I felt her petal soft lips on mine, and the pleasant surprise of her tongue exploring just the outside of my bottom lip. It was that slick touch of tongue that undid me; I slid both hands into her hair, deepening the kiss into a soul searing affaire, something I'd wanted to do for quite some time. He small hands played over my chest, going to my neck, pulling me closer still. It was as one hand moved up, fingers sliding beneath my wig, that I pulled away, immediately moving to set it straight on my head once again.

She regarded me with surprised eyes, and a small smile, nearly a smirk, really. "I apologize, Commodore, I did not mean to ruffle your feathers." Raising one eyebrow, she retreated to a nearby door, into the drawing room. Fascinated, I watched her begin to fix her hair again, undoing the evidence of my exploring hands.

"I just...am not used to being without it," I explained, rather awkwardly. She made me feel vulnerable, more so than anyone ever had in quite a long time. It was an alien sensation.

"Forgive me then; I was only curious about the man beneath the mask."

"It's not a mask, it's a wig," I protested.

"It is a mask," she insisted. "Because whenever you wear it, you are the very picture of a proper British serviceman; it's easier to slip into their rules, than make your own. It's a mask you've worn for as long as I've known you."

Her words cut deep, once again. At that moment I realized I'd forgotten life before the wig; she was right, it was an easy code of rules to slip into. For the first time, I wondered what I would be like without them. The world seemed to spin for a moment, unsteady under my feet, and I itched as that moment to take off the wig, toss it to the floor, and kiss her again. What are you doing to me, Elizabeth Swann?

I approached her from behind, watching her in the mirror. "I'm not the only one who wears a mask, Elizabeth," I pointed out. "I simply don't know what to make of you tonight." Ducking down, I planted a gentle kiss on her neck. "I feel as though you perhaps know something about me that I don't. And that, my darling, is a frightening thing."

"Why?" she asked, leaning back against me. "Why is it such a crime to not be afraid of ourselves?"

"I don't know," I answered, meeting her intense gaze in the mirror. I studied the woman in my arms, this siren drawing me in with the sweetness of her voice. Was it all an illusion? Appearances can be deceiving, and at that moment I wondered if I'd underestimated her. Oversimplified her. Idealized her beauty on a pedestal. I wanted to pose the same question she'd ask me: Do you really love me? I found I had not the courage to hear the answer.

I faced down pirates and the wild frontier of the high seas without batting an eyelash, but this delicate woman caused the ground beneath my feet to shift, to sway listlessly, throwing me off balance. I was not a man who enjoyed spontaneity; I thrived on executing the well organized plan. But there was a challenge in her eyes tonight, a challenge to question all that I knew, a certain defiance that captivated me. It was almost as though without a word, her eyes asked, do you accept? Do you dare?

I dared.

As I leaned down to take her lips once again, I found myself thinking What have you gotten yourself into, James Norrington?

a/n: So what has James gotten himself into? Review, and find out soon!