Lord of Temptation

by Lorraine Heath

  “Lord Jameson bid on you.”

  “Thirty pounds. Not a thousand. A thousand for her? Why?”

  That was the question, wasn’t it? The one he couldn’t answer, even to himself.

  She took a step nearer, tears welling in her eyes. “I love you.”

  “You can’t love me, Hermione. You don’t know me.”

  “I would do anything for you.”

  Then leave me be.

  “Then find your happiness with someone else. I’ll be setting sail soon, and God knows when I’ll be back. You would have a lot of lonely nights, sweetheart.” Why would he use that argument with her, yet deny it as consequential when Anne made the same point?

  “I don’t care. I’ll wait faithfully just as I’ve done these two years.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Hermione. You’re a lovely girl, but you’re not for me.”

  “But Lady Anne is? I don’t understand. She’s not even pretty.”

  “Not pretty? She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “Her nose is too small and her lips too plump.”

  Chuckling, he shook his head. “Go back to the ball, sweetheart, and set your cap for someone else. Lord Jameson if you’re smart, but I’m not for you.”

  Rather than continuing to argue with her, he turned on his heel and strode from the residence. He didn’t want to be cruel, but he could think of no other way to get his message across.

  He hadn’t said where in the garden they were to meet, but Anne was fairly certain that the farther from the residence the better. She didn’t doubt for a minute that Tristan would find her—wherever she was. She didn’t give any thought to why she felt that way or why she had such confidence in him. Nor did she want to acknowledge how much she was anticipating this little tryst.

  The couple of weeks that had passed since she’d last seen him had left her wanting. Dancing with him earlier, meeting with him now was only serving to reignite a flame she had been working to douse. He had to leave her be. They could no longer have any association. Because it only made things more difficult all the way around. It threatened her resolve to carry on. She had moved past Walter. Now she needed to move beyond Tristan.

  But when a strong arm snaked around her waist and drew her into the darker shadows of the garden, when a mouth covered hers with purpose, when her curves were pressed against the familiar hard lines and planes, she sank into him with nary a protest. It was marvelous to be surrounded by his unique fragrance, to have his taste teasing her tongue, to have his hands stroking her shoulders, cupping her breasts, to hear his groans mingling with her sighs.

  “Damn, but I’ve missed you,” he rasped as he dragged his mouth along her throat and lower, where the swells of her breasts awaited his questing lips.

  Heat spiraled through her and her knees weakened. Why did she have so little control when he was near? Why did she have to yearn for what she could never fully hold? She didn’t want to not have moments of passion like this, but they would be too few and far between. Loneliness was a bitter companion. It wouldn’t hold her on cold nights. It wouldn’t comfort her when sorrows struck. It wouldn’t celebrate with her moments worth remembering.

  Tristan had left the ballroom and Chetwyn had taken his place: talking with her, dancing with her, fetching her some refreshment. He would be there until she left. That it was his home barely signified. What mattered was that he would always be within easy reach. She wouldn’t be sitting somewhere wondering where he was. She would always know. She wouldn’t be worrying that he was brawling with some ruffians or fighting some tempest that might break the ship apart. With Tristan she would spend her life in uncertainty.

  She had done that once with Walter. She knew the strain that the constant not knowing placed on her. It aged her. It killed her spirit. It left her in perpetual mourning.

  “Chetwyn is advancing his suit.”

  Tristan stilled, his mouth pressed to the hollow at her throat, one hand cupping her backside, the other her breast. She felt the bulge in his trousers nudging against her belly. She listened to his harsh breathing in the stillness of the night.

  “You’re going to marry him?” he asked flatly.

  “Perhaps, if he asks. I don’t know.”

  “But we can have tonight.”

  “No. Having decided my course, it wouldn’t be fair to him for me to stray from it. Even for another night with you.”

  Even though he did little more than release her, she staggered back. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been leaning on him.

  “Yet here you are with me in the garden.”

  “To explain—”

  He snagged her waist, brought her back in, and captured her mouth with unerring accuracy. She heard a moan, realized it came from her as she met his questing tongue with hers. Her arms were entwined around his neck, her fingers tangled in his hair, her body straining to be even nearer.

  “You can’t resist me,” he said.

  It was the triumph in his voice that had her shoving away from him. Arrogant cad. She was weak where he was concerned. She wanted to shriek. She wanted to pound her fists against his chest. She wanted to tell him that he held the power to destroy her.

  “I can’t deny that there is an attraction and that you are extremely skilled when it comes to delivering pleasure, but my future is with Chetwyn.”

  “Give me tonight, Anne. Give us tonight. On the ship.”

  Even knowing what her answer should be, she succumbed to what it would be. “I’ll go to the mews after my brother takes me home. If you’re there—”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Chapter 23

  They’d not stayed in harbor. Instead Tristan had ordered the ship taken out to sea. Not far. Just enough so the wind toyed with Anne’s hair while she stood on the deck, just enough so all the stars were visible. Just enough so she heard a whale in the distance.

