Her Master and Commander

by Karen Hawkins

  “Putrid is more like.” Tristan turned to pick up his watch fob when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Tall and broad shouldered, his hair was neatly tied back, and his shoulders were outlined by the black evening coat, the only colors he wore were the pale puce waistcoat and the sparkle of a ruby in his cravat.

  Reeves came to stand behind him. “You look just like him.”

  Tristan’s hands curled into fists. “It is not a likeness I treasure.”

  “Perhaps you should. I’ve often thought it a pity we do not celebrate the good that sometimes comes out of the bad.”

  Tristan met Reeves’s gaze in the mirror. “It is a greater pity when there is no good.”

  Reeves pursed his lips. “I am afraid I would have to disagree with that, my lord. The old earl left you his title and funds, though he did have other options. He could have legitimized one of his other unfortunate relatives and named another heir.”

  “You are right. I should be thankful. And I am.

  Only…not to him.” Tristan looked once again into the mirror, into his own green eyes. “Still no word from Christian?”

  “No, my lord. We can only hope he is getting his affairs in order so that he may assume his position without—” Reeves bit his lip.

  Tristan turned to face the butler. “Without what?”

  “There are times one should leave one’s past in the past.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I shall leave it to Master Christian to tell you.”

  Tristan regarded the butler with frustration. “You are damned cryptic at times.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “That wasn’t a compliment.”

  “I am aware of that, my lord.” The butler sighed. “I wonder…how old was Master Christian when you last laid eyes on him?”

  “We were ten.”

  “It has been over twenty years. He might be greatly changed.”

  “I would know him anywhere.”

  “Given the right lighting and the correct circumstances, I think you would, too.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Nothing. Only…it would be well to acknowledge that the brother you think you knew might no longer exist.”

  The thought was unsettling, to say the least. Tristan picked up his cane. “No matter what, I want him back in my life.”

  Reeves bowed. “I shall let you know as soon as I hear from him, my lord.”

  A knock sounded on the door. Reeves went to open it and Stevens stood there. He brightened on seeing Reeves. “What do ye know! Someone did open the door when I knocked.”

  “Amazing, is it not?” Reeves said, shutting the door.

  “Sails and oars, Cap’n!” Stevens shook his head. “Next ye’ll be wearing skirts and a bow in yer hair.”

  Tristan raised his brows.

  The first mate flushed. “I didn’t mean that, me lord! It just slipped out fer I know ye’d never wear no skirt or bow. I just meant—”

  “I know what you meant,” Tristan growled.

  Stevens sighed. “I was just a mite out of breath from seein’ Mrs. Thistlewaite to the library. She looks a picture, she do.”

  “Mrs. Thistlewaite always looks a picture.” Which was annoyingly true. Even red nosed from the cold, her hair wind tossed, her clothes a bit wrinkled from the walk to his house, she managed to look delectable.

  “Indeed, she’s a fine woman,” Stevens agreed. “But tonight, she looks a lady born. Ye’ll have yer hands full keeping the beaus from overcoming her on the dance floor, mark me words!”

  Tristan frowned. “Beaus?” He looked at Reeves.

  The butler nodded. “That is, after all, one of the purposes of a country party. To provide some social opportunities for those looking for a wife…or a husband.”

  Tristan didn’t like the sound of that at all. He wondered if the doctor would be there, ready to pant over Prudence and annoy the hell out of Tristan. “Whoever is there, they had better leave Prudence alone.”

  Reeves seemed to contemplate this. “Unless she wishes it, of course. Then you cannot, in all honesty, interfere.”

  “Interfere? I will be there to protect her.”

  “Mrs. Thistlewaite is not a child, my lord. Unless she requests your assistance, you cannot do anything. I only hope she might find someone who will make her happy. She is such a lovely woman.”

  To Tristan’s irritation, Stevens nodded. “She’s a trim rig, make no doubt about it. Daresay there are any number of gents willin’ to—”

  “Enough!” Tristan glared at Stevens and then Reeves. “I don’t wish to hear another word.”

