“Do you have a ring to give her?”
A blush stained Stitch’s face and the smile he gave reminded Tristan of Jemmy’s when caught doing something he shouldn’t. “No, not yet, but when we were at the chapel, I found a beautiful emerald that I’ll have made into a ring for her.”
“I’m happy for you, Stitch. She’s a wonderful woman.” He turned and looked at the sun lowering in the sky. “I think a sunset ceremony would be lovely. Go tell your future bride the good news.” Stitch would never know how much Tristan wished the ceremony could be his, that he could marry the woman of his choice instead of the nameless, faceless woman waiting for him in England. His gaze swept the deck and settled on Caralyn once more. His vision misted as she smiled at him.
The doctor walked away, a jaunty bounce to his normally dignified step. Tristan watched him as he kissed Temperance then gave her the good news. She glanced in his direction and mouthed the words “thank you” before she and Caralyn left the deck amid happy squeals.
Tristan signaled to Graham and beckoned him closer then nodded toward Stitch pacing the deck. “The good doctor wants to marry Mrs. Beasley.”
The man followed his line of vision then quirked an eyebrow and grinned. “I have long suspected as much. Any fool can see he’s beyond smitten with our young widow. And she with him. They make a good pair.”
“Yes, they do.” He didn’t realize he’d said the words with a touch of wistfulness until Graham shot him a glance, his eyebrow raised almost to his hairline. He ignored the expression and asked, “Do we have any champagne to toast the happy couple?”
“I think we have several cases, but I’ll double check. If not, we have plenty of rum, wine, and brandy.” Though he said he’d double check, Graham didn’t move for the longest time, his sharp eyes searching Tristan’s face. “Are you all right with this?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” he snapped, his tone more brusque than usual.
Graham shrugged. “I was just thinking about your own upcoming nuptials and wondering if you’re still planning to go through with them.”
Tristan said nothing, although his stomach twisted and left a sour taste in his mouth. What could he say? Graham knew he had no choice, knew whether they found the treasure or not, his father had committed him to marry and he wasn’t in the position to refuse.
Again, Graham shrugged. “I’ll go check on that champagne.” Ten minutes passed before the navigator returned, a case of champagne in his arms. Dust and cobwebs covered both the wooden crate and Graham’s fine clothing. “Found it.”
“Good.” Tristan took the case from him. “If you’ll take the wheel for a bit, I’ll bring this to Hash, then I need to find my Bible.”
As soon as he stepped into Hash’s galley, his mouth began to water from the incredible aromas, and his stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He watched the big man chop vegetables and toss them into a pot on the stove. Over the years, other captains, having heard of Hash’s culinary mastery, had tried to entice the cook away from the Adventurer. Hash, to Tristan’s gratitude, never even considered their offers.
He placed the case of champagne on the table. Hash didn’t jump, didn’t even turn away from the stove as he dropped a bit of green bean toward Smudge. The cat gobbled up the tidbit and meowed as he rubbed up against the man’s legs. “How can I help you, Cap’n?”
“You didn’t happen to bake a cake for desert tonight, did you?”
Hash turned around and wiped his hands on his ever-present apron. Sweat and flour dotted his round face. “As it happens, Cap’n, I did not.” A frown creased his forehead. “Beggin’ yer pardon, but did ye want cake?”
“Well . . . .uh . . . I hadn’t even thought about it until a few moments ago. Stitch and Temperance are getting married and I thought a cake would be nice.”
“That sly fox.” Hash shook his head and grinned. “Earlier today, I received a special request from the good doctor. He asked for rice pudding with rum raisin sauce.” He used the apron to swipe at his forehead then stepped over the cat still winding his way between his thick legs and leaned against the table in the middle of the room. “Miss Temperance’s favorite dessert, I was told.” His grin widened and he slapped the tabletop. “Gettin’ married, is he? Well, I’ll be damned.” He gestured to the crate on the table. “An’ I suppose this champagne is for the celebration?”
“You suppose correctly. The wedding will be at sunset on the quarterdeck.”
