Lord of Temptation

by Lorraine Heath

  She slapped teasingly at his arm. “It wasn’t a duty. And he’s already asleep, but we shall look in on him before you leave.”

  “I’d like that.” He realized he’d been remiss in bringing a gift for the lad. He’d remedy that situation the next time he visited.

  “Do tell us everything.” She sat in a large plush chair and Sebastian joined her, sitting on the arm, placing his hand on her nape as though he needed to touch her simply because she was near.

  Tristan took his tumbler and a nearby chair. “Not much to tell.” Glancing up, he noticed the portrait over the fireplace. It was his brother, his damaged side partially hidden by shadows as he looked at his wife. “Nice portrait.”

  “We were pleased with it. If you were staying longer, I’d have one done of Sebastian with you and Rafe.”

  “Yes, I’m quite sure you’d have no trouble at all getting Rafe to agree to that,” he said wryly. He couldn’t imagine him agreeing to it. “Speaking of our younger brother, will he be joining us this evening?”

  “No,” Sebastian said. “Unfortunately our relationship remains strained, and he declines our invitations.”

  “But he sent word to you that I was here.”

  “Yes. Don’t know if he knew you were leaving so quickly. Where are you going?”

  He wasn’t certain how Sebastian would feel about Tristan’s journey to a place where so much blood—so much of his blood—had been shed. The last thing he wanted was to bring nightmares back into his brother’s life. “I’d rather not say. It’s a private charter.”

  “I didn’t know you did private charters.”

  “When the payment is right, I do anything.”

  “Nothing illegal, I hope,” Mary said.

  He winked at her. “Payment is everything.”

  She scowled.

  “Not to worry,” he assured her. “No danger awaits us on this trip.” But even as he said the words, he wasn’t convinced they were quite true. It was bad luck to have a woman on board a ship, even one as lovely as Lady Anne. He decided to take a risk. “Mary, are you familiar with the Earl of Blackwood’s daughter? Lady Anne?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I spent far too much of my life in the nunnery. I don’t believe we’ve crossed paths. Why?”

  “No particular reason.”

  “When do you ever ask questions that serve no purpose?” Sebastian asked.

  He grinned. “Obviously tonight.”

  At Sebastian’s narrowing gaze, Tristan stood. “I say, I’m quite famished. Any chance we can get this dinner under way?”

  Neither his brother nor his sister-by-marriage moved a muscle.

  “Does Lady Hermione know you’re here?” Mary finally asked, and he wondered what the devil had prompted that question.

  “Why should she?” She’d flirted with him two years ago when he and his brothers had first returned to Society.

  “She’s written me from time to time asking after you,” Mary answered.

  “Surely she’s married by now.”

  “I fear not. Apparently she is holding out hope that you would return for her.”

  “It was innocent flirtation. I never once declared any feelings for her.”

  “Be that as it may, I think she was quite smitten.”

  “She’s a child.”

  “Old enough to marry.”

  “Not me, by God. I have no intentions of ever being shackled—” He cut off his diatribe as Mary angled her chin defiantly.

  “Well thank you for that,” she stated tartly.

  “You’re an exception,” he reassured her.

  “I should hope so.” She studied him for a moment, making him uncomfortable with her perusal. “Do you plan to ever return to Society?”

  He shook his head. “It’s not for me. I’m happier on the sea.” Or at least he had been. He wasn’t quite certain why this last voyage had left him so unsettled.

  “But you worked so hard to see that Sebastian regained his place—”

  “My love,” Sebastian said quietly, “my brothers have their own paths to travel.”

  “Except that I truly believe all of you should be where you would have been had your uncle not sought to kill you.”

  But he had, and they were forever changed. Tristan wanted to get off this maudlin topic. He quirked an eyebrow. “Still famished here.”

  Mary laughed, a bit of forcing behind the sound, giving him what she knew he wanted. Bless her. Sebastian was a most fortunate man. Tristan doubted he’d ever find a love such as these two shared. It was a rare thing.