  Reeves bowed. “As you wish, my lord.”

  Scowling, Tristan walked out the door and made his way downstairs.

  Bloody hell, what did Stevens mean by suggesting that Prudence would have the ill thought of flirting? She was not that sort of woman. He remembered her in his library, of her hair unbound and her mouth swollen from his kisses—well. Perhaps she was the type, but only with him, damn it! He glanced down, annoyed to find that he’d hardened at the mere memory of touching her.

  She was his. His until he was through with her or she him. And he would allow no one else to broach the subject. If some drunken coxswain thought to jump Prudence’s deck, Tristan would be ready to discourage the jackanapes with a pistol if need be.

  He scowled to himself as he reached the bottom of the stairs. It was a good thing Stevens had mentioned such a happenstance or Tristan might have been caught asleep at the helm.

  He made his way down the narrow hallway, the light from the library shining into the gloomy passage, a beacon from a dark shore. Less than a month ago, he’d been peaceful here, watching his life drift by, only the concern for his men giving him a reason to rise from bed. Now, things were more clear…more hopeful, somehow.

  Tristan paused outside of the library and looked down at his clothing. The cloth was softer than he was used to, though it bound him tighter. He adjusted his cravat for the umpteenth time, using a finger to loosen it a bit about the neck, certain he was creasing it in some way that would horrify Reeves.

  It seemed as if his father was reaching from beyond the grave to irk him, to punish him further for the ignominious fact of his existence. But Tristan was made of sterner stuff.

  He would not allow this inconvenience to interrupt his plans. He would help his men, establish a real home for the sailors, and then forget about everything else.

  All he needed was the funds and he would be free of this silly playacting. Then he could be who he really was. And Prudence would be his for the taking.

  With that thought, he walked into the library—and came to a stunned halt. Standing before the fire was Prudence. She was dressed in a blue-and-white gown of some sort, though that was not what he really noticed.

  What he did notice was that the bright blaze from the fire backlit Prudence’s entire body through the thin silk that draped over her. He could see the enticing curve of her hips and the long, supple length of her legs. There wasn’t a curve out of place. She was breathtakingly perfect and she set his loins afire without even knowing it.

  “Ah! My lord, there you are.”

  Her soft voice shook him from his reverie. He stepped forward, fighting the urge to grab her up and carry her to his room. Had he been able to be himself and not this shell of an earl, that was what he would do.

  A sudden thought shook him. What if Prudence unknowingly stood before the fireplace at the party at the squire’s? Every bloody man there would be enthralled. They would all see her as he did now. A low roar began to sound in his ears.

  “You look very well,” she said, a shy note in her voice.

  Tristan gathered himself with some effort. “As do you.” He forced his gaze to move up from her outlined form, his heart jumping when he realized the charms of her bodice. Bloody hell, who had allowed her to wear such a daring gown? He could keep her from standing before the fire, but how
was he to cover her shoulders and chest?

  She smiled, blithely unaware of his growing consternation as she walked to the sideboard to replace an empty glass she held in her hand. He noted that she wobbled just the slightest bit as she did so.

  He looked at the near-empty decanter and he almost groaned aloud. Good God, he was escorting the world’s most beautiful woman and not only was she underdressed, but she was tipply. “I don’t want to go to this dinner.”

  “You must. It’s our last chance to practice.” She came to his side, leaning against him until her breasts pressed the back of his arm, her smile warm and inviting. “Don’t worry. I will be with you all evening.”

  He looked down at where her hand rested on his sleeve, right beside the enticing swell of her bosom. His hand closed over hers. If he stayed here, he would end up making love to her. He knew it as clearly as if it were written in ink on a piece of blinding white paper. Perhaps it would be better to be around others. At least until one of them was of a cooler, more composed mind.

  Tristan pressed his lips to her fingers. “I will not let you out of my sight.”

