“I’m not sure.” She sipped on the brandy.
“Your brother warned you away from me.”
“Yes. He believes you to be barbaric. I told him he was wrong, that you were a perfect gentleman on the ship.”
Tristan couldn’t hide his surprise. “You told him you were on my ship?”
She nodded. “He guessed. He wasn’t happy, and I shall no doubt be brought to task by my father in the morning.”
“What exactly did you tell your brother?”
“Only that you were the captain of the ship. Certainly nothing about the intimacy that we shared.” She gave him a shy smile. “I’m not certain if he would have killed you or dragged you to the altar.”
“I suppose it goes without saying that neither option appeals.”
“And yet you said it.” Her voice had an acerbic edge to it. She furrowed her brow. “Have you no plans to ever take a wife?”
He wished a fire on the grate was producing writhing flames into which he could stare contemplatively rather than into her eyes. But she deserved him holding her gaze. “Surely you weren’t foolish enough to see me as the marrying sort?”
“No.” She sipped her brandy, then licked lips that he wanted to once again kiss. She studied the contents of her snifter as though she could read the answer there. “It was one of the things that made you safe for a night’s indiscretions. You would never demand or desire anything more of me than a quick romp.”
“It was hardly quick.” He set aside his snifter and slid across the cushions until her eyes widened with alarm. He skimmed his fingers along her throat, felt the fluttering of her pulse against his skin. “And I’m still safe. I’m a blackguard to the core. I’ve never claimed otherwise. All I want from you is passion and pleasure. To give. To receive. You don’t want me for a husband any more than I want you for a wife. But you can’t deny there is an attraction between us, like the moon to the tides.”
“And which am I?” she asked on a breathy sigh. Before he could respond, she answered, “The moon, of course. I stay put in London Society while you come and go where the sea takes you.”
“Yet here I am, with you pulling me toward you. Let me come nearer, Anne.”
It was a bad idea. An awfully bad idea. Anne could think of a thousand reasons to say no, but she didn’t object when he took her snifter, finished off its contents, and set it aside. She didn’t snatch free her braid when he took hold of it and slowly unraveled the strands. She didn’t move back, only swayed forward when he cradled her face with one hand, her nape with the other, and covered her mouth with his. Lovely, so lovely. Molten heat flowed through her as his thumb stroked the underside of her chin and his mouth worked its magic. She could taste the brandy on his tongue, more intoxicating there than in the glass.
She maneuvered herself around until she was in his lap, straining to get as close to him as she could. She shoved his jacket off his shoulders, worked it free of his arms, never breaking the kiss. The familiarity astounded her. It was as though she had been with him forever, as though the days separating them had never occurred. She dispensed with his cravat next, then began working on the buttons of his waistcoat while he nimbly freed those on her nightdress. She felt the air cool her flesh, then he was warming it again, trailing his mouth along her throat before dipping into the valley between her breasts. She dropped back her head, relishing the rasp of his rough tongue as it circled a nipple.
“Yes,” she breathed, then he was drawing it into his mouth, tugging and suckling. The pleasure coursed through her, pooling between her thighs. She was acutely aware of the straining bulge against his trousers.
Suddenly he was standing, she was in his arms, and he was carrying her to the bed. “You’ll be the death of me,” he growled.
She stifled her laughter. It seemed wrong, here in her father’s house, to take joy in such wicked pleasures, but she couldn’t have sent Tristan away now if her life depended on it. He laid her on the bed and whipped off her nightdress. She felt no need to cover herself from his heated gaze. The appreciation that lit his eyes only served to warm her further. She watched as he hastily removed his own clothes. In this larger bedchamber, he shouldn’t have looked as powerful as he had on the ship, he shouldn’t have caused the room to seem dwarfed. But he did.
He dominated everything. He crawled onto her bed, near her feet, and skimmed his fingers up her legs, along her hips, her sides, easing up until he was looking down on her.
“What sort of spell have you cast over me?” he whispered before lowering his mouth to hers.
It was marvelous, having him so near, having the weight of his body resting on hers. The scent of brandy and oranges wafted around her. Wrapping her legs around him, she raked her fingers up his strong broad back, feeling the uneven flesh. Her husband wouldn’t be marred like this. He would have lived a leisurely existence fraught with few dangers. Would he stir her to life like this? Would he have her writhing and panting beneath him?
Or was this wild abandonment limited to the wicked?
“You’re beautiful, so beautiful,” he rasped, worshipping her body with his mouth, hands, and words.
How quickly she’d grown accustomed to the manner in which they waltzed in bed. Holding her gaze, he rose above her. “Be sure, Anne.”
“I am.”
He plunged into her. She cried out with the pleasure of it, the rightness of it. It felt so good to have him pounding into her, as though each thrust was a return home. She met his movements with a determination and fierceness that astounded her. She wanted to claim him, possess him, own him. She’d never felt this way. She hadn’t liked watching him dance with Lady Hermione. She’d wanted to tell the girl that she couldn’t have Tristan because he belonged to Anne. Only he didn’t.
He belonged to the sea.
