“As do I, but nothing will happen unless you get some sleep.”
He released his hold on her but caught her again as she swayed. The urge to kiss her, to taste her tempting lips once more overwhelmed him. Blood sang through his veins and thundered in his ears. In her inebriated state, he could do anything he wished, and yet that wasn’t the way he wanted her.
She hiccupped and another giggle escaped her. “Ooh, perhaps I have had too much to drink.”
“Come, I’ll take you upstairs.” He led her through the crowd of people dancing to yet another lively reel. Graham smirked at him and quirked an eyebrow. Socrates and Mac scowled and tried to impede his progress but the greatest obstacle remained Temperance Beasley.
She stood at the bottom of the stairs, hands on her hips, her foot tapping the hard wood floor. “Where do you think you’re going, Captain?”
“I’m escorting Caralyn to her room.” He lowered his voice. “I believe she’s had a little too much to drink.”
The woman raised an eyebrow as her lips pinched together. “Your services are not required. I will take care of her.”
Tristan nodded once and relinquished his hold on Caralyn, trusting her to the woman who held her safety above all else. “As you wish, Temperance.”
He watched them ascend the stairs, one riser at a time. Twice Caralyn lost her balance, but Temperance held her in a strong-armed grip. At the top, Caralyn turned and waved to him, her smile warm and inviting, her eyes soft as she let out another burst of laughter.
He stayed where he stood until they disappeared from view then turned, almost colliding with Socrates. The man said nothing but the expression on his face spoke volumes. The sailor would protect Caralyn with his last breath, as would any one of the crew. Tristan nodded, understanding the intent, though he said nothing to defend himself. “I think I’ll turn in as well. We’ve an early start tomorrow, Mr. Callahan, you may want to make the announcement to the men.”
Tristan wandered through the main house behind the tavern and climbed to the third floor. He found Jemmy, tucked into bed, sleeping the sleep of the innocent, hands curled beneath his chin. He kissed his son’s forehead, pulled the light blanket over his shoulders, and left the house.
He took a seat in the courtyard beneath a flaming torch. Through the multi-windowed Dutch door, he saw that most of his crew had departed though a few hardy souls remained, Hash included, to help Fiona clean the mess from their feast. A grin split his lips but quickly disappeared as he pulled the letter from his father from his pocket. Turning it over and over in his hands, he took a deep breath then broke the seal and read the words.
Again, no mention of his future wife’s name, only a summons to be in London on April twenty-fifth and to be at a specific address in Mayfair at noon to marry a stranger. Odd how Caralyn needed to be in London so close to when he was to be married. He shook his head, dismissing the coincidence, and thought about the letter he meant to write to his father, the words of which remained random thoughts in his head, but perhaps the time had come to take those thoughts and put them into action. If need be, he would beg to be released from his upcoming nuptials. His other option would be to meet the woman before the priest pronounced them man and wife and convince her he wasn’t the man she should want. He could think of half a dozen other men who would be thrilled to be married to an heiress, but he wasn’t one of them. A noise drew his attention. He glanced up toward the second floor of the tavern and his breath seized in his lungs. Caralyn stood on the balcony, her hands lightly resting on the carved balustrade. She smiled at the moon above and he could see her lips move, although he could not hear what she said.
Did she pray? To find the treasure? Or for another reason? Mesmerized, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the vision before him. Moonlight bathed her in silver and reflected off her tanned shoulders. A breeze ruffled her long hair. Indeed, the slight wind molded the diaphanous white gown against her body, leaving nothing to his imagination. She looked like an angel from heaven. One sent to torment him? Or one sent to fulfill all his dreams?
Tristan’s body responded faster than his thoughts. His heart thumped in his chest, blood pounded through his veins and roared in his ears. An urgency he couldn’t deny swelled within him and the desire to climb the trellis to her balcony, take her in his arms, and make love to her as he longed to do caused his muscles to tighten. And yet, he did nothing. He was, above all else, an honorable man. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t dream of how she’d feel in his arms. He closed his eyes and let the fantasy take hold.