  “Then let us go.” With that, she half pulled him to the door, looking entrancing and exciting and thoroughly sensual. “’Tis an adventure!”

  Tristan followed her, feeling very grim indeed. He would go to this blasted dinner party and, at the first possible moment, take his leave, making certain Prudence went with him.

  God, but he hoped it would be a short night. He didn’t think he could make it through a long one.

  Chapter 15

  Always be willing to share your knowledge with common man and nobleman alike. The seeds of wisdom can survive on the rockiest of soil.

  A Compleat Guide for

  Being a Most Proper Butler

  by Richard Robert Reeves

  The dinner party was doomed the second they arrived. Not only did the kindly country squire turn out to be far younger than Tristan remembered, but the lout was unmarried as well. Feeling betrayed by Reeves, Tristan had tried to accept the situation as best he could. Unfortunately, it quickly became apparent fate was against him, especially when the handsome young squire had the audacity to practically leer down the front of Prudence’s gown when Tristan helped her remove her cloak.

  That had not gone well at all. Though Tristan couldn’t blame the man on a purely masculine basis, it had infuriated him nonetheless. Fortunately, the squire caught Tristan’s warning glare and hastily beat a retreat across the room, though not without sending more than one admiring glance Prudence’s way. Tristan thought about dragging the lout outside right then and there and blacking both of the man’s clocks, but there was worse waiting.

  He’d no more navigated Prudence through what seemed a gauntlet of lecherous men than they found their pathway blocked by Dr. Barrow. The young doctor was obviously surprised at Prudence’s appearance and spent a good ten minutes doing what he could to monopolize her precious time. The doctor was a more serious threat than the squire, for try as he would, Tristan could not hint the man off.

  Well, Tristan would just stand here, at her elbow, and never leave her side. The blasted fool had to eventually catch one of Tristan’s “Black Looks.” Damn it to hell, his glares had frightened Barbary pirates nigh to death! How could a simple-minded doctor not be affected?

  Tristan began to wonder if perhaps the doctor possessed poor eyesight. Perhaps the weak-kneed fool couldn’t see well enough to realize he was in dire danger. If that was so, it might take a word or two to get Tristan’s message through to the sapskull. But how to do it without Prudence hearing?

  He spent the next fifteen minutes mulling over a plan and by the time the announcement came for dinner, he knew what he was going to do. Unfortunately, he didn’t realize that seating was by social standing. And an earl outranked a mere widow by several degrees, which meant he was captured by a horse-faced woman who had the audacity to practically toss Prudence at the doctor before she yanked Tristan out of the room, her fingers curled into claws on his elbow.

  Tristan did not like this bit of maneuvering. No wonder the nobility were always challenging each other to duels and whatnot. The rules that bound society were barbaric, to say the least, especially when they forced a man to sit at the furthest end of the table and watch his woman surrounded by a pack of hungry he-wolves.

  It was too much to bear. Every time Prudence laughed, he was torn with jealousy and longing. By the time the men excused themselves to the library for port, Tristan was ready to slit throats, prisoners be damned. However, thanks to the fact he was now unhampered by Prudence’s presence, he was able to do what he’d wanted to from the first.

  Tristan made his way to the doctor’s side. That unworthy gentleman stood by the fire, sipping from a large brandy snifter in what Tristan thought was a deplorably effeminate manner.

  Deep in thought, the doctor didn’t hear Tristan approach. Tristan leaned forward, near the doctor’s ear, and said in a booming voice, “Doctor!”

  Doctor Barrow jumped, the snifter flying from his hand and crashing to the hearth.

  Tristan looked down at the shattered glass, moving slightly when a servant rushed up and began to clean the mess.

  The doctor’s face blazed red. He shot an embarrassed glare about the room before looking back at Tristan. “Lord Rochester. You surprised me.”

  “I shouldn’t have,” Tristan murmured. “Surely you knew I would look you up. You have been quite particular in your attention to Mrs. Thistlewaite. I believe it would be good for you to desist.”

