“Topside,” he replied in a hoarse whisper, surprised she was not sleeping as he thought. “We’ll be in London in a few hours.”
“So soon?”
“Aye, the winds were with us.” He held her closely and inhaled the fragrance of her hair. “Or against us.”
She turned to him, snuggling into his warmth, her body pressed tightly against his, the lace and silk of her nightgown teasing his skin. Her breath puffed against his chest, heating his flesh, fanning his desire as he reveled in her softness. Indeed, she need do nothing more than look at him, and his body responded in an instant, blood singing through his veins, heart pounding with an urgency to possess her.
“Run away with me. We can lose ourselves in the Caribbean where no one can find us. Others have done it. Hell, Pembrook did it. Why can’t we?” His words startled even himself and the possibility they could do such a thing made hope blossom in his heart, but Caralyn stiffened in his arms. She rose up on her elbow and looked at him. Tears welled in her eyes and shimmered on her lashes. Such pain reflected on her beautiful face, he couldn’t bear it.
“Oh, Tristan, you know we can’t,” she cried, her voice tight, her body trembling. “We have obligations, the both of us. The scandal would ruin us, not to mention what it would do to our families.” She took a deep breath then reached out to touch his face, as if memorizing every line, every curve, every whisker.
Tristan let out his breath in a long sigh. He knew she was right, but still, he had to try, had to stop the ache in his chest, the sorrow filling his soul. “If we were free of our commitments, would you stay with me?”
Her eyes twinkled in the dim light as her hand lowered to smooth over his bare chest. The sweet caress, so tender, nearly stole his breath. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
His heart thumped and his body tensed. “Would you have me?”
She nodded, though sadness flickered in her eyes beneath the sheen of tears. “If I were free. Yes.”
“We could petition our fathers.” Even as he said the words, he knew it wouldn’t work—once given, his father’s promise was never revoked.
She said nothing, though the expression in her eyes spoke volumes, and the hope that blossomed so briefly in his heart died just as quickly.
And still, he persisted. His arms tightened around her, holding her closer, the softness of her skin like velvet beneath his fingers. “I love you, Cara mia. I want you by my side as we sail the oceans, searching for lost treasure. I want your smile to be the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see before I sleep. I want to hear your laughter until I take my last breath. We must try, Cara.”
Caralyn nodded, her eyes sparkling in the lamplight. “Do you think our family’s would allow us . . .” she started to ask but didn’t finish the thought. Instead, she whispered, “We have a few more hours. We can live a lifetime in those hours. Let’s not waste a moment.” Her lips touched his in a kiss that seared his soul. Despite his grief, pleasure jolted him to the tips of his toes. Blood sizzled through his veins and his heart, his broken, aching heart, thudded painfully in his chest.
She planted light kisses on his face, his neck, his chest, the warmth of her lips singeing his skin. He pulled her atop him so she straddled him, the silk of her nightgown tickling his thighs and chest, the moist heat of her pressing on his hard shaft. He weaved his fingers into her hair and pulled her closer to plunder her mouth, imprinting the taste of her in his memory.
He wanted to feel all of her, touch every inch of her, memorize the softness of her dewy flesh. He pulled the thin gown over her head and tossed it to the floor. Her breasts fit his hands perfectly, the taut nipples burning into his palms.
Caralyn gasped and arched her back as he drew first one pebble hard nipple into his mouth then the other, his tongue swirling around the dusty rose peak, making it harder, more rigid as his hand slipped between her thighs. His fingers found the source of her pleasure, the silky wetness making her slick as he caressed her between the swollen folds.
Caralyn cried out as her body rocked with the force of her climax. Tristan almost grinned, loving the quickness of her response, the reckless abandon and enthusiasm of her loving. As she slumped over him, her hair fell forward, tickling his skin, the fragrance reaching his nose and filling his brain.