  In her haste to finally see the beginning of her quest, Anne had neglected to take into account that she had selected the one night of the week when her father insisted that all his children join him for dinner. If he and her brothers followed their usual habit, they would all head to their various clubs shortly after dessert was served, but still she was so distracted by her own plans that she wished she could have avoided this situation.

  She loved her family, she truly did, but the preponderance of male virility could be quite claustrophobic at times, especially as they believed that because she was female she required constant looking after, their opinions mattered more than hers, and the slightest upset could cause her to swoon—even though she’d never swooned in her life. Not even when she received word of Walter’s passing. She’d put up a stoic front and shed her tears only in private. He’d have been proud of her performance—because that was what it had been. Appearances. Everything was always about blasted appearances.

  She wondered how her family would perform once they learned of her plans. She was going to leave them a letter so they would not worry, but they would not discover it until sometime tomorrow when they were all sober again. The trick, of course, would be slipping out of the residence without servants raising an alarm. Fortunately, only she and Martha were aware of the small packed trunk in her bedchamber. She would require trusted footmen—

  “Keswick has returned to London,” Viscount Jameson, her eldest brother, said. All of her brothers were fair, but their hair contained various shades of gold that she’d always envied.

  Each of them set aside their utensils at Jameson’s announcement and took a sip of wine as though he’d declared that he spotted Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein wandering about, and they were having a difficult time comprehending what it might mean. She loved her brothers dearly but they were, by far, the worst gossips London had ever produced.

  “For what purpose?” Stephan asked.

  “To reenter Society, I suspect. I’ve been told he has an heir now.”

  “That didn’t take long,” Phillip murmured.

  “What of his brothers?” Edward asked.

  “If it goes as before, they’ll be right on his heels, won’t they?” Jameson answered.

  “Can’t have that,” their father muttered.

  “Why not?” Anne asked.

  They all looked at her as though she’d sprouted horns. She was tempted to touch her forehead to ensure herself she hadn’t.

  “You were in mourning when the lords of Pembrook returned to London two years ago,” Jameson told her. “Rough lot. No manners to speak of. They were raised outside the confines of Society. Quite barbaric.”

  She envisioned them prancing around the ballrooms without any clothing. “I thought they were dead. Wolves had eaten them or something.”

  “Yes, quite, that’s what we all thought,” Stephan informed her. “But apparently they ran off. Thought their uncle wished them harm so he could inherit the dukedom.”

  “Did he?” she asked pointedly.

  Her brother shrugged. “Was never proven.”

  “Fanciful tales,” her father said. “Men do not kill to obtain titles.”

  “I should hope not,” Jameson said. “I rather fancy a long life.”

  Her father laughed. “As do I.” He sobered. “Anne, if these lords of Pembrook do make an appearance in the ballrooms, you’re to avoid them. I believe the
Marquess of Chetwyn may have set his cap on you.”

  “Walter’s brother? Why would you think that?”

  Her father took a slow sip of his red wine as though she wasn’t waiting with bated breath for the answer. “Oh, just something I heard at the club.”

  “Has it been wagered on?” Her brothers wagered on everything. They’d lost a small fortune because they’d expected her to marry Chetwyn rather than Walter. But she hadn’t loved the marquess. It was Walter who had stolen her heart.

  “Might have seen something scribbled in the book at White’s,” Jameson said.

  “Don’t look so devastated, sweetheart,” her father said. “It’s as I’ve said, you’ve far exceeded Society’s expectations with this mourning business. It’s not as though you’re a widow.”

  “I don’t believe Society should dictate how long I mourn,” she said hotly. This had been a sore point between them. “That is a function of my heart.”

  “Yes, well, it’s time for your heart to move on. And Chetwyn would make a jolly good match.”

  “It would be almost like marrying Walter,” Edward said. He was her youngest brother, a year older than she, and apparently a numbskull.