Without another word, Hash turned toward the stove and removed the pot then untied his apron and threw it on the hook behind the door. “I’ll be seein’ ye on deck, Cap’n. Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
For a man as large as Hash, he moved with speed and grace. Smudge followed, his long, sinewy body weaving between the man’s legs. Hash didn’t seem to mind. Indeed, his stride lengthened to accommodate the cat. Before he disappeared into his cabin, he stopped. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Cap’n, but could ye ask Mr. Callahan, Mr. Jacoby, and Mad Dog to meet me in the galley?”
“Of course,” Tristan said then shook his head, amusement making him grin as he watched man and beast disappear. He took a deep breath and went to his cabin.
He heard giggles coming from behind the closed door, the excited chatter of Caralyn and Temperance as they prepared for a shipboard wedding. A surge of jealousy struck him again. For a moment, his stomach twisted into a knot and a heaviness settled in his chest, the same debilitating weight as when he realized Caralyn would leave him when they found the treasure. He forced himself to breathe, inhaling and holding it before releasing the lungful of air slowly. The tightness in his stomach eased, but his chest still felt heavy. He raised his hand and knocked.
Caralyn answered the door, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks filled with color, her hair piled on her head in loose curls. The smile on her lips made his heart beat a bit faster. She’d changed from the pale yellow gown she’d worn earlier into an amethyst one shot through with silver threads. A row of tiny pearl buttons went from the neckline to her waist, and he wondered briefly if they were just for show or if they functioned as they should. He had an incredible inclination to find out.
He couldn’t speak over the lump that rose to his throat. She’d never looked lovelier, never more beautiful, and again, he wished this ceremony could be between the two of them. He swallowed. “Sorry for the interruption. I just need to find my Bible.” The door opened wider and he stepped through.
“Temperance, you look lovely.” And indeed, she did. Her long auburn hair hung loose and curled wildly down her back, the chestnut tresses gleaming in the lamplight. A simple strand of pearls adorned her neck and glowed against the midnight blue of her gown. Behind the lenses of her glasses, her eyes twinkled with excitement. “Uh, I’ll be out of your way in a moment.”
He went to his desk, opened the side drawer and retrieved a well-worn, much loved Bible. “I’ll see you on deck,” he said to both of them, but his gaze remained on Caralyn as he closed the door behind him.
With his step heavier than usual, Tristan trudged up the stairs and signaled to Mr. Anders. “Would you assemble the crew?”
The bosun tooted on his whistle and the crew immediately paused in their activity to assemble on the quarterdeck.
“Gentlemen,” he said, his voice rising over the excited rumblings of the men, “tonight, we have the honor of witnessing the marriage between our own Stitch and Temperance Beasley. Go wash yourselves up, but be back here in five minutes. Mr. Callahan, Mr. Jacoby, Mad Dog,” he addressed the sailors, “Hash requests your presence in the galley. However, I suggest you clean up first.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” all three responded in unison before they raced to their own quarters, jostling each other with well-connected elbows and shouts.
Tristan stood on the quarterdeck as he waited, motionless, torn between happiness and misery.
He felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down to see Jemmy. Someone had taken him in hand as well. Perhaps it had be
en Stitch. The boy sported his finest clothing, his hair slicked back with pleasant smelling pomade. “Why is Stitch marrying Miss Temperance?”
“Because he loves her and she loves him.”
With all the innocence of a boy who’d seen much being raised by a roughened crew of men, and who remained naïve yet knowledgeable at the same time, he asked, “Does that mean you’re going to marry Miss Cara? You love her, don’t you?”
Startled by the simple question, Tristan stiffened. What could he say? Though he wished it to be so, that didn’t necessarily make it so. And love? He didn’t know if what he felt for Caralyn could be considered love. Then again, what would he know of it, having never felt this way before. True, he enjoyed her company and found her intelligent, fascinating, and adorable, but he wasn’t certain if that equaled love.
Instead of answering, he said, “Let’s just celebrate one wedding at a time, shall we?”