“Oh, Tristan,” she whispered in his ear and he finally smiled. He’d only begun to tease her, caress her, make her forget for a short time what lay ahead when the sun rose.
With his hands on her hips, he shifted her slight weight and guided her onto his shaft, slowly, drawing out the movement until he thought he could bear it no more. Caralyn released a long sigh as her hips moved over him. Heat and moisture surrounded him, the tightness of her sheath thrilling him beyond words, beyond thought. He closed his eyes, but only for a moment. He wanted to watch her face, see her emotions as she rode from one climax to another.
She threw her head back and tensed. A moan of pure pleasure escaped her as her body pulsed around him.
He could feel his own release building, his body stiffening beneath her, and yet he cautioned himself to take his time, to be patient. He rolled her beneath him, his shaft still imbedded in her moist heat. Her legs wrapped around his hips, drawing him closer as her hands smoothed along his face, bringing his head toward hers for a kiss.
He moved in her slowly, drawing out almost completely only to drive into her welcoming flesh over and over. The intensity of his pleasure doubled then tripled. Her nails dug into his backside as she caught his rhythm, her hips rising up to meet his, stroke for stroke, until Caralyn stiffened beneath him, her breath coming in short gasps. Her legs tightened around his hips. He studied her face as her eyes fluttered open and held her gaze with his own, fascinated by the changing colors. He knew she rode the crest of another climax, could feel her sheath tightening around him, and he quickened his pace.
Her sighs and moans of pleasure drove him, yet urged him to hold back, to give as much as she gave, but when her body exploded around him, he could restrain himself no longer, the joy too intense.
Tristan smothered her scream of bliss with his mouth then groaned as the power of his own climax hit him. Drained yet vitalized, sapped of strength yet full of energy, he continued to move within her warmth, delighting in the shudder that rippled through her.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, his arms ached from holding himself above her and yet, he did not want to leave the heat of her. Caralyn sighed beneath him, her legs still wrapped around his hips, holding him prisoner within her body, her hands smoothing along his back. He captured her mouth with his own, his tongue tangling with hers. Elation surged through him, and if he had his way, he’d make love to her again. And again. But sorrow permeated his joy, and he slowly withdrew from her.
He gathered her in his arms and kissed her temple.
“I love you, Tristan.”
“And I love you,” he whispered when he really wanted to shout the words. “Sleep now.” He held her until her breathing deepened and her lashes fluttered on her cheek. Tristan watched her slumber, reluctant to leave her warmth, unwilling and unable to let her go. He smoothed a lock of her silken hair between his fingers and realized all the treasure filling the hold didn’t mean a thing when the only treasure he wanted was her. He slipped from the bed and dressed in silence, his heart breaking a little more with every move he made before he left her to head up on deck. As much as he wanted to stay with her, he still had his duties as captain.
He strode the stairs to the deck and stood, not at the helm, but at the rail, his hands gripping the brass so tightly, his knuckles whitened. A muscle jumped in his clenched jaw. How long he remained in that position, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t seem to move. Familiar landmarks drifted by and the sun rose in the east as it had done since the beginning of time, but he barely noticed. He could still smell her perfume, hear her whispered cries of ecstasy and the ache in his heart grew ten-fold. The few hours they shared were not enough, and yet
they would have to be. His father would never let him out of his commitment and he doubted hers would either.
The lump in his throat threatened to choke him as sudden tears filled his eyes and blurred his vision, surprising him. He hadn’t cried since he was a young boy, but this, the thought of her walking out of his life, cut him to the core. He blinked then quickly wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand.
The smell of Hash’s coffee, much improved since Caralyn had been onboard, drifted to his nose, but the thought of having a cup twisted his stomach. He had no interest in food or drink, just her.
He felt the stares of the crew as they gathered on deck to begin their daily chores. Not one spoke to him, not one dared to invade his privacy, for which he was extremely grateful. He took a deep breath then another and another, in an effort to numb the sorrow in his heart. He sensed rather than saw someone behind him then felt the small hand of his son slide within his. He glanced at the boy. Despite his grief, the corners of his mouth twitched.