Chapter 14
Tristan tossed and turned. He rolled over on his side, bringing the sheet with him. The pillow beneath his head had grown warm again but he didn’t flip it to the cool side as he’d done so many times during the night. He hadn’t slept well, hadn’t been able to get the vision of Caralyn standing on the balcony out of his mind, and when he did sleep, he dreamt of her—in his arms, the taste of her lips on his tongue, the curves of her body perfectly molded to his hands. Every thought conspired to make one hellish yet oddly pleasant night.
The morning sun streamed through the windows as he chased the dregs of his dreams away, tossed back the sheet, and climbed out of bed. He strode toward the open French doors, bringing the sheet with him to wrap around his waist, and surveyed his surroundings. Bird song filled the morning. Palm fronds rustled in the breeze. He heard the telltale sounds of someone cooking—the quick chops of a knife against cutting board, the metal clink of pots and pans being placed on the stove, the murmur of quiet conversation. Fiona and Donal had begun their day.
He yawned and stretched then rubbed the sleep from his eyes. A smile crossed his lips as he placed his hands on the balcony railing and glanced toward where he saw Caralyn standing last night. Today, they would find Izzy’s Fortune. He felt it in his bones and yet, for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to find the treasure he sought. And he knew why.
Caralyn.
She would take her share and go on with her plans, her life. He’d never see her again, never touch her again, never feel the softness of her lips beneath his again. The thought, the realization, made his stomach clench but most surprisingly of all, his chest ached in the region of his heart.
“It’s gone! Dear Lord, it’s gone!”
Though they weren’t loud, he knew in a moment who had uttered those sad, tortured words. Caralyn. Her sobs echoed in his head. Instantly, his body tensed and the pain in his chest intensified to the point where he didn’t even think. He grabbed his trousers from the chair arm where he’d left them and stepped into the legs on the run. By the time he reached her closed door, he’d finished buttoning his trousers, though how he accomplished the task he couldn’t begin to fathom. His hands shook so badly, he had trouble twisting the doorknob.
Without a second thought for propriety, for whatever state of undress he might find her in, he flung the door open. And stopped.
Caralyn stood in the middle of the room, dressed in the white satin and lace nightgown that had haunted his dreams. She didn’t move, didn’t try to cover herself.
“Cara?”
“It’s gone,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Indeed, her whole body trembled and yet, she remained motionless. Her whole stance conveyed disappointment, sadness, utter disbelief.
“What’s gone?” He stepped into her room and slowly approached her.
“Everything. The chalice, the statue, Pembrook’s journal. It’s all gone.” She turned to him. Seeing such misery reflected on her face, Tristan drew in his breath sharply. “Someone took my valise.”
He thought his heart hurt before, but he’d been mistaken. One look at the tears streaming down her cheeks, and pain blossomed in his chest.
“Who would do such a thing? How will we find the treasure?” Her voice held such sadness, he could think only of comforting her, not of the answers she sought.
Tristan gathered her in arms. She leaned against him, her tears wetting his bare skin
, her body warm and alive and shaking. “Don’t cry, Cara mia, it’ll be all right.” The fragrance uniquely hers tickled his nose as he kissed the top of her head. “We can still find Izzy’s Fortune. We don’t need Pembrook’s journal.”
“Are you certain?” She hiccupped and huffed in air.
“Of course.” He released her so he could gaze into her eyes, and his heart skipped a beat. Even with tear tracks on her face, she remained the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. With a tenderness he didn’t know he possessed, Tristan wiped the wetness from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb then touched his lips to hers in the gentlest of kisses. “Have faith, Cara mia. Where was your valise?”
“Beside the bed.”
“Was it here last night? Did you see it before you retired?”
Caralyn sighed. “I don’t remember. I was a bit in my cups, if you remember, and didn’t notice anything except the moonlight coming in through my window.” Her breath hitched. He thought she might start to cry again but she didn’t. Instead, she took another deep breath.