  The doctor blinked. “Desist? B—b—but—I never—”

  “Never is a lovely word. Let us keep it at that, shall we?” Tristan finished his drink and set it on the mantel.

  “My lord! I must protest! My relationship with Mrs. Thistlewaite is—”

  “Over.” Tristan leaned closer, his voice low with menace. “I once slit the throat of a rival pirate captain who stole a cargo that was mine. Slit it from here—” Tristan pressed a finger to the doctor’s jaw right below his left ear. “—to here.” He slid his finger across the buffoon’s throat to the same spot on the opposite corner of his jaw.

  The doctor’s mouth opened, then closed.

  The story wasn’t true, of course. But the oaf seemed to believe it easily enough.

  Even now the doctor was blenching as if he might faint. “You—you—you—I—I—I—Must go.”

  Tristan shrugged. “You don’t need to leave now. You may wait until after—”

  He spoke to empty air; the doctor was already across the room, speaking in an animated voice to the squire, who was looking at Tristan with something akin to astonishment.

  Tristan was actually smiling when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, but his triumph was short lived.

  “What have you been doing?” Prudence hissed, not five minutes later.

  “Me?”

  Her brows lowered even more, her arms crossed beneath her breasts.

  “I did nothing but tell the truth.”

  “You told Dr. Barrow you would slit him from his throat to his—” Her eyes snapped. “What were you thinking?”

  Tristan scowled. He hadn’t really been thinking. Just reacting. Of course, now that he thought about it, perhaps he had overstated his case a tad. But only a tad, and he’d be damned if he’d admit as much to Prudence. Not with her looking at him as if she’d have him split and gutted for a pence.

  “He was rude to you.”

  She blinked. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “No one did. I saw it for myself.”

  She crossed her arms, which was an unfortunate thing to do as it pressed her breasts upward, even more prominent in the low-cut gown. “You saw it for yourself? When?”

  “Before dinner and then during. He was monopolizing your attention. Why, I could barely get a word in edgewise, the lout.”

  She closed her eyes and pinched her nose, breathing deeply.

  Tristan became concerned. “P
rudence? Are you well?”

  “No. I am not. I have a headache and I want to go home.”

  “Good!” At her outraged look, he added hastily, “I’ll get your cloak.”

  They made their excuses and left, much to Tristan’s satisfaction and the seeming relief of their host. Prudence’s manner was strained and unhappy, and Tristan could only suppose her head truly was bothering her.

  Silence reigned in the carriage. Prudence looked steadily out the window, her mouth pressed in a mutinous line. Tristan watched her from where he sat in his corner. He supposed he shouldn’t have acted so strongly. But he couldn’t help it. The doctor had been all but pawing Prudence. As for the others, by Neptune, it had been too much to be borne. Tristan was just a man and he could only take so much.

  In fact, considering what he could have done but hadn’t, he thought he’d handled the situation rather well.

  Prudence looked at him. “I cannot believe you threatened poor Dr. Barrow.”

  “That bastard wants to bed you, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  She flushed. “We were merely talking. I see him quite frequently at my house as he loves Mrs. Fieldings’s cooking.”

  Tristan crossed his arms. “That’s not all he loves. He was annoyingly present, leering over you, staring at you. I’ve never seen such behavior—”

  “Haven’t you? In all the taverns you’ve frequented, all the houses of ill repute, you’ve never seen anything so tawdry?”

  “I would not wish my behavior to be compared to that of someone who frequents a house of ill repute,” he retorted, and then paused. Good God, was that really him, sounding so priggish? What the hell was wrong with him?

  Prudence sniffed. “I would not wish to have such double standards of good and evil. I am not a green girl who needs rescuing. I am over thirty and well capable of taking care of myself.”

  “That man was importuning you.”

  “No, he was paying attention to me. There is a difference, you know.” Her chin firmed mutinously. “Either way, ’tis none of your concern. I am well able to deal with my own suitors, thank you.”