Jemmy’s hair stood straight up, having not seen the benefit of either comb or brush. His clothes were wrinkled and looked slept in, which, of course, they probably were. “Is that the same shirt you wore yesterday?”
The boy nodded with enthusiasm.
“And you didn’t comb your hair, did you?”
Again with eagerness, the boy shook his head.
Tristan crouched down to be eye level with his son. “I bet you haven’t brushed your teeth either, have you?”
Jemmy tilted his head and stared at his father for a very long time. Instead of answering the question, he asked, “Are you sad, Papa?”
“Yes, I am.”
Not understanding the reason, the boy grinned. “But we found the treasure.”
“Yes, son. Yes, we did,” Tristan replied, but without returning the boy’s smile. They had indeed found Izzy’s Fortune, but he’d found a treasure far more worth keeping. Except he couldn’t keep her. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t have to brush your teeth or your hair or dress in clean clothes, like a young gentlemen. After you do those things, you may come back on deck and have breakfast with the crew. Would you like that?”
Jemmy threw his arms around his father and hugged him. The feel of the boy’s arms was the balm Tristan needed. He closed his eyes and held him tighter, as if his sanity depended upon it.
Which it did.
“I love you, lad,” he whispered, saying the words his father very rarely, if ever, said to him.
“I love you, too, Papa,” Jemmy said as he pulled out of his father’s embrace and scampered to his quarters.
Tristan watched him, his lips pressed into a thin line. How would he ever tell his son that Caralyn would be leaving? Would it break the boy’s heart as the knowledge broke his own? Unless he could convince the earl to free him of his promise.
“Here’s your coffee, Cap’n.” Hash pressed a ceramic mug into his hand. Fragrant steam tickled his nose. “Breakfast will be ready shortly.”
Without realizing he did it, Tristan brought the cup to his lips and sipped while he waited for Caralyn.
However, Caralyn did not have breakfast with the crew this morning. Though Mr. Anders tooted on his whistle to call the men, she remained absent. Tristan missed her lively presence, but he understood and respected her wishes. He himself found it difficult to listen to the men laugh and carry on around the table while his heart was full of grief and sadness.
He returned to the deck, his belly empty except for the coffee he drank without tasting it. He could still shout the order to set another course, to keep sailing, but the words were stuck in his throat.
Mr. Anders’s whistle cut through the noise of the London docks, loud and brash after the comforting sounds of the sea, and the crew rushed to follow orders. Sails were furled and heavy ropes were tossed to the men waiting along the pier.
“I’ll hire a carriage and make sure her trunks are loaded into the boot,” Stitch said. Tristan jumped, startled. He hadn’t seen the man approach, nor heard his footsteps. “Temperance and I will accompany Cara to her destination then return to the ship.” The good doctor held his gaze, his head tilting to the side. “Are you all right?”
“No.” The simple word escaped him before he could stop it. “She’s leaving, damn it, when all I want is for her to stay.”
Stitch nodded his understanding. “She has no choice, Tris, and neither do you. I know you’re both promised to others. You’ll have to forget her.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “Forget her? How the hell can I do that?” He gestured to Temperance, who trailed behind Caralyn a step or two. “How would you feel right now if Temperance were leaving? Could you forget her?”
The doctor’s eyes darted to his wife. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he watched her. He bowed slightly. “Forgive me. I . . . I wasn’t thinking. Indeed, she would be impossible to forget. They both would.”
He turned at the sound of her sweet voice and stared. My God, she is beautiful. She’d dressed with care, the bright blue of her gown reflecting in her eyes, making them bluer and matching the reticule, which swung from her wrist. She carried the valise they’d retrieved from the Explorer in her hand. She’d pulled her hair away her from her face so that it fell in a shining mass down her back, and all he wanted to do was run his fingers through the glossy strands one last time. Her cheeks were pale except for the two spots of color high on her cheekbones, and though she smiled, sadness reflected in her features.