Tristan’s heart hurt even more as he watched her gain control. He pulled her into his embrace and just held her as he longed to do. She felt so perfect in his arms, so right. Now, if she could stay there forever, he’d be a happy man.
“It doesn’t matter, Cara,” he whispered against her hair. “You’ve read Pembrook’s journal so many times, you know it by heart, but the last true clue led us to the Island of the Sleeping Man. What he wrote after that were the ramblings of a man slowly giving way to insanity.”
“Captain!” Temperance entered the room with a sharp reprimand. “What have you done to this poor girl? Release her immediately!”
Heat flashed through his veins and his face warmed at the sound of Temperance’s sharp command. Tristan relinquished his hold on Caralyn and stepped back. He turned toward the woman who tried her hardest to ruin every private, tender moment between him and Caralyn and he wanted to shout at her to leave them alone. He swallowed his anger when he realized what she thought—considering their current states of undress, holding Caralyn as he did, he might have drawn the same conclusion. “It’s not what you think.”
The suspicion in her eyes remained undimmed and color bloomed on her pale cheeks. She stomped the rest of the way into the room and insinuated herself between them, forcing Tristan to take several more steps backward.
“And what am I to think, Captain? Look at yourself. Standing here, half naked.” She leveled a piercing stare at him. Her breath came in short gasps as her chest heaved with righteous indignation. “Look at her with tears on her face!”
She whirled and faced Caralyn. “And you, young lady, your behavior is most unbecoming and unseemly. I should have never taken my own room, never allowed you to have this opportunity. What am I to tell your family?”
“There is nothing to tell, Mrs. Bea—Temperance,” Tristan insisted. “I was—”
“Oh, I know what you were doing, Captain. How dare you take advantage of my charge.”
Caralyn glanced past her companion and met his gaze. A smile twitched the corners of her mouth and her eyes began to twinkle, but not with tears. They sparkled with humor.
Tristan gazed at her, once again amazed by her resilience, her spirit. Just moments ago, she’d been crying with disappointment, but not now. He began to see the humor as well, despite Temperance’s unrelenting stare and obvious anger, despite the fact the woman believed him to be the worst kind of cad.
“Temperance, please. It truly isn’t what you think.” Caralyn gently grabbed her companion’s hand, forcing Temperance to look at her. In a voice strong with conviction, she said, “I remain unsullied, my virtue intact. Someone took my valise. The captain simply tried to comfort me.”
It took a moment, perhaps two, before the words Caralyn said registered with the woman. “Oh!” Temperance’s anger deflated in an instant. Indeed, she seemed to shrink right before their eyes. “My apologies, Captain.”
“Apology accepted, Temperance. We will speak of it no more.” He caught Caralyn’s eye. “Will you be all right?”
Caralyn nodded but her gaze remained on him. What he saw in their depths made him regret Temperance’s interruption and not for the first time.
“If you’ll excuse me then?”
“Of course. We’ll meet you downstairs.”
Tristan inclined his head and left the room, only to meet Stitch in the hallway.
“Everything all right? What happened?” The doctor’s eyes raked him from the top of his head to the tips of his bare feet. An eyebrow raised in question. “Did you—”
The urge to defend himself and his actions overwhelmed him. “Of course not! I would never take advantage of a woman. You should know me better than that,” he snapped. “Caralyn’s valise has been taken. She was upset. I offered comfort and reassurance. That is all. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”
Stitch gave one short nod then grinned as they both heard Temperance offer the same kind of comfort colored with a berating in almost the same breath.
Tristan slammed the door to his room and took a deep breath to still the pounding of his heart. His hands shook, indeed, his entire body shook with suppressed anger. Temperance’s attitude he could understand, but his own shipmate? How could a man he’d sailed with for the better part of ten years doubt his honor? His intentions?