  “That’s disgusting. He’s nothing at all like Walter.”

  “I should say not. He’s alive.”

  She tossed her wine on her idiot brother, causing him to yelp, jerk back, and send his chair and himself to the floor. With him still sputtering, “See here now! It’s my favorite waistcoat!” she came to her feet amid the stares of those who remained at the table. “I’m trying to move on, and you all are making it extremely difficult. If you’ll excuse me, I feel a headache coming on.”

  She flung her napkin to the table, turned—

  “Anne,” her father barked in his not-to-be-ignored voice.

  Grinding her back teeth, she faced him with her chin held so high that her neck was beginning to ache.

  “We want what is best for you. You’re approaching an age when you’ll no longer be considered marriageable. It is my responsibility to see you with a husband so you are not a burden to your brothers.”

  Yes, three and twenty was so terribly old. Perhaps rather than return from the voyage, she’d simply ask Crimson Jack to drop her off on a secluded rock somewhere. That had to be better than enduring such idiocy disguised as caring.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “And see to my duty this Season and secure myself a husband.”

  Her father smiled. “That’s my girl.”

  “I do love you all,” she added, “and know you have my best interests at heart. However, I’m going to retire now, so please enjoy your evening.”

  And please, please, please, go to your clubs as soon as possible so I may make my escape from this madness.

  Chapter 4

  She was late, dammit. Tristan checked his watch again. Three whole bloody minutes late. He fought not to pace the deck, not to give the impression that he cared one whit that his passenger might have changed her mind. He should have borrowed Sebastian’s coach and stopped by her residence to provide assistance if needed.

  The fog was rolling in. It distorted sounds, gave everything an ominous feel. The ship’s lanterns were lit, but they would not hold the encroaching gray at bay. He wondered if the weather had turned her back, but she hadn’t struck him as one who was easily intimidated. He wasn’t usually a poor judge of character, so why wasn’t she here?

  Because she’d come to her senses and realized that he would take advantage of her. He wouldn’t force her, but by God, he’d certainly work to seduce her. Although he suspected a woman who had been loyal to a man for four years would not succumb easily to his charms. She obviously loved the scapegrace. What sort of man could stay away from her and still hold her heart?

  Someone far better than you, mate, more worthy. It didn’t bear thinking about. She’d struck a bargain. That was all that mattered. Or so he’d thought.

  Damnation. He should have taken the kiss from her when he was in her bedchamber. He was a merchant, a trader. He knew better than to set sail without payment in hand. Payment first, services second. It had been his motto from the moment he’d begun to barter his skills. Always money first. Then if someone decided to back out on the bargain, he still had his gain.

  Now, he had nothing to show—

  Not exactly true. He removed her glove from his pocket and stroked it through his fingers before bringing it to his nose. After she turned toward the door, he’d stolen it from where she tossed it. He didn’t know what had possessed him, except that he’d wanted it and he wasn’t accustomed to not taking what he wanted. Her scent of lavender with a hint of citrus wafted around him. He suspected it was a perfume made especially for her. If not, it should be. He couldn’t recall ever smelling it on another woman.

  What was this insane obsession with her? Why should he care if she had shown herself to be a coward, if she had decided not to make the journey?

  He glanced at his watch again. Five blasted minutes. She wasn’t coming. His men were waiting for his order to set sail. What was he to do now in order not to look like an absolute fool?

  He could leave, decide later exactly where they would go. Or he could tell his crew to stand down, while he disembarked, hired a hackney, and confronted the treacherous—

  Through the thickening fog came the unmistakable sound of rapid footsteps, determined, a steady cadence echoing over the wooden planks of the docks. A woman’s steps. A slight woman. Seven stones’ worth. Others followed, more distant.