  She couldn’t deny that she understood why he had an appreciation for the sea, but she didn’t want to spend her life competing with a mistress who would always come first in his heart. Nor could she blame him for wanting it when it had always been there for him. When he had needed a place to run, it had provided sanctuary.

  Tristan stood behind her, his legs braced, holding her near while the ship rocked gently, the sails now furled until they were ready to return to shore.

  “I can understand why you love it out here,” she said quietly.

  “I think you love it as well.”

  “I appreciate it. That’s a very different thing.”

  “I’ve never shared any of this with another lady.”

  She turned in his arms until she was facing him. “And I’ve shared with you far more than I’ve ever shared with anyone.”

  “Regrets?”

  “Nary a one.”

  Rising up on her toes, she kissed him with all the hunger, the yearning—and yes, even the love—that she held for him. She would never utter the words that might hold him to her because she cared for him too much to deny him the sea.

  Or perhaps she feared her love wouldn’t be enough to hold him.

  It didn’t matter. What she felt was not to be shared or examined. They would have tonight, and then she would lock it away.

  With her nestled securely against his side, they made their way to his quarters. It was not what she would want for a home, but it was his home. She was glad he’d brought her here again.

  Then she had no time to reflect on anything because his mouth was on her and his hands were working quickly to divest her of her clothing. She was just as eager, grateful that he’d come to her in only boots, shirt, and trousers. She’d have him bared in no time at all.

  “You’re not wearing a corset,” he said as he jerked her dress down.

  “No.”

  “Good girl.”

  “If you dare pat my head—”

  “Your head is not what I intend to pat.”

  She laughed as they scattered their clothes ab
out the floor before falling into the bed. She didn’t want to acknowledge that she didn’t sleep nearly as deeply when she wasn’t snuggled up against him. Perhaps, though, it was only that when she was with him she always went to bed sated.

  She wanted a long, slow, leisurely sojourn into lovemaking, but they had been apart too long for anything remotely tame. It was as though neither of them could get enough of the other.

  His tongue swirled and danced with hers. Arching against him, she ran her hands along the familiar flesh. She didn’t want to consider how right it felt to have his body bearing down on hers. She wanted to lose herself in the sensations that he was drawing to life.

  Everywhere he caressed mourned when he moved on to someplace else, and he left nothing untouched. From her crown to her toes, he stroked and tasted, he kissed and nipped, he suckled and licked.

  She did the same with a boldness that astounded her. He was hers—completely and absolutely. For tonight anyway. Eventually he would drift away, and she would let him go without tears or a scene. She would be grateful for what they had tonight.

  Then she would settle into being a proper lady. But tonight she intended to be decidedly improper.

  Shoving on his chest, angling her hips, she rolled him onto his back. “My turn,” she breathed.

  Breathing harshly, he asked, “What’s this?”

  “You’ll see.”

  He threaded his fingers through her hair and brought her down for a kiss. She would give him that, let him have control for a moment. As though she had any choice in the matter. She enjoyed his kisses too much to give one up freely so she straddled him and sank into it, allowed their mouths to seek and claim. But when he came up for air, she slid down, kissing his neck, tasting the salty dew that was already beginning to coat his skin.

  She eased down farther, trailing her tongue over his chest.

  “Where are you going, sweetheart?”

  She lifted her gaze to his. “On an adventure.”

  Tristan stared at the heat in her eyes and was surprised he didn’t ignite. Although he was hot enough to do it on his own without any further prompting from her.

  From the beginning he had wanted her, but nothing had prepared him for the urgency and the desire that propelled him tonight. Perhaps it was because he knew what she offered, perhaps it was because he had been denied her for so long—

  Or perhaps it was because he knew he would never again have her.

  He had decided this would be their final parting, and he hated the thought of it almost as much as he hated the idea of staying in England. Of being shackled to the land.

  He’d been surprised when she’d not objected to his taking the ship from the harbor, to bringing them out on the sea. He had fully intended to sail through the night, to keep her with him until he was done with her. She might think she didn’t want to see the world, but she did. How could she not? Especially when it involved being in his arms every night.

  But she trusted him, dammit. Believed him to be a better man than he was, a man who kept promises even when they didn’t benefit him. He’d hoped his bidding so outrageously on her this evening would provide enough gossip to discourage Chetwyn’s suit, but now he realized the selfishness of it. He couldn’t have her forever. He was a bastard to deny her a chance at the sort of life she craved.

  Yet she seemed not to comprehend what an absolute blackguard he was, because wedged between his legs, she moved even lower. His breath stuttered, his hands fisted in the sheets. “Anne,” he croaked.

  Once more she lifted her gaze and he saw triumph there. Then she gave him a saucy look before lowering her mouth—

  He bucked as the heat of her mouth enveloped him.

  “Christ!” He plowed one hand into her hair while the other kept him anchored to the bed. Pressing his head back against the pillow, he watched her working her magic. Only one thing felt better and that was being buried deeply inside of her. He wanted to beg, plead with her to never do this to another man. It would drive him to madness to envision her with someone else.