He supposed he could understand. The circumstances they’d found themselves in were a bit unusual to say the least and if he admitted the truth, he had thought of making love to the delectable, tempting Caralyn. More than once. But she wouldn’t be in tears when she left his bed.
Tristan took another deep breath and felt his ire diminish. He finished dressing, donning a flowing white shirt that laced up at the neckline then pulled on his boots. While tucking his shirt into his trousers, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and chuckled.
“I do look like a pirate, as Temperance says.”
In better spirits, he made his way down to the common room. The smell of bacon made his stomach growl as did the fragrant aroma of coffee. None of the other patrons of Finnegan’s arose this early, so the room was empty except for Stitch, who sat at the long table and looked a bit . . .contrite?
“Come. Join me.” The good doctor raised his coffee cup high and gestured to the chair across from him.
Tristan quirked an eyebrow and smirked at his friend as he joined him at the table.
“My apologies, Captain, for thinking the worst.” He grinned. “I fear some of Temperance’s vigilance has influenced me. You are right. I do know you better than that.”
For the second time this morning, Tristan opened his heart and accepted the apology but before he could voice a word, the door to the kitchen opened. Fiona and Donal carried chafing dishes of the delicious food he’d been smelling and rested them on the long buffet table.
“Help yerselves, gentlemen,” Fiona said as she wiped a small spill from the counter.
Tristan needed no second invitation. He rose from his seat and surveyed the selection. Slices of ham, browned from their turn over a high flame, fluffy scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, fruit, breads and muffins, and a pan filled with something he couldn’t quite identify, though the heavenly aroma tickled his nose and made his mouth water.
He filled his plate with a sampling of each and went back to the table but before he could taste anything, a noise drew his attention. He looked toward the stairs and saw Caralyn, dressed in the same blue gown as last night. Her earlier tears had left her eyes glowing with warmth though not a trace of those tears remained on her face. Indeed, she smiled at him and his heart lightened. Temperance followed closely, her eyes on Stitch and Stitch alone, so much so she almost lost her footing and grabbed the banister for stability.
As one, Tristan and Stitch rose from their seats and waited.
“Are you all right?” he asked when Caralyn joined him at the table, searching her features, looking for signs of distress, but none remained. He determine
d, in that moment, to never let her out of his sight again. This time, someone had taken her valise. The next time, if he allowed a next time, someone could take her. And though he had no proof, he could only think of one man bold enough, insane enough to risk stealing right under their very noses. Entwhistle. But how had he known?
Caralyn laid her hand on his arm and the heat of her innocent touch made the blood in his veins flow like warm honey. “Oh, yes.” She took the chair Tristan held for her. “You were right. I know Pembrook’s journal better than the man who wrote it. We’ll find the treasure, I have no doubt.” Concern made her frown. “Do you know who took my things?”
“I have my suspicions, but you are not to worry. Nothing like this will ever happen again.” Her perfume swirled in his brain, making it difficult to think, and yet, he had the presence of mind to promise her she’d be safe then to pour her a cup of coffee and give her the plate he had prepared for himself. As he made another plate, he caught a glimpse of Stitch and Temperance. He grinned, realizing they treated each other like a comfortable, married couple—a very much in love couple.
Graham joined them moments later, not from upstairs but through the front door, and one could only guess where he’d spent the night, although the satisfied grin on his face left no doubt he’d been with a woman. Or two. Or perhaps even three. He headed straight for the buffet lined up on the table and filled his plate before sitting down with a groan that could only be described as pleased.
Jemmy entered the common room escorted by Mama Annie, his sleep tousled hair standing up in places. Young Donal trailed behind, his hair, too, standing up. “Are we gonna hunt for treasure, Papa?”
“Of course. After you eat breakfast.” Tristan leaned back in his chair and sipped at his coffee as his son scrambled onto his lap. The boy reached for a glass of milk then picked up a crisp slice of bacon from the plate and popped it in his mouth.
A Treasure Worth Keeping Page 17