“You have family?”
“You sound surprised. Did you think I’d sprung fully formed from Satan’s forehead?”
She laughed lightly. “I did on occasion suspect that might have been the case.” She couldn’t envision him with a family. “You seem more a lone wolf than part of a pack. Have you a wife then?”
“I wouldn’t be bartering for kisses if I did.”
“Yes, of course, I’m sorry. I’m having a very difficult time categorizing you.”
“As I explained that first night, where I’m concerned, you shouldn’t expect anything.”
“I suppose.” She took a bite of ham before saying, “So tell me about your family.”
“Why?”
“Because I suspect you know everything about mine.” He knew where she lived after all.
He grinned. “Servants will talk.”
“So you know I have a father and four brothers. What of you?”
“Two brothers.”
“Older? Younger?”
“One older. One younger.”
“You don’t like speaking about them. Why is that?”
He placed an elbow on the table, leaned forward, and tucked behind her ear several strands of hair that had come loose and begun whipping around her face. “Because they don’t interest me as you do. I’d rather talk about you.”
Her lips tingled and she wondered if he would kiss her now. But he only perused her features as though every line and curve were a fascinating oddity. She suspected in his travels he’d encountered the most exotic of women. How plain she must be compared with them.
She drew back, needing the distance. Reaching for the orange, she began to peel it with slightly trembling fingers, hoping he wouldn’t notice that he could set her nerves to dancing with so little effort. “Have you traveled the entire world?”
“Most of it.”
“Did your brothers choose a life at sea?”
“We didn’t choose anything. Life presented opportunities and we took them.”
She separated off a section of orange and bit into it, startled by the abundance of juice that shot into her mouth, dribbled down her chin. Before she could snatch up her napkin, he was gliding his finger below her lips, wiping away the succulent nectar. Then holding her gaze, slowly, ever so slowly, he sucked on his fingers, the light blue of his eyes darkening.
Her chest ached as she fought to draw in breath. How could something so ill-mannered be so erotic? She felt as though the sun had traveled closer and was scorching her skin. She was vaguely aware of him taking the fruit from her, tearing off a section, biting it in half before offering her the remains.
“I couldn’t possibly—”
“It won’t make quite the mess, and you must admit that it’s frightfully good. And you don’t want to get scurvy.”
It was delicious, yes. She took the offering and popped it into her mouth. “I thought scurvy happened only on long voyages.”
“Who knows?” He tore off another segment, ate half, and extended what was left. It didn’t seem quite so wicked this time when she took it. “Maybe we’ll decide not to return to England. We’ll simply sail around the world.”
“Oh, that sounds lovely.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized her mistake in saying them. He’d grown still, the partially eaten orange seemingly forgotten. She released a selfconscious laugh. “I was only teasing. I have far too many responsibilities to go wherever the wind blows.”
“Who hurt you, Princess?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I sense sadness in you.”
She shook her head. She couldn’t confide in him. She barely knew him. Her heart was only just beginning to heal. She would not, could not, risk it becoming bruised again. Perhaps she would marry Walter’s brother. She would never love him, and therefore she could never again be hurt—or worse, cause hurt.
Tears pricked her eyes. She angled back her head and pointed. “What is it like to view the world from the crow’s nest? It must be marvelous to see so far, to be able to see everything.”
“You can’t see everything. You never can.”
“It’s like life then, isn’t it? Because if you could see everything, if you knew what would stretch out before you, you might say or do things that wouldn’t leave you with regrets.”
She looked to the sea, needing not to see the sympathy in his eyes. She didn’t want him to be kind. She simply wanted him to get her to Scutari so she could ask Walter for forgiveness. “Walter always wanted to sail the sea. Spoke of one day purchasing a sailboat.”
“Walter?”
The word came out like the crack of a whip.
“My fiancé. It’s the reason he arranged for his earnings to be sent to me. His brother is a marquess, and Walter feared the money would go into the family coffers. He was going to use it as our nest egg.”
“Is that what you were using to finance this voyage?” His voice was a bit more relaxed, but flat, the way the sea looked in the distance, as though nothing at all disturbed for good or ill.
“Yes.” She dared to look back at him. “Why did you agree to take me on the journey for something as paltry as a kiss? I’m sure you’re no stranger to kisses.”
“Kisses and I are well acquainted, and so I know their value. Every woman’s kiss is different. Some lips are chapped, others I could swear had been woven together from threads of silk. Some mouths are dry, others wet. Some women taste of garlic and some”—he touched his fingers to his lips, made a smacking sound before unfurling them like a flower—“are as rich as fine vintage wine. Some women make not a sound as they kiss. Others sigh a sweet melody that teases the ear and remains vibrant in memory long after she is no longer there. A kiss can be all things. It can be profound.” He shrugged. “Or it can be forgettable.”
She couldn’t imagine that a kiss bestowed by him could ever be forgettable. Would he forget hers?
“And if you discover that my kiss isn’t worth the trouble of the voyage?”
