you reach for anything that might help you keep your head above the surface.'
Chapter Twenty-Four
'Welcome home, Honor.' Emily Alexander smiled broadly from her life-support chair as Honor stepped through the White Haven door. 'I seem to be saying that a lot. I'm only sorry I don't get to say it more often.'
'I'm afraid White Haven isn't as convenient to Admiralty House as Jason Bay, Emily. Besides, I have to keep reminding myself a certain degree of discretion is indicated. Otherwise,' Honor bent to kiss Emily's cheek, 'I'd be out here every minute I was on the planet.'
'Hmmm. I suppose that could be called indiscreet.'
'Tell me about it. Miranda and Mac have certainly done their best-in, of course, their own exquisitely tactful fashions-to make the point.'
'Do they disapprove?'
Emily frowned slightly, and Honor tasted the older woman's ambiguous emotions. For all her natural graciousness and kindness, and for all the deep and mutual devotion between her and her servants, she was a product of the Manticoran aristocracy. For her, servants could become friends, literally members of her family, but they were always servants. It might be important to her that her servants think well of her, but whether they did or not would never be allowed to affect her decisions, and that little, naturally aristocratic corner of her couldn't help feeling it would be presumptuous for any servant to actually judge her actions.
'No, they don't.'
Honor straightened with a smile. Emily might be a natural born aristocratic, but Honor Harrington certainly wasn't. She wasn't about to let other people's opinions dictate her decisions, either, but for quite different reasons. And for her, people like Miranda LaFollet and James MacGuiness would never be 'servants,' even if they were her employees. Retainers, perhaps, but never servants. Even leaving aside the fact that both of them were millionaires in their own rights, she thought with a mental chuckle.
'They don't disapprove at all of my doing what my heart requires, to borrow a phrase from the bad novelists. They just worry about what could happen if the newsies get hold of this... relationship.' She grimaced. 'They had an entirely too up close and personal look at what the 'faxes put us through last time, and they worry about me. Can't imagine why.'
'Of course you can't.' Emily's incipient frown turned into a smile once more.
'Actually, what I mind the most about this whole clandestine thing, in a lot of ways,' Honor said with a grimace, 'is that I see so little of Miranda these days. She's still officially my 'maid' as far as Grayson is concerned, but she's effectively my chief of staff, especially here on Manticore. So I end up leaving her home to tend to business, and it would look a bit odd if I started dragging her out here to visit 'friends.' Of course, on Grayson, under similar circumstances-although I admit that the mind boggles at the concept of 'similar circumstances' there-I'd be leaving Mac home to tend to business and dragging Miranda around with me.' She shook her head. 'It's a lot less complicated being a commoner, you know.'
'Cling to your illusions if you must,' Emily replied. 'Given your rank, little things like your military reputation, and the fact that you're probably one of the dozen welthiest people in the entire Star Kingdom, I doubt very much that your life could ever be uncomplicated again.'
'Oh, thank you for that douche of reality!'
'You're welcome.'
'This is your wakeup call, Admiral Harrington.'
Honor twitched as the deep, soft voice spoke into her ear, and her sleeping mind snuggled closer to the bright, caressing mind-glow behind the words. Perhaps that was why she didn't awaken the way she normally did- quickly, completely, senses coming immediately alert.
'This is your wakeup call,' the voice repeated with a chuckle, and Honor's eyes snapped open-very quickly indeed, this time-as she tasted Hamish's intent. Quick as she was, she wasn't quite quick enough, and ruthless fingers danced up her ribs to her armpits, despicably exploiting the secret she had guarded for so many decades.
'Hamish!' she half-shrieked as he tickled her mercilessly. Her upper arms clamped tight to her rib cage, trapping his hands, but his fingers went right on moving, and she writhed. Both of them were perfectly well aware she could have broken both his arms anytime she chose to, but he continued his attack with the fearlessness of someone prepared to take unscrupulous advantage of the knowledge that she loved him.
She flung herself out of bed, whipping around to face him, and he propped himself on one elbow, stretched sensually, and grinned wickedly at her. Nor was his the only amusement in the bedroom; Nimitz and Samantha sat side-by-side on the headboard, bleeking with laughter.
'I see you're awake,' Hamish said cheerfully.
'And you, Earl White Haven, are a dead man,' she told him with a glower.
'I'm not afraid of you.' He elevated his nose with a sniff. 'Emily will protect me.'
'Not when I tell her why you have to die. When I explain, she'll help me hide the body.'
'You know, she might, at that.'
'Darn right she might.'
'Well, it was probably worth it anyway to wake up to a sight like this,' he said, blue eyes gleaming, and Honor actually felt herself blushing as she glanced down at her nude state. The taste of the treecats' amusement at her reaction only made her blush more rosily, and she shook her fist.
'I think,' she said ominously, 'that all of you need to be seen to. Especially you, My Lord Earl. To think, I trusted you enough to actually admit I'm ticklish. The sheer treachery of your actions takes my breath away.'
'Of course it does.' He sat up and swung his own legs over the side of the bed. 'Which is undoubtedly the reason you shared your deep, dark secret in the first place. You must have known any decent tactician would take advantage of it when the critical nature of his mission required it.'
'Definitely seen to.' She smiled sweetly. 'You know, I was talking it over with Andrew just the other day, and he mentioned to me that it's never too late to take up a new form of exercise. Take you, for example, Hamish. I realize that at your advanced and decrepit age you may think you're too old to learn new tricks, but you are a prolong recipient, and I saw you on the handball court just a couple of months ago. I think you'd be a fine prospect.'
'Prospect for what?' he asked warily.
'Why, for taking up coup de vitesse, of course.' She widened her eyes innocently. 'Think how much it would increase your self-confidence, not to mention how good it is as a systemic exercise.'
'You, young lady, are out of your mind if you think I'm going to let you get me onto the mat as your punching bag.' He snorted. 'I might-might, I say-be prepared to take up Grayson-style fencing. I was always pretty good with foil and epee. At least I was, many, many years ago, when I was at the Island. But that brutal, sweaty hand-to- hand business of yours isn't my style at all.' He shook his head. 'Oh, no-self-defense is your forte, not mine. If we should ever happen to encounter a mugger who somehow penetrates the protection of those three Rottweilers of yours, I'll be perfectly happy to hold your coat while you mop up the pavement with him. Heck, I'll even buy you a bonbon and a cup of hot chocolate afterward.'
Honor chuckled, trying to picture a Grayson male, however enlightened, suggesting anything of the sort to any woman, be she ever so well-trained in self-defense.
'Well,' she said, after a moment, checking the date/time display in her artificial eye, 'we're both going to need to brush up on our self-defense skills if we don't get ourselves down to breakfast pretty quickly.'
'Hey, don't blame me! I've been trying to get you up! And, I warn you, I fully intend to tell Emily that when we're late to breakfast.'
'God, there're no limits to your treachery,' Honor said, snatching up her kimono and sliding into it. 'If only I'd known ahead of time!'
'Sure, sure.' He stood and stretched luxuriously. 'And speaking of treachery....'
Honor frowned. He was up to something, she could taste it. But-
Hamish smiled sweetly at her, and then, with absolutely no warning, dashed for the bathroom.
'Hamish, don't you dare-!'