He couldn’t take his eyes from her as he watched her say goodbye to the men. His heart, if possible, broke even more and thudded painfully in his chest.
“Hash, I want you to keep Smudge,” Tristan heard her say she as she scratched the cat behind the ears. Smudge closed her big yellow eyes and purred but didn’t try to escape the tender embrace in which the cook held her. “She’s grown very attached to you.”
The big man nodded, his smile beaming and held the cat a little tighter. “Thank ye, Miss Cara.”
She moved on to the next person and the next, giving them hugs or pressing her lips against their cheeks. She stopped in front of Socrates, dropped the valise, and wrapped her arms around him.
“It’s been a pleasure to sail with ye again, Miss Cara.” If he wasn’t mistaken, Tristan thought he heard sobs in the man’s voice and knew he wouldn’t be the only one to miss Caralyn.
“Take care of yourself, Socrates, and when you open your tavern, I’ll be sure to visit.”
“Aye, I’d like that.”
She hugged him again then stood in front of Graham. She held out her hand, but the navigator grabbed her in a bear hug and squeezed. They spoke for a few moments, words Tristan couldn’t hear above the sounds around them, but there were tears in both their eyes when the embrace ended.
She stopped in front of Mac. “Keep well, Mac.”
The Scotsman, the one who’d been most vocal about having a woman on board, blushed, his bushy mustache a slash of white on his scarlet face. He looked down at his feet then back at her. “It’s been a pleasure,” he said and took to his heels, his body tense with embarrassment that anyone should see his softer side.
Tristan almost smiled. Almost.
She approached Jemmy and held out her arms. The boy rushed into them. “And you, you little monkey, be a good boy. Learn your lessons well.” A lump rose to Tristan’s throat, bigger than before. He couldn’t speak if he wanted to. “I expect to see you sailing this ship in a few years.”
“Aye, Miss Cara.” The boy grinned, his eyes full of adoration; then he scurried away to climb the rigging, not the reaction Tristan had expected at all. Perhaps he didn’t understand Caralyn wouldn’t be coming back.
Tristan waited, his muscles tense, his mouth set in a grim line as Caralyn picked up her valise and slowly walked toward him. This was it. She’d saved her last goodbye for him. He didn’t think he could bear the sorrow filling his heart.
“I must go. I . . .”
He’d been so wrong. A woman’s touch, this woman’s touch, could and did compare to the spray of spindrift on his face, the thrill of battling the elements in the middle of the ocean.
My God, what will I do without her?
“Don’t go,” he blurted out, unable to help himself.
“I must.” Her voice lowered then cracked as she said, “But I will come back, if I am able. You have my promise.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
Tristan watched her leave the ship and climb into the hired carriage. How deeply he’d fallen, so deeply he was willing to give up everything for her, his Cara mia. Once again, the thought of renouncing his title and letting his younger brother take the reins and the responsibility flashed through his mind. His father would never allow it. As the first-born, the earldom belonged to him.
“Is she gone?” Graham sidled up beside him and gripped the rail.
Tristan said nothing for a long time as the carriage bearing his happiness rolled over the cobblestoned street. “Yes. Stitch and Temperance are accompanying her.”
“What now?”
Tristan turned to him. A persistent pain ripped through him from the region of his heart. He stiffened against the ache and wondered, briefly, if the sorrow would ever subside or if it would remain with him for the rest of his life. After all these years, he’d finally found the woman he knew was meant for him—and he had to give her up, had to let her go. “Take the ship. Burn it. Sell it. Sail it around the world. I don’t give a damn. She’s yours to do with as you will.”
He left the deck and sought sanctuary in the cabin where they’d spent so much time together, but the fragrance of her perfume hit him with all the weight of an anchor being dropped into the water.
Time After Time Page 181