James did his best to avoid Elizabeth in the next few days, and for sharing a relatively small house he did a fine job of it. She let him, of course. After watching him dash from her room in the wee hours of the morning after such an explicit invitation into her bed, she would be damned if she appeared to chase him.
What she had not counted upon was the following emptiness in her heart when deprived of his company, a decided ache that left her feeling annoyed with herself, him, and anyone who came within three feet of her. The two who dared were Millie, who was seemingly impervious to her mood anyway, and Sheridan, who had placated her with such an earnest plea that she wear something normal when the Dovers came to dinner that she had no choice but to relent.
In the wee hours of the morn, dawn just breaking the horizon, she went to the garden dressed in loose Indian pyjama with the intent to work on her yoga practice. Her back was feeling uncomfortably stiff and she hoped the stretching would loosen her muscles. It seemed the ideal hour to raise the least eyebrows in the house.
Halfway through her third sun salutation she was proven wrong. When she looked up from the uttanasana pose she found several sets of curious eyes upon her, a gaggle of young men clasping bundles of swords. Of course, today would be Norrington's fencing salon, she huffed to herself. With what she hoped was a suitable amount of dignity she rose to a standing position.
"Good morning, gentlemen. You look as though you've never seen a surya namaskara before."
The men gave her perfectly blank looks, except for Sheridan, who grinned like the imp he was, heartily amused by his companions' bewilderment. James reckoned with some annoyance and more than a little jealousy that it was not the surya namaswhatever the devil she was doing but the fact that they'd all had a rather unobscured view down her loose fitting shirt. Luckily her breasts were wrapped in that swathe of linen she favored over even a short corset, but he still narrowly resisted demanding they all cover their goddamned eyes.
"Heathen rubbish from India," finally scoffed one of the fencers, and Elizabeth recognized Lieutenant Grey, the intended new commander of The Artemis. Immediately her blood raised a few degrees, and wondered what gall the man had to show himself here, before she remembered this wasthe Governor's house, and not her home.
This left her even more annoyed. She was in enemy territory and she had best remember it. She'd allowed herself to feel too comfortable here for too bloody long.
"Hardly rubbish," she calmly defended. "Keeps the body in peak form."
"So we saw," he snarked under his breath, winning a look of warning from Governor Norrington.
Elizabeth, however, only offered a cheeky grin, though her eyes glinted hard as flint. "How sweet of you to say, Lieutenant."
Fearing where this might lead, James interjected, "I hate to impose upon you, Miss Swann, but might we commandeer the lawn?"
She gave a sweeping bow, signaling the grass was all theirs. "Might I watch?"
James seemed reluctant, but could think of no good reason to deny her. "If you wish."
Elizabeth seated herself on a low wall, and silently took in the gentlemen's swordplay.
Her gaze strayed to James, who watched the fencing with an inscrutable countenance, giving advice when necessary. James did not possess the exotic beauty of Jack Sparrow, or the youthful perfection that had once drawn her to William. His features were decidedly more regular, with his aquiline nose and firm English jaw, and yet there was something undeniably tempting about him. He stood still as a statue, his profile so handsome and so bloody noble, his sharp brow creased as he watched his students. A pang of longing ambushed her as she watched him, and subsequently, even more annoyance.
There were several good bouts, and reluctantly she had to admit that Lieutenant Grey was quite proficient. He trounced Sheridan three times, and the third touch was executed with what was perhaps unnecessary force. Sheridan bore it with grace, and afterwards came to sit down heavily beside Elizabeth on the wall, rather short of breath and rubbing his side. "He's good," she said, consoling him with a pat on the back.
"Unbeatable," sighed Sherry. "I've never made a point on him in all the time we've been here."
Elizabeth laughed at that. "No one's unbeatable, my boy. Go into a fight with an attitude like that and you're bound to lose."
Out the corner of her eye she watched as a servant brought James a note, and the Governor excused himself to go back into the house.
"Well. I was tutored occasionally in this vicious art so that I might account for myself in a question of honor between gentlemen. He is a battle hardened soldier. I could never be as good as him, or Uncle James."
"Ah. Well, that's fine. I won't tell you how to beat him then."
A spark of interest shone in Sherry's eyes. "Miss Swann, my dear Miss Swann, have I told you how fetching you look in this…ensemble today?" He laid it on thick, and Elizabeth chuckled for the flattery in his tone.
"Pyjama."
"Grey's weakness is pyjama? What the devil is that?"
Elizabeth laughed heartily, drawing the attention of the fencers. It was not a ladylike laugh, but it was genuine. "No, that is what these are called," she said, fingering the homespun cotton of her pants. "But Grey's weakness is his right foot. He tells when he's about to lunge, and then he leaves his whole side open. He's done it several times now. Quick about it, he counts on an opponent not being fast enough to catch him. Most of the time it seems he's been right."
"What would you do, then?"
"Here, or amidst a boarding? Two very different things, I'm afraid, though one is infinitely more practical than the other."
Having heard his name brought up several times amidst their conversation, and now without the hawk-like supervision of the Governor, Grey called, "Care to share with the class, children?"