The boy nodded, although questions remained in his eyes, questions his curious son did not voice, questions Tristan would rather not answer. He watched, Jemmy’s hand in his, as Mr. Callahan and Mad Dog created makeshift tables made of planks of wood. He’d never seen either of them move so quickly, but then Hash was right behind them, carrying a cast iron pot, which lent a heavenly scent to the air. Amusement tickled him as the men rushed, almost tripping over themselves, in their haste to have everything prepared.
Glasses, plates, and silverware were added to the table along with napkins and baskets of bread, the crate of champagne, and the large pan of rice pudding drizzled with rum raisin sauce. Candles, surrounded by protective glass, flickered as Mr. Jacoby lit them against the coming night.
He turned and studied the horizon behind him. The sun was sinking quickly. He figured he had less than ten minutes to perform the ceremony before the sun set completely. “Mr. Anders, please sound the order.”
The shipman gave three short blasts on his whistle. The crew came running from all directions, dressed in their finest clothing, hair wet and slicked back, hands damp, some still buttoning their shirts or adjusting their trousers.
“Are you ready?” Tristan asked as a nervous Stitch walked up the stairs and stood in front of him.
“Yes.” One simple word was all he could utter.
“Mac, would you ask the ladies to join us?”
The Scotsman nodded, his kilt swishing around his legs as he rushed to follow orders.
A few moments later, a collective sigh went up from the assembled crew as Temperance joined Brady and slipped her hand in his. Tristan shared their awe. She’d never looked more beautiful and it wasn’t the gown or her hair. It was the expression of love and happiness on her face. Caralyn motioned to Jemmy and they both stood a few steps behind the bride. Tears shimmered in Caralyn’s eyes, making them a more crystalline blue. She smiled at him and his heart grew heavier than it had before.
Tristan dragged his gaze away from Caralyn then cleared his throat and opened the Bible. As he read one of his favorite passages, he glanced at Temperance then at Stitch. He’d never seen a couple more in love than these two, and though he’d never presided over a wedding before, his words rang out with confidence. “If you’ll both place your hands on the Bible.” When they did so, Tristan spoke again. “Do you, Temperance Beasley, take this man as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, from this day forward until death do you part?”
“I do.” Her voice, quiet but strong, conveyed her conviction.
He repeated the same question to Stitch and received the same answer, also spoken with conviction and a great deal of love.
“If there is any among you who believe Brady and Temperance should not be joined in marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.” The crew remained silent, as not one objected to the union, and as the sun disappeared into the horizon with a last flash of brilliant color, Tristan pronounced Stitch and Temperance man and wife. “You may kiss the bride.”
A cheer rose from the crew as Brady Trevelyan leaned forward and placed a sweet kiss on his wife’s lips.
Champagne flowed, the hastily prepared feast enjoyed and exclaimed over, and music filled the silence of the night.
The sound of feet stomping on the deck as the men danced to the music drowned out the beat of Tristan’s heart. He watched Caralyn as she dipped and swayed, her skirt lifted to reveal lacy petticoats as she danced with one man after another. Patient, though he wanted nothing more than to steal her away and into his own arms, he waited until it was his turn.
Laughter bubbled from Caralyn’s throat as she landed in his embrace, the buttons of her dress, the ones in his mind since he first saw them, pressed against his chest.
• • •
Caralyn didn’t know how it happened. Or when it happened. One moment, they were dancing on the deck, swaying to the music, the next they were in the captain’s cabin. Tristan’s hands molded her body to his, his lips on hers as they leaned against the door, his knee pressed between her thighs.
Perhaps it was the champagne that had flowed so freely, though she’d only had one glass, or the romance of a sunset wedding. Perhaps it was him, and the heady mix of emotions surging through her, the intoxicating touch of his mouth to hers, the taste of him, the feel of his powerful body so close, the smell of spindrift surrounding her. All she knew was that kissing him, holding him, had become more important than breathing.
I shouldn’t be doing this. The thought rambled through her head, and yet she didn’t want to stop the amazing sensations racing through her, didn’t want to end this perfect moment. He pulled the pins from her hair and the heavy weight fell to tickle her shoulders as his fingers threaded through her curls.
