Her Master and Commander (21 page)

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.

T
he 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. “Prudence? 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.”

Tristan clamped his teeth over the things he wanted to say, none of which would help his case now. Damn it, he was an earl now. Surely earls could do things that sea captains could not.

But no; he would not think like his father. There were rules and there were laws. Since Tristan was no gentleman, he didn’t have to worry about the rules. But laws—not even an earl should be above them.

He leaned his head against the high squab of the carriage, regarding Prudence for a long moment. She sat fuming in the opposite corner, her jaw set mutinously, her eyes sparkling with ire.

She looked…beautiful. Without another thought, Tristan leaned across the carriage, picked her up and set her on the seat opposite his. “Now we can talk.”

She gasped. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Bringing you to a more amenable distance.”

“For whom?”

He managed a grin. “For us both. I cannot hear you from the opposite corner.”

She planted her palms on the seat and scooted even further away than before. “I can hear you just fine from here. If any of those men at the party tonight had treated me the way you are treating me right now, it might well have been within reason to wish to challenge them for their horrid and inconsiderate behavior. But tossing about threats merely because someone said a nice word—I won’t stand for it. Not now. Not ever.”

Tristan raked a hand through his hair, wishing he could explain his feelings. The problem was, he wasn’t sure if he knew exactly what they were himself. “Prudence—”

“That is another thing. When we are in public, it will not do for you to call me Prudence. It is Mrs. Thistlewaite.”

He stared down at his boots, his irritation fading with each moment. Perhaps he had reacted a little too strongly. He sighed. “Did I embarrass you?”

“Drastically!”

He winced. “I apologize. That was not my intent. But I don’t like seeing other men treat you with disrespect.”

“And I don’t like it when you barge in where you are not wanted. I am not one of your crew members injured in the war and in need of rescuing!”

That galled him. A flame of something other than irritation spiked through him. “Prudence, I have apologized. I cannot do more.”

“I do not accept your apology.”

“No?”

“No.” She turned from him, flipping up one corner of the leather curtain that covered the window and staring stonily into the night.

Damn it! This was not how he wanted their night to end. His gaze flickered over her, noting the curve of her breasts through the low-cut neckline, the delicate hollows of her shoulders, the elegant line of her neck. His fingers itched and curled into his palms, his head swirling a bit from the wine and brandy.

Before he knew what he was about, he’d reached across the carriage and picked her up once again, only this time, he placed her firmly in his lap.

She sat still for a stunned moment, her skirts trailing over his knees. “You—you cannot do that!”

“I just did,” he said smugly, placing a kiss on her jaw right where it touched her neck.

She gasped, her eyes widening.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you this evening, love,” he murmured against her neck.

She scrambled as if to get out of his lap, but he held her tighter, trailing his lips from her jaw to just below her ear.

“My lord, you—”

“Tristan,” he murmured, nibbling softly on the sensitive lobe of her ear.

Prudence grit her teeth, clinging desperately to her anger. She was furious, and with good reason, she told herself, even as a sensuous shiver traced down her back. His mouth traveled down her neck to her collarbone and, despite her intentions, she caught herself lifting her chin just a bit so he could continue his ministrations.

Waves of delight shivered through her, her breasts peaking. He’d been horrid this evening, she reminded herself, fisting her hands in an effort to maintain coherent thought. But…he had apologized, too. She needed to remember that though she and Reeves had taught the earl manners, they hadn’t managed to civilize him. This was a man who would never be civilized, no matter the circumstances.

His lips brushed her outer ear, then her temple, his breath warm and delicious. A bit more of her previous irritation melted, little by little. His hands were warm on her through the thin silk of her gown, his lips doing magical things to her. She should fight him, she told herself. She should fight him and demand that he return her to her seat. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t because her traitorous body was refusing to pay her any heed. The ability to think and thus frame a reasonable argument was rapidly leaving her. In the place of reason came a flood of emotions so potent, so powerful, that she was enthralled, caught in a net of heat and lust. Drowning in the silken honey of desire. She’d thought giving into her desire once would have slaked her fires. Instead, she wanted him all the more.

What did it matter, anyway? He had embarrassed her this evening, although a little part of her was thrilled at the attention. Truth be known, when she’d caught Tristan glowering at her dinner partners, she’d flirted a good bit more than she usually did.

It was odd how she both enjoyed and detested such behavior. She enjoyed it because for that moment—when he was staring at her with such focused desire—she’d felt powerful and even beautiful. Both were rare emotions, and she’d treasure them. But at the same time, she disliked being so affected by such things.

Tristan’s large, warm hands slid down her back to her waist. His hands tightened and he pulled her closer, settling her against the hard ridge forming in his breeches. Desire tightened her throat, sent her senses careening. Surely he wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t take this any further…

He threaded his hand through her hair, dislodging her pins and scattering them over the floor as her curls tumbled to her shoulders. His other hand slid down her leg and closed about her ankle, his fingers warm through her thin silk stocking. The sight of his large, masculine hand about her ankle was oddly erotic, especially when he slid his hand up beneath her skirt to cup her calf, then her knee.