And she knew that she would have to give him back to his demanding mistress. Anne was only for now. Tonight. Maybe one more. Already she was contemplating one more.
But each night would only add to the weight of sorrow when he finally parted from England’s shores. She knew he would leave. The sea would call to him and he would answer.
Yet at this moment, it was her cries that he responded to. It was his answering grunts that echoed around her. His eyes held hers. He measured her pleasure, increased it with deeper, more forceful thrusts. She dug her fingers into his buttocks, anchored herself to him as a deluge of sensations rocketed through her.
As she cried out, he covered her mouth, swallowing her screams, giving her his grunts just before he arched back and shuddered above her in a magnificent display of pure masculinity. As replete as she was, she still managed to find the strength to trail her fingers over his glistening chest.
He cursed soundly before rolling off her onto his back and drawing her up against his side. Staring at the canopy, in between harsh breaths, he muttered, “I didn’t think to protect you. Damnation.”
After the first time they’d made love, he’d begun withdrawing, spilling his seed on the sheets rather than in her. She understood the precautions that were needed, but it always left her wanting. While she didn’t want to find herself with child, a distant part of her thrilled with the possibility. But it would be such a disaster. She should remind him to leave her, but when he was inside her, her only thought was that she wanted him to stay.
She cradled his taut jaw. “It doesn’t always happen immediately. It took my friend Sarah six months to get with child.”
He chuckled low. “I gave no thought to anything except the wonder of being inside you again.”
She felt the heat suffusing her entire body at the crudity of his words. One didn’t talk so pointedly about such things.
He shifted his gaze to her and a corner of his mouth quirked up. “After what we’ve shared how can you still be embarrassed?”
“The words are so … raw.”
“Shall I tell you how scaldingly hot you are inside?”
She furrowed her brow. “Does it burn you?
”
“No, it feels bloody marvelous. Hence my inability to remain focused on what I should do as a gentleman. Rather, I become lost in being a scoundrel.”
“Are you complimenting me?”
Turning onto his side he tangled together their legs and threaded his fingers into her hair. “Never doubt for a moment that any woman can compare to you.”
“As you unravel the mystery of me, perhaps you’ll become quite un-enthralled.”
“Impossible. I suspect there is always a new mystery to discover.”
“I’m not comprised of as many secrets as you. Tell me of your boyhood, of why you ran away. What did your uncle do that made you believe he would kill you?”
The teasing left his eyes as he sighed. “It was long—”
“Yes, I know, long ago,” she said impatiently. “But it made you the man you are. You can’t deny that. It was one thing when I thought you were a ship captain, but now that I know you’re a lord … Tristan, I don’t know what to make of you.”
“I’m the same man that I was on the ship.”
She flattened her hand against his chest. “But there are so many layers to you. Please reveal this one so that I might understand why you didn’t tell me who you were sooner.”
He studied her for a moment before releasing a gust of air. “Pembrook. The family estate. More castle than manor. Built before the days of Henry VIII, but used as a stronghold and a prison for that king. It had a dungeon for tormenting those who did not support Henry and a tower for housing prisoners. For adventuresome boys, it was a wonderful place steeped in history. Sebastian and I used to go down to the dungeon and try to scare the other by saying that we heard ghosts. I loved it there. I think he did, too. It was home.”
He said the word with a longing that tore at her heart. She understood the history, the traditions, the legacy attached to an ancestral home. She had grown up being taught to appreciate those who had come before her, those who had paved the way for her family.
“I was a child when tragedy struck you,” she said quietly. “I barely remember anything that I might have been told. What happened to your father?”
“He died when his horse unseated him, but none of us ever believed it was an accident. His skull was crushed. Uncle said he fell on a rock. We always believed Uncle David bashed his head in. Then after Father’s funeral, when all the guests had departed, Uncle locked us in the tower.”
“Your mother—”
“Died in childbirth.”
“You must have been so afraid being all alone.”
“It was winter. Bitingly cold. We had no light, no blankets. No moon filled the heavens that night.”
She realized he didn’t acknowledge her statement. Rather, he focused on everything that had been going on around him instead of what was happening within him. “How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
“Perhaps another reason prompted him to put you in the tower.” She couldn’t imagine anyone setting out to murder young boys.
“Mary heard him plotting our deaths. She lived on an adjoining estate. She’d come to see Sebastian. They were close.”
She thought of the lovely woman she’d seen dancing with Keswick. She couldn’t have been much younger than they. “She helped you escape?”
“Yes.”
“I remember vaguely hearing that something had happened to the lords of Pembrook. I suppose I was about nine at the time.”
“What tale did you hear? That we were eaten by wolves, died of the pox, or were stolen by gypsies?”
She skimmed her fingers through his hair, hating the thought of anyone hurting him, and knowing that so many had. “Wolves. My brothers relished telling me the gory details. I remember having nightmares about it. So you went to the sea.”
“Sebastian thought we should all separate. Rafe was only ten so we left him at a workhouse. I went to the sea. Sebastian went to the army. We were supposed to return ten years later to reclaim our heritage, but war kept him away. The sea did the same for me. But eventually we met up and the Lords of Pembrook returned to Society—much to Society’s chagrin.”