Elizabeth knew she should keep her mouth shut. She well and truly knew. But she was sore with the thought that this man would soon be sailing away on her beloved ship, and so she answered, "I was just regaling my Lord with how if I were to meet you on the deck of my ship I would put a dirk in that side you leave wide open."
Grey smirked, an answering challenge glinting in his blue eyes. "I believe you mean the deck of my ship now?"
"We'll see how long it lasts."
"Even if you take the pardon you'll never see her again. You can mark my word on that."
"I only meant that I think she's too much for a boy like you to handle."
A silence fell over the group, all clanging of blades ceasing in the still morning.
Grey smirked, and his eyes flicked to the house, curious if their fencing master would yet return. But it seemed he'd been drawn to some urgent business in the house, and while the cat was away the mice could play.
"Why don't you come over here and show me, Pirate King?" invited Grey quietly, his tone holding all the menace of the quiet before a fierce storm.
She wanted this.
She'd been cooped up for too long, made to behave like a lady when at heart she was really a lion. She'd been kept a prisoner behind velvet-covered bars, which somehow was even harder to bear than the harsh amenities of a proper gaol. Not to mention all the confusion in her conflicting feelings for her captor, the absurdity of which really put her on edge. What kind of a Pirate King fell for a Royal Governor? Yes, she was spoiling for a good fight, and Grey might be sorry he was the one to pick it.
Sheridan saw this was a very bad idea indeed, and with a staying hand on her arm began to suggest, "Perhaps that's not—"
Elizabeth stood, shrugging off Sheridan's hand. "It would be my pleasure, Lieutenant Grey."
The other men gave her a wide berth as she approached, curious and apprehensive of what was to follow. Grey perused a selection of swords laid out on the ground on a cloth, and picked up two handsome sabers. "You have no objection to bare blades, do you?" he challenged. Somehow everything he said seemed slightly obscene; a double threat to her as a person, and as a woman. She knew the type. God, how she knew, and Elizabeth very much looked forward to teaching him a lesson in manners.
"Not at all. In fact I prefer it. Play to first blood?"
There was a tittering murmur that surged in the crowd around them. They almost never used bare blades, practicing with unsharpened swords and foils tipped with buttons. They certainly never played for blood.
"Lady's choice."
He handed her the sword with a mocking bow, and they lowered themselves into their opposing stances. "En garde."
"Be gentle with me," he teased with a hand over his heart, winning a snicker from all their audience save one.
Her opening assault was like a hurricane, a flurry of quick strikes that Grey just barely managed to stay ahead of. But he circled and parried until he gained enough room for that lightning quick thrust. She was ready for it, though she had no dagger in her left hand. Instead she poked him in the ribs hard with two fingers, demonstrating what could have been a bloody victory with a cheeky grin.
He squirmed away, perfectly scandalized. There would be a bruise on his ribs later, no doubt. "I'm afraid tickling doesn't count."
"Just getting warmed up, darling."
She let him come at her, leading him in circles, tiring him out. Her back hurt like the devil, but it was the kind of hurt that she knew would only make her stronger. It meant that she was finally doing something she loved and she reveled in it with teeth bared. When she saw the opportunity she stepped into his guard and with a flick of her wrist just nicked the curve of his cheek, leaving a small bloody line.
Mouth agape with surprise and horror, he lifted a hand to his cheek, his fingers coming away stained red.
"Something to remember me by when you look in the mirror," she snarked with a mocking pout. It was hardly the mark that had been left on her.
Grey's eyes narrowed, and the thin veneer of gentlemanly grace snapped. "You cheeky little bitch." Rather than cede the match to her as agreed he went on the attack again, and Elizabeth was treated to what this man was really like in a fray. Vicious, ruthless, and a soldier trained to kill. He came at her hard, jarring her teeth as she parried his blows.
Now she could feel herself tiring, and she wondered if she'd made a mistake after all. He wasn't fighting to wound, but to kill, and she reckoned all rules of fair combat were off.
Which of course, was when a pirate was at her best.
She pulled all stops, circling in the Spanish style when he was clearly used to fighting in perfectly English straight lines. He certainly did not expect it when she let fly a high kick that struck him across the face, knocking him to the ground. She stomped on his sword hand, ensuring he dropped the blade. But Grey had one more trick up his sleeve, and he went to reach for the dagger in his boot, intending to put it in this pirate's belly, like someone should have the moment they had captured her.
"That's quite enough."
Grey found a sword at his throat, and his eyes slowly travelled up the blade to find a furious Governor Norrington on the other end. Sighing, Grey lay back in the grass. His face was a bloody mess, a broken nose to complement the neat little slice on his cheek. Little bubbles of blood sputtered and popped in his nostrils as he breathed heavily.
Fiery green eyes turned to Elizabeth, and suddenly she felt as though she was not a Pirate King, but the little girl who had caused such great mischief aboard the Dauntless so many years ago. "Are you hurt?" he demanded, barely banked fury in his tone.
"No."
"Then go inside."
For once, she did as she was told.
XXX
He found her waiting in the parlor, once all the fencers had gone. She sat curled on the settee, looking out the window. Distantly she could see the glittering blue line of the sea, and she longed for it the same way she had longed for James in the garden. In that moment it seemed so distant, so impossibly out of reach.