  Damnation, he should order the sails hoisted. He should set a course to the far side of the world. He should keep her with him—

  But she would hate him and her sweet mouth would never do such naughty things again.

  Pleasure and pain rippled through him. Pleasure brought on by her energetic ministrations; pain because he didn’t deserve what she was so willing to give. He’d wanted to deny her a future with another man.

  And now he knew he had to let her go.

  “Anne.” Reaching down, he brought her up until she straddled his hips. He guided himself into her before urging her down for a kiss. He thought he tasted himself on her lips. No one had ever given him as much as she had. In such a short time, she’d given him everything.

  She rode him as though her very life depended on it. He knew his did. Straightening, she skimmed her hands over his chest while her hips rocked in tandem to his. He cupped her breasts, stroked and massaged—

  She dropped her head back. Sweet sighs echoed around them, and then she was crying out—

  Her body spasmed around him and fierce pleasure ripped through him, tearing asunder his world, leaving him sated and devastated as she collapsed on top of him. He didn’t know where he found the strength to wrap his arms around her and hold her tightly against him. Selfish bastard that he was, he never wanted her to leave.

  But as he heard her drift off to sleep, he knew the minutes were ticking away and soon, very soon, she would no longer be in his life.

  Never again would he hold her, know the joy of her.

  He had traversed his path for too long to detour from it now. Sadly, it was a path that didn’t include her.

  Wrapped in Tristan’s arms, Anne stood in the darkened shadows of the garden. She didn’t know why she’d thought he would sail in a direction that would take them away from England instead of toward it. She might not have objected. When she was with him, lost in the haze of pleasure, she seemed to have little common sense.

  But it was here with her now. She had a thousand things to say to him. But only a few truly mattered.

  “No more, no more midnight trysts. The window to my bedchamber will be locked. I will never again set foot on your ship. But if you attend a ball, you may ask me to dance.”

  “I may just do that. And we still haven’t had our ride through Hyde Park.”

  “No, we haven’t.”

  Leaning back she looked up into his face. She wished she could wait for the dawn to light it but the longer she dallied, the greater the chance of her family discovering that she had been quite improper. “Good night, Tristan.”

  Before he could say anything, she spun away from him and raced up the garden path. She didn’t want to acknowledge the disappointment that swamped her because he didn’t snatch her back into his arms.

  Chapter 24

  Anne very much remembered the joy that had spiraled through her when Walter had asked for her hand in marriage. When Chetwyn asked, what she felt was a sense of stepping onto a path that wasn’t quite steady. But sitting in the parlor with him on bended knee in front of her, wariness in his eyes as though he expected rejection, what could she say other than, “Yes, of course, it will be my honor to become your wife.”

  Honor? Good God. It sounded so dreadfully trite and dull.

  He pressed her hands to his warm lips, lips that would soon be pressed to other parts of her. It would be pleasant, she was sure of it, and she would be happy.

  “You have made me the most joyous man in all of London today.”

  “I couldn’t be more delighted myself.”

  Delighted? What was wrong with her? She would never be lonely again. It had been only two days since she last saw Tristan and her thoughts were constantly turning to him. The sooner she moved on to becoming a wife, the sooner she would have other matters to distract her.

  She heard the front door slam and saw Jameson barreling past the parlor doorway. “Something’s up t
here,” she said.

  A man just proposed to you, and you’re sidetracked by your brother’s arrival home? She gave her attention back to Chetwyn. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

  “No, don’t apologize. He did seem to be in a bit of a bother, didn’t he? Shall we share our good news with your family? Perhaps that will improve his mood.”

  “Yes, by all means.” Smile, she ordered herself. This is what you wanted.

  She knew he had spoken to her father already because it was her father who had come to her bedchamber a half hour earlier to inform her that the Marquess of Chetwyn wished to speak with her. She’d suspected of what he wished to speak so she’d changed into a pale lilac gown, one she’d been saving for a special occasion.

  He helped her to her feet, wound her arm about his, and patted her hand where it rested in the crook of his elbow. “I shouldn’t like to wait too long,” he said.

  “I see no reason why we should. I should think that Society would understand that a woman who has spent two years in mourning would be anxious to get on with her life.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” They turned down the hallway. “I know there are things that must be tended to. A wedding gown, a trousseau, of course. Perhaps you could let me know tomorrow what date would work well for you.”

  “I’ll visit Sarah this afternoon. As she’s gone through a wedding, she can help me determine a time frame.”

  “Wonderful.”

  Could their conversation be any less rife with excitement? They reached her father’s study and she heard loud voices coming from within.

  “Jameson seems to be in top form,” Chetwyn said quietly.

  “Indeed.”

  “Perhaps we should wait—”

  “I think not. My family can use some good news.”

  The servant opened the door. They walked in. Jameson, pacing about, came to an abrupt halt. Her father was sitting behind his desk, scowling. Her other brothers were standing about looking none too happy.