“I don’t think there’s a chance in hell of that happening.” With a wide grin he got to his feet, towering over her, and set what remained of the orange on her plate. “I have to check my charts, see to my duties. It’s my hope that you’ll dine with me this evening in my cabin.” He tilted his head slightly. “Your cabin.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Until later then.” He gave a brusque nod and strode away.
She rose and walked to the railing where nothing blocked the breeze from cooling her skin. Walter had kissed her, but she could not remember the flavor or the texture or the warmth of it. One more thing to add to her guilt: she’d not savored every kiss as though it might be their last.
At the bottom of the steps, Tristan nearly ran into her maid. She was carrying a parasol, and a quick glance told him that it was finely made. For her lady, then.
For the first time, he gave the maid a closer inspection. She wasn’t a beauty, not like her mistress, but she possessed a prettiness that he suspected drew attention. And something else about her niggled at his mind. “Have we met before?”
“My brother, John Harper, served under you. He recommended your ship for the journey.”
“And me along with it, I suppose.”
Her blush enhanced the sparkle in her eyes. “He vowed you would not take advantage of my lady.”
“His vow is not mine to keep.”
“But you won’t take advantage, will you?” she asked with a stubborn set to her lips.
“You’re both safe from unwanted advances while aboard my ship.”
She smiled, and he realized she was prettier than he initially thought.
“John’s married now,” she informed him, as though of a sudden they were friends.
“Yes, so he mentioned when he informed me that he would no longer be serving me. Seems his wife wanted to chain him to port.”
“They wanted to be together. I don’t think that’s so awful. He’s happy.”
As well as a marvelous teller of tales with a tendency toward exaggeration. Tristan now had an idea of who might have told Anne that he was a hero. John didn’t believe in allowing facts to ruin a good story.
“He’s employed by a merchant now, has a respectable income, and is quite settled,” Martha continued on.
Tristan fought not to shudder. He hired only unmarried men—not hard to find on the docks. During a storm, he didn’t want a man worrying that he might be leaving behind a widow. Women didn’t understand wanderlust. In his experience, marriage and a life at sea were a volatile combination, leaving everyone unhappy. He certainly intended to never take a wife.
His uncle had forced him to run. No one was ever going to force him into anything again.
When he reached his cabin, the first thing he noticed was that it already smelled of her, of Anne. Lavender and citrus mingling about. Everything was tidy, her trunk closed. He was tempted to riffle through it, see what he could discover about her. It seemed only fair.
Everything about him was visible to her. The books he enjoyed. The sturdy furniture he preferred. The liquor he favored. The wooden chest set he’d carved with his own hands. Even the globe for Rafe that he’d made during his last voyage—a gift he hadn’t yet given to his brother because he wasn’t certain how it would be received. Besides it wasn’t exactly perfectly round. Rather it was a lopsided view of the world that tended to roll until the north and south poles were east and west poles. He needed to make a proper stand for it. He would address that during his next voyage.
He spent an hour attempting to study his charts before returning topside. He wanted to see her again, but according to Jenkins, the breeze proved too much for her parasol. She and her maid had retreated below deck, to the cabin he’d had prepared for the servant. He was disappointed. He should have ensured that she understood she was always welcome in his cabin, even when he was there. He imagined what it would be like to look up from his desk and see her sitting in a chair near one of the windows. Domestic. He shook off the thought. There was no room for domesticity aboard a ship.
He made his way to the quarterdeck. Mouse had cleared away all evidence that she’d been with him for breakfast. The lad was good at keeping things neat and tidy. Tristan wondered if she’d finished eating the orange. He thought he might never taste another without recalling the joy of her laughter as the juice burst forth, surprising her with its abundance.
He leaned back against the railing and crossed his arms over his chest. They had a strong wind filling the sails. They were making good time. England was no longer visible. They would reach the Mediterranean within a few days. He was tempted to cause some damage to the ship that would require they head to the nearest port for repairs. He wanted to walk through foreign cities with her, through crowded streets.
He wanted to wipe away whatever it was that was causing the sadness reflected in her eyes.
She’s missing her fiancé, you dolt.
Not that much if she agreed to give me a kiss.
So much that she was willing to kiss you in order to get to him.
If he were an honorable man, he would take her there without claiming the kiss—all in the name of true love. Mary would expect it of him. Which was the reason he hadn’t told her more about his journey. She wouldn’t approve. Not that he cared for her approval.
He suspected he might be a very different man if he’d not been forced to leave his home, to leave Pembrook … to leave England. He grew to manhood very quickly.
He’d tried to return to what had been—to being a lord, to living within Society, among peers. But he didn’t belong there, any more than Rafe did. Sebastian had no choice. He held the title, but Tristan was free to return to the life he loved, to the sea. And he did love it. The smell of the briny water, the rocking of the ship, the tickling of the wind. He enjoyed the camaraderie among his men. He would die for them and yet something was still missing.
He shifted his gaze over to Peterson as he came to stand beside him.
“You’re going to a lot of trouble to get beneath a woman’s skirts,” Peterson said.