  He fought back the jubilation as she became visible. He wasn’t going to give her the upper hand in this encounter. She was fortunate that he hadn’t already cast off. Stuffing the glove back into his pocket, he strolled nonchalantly across the quarterdeck and descended the steps to the main deck. Then he sauntered down the gangway to the dock just as she came to a stop, breathing heavily. Even in the dim light, he could see she was flushed. She would be even more so when he claimed his kiss.

  “You’re late,” he said in as flat a voice as he could muster.

  Her silvery eyes widened. “I daresay, not even ten minutes.”

  “Ships run on a schedule, my lady.”

  She angled her chin. “Yes, well, as I’m paying for this voyage, I expect it to run on my schedule. If you didn’t understand that was my purpose in hiring you, then perhaps I should look elsewhere.”

  He couldn’t stop the smile this time. He should have known she’d not apologize. “Unfortunately, any schedule involving a ship is subject to tides and winds.”

  “Oh, my dear. Will we not be able to leave tonight?”

  He wondered at the urgency, but didn’t comment on it because it worked to his advantage for them to be under way as soon as possible.

  “I think we can manage.” A dark-haired woman who didn’t seem to be much older than Anne was standing slightly behind her, her eyes blinking continuously as though she couldn’t quite believe she was here. Her maid, her chaperone no doubt. He nodded toward the two men carrying her trunk. “Are they coming with you?”

  “No, only the trunk.”

  “Peterson! Get the lady’s trunk on board.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Peterson was a big brute of a man. He took the trunk from the liveried footmen as though it contained little more than feathers. As he passed back by, Tristan said quietly, “My cabin, Peterson.”

  “Yes, sir.” He trudged up the gangway.

  “He doesn’t sound pleased,” Lady Anne said.

  “He’s a grumbler. You’ll get used to it. The men who are on board are there because they choose to be. Those ruled by superstition are remaining behind.”

  “Will that cause a hardship for you?”

  “For you, Princess, I’d suffer any hardship.”

  She laughed, a sweet sound that wove around him, and he wondered if she were descended from Sirens. He thought he might gladly crash upon rocks just to hear that clear pure tinkling. “You’re not going
to wait until we’re at least on the ship before beginning your absurd flirtation?”

  She wasn’t going to fall easily, but then he’d known all along that she wouldn’t. “Your words are like a dagger through my heart.”

  “I doubt you can be so easily wounded, Captain.” She spoke briefly with the men who had accompanied her. When they left, she indicated the woman who remained. “This is Martha, my lady’s maid. She comes with us, of course.”

  “Of course. Allow me the honor of escorting you aboard.” He called out for Jenkins and when the young man joined them, instructed him to escort Martha up the gangway. Tristan extended his arm to Anne.

  She wrapped her hand around the crook of his elbow and allowed him to lead her up the corridor. He’d thought Lady Anne might tremble, if not with his nearness, then with the anticipation of the journey. Instead, she seemed to become almost somber as she stepped onto the deck.

  “Peterson, get us under way.”

  “Aye aye, Captain.”

  While Peterson began shouting commands and men began scurrying around the ship, Tristan said, “I’ll show you to your cabin.”

  “I’d rather stay out here while we leave.”

  “As you wish, but let’s get you out of harm’s way. Up the steps there.”

  She did as he bid, and he followed her up, his eyes level with her swaying hips. Once up top, she crossed over to the railing. Joining her there, he realized that the maid was right behind him. She was going to be an inconvenience, but he could work around her.

  “Why Revenge?” Lady Anne asked quietly.

  “Pardon?”

  “Why did you name your ship Revenge?”

  Planting his elbows on the railing, he clasped his hands together and stared at the black water beneath them. He’d done similarly the first time the ship on which Sebastian had left him had drawn away from the harbor. He’d thought the sea mirrored his soul. The next morning it had been a brilliant blue that had given him hope once again. “For a good many years the need for revenge gave purpose to my life. It seemed an appropriate name for a ship that would bring me untold wealth.”

  “It’s bad form to speak of money.”