Again, he made it sound as though he’d endured little more than a sniveling nose. She cradled his firm jaw, realizing that he must have shaved between the time he left the ball and the moment he stepped through her window. She couldn’t imagine her brothers climbing trees and scrambling through windows. “Only because you’re quite different from everyone else. They’re not quite certain what to make of you.”
“You give them far too much credit. They despise us.”
“Not you so much as perhaps the adventurous lives you’ve lived.”
“I, for one, could have done without the adventures, thank you very much.”
She was familiar enough with his back to know how awful some of them might have been.
“Now enough of this maudlin talk,” he said as he eased over her, nudging her opening with his hard shaft. “I want you once more before I leave.”
She couldn’t deny him any more than she could deny herself. She lifted her hips to receive his offering and as he sank into her, she wondered if a time would come when she would ever not yearn for this joining with him.
Chapter 17
After he made love to her, lethargy settled in and Tristan fell asleep still nestled inside her with one of her legs draped over his hip. He didn’t think he’d moved for the remainder of the night, because she was still within the circle of his arms when he awakened. It bothered him to realize how comforting it felt. He wasn’t a man accustomed to comfort. Comforts, yes. A good bed, a sturdy ship, well-tailored clothes. But comfort, bestowed by another, was foreign. Yet he couldn’t deny the joy it brought him to find her near enough that with only a slight adjustment of his body he could be buried deeply within her once again. A lovely way to greet the day.
“Tristan?” She nudged him. “Tristan, I hear the lark. You must go.”
Forcing his eyes open, he greeted her concerned expression with a grin. “Twenty more minutes.”
“No. The sun will be up at any moment. I can hear carts jangling about in the street.”
“If we were to stay here all day—”
“No!” She shoved on him. “Please, hurry. I shouldn’t have let you stay. We can’t do this again.”
“But it was so worth it.” He planted a quick kiss on her mouth before rolling out of bed. He gathered up his trousers and put them on before grabbing his shirt and drawing it over his head. He peered over at her, sitting up in bed, clutching the sheets to her chest, her hair a tangled mess that fell around her. She looked decidedly improper this morning. He sat in a chair and began tugging on a boot.
“Come with me.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“Come with me. To the ship. We’ll set sail by noon and travel the world. I’ll show you water so clear that you can see the fish swimming along the bottom. I’ll show you islands that have not been touched by modernization and life slows to a crawl. I’ll take you to hidden coves where you can bask naked in the sunlight.”
She drew up her knees and pressed her chin to them. “How long will this idyllic journey take?”
“A year. Two.”
“And then? Upon my return, what shall I do with a tattered reputation?”
He sighed. There was the rub.
“No man will have me,” she continued. “My family will no doubt disown me. What will my future be?” She shook her head. “I want a proper life, Tristan. With a husband I see every day and children and a home on land.”
“Being proper brought you unhappiness. Being improper … Princess, I’ve seen the way you smile afterward.”
“Being improper in bed is one thing. Being improper with my life is something else entirely.”
He shoved his foot into the other boot. He would never be happy here, in London, living within Society, with all its blasted rules. He’d always known the sea wasn’t a life for everyone. He couldn’t blame her for no
t wanting it. But damnation, it didn’t stop him from wanting her.
He snatched up his remaining clothes, bundled them up, and walked to the window. He should say good-bye to her, never see her again. Instead he heard himself ask, “What are you doing today?”
“Making some morning calls. Going to Hyde Park this afternoon.”
“Carriage, horse, or stroll?”
“Horse, I should think.”
He grinned. “I’ve never seen you ride a horse.”
She returned his smile. “Do you know how to ride one?”
“I’m a lord. Of course, I do.”
With that, he slipped out the window. He’d thought one more night and he’d have his fill of her. It was disconcerting to realize that before his feet landed firmly on the ground, he already wanted her again.
“By God, but I’m famished,” Tristan said as he strolled into his brother’s breakfast dining room and headed for the sideboard where an abundance of delicacies awaited his appreciation. He’d experienced far too many occasions when food was scarce on a ship. All the planning in the world couldn’t guarantee good winds and the absence of delay in reaching a port.
“You’re not properly attired,” Sebastian chided from his place at the head of the small table.
Tristan had dropped his waistcoat and jacket on a chair in the foyer on the way in. He gathered up ham, eggs, bread, and a bit of everything else. “Do you know that I’ve eaten meals with no shirt on at all?” he asked as he took his seat.
Sitting beside her husband, rather than at the foot of the table, Mary blushed. Tristan had noticed that the two of them always stayed within easy reach of each other. He didn’t want to acknowledge the tug of longing that realization brought. How boring life would be to wake up to the same woman every morning. Eventually he suspected he’d just as soon not wake up.
“I imagine you did quite a bit on a ship that you do not do in a residence,” Sebastian chided. “You’re not setting a good example for my son.”
“I don’t see him about.” The little bugger was barely a year old. He wasn’t likely to notice anyway. “Perhaps you’d rather I not be here either.”
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