I should tell him.
“I’m promised to another,” she blurted as her lips met his, the first time she admitted the secret she’d been hiding. She felt him stiffen and pull away slightly, but only for a moment before he gathered her closer.
“As am I,” he whispered against her cheek.
Shock whispered through her, but she chose to ignore it. There would be time enough later to agonize over his admission and her own. For right now, she didn’t want to think at all.
“But we’re alone now in the middle of the ocean. We can pretend the world and our obligations beyond this do not exist.” The tone of his voice sounded almost tortured to her ears as his arms tightened around her. “Just let me hold you, Cara mia. That’s all I ask.”
Darkness engulfed the cabin, except for the beams of moonlight that caressed them. Caralyn settled into his arms and reveled in the warmth he exuded, the gentle strength of his embrace. His breath fanned her neck, just below her ear, as he placed tender kisses along her throat and jaw line. Goose bumps pebbled her skin and a strange though pleasant tightening stirred between her legs.
She couldn’t help herself. Being held in his arms was not enough, couldn’t satisfy the growing need that made her feel flush, made her shiver, made her want what she didn’t know. She touched her lips to his while her hands splayed on his firm hard chest. His heart beat a steady cadence beneath her fingertips. He drew in his breath, made a slight noise in the back of his throat, a cross between a moan and a groan as his chest expanded beneath her hands.
That gentle kiss turned to something more demanding, more passionate, as his mouth took possession of hers and his hands—dear God, they seemed to be everywhere at once—crushing her to him, caressing her back through the material of her gown, stroking her hair, her face, warming her from the inside out.
He led her away from the door, his mouth locked on hers, tongue caressing hers, hands touching every inch of her. Breath mingled, the sound erotic to her ears. They settled into an overstuffed leather chair near the small stove used to heat the cabin. Caralyn sat on his lap, her legs slung over the arm of the chair, her gown hiked up to expose her stockings to her knees. She could feel the strength of his arousal against her backsid
e even through the layers of clothing and a thrill raced through her.
Tristan’s lips touched hers, sliding over them, tasting her, sending more heat to flood her veins, as his fingers slid over her collarbone then down to the décolletage of her gown. His fingers made short work of unbuttoning her dress to expose the corset cover beneath. A quick tug on the ribbon and the garment loosened. He lowered the short puffed sleeve of her gown and brushed his lips along her shoulder as his hand slipped beneath her corset and chemise to gently cup her breast. The nipple puckered into a hard nub as he whispered in her ear all the things he wanted to do to her.
In that instant, Caralyn ceased to think beyond the surge of yearning taking control of her, beyond the pleasurable tightening between her thighs. Heat suffused her. Indeed, fire seemed to blaze in her veins, igniting an inferno she didn’t think she could survive.
She moved against him and he groaned deep in his throat, his chest rumbling beneath her hand, but then it was her turn to moan as his kisses dropped lower, from her shoulder, to the tops of her breasts exposed by corset and chemise. Supported by his arm behind her, Caralyn’s head tilted back, granting him more access. A small sound escaped her as he complied with her silent wish and the spiraling heat within her grew. Within moments, the clasps at the front of her corset were undone and the chemise pushed aside.
She had an irrational desire to cover herself and brought her hands up to do so, but Tristan stopped her. “Don’t, Cara mia. Let me look at you.” He sighed as his gaze touched every inch of bare skin glowing in the moonlight. “You’re beautiful.”
His words alone were enough to convince her, but one look at the expression on his face, at the longing and appreciation in his eyes, made her cast aside all her uncertainty. She wanted this, had wanted this from the moment they met. The hunger for him had only grown stronger the more time they spent with each other. Caralyn caressed his hair and brought his head down to her breast.
The first touch of his tongue against her already hardened nipple made her gasp, indeed, made her jump as the warmth of his mouth surrounded the straining bud. The heat inside her doubled, the tightening between her thighs growing in unexpected surges.
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