“I’m paying you well enough not to complain about it.”
“She’s different. You could hurt her.”
“I’m not going to hurt her.”
“Not intentionally maybe, but it can still happen.”
“When did you become a bloody philosopher?”
“Your mistake in teaching me to read.”
Tristan grinned. He taught any man who wanted to learn. Mouse was his latest pupil, making great progress.
“You know the maid is Johnny’s sister,” Peterson murmured.
“So I discovered this morning.”
“He sent them to you knowing you would protect them.”
“His mistake.”
“Jack, she’s nobility.”
So was he, but his men didn’t know it. When Sebastian had caught the offered pouch, the clinking of the coins inside had signaled the severing of Tristan’s bloodlines. None of his men knew the truth of his origins. Even when he returned to England and helped establish his older brother’s place in Society, Tristan had kept his two distinct lives separate. With a foot in both worlds, he wondered if he might be in danger of losing his balance.
“Relax, Peterson. I’ve never yet incurred a woman’s wrath.”
“There’s always a first time, Captain.”
She didn’t know why she was nervous. It was after all only dinner. Before she’d gone into mourning, she’d had dinner with all sorts. Royalty even. She’d thought little of it. She could carry her portion of a conversation. She knew how to present herself well.
Dining with a sea captain should be nothing at all. Yet when she was in his company, she couldn’t help but wonder when he would demand payment. She did wish he would do it soon. She didn’t much like debt hanging over her head.
“Did you wish to change your attire?” Martha asked.
Anne glanced over at the open trunk. She’d brought a gown for dining. She wasn’t certain what had prompted her to do so. She’d also packed a lilac gown that had been Walter’s favorite, but she wouldn’t wear it until she was ready to disembark the ship in Scutari.
She shook her head. “No need for anything formal. I’m sure his invitation was a result of politeness.”
“I’ve not noticed him being particularly polite.”
She grinned. “I’m not certain how you can say that when he had one of his men prepare something to settle your stomach.”
“I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
“And how would that be?”
“As though he’s contemplating devouring you.”
“It’s just his way to constantly appear intimidating so he doesn’t have a mutiny on his hands.”
“Know him that well do you?”
Anne placed her hands on her hips. “Your brother recommended him.”
“Yes, and I’m thinking perhaps he’s lost his mind.”
“Don’t be silly. Everyone is polite. No one has done anything untoward.”
A quiet knock on the door ended their conversation. Was it time already? Anne’s heart fairly jumped into her throat.
But when Martha opened the door, it was to find the lad—Mouse—standing there holding a pail.
“Cap’n was thinkin’ ye might want some warm water.”
“Yes, thank you.” Martha reached for it.
He stepped back. “I kin carry it in.”
“Yes, well—”
“We’d appreciate that,” Anne said, interrupting what she was certain was going to be Martha’s refusal to allow him entrance. Martha gave her a confused look, but Anne was fairly convinced it was the boy’s pride speaking up.
He walked in with his uneven gait, and she could see now that his leg was severely bowed.
“Have you been with the captain long?” she asked.
“Ever since he saved me from the shark,” he said with no inflection, as though
he might be saying that the captain had merely spread jam on his toast. He concentrated on pouring the water into the bowl without splashing a single drop.
She waited until he was finished to inquire, “The shark?”
He faced her. “I was born funny-lookin’, no one wanted me, so they used me to bait the sharks.”
“I don’t understand.” Although she feared she did, and the thought horrified her.
“Tossed me in the water. I didn’t know how to swim then, but the cap’n taught me later. Anyway, I’d thrash about. They’d pull me out when the shark got close enough so they could spear it.”
She heard Martha gasp. As for herself, she thought she might be ill. “And the captain?”
“They were sailin’ by. He jumped in, cut me free, and took me aboard his ship.” He grinned mischievously. “Then he fired a cannon, blew their boat out of the water. Sharks had a feast that day.”
“I see.” Her stomach had tightened into a painful knot. To think she was angry because her father wanted her to begin making the social rounds again, to attend balls, soirees, and dinners. She wasn’t in danger of being eaten.
“Will ye be needin’ anythin’ else?” he asked, as though he hadn’t just told her the most horrific story she’d ever heard.
“No. Thank you.”
He doffed his cap and limped from the room. Once he left, Martha sank into a chair. “You don’t suppose all that was true, do you?”
“Why would he lie?”
“Sympathy. Or perhaps he simply enjoys spinning a good yarn.”
Anne crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s strange, Martha, but I can very well see Captain Crimson Jack jumping into the sea to save someone.”
“You’re not starting to fancy the fellow are you?”
“What? No.” She walked to the windows and gazed out on the choppy water. “I have, however, decided to wear my proper dinner gown.”
Martha made a snort of disapproval, but Anne couldn’t have cared less. Tonight she would pay her debt. Get that matter over with, so he would leave her alone, because the more she learned of the captain, the more he intrigued her. And that path could only lead to disaster.
Chapter 6
Lord of Temptation Page 6