In Enemy Hands

almond eyes she'd inherited from her mother, would never be conventionally beautiful. Indeed, in repose, it was too harsh, its features too strong, for that. But the personality behind it, the intelligence and character and strength of will, gave it the life and energy to make one forget that. Or perhaps she was beautiful, he thought. Beautiful as a hawk or falcon was, with a dangerous vitality that warned anyone who saw her that this woman was a force to be reckoned with. The slim, sinewy grace with which she moved only added to that image, and his mind had always recognized it.

But her attractiveness had simply been one more facet of an outstanding junior officer who'd somehow become his protege, and his cerebral awareness that so much competence was wrapped in such a fascinating package had never moved beyond his forebrain. Perhaps that was because he'd never really seen her as anything except a naval officer, or perhaps it was because he'd always been attracted to women who were shorter than he... and who didn't have the hand-to-hand training to tie him into a pretzel. And, he admitted, whose ages were closer to his own. Perhaps there'd even been a sort of subconscious awareness on his part that it would be far better for both of them if he never did 'see' just how attractive, to him, she had the potential to become.

But whatever it might have been, it had suddenly become irrelevant. In that moment, he no longer saw her simply as an officer, nor even as a head of government. In an odd sort of way, it seemed to be because of the way she'd taken him to task, as if that had somehow jarred him into a fundamental reevaluation, on an emotional, as well as an intellectual basis, of who and what she truly was. And among the many other things she might be, he realized now, she was an astonishingly fascinating woman... and one whom he suddenly feared (though fear, he admitted, was not precisely the proper word) he would never again be able to see solely as his protege.

Honors eyes went wide as the emotions flowing into her through Nimitz changed abruptly, and her own exasperation vanished, blown away by White Havens sudden, intent focus on her. Not on what she'd been saying, but on her.

She pushed back in her chair and heard Nimitz thump down on the console behind her. Then the 'cat flowed over her shoulder and down into her lap, and she busied herself clasping him in her arms as if that could somehow make time stand still while she thought frantically.

This shouldn't, couldn't, be happening, and she wanted to shake Nimitz like a toy as the 'cat added his own approval of White Haven's reaction to the emotions pouring into her. Nimitz knew how much she'd loved Paul Tankersley, and, in his own way, the 'cat had loved Paul almost as fiercely. But he also saw no reason she shouldn't someday find another love, and his bone-deep purr was only too clear an indication of his reaction to the earl's sudden recognition of her attractiveness.

But if Nimitz couldn't see the potential disaster looming ahead, Honor certainly could. White Haven wasn't simply her superior officer; he was also Eighth Fleets designated CO, while she was slated to command one of his squadrons. That put them in the same chain of command, which meant anything at all between them would be a violation of Article 119, and that was a court-martial offense for officers. Even worse, he was married, and not to just anyone. Lady Emily Alexander had been the Star Kingdom’s most beloved HD actress before the terrible freak air car accident which had turned her into a permanent invalid. Even today, locked forever into a life-support chair and reduced essentially to the use of one hand and arm, she remained one of Manticore’s foremost writer- producers... and one of its leading poets, as well.

Honor made her brain stop racing and drew a deep breath. She was being ridiculous. All she'd felt was a single surge of emotion, and it wasn't as if she hadn't felt spikes of admiration and even desire from other men since her link to Nimitz had changed! Things like that happened, she told herself firmly, and she'd never worried about it unless someone tried to act upon it. In fact, she'd often found it rather pleasant. Not because she felt any desire to offer the men in question encouragement, her relationship with Paul had made difficulties enough for her on conservative Grayson, and she didn't need to awaken old memories, personal or public, but because it was rather flattering. Especially, she admitted, for someone who'd spent thirty years feeling like an ugly duckling.

This was just another case of passing interest, she told herself even more firmly. The best thing she could do was pretend she was unaware of it and offer no encouragement. If she ever let White Haven suspect she'd recognized his feelings, it could only embarrass him. Besides, his enduring love for his invalid wife, and their devotion to one another, were legendary. Their marriage was one of the great, tragic love stories of the Star Kingdom, and Honor couldn't even imagine him turning away from Lady Emily, however attractive he found someone else.

Still, a small corner of her brain whispered, there were those rumors about him and Admiral Kuzak. I suppose it's possible that...

She chopped that thought off in a hurry and cleared her throat.

'Excuse me, My Lord,' she said. 'I didn't mean to lecture. I suppose part of my reaction stems from the fact that I've had my own doubts where Lady Hemphill is concerned. It may be that making the adjustment to supporting at least some of her concepts has given me a sort of evangelical fervor, but that's no excuse.'

'Hm.' White Haven shook himself, blinked in bemusement, then waved away her apology with a smile. 'No excuse is needed, Milady. I deserved every word of it... and if I had bothered to read the appendices, I could have avoided a well earned tongue-lashing.' She felt his own confusion over his reaction still echoing below the surface of his thoughts, but no sign of it touched his expression, and she was grateful. Then he glanced at his chrono and twitched in surprise so artfully assumed it would have fooled even Honor if not for her link to Nimitz.

'I hadn't realized how late it's gotten,' he announced, rising and reaching for his sword once more. 'It's time I turned in, and I imagine your guests are about ready to depart.' He clipped the sword to his belt and smiled again, and any disinterested observer would have thought that smile was completely natural. 'Allow me to escort you back to the ballroom,' he suggested, extending his arm, and she rose with a matching smile and set Nimitz back on her shoulder.

'Thank you, My Lord,' she said, placing her hand on his elbow in approved Grayson fashion, and he swept her out of the library in style.

Andrew LaFollet fell in behind them, and his calmly attentive, utterly normal emotions were a soothing contrast to what Honor still sensed from White Haven, or, for that matter, felt herself, as she walked down the hall at the earl's side, chatting as if nothing at all had happened.

And, she told herself, nothing had happened. She told herself that firmly, almost fiercely, and by the time they reached the ballroom once more, she almost believed it.

Chapter Three

'Good morning, Milady.'

Honor turned her head and looked up as if to identify the new arrival, but it wasn't really necessary. She'd felt White Havens approach through Nimitz long before he stepped into the sun-drenched dining room, and she summoned a smile of greeting.

'Good morning, My Lord. Will you join us?' She gestured at the well-spread breakfast table, and he returned her smile.

'I certainly will,' he replied, 'and the pancakes smell delicious.' He spoke in an absolutely normal tone, with no echoes of the feelings she'd caught from him last night, and she felt a flood of relief... which she promptly scolded herself for feeling.

'What you're smelling aren't pancakes,' she told him, and he cocked a questioning eyebrow. 'They're waffles, and I'm afraid they're disgustingly rich the way I like them.'

'Waffles?' White Haven repeated the unfamiliar word as if sampling it.

'Think of them as, oh, crunchy, quilted pancakes,' she said. 'They're something of a tradition here on Grayson, one I wish the Star Kingdom hadn't lost, even if it is a dietitian’s despair. And Manticore had a lot better shot at retaining it, given the difference in our first wave's relative circumstances. On the