"You are set on making this difficult for me, aren't you?"
"I confess I wasn't thinking of you at all," she answered, which wasn't entirely true. "I was thinking of my ship, and that smug shit sailing on her."
"When I said you could watch I didn't mean instigate a duel the moment you were out of my sight."
"The instigation was mutual, I assure you," she huffed, a little petulantly.
"You're lucky he didn't kill you."
"Was it luck?" She couldn't muster the energy to be insulted, though the boot knife had been a nasty trick. The sort of thing she herself might have tried, given the chance.
James sighed. "Perhaps not. I saw the first part through the window. What are you? Part Amazon?"
In spite of herself, she smiled slightly. "I'll take that as a compliment."
James sighed heavily, and came to sit next to her on the settee. "I wouldn't want to meet you in a boarding," he admitted.
"Likewise, Sir James. Thank you for intervening on my behalf." The last came a bit begrudgingly, yet was still genuine.
"You are welcome."
A long silence passed, before Elizabeth said quietly, "He helped to tie me up."
"What?"
"Grey. When Fitzwilliam took me from Hornigold at the docks. Grey helped tie me up to the grate, and he…" She ground her teeth, remembering the way he'd groped her from stem to stern, promising that they would have their own fun once Fitzwilliam was done with her. Elizabeth decided she didn't exactly want to reveal that part to James. It made her sick and it felt too much like admitting defeat. So she continued, "He was just smart enough to disappear before you arrived."
James scrubbed his face, clearly still exasperated. "As if I didn't already want to kill him, for the way he came at you. And I wanted to kill Fitzwilliam for hurting you. But a fine mess that would make. I am not a king, Elizabeth. Every time you pull a stunt like this I lose more of what little power I have to keep you safe. I cannot buy your freedom with your weight in gold—" He could not resist looking her up and down. "Though you would be a much better deal than I. I would if I could."
"I know I have not made this easy on your career, or you personally James. You are free to send me off on the next ship to London, if it would be better for you."
Sir James guffawed, unable to believe she would think he could, especially at this juncture. He was a man who usually knew exactly what to do in any given situation. It was what made him a good captain, a good leader. But this once, he was at a total loss. "Even if I wanted to, in whose custody could I send you now? Once word gets around about your bout with Grey every Navy man on this island will want to see you hung, or worse. Much worse."
Elizabeth knew all about the much worse that could happen to a woman in the keeping of angry men confined on a ship, but she did not care to discuss it with the Governor. She looked out the window, her face a blank slate.
After a long silence James introduced a new subject. "We are to have the Dovers for dinner tonight. Can I trust you not to instigate an altercation? I know better than to think you would spare me, but for Sheridan's sake?"
"Why ever would I pick a fight with that fat fuck Timothy Dover?" she asked innocently, and it was all for show. James knew now the efforts she had made against the sugar trade, and the fact that she knew his name only thickened the plot.
"I don't like the way things are done on the plantations either, Elizabeth, but it's just the way things are for now."
Elizabeth raised one dark brow. "You know, it seems to me that anything described as just the way things are usually implies that the thing is not just at all."
"You're not wrong," he reluctantly agreed.
"I know I'm not," she huffed rather petulantly.
"But you can't fight the whole world, Elizabeth. You cannot free everyone! You will die early or make yourself mad."
"I never thought I would live this long, that's for damn sure," she muttered under her breath. She certainly wasn't sure that she wasn't losing her mind. She wanted to scoot closer to James on the settee and let him put his arm around her, as he clearly wanted to do. Let him be her shelter, a steady shoulder to cry on…But it was a comfort she would not allow herself. She was a goddamned Pirate King, and letting him get so close to her heart was utter fucking madness, plain and simple.
"Well. I for one am glad that you have, and would like to see it continue that way." This pulled the tiniest smile from the corner of her mouth. James was not sure if he'd pleased her, or if she simply thought him a fool. "Do I have your word then? About tonight?"
The smile disappeared. "I have already agreed to wear a proper dress for Sheridan's peace of mind. I suppose I can keep my mouth shut for you too."
James sighed. "That's not what I'm asking for."
"Yes it is. Maybe you don't realize it, having lived all your life in a man's skin, but it is exactly what you are requesting."
Exhausted, James stood. He supposed it would have to suffice. He was at his wit's end with Elizabeth, at a total loss as what to do with her. He felt as though she were a line he clung to amidst a violent storm. She thrashed about wildly, and slowly, despite his best efforts, he was losing his hold.
Or perhaps it was foolish to think he'd ever had hold of her in the first place? He was just a pawn in a game between Kings. Though he'd always accepted rather well that he was just a small cog in a larger machine, for some reason this thought now left him unbelievably low.
James looked over her head out the window as he said, "I would tell you that you needn't come, but your presence would mean quite a lot to the boy. He is fond of you. He lost his mother when he was very young, and I think…well. You are good with him."
"He's a fine young man," she sighed, defeated. "I promise I'll be good. Now, don't you have some governing to do?"
He understood this as a signal that she wished to be left alone, so he took his leave of her without another word.