Her Master and Commander (6 page)

Tristan stood staring at the closed door for the longest time, scattered thoughts raging through him. His father, dead. His brother, perhaps found. A fortune to be won. And a title, all his. Lord Tristan Llevanth, Earl of Rochester.

What a horrible, horrible joke.

If he was to digest all of that, it would take an entire bottle of brandy. Or ten. Shaking his head, he sank back into his chair, reclaimed his glass and took a long gulp. He was an earl. For some reason, he wondered what his starched-skirted neighbor would think of that. Would she be impressed? Or merely demand yet again that he keep his sheep out of her garden?

Lifting his glass in her general direction, he silently toasted her. Not only was she delectable, but she was brimming with good sense—he could almost smell it on her. That was the kind of woman one avoided at all costs; the marrying kind.

Sighing, he laid his head against the back of the chair. Truthfully, he’d trade his earldom for one night in the lady’s bed. One long, passion-filled night, filled with scented skin, and the silk of her hair…

The thought made him shift uneasily in his chair. Damnation. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He was an earl. A bloody earl. An earl with a bad leg and a cottage filled with broken sailors. What good was the title without the funds?

Even from the grave, his father still had the power to irk him. Teeth clenched, Tristan tried to focus on Christian. On hope. Thoughts swirled round and round as Tristan drank his way through the bottle, the hours slowly passing. The sun would be breaking over the horizon before he managed to calm his thoughts enough to stumble to bed. But even then, one distinct image lingered behind his alcohol-fogged eyelids; that of his lovely neighbor, curtsying low, displaying her bosom for his earl-like approval.

It left him with one thought before he sank into a deep sleep…Maybe being an earl wouldn’t be such a hardship, after all.

“Y
ou, sir, will remove your sheep from my garden,” Prudence demanded, her voice a bit shivery, as if she was cold. She found that odd, to be cold AND dreaming.

The captain turned, apparently unaware that he was but a figment of Prudence’s slumber. He was standing on the bluff, as he’d been the other day, the wind whipping his cloak about him, his broad chest displayed by a thin white shirt open at the neck, his black breeches tight about his thick, muscled legs.

Prudence had to fight for breath. This was the best dream she’d ever had. His open shirt was scandalous enough, but the tight cut of his breeches was quite distracting. Very distracting. So distracting that—

He was suddenly before her, his warm hands on her shoulders. He looked deeply into her eyes. “I will do anything you desire, my sweet. So long as you give me one kiss.”

“A kiss? I could not—” Well, she could, she supposed. When dreaming, one was allowed to do things one might not in Real Life. “Very well. One kiss. But only one, so—”

He clasped his arms about her, bent her back, and captured her mouth with his. Even in her dream, he was impatient, masculine, and forward. Prudence shuddered and shivered, moaning with the heat that blossomed at his touch, at the feel of his warm mouth on hers, at the sensual shiver of his tongue slipping past her lips.

How could she experience such feelings in a simple dream? How could she truly feel the texture of his skin, smell the freshness of his linen, taste the tang of salt on his lips? How was it that she—

A harsh knock broke through her muddled slumber. Prudence scrunched her eyes more tightly closed and pulled her pillow closer, desperately hanging on to the image of the captain, his handsome face bent over hers, his mouth just inches from her own—

The harsh knock sounded again, but this time the door opened and Mrs. Fieldings said in her usual flat tone, “Rise, madam. The cock’s done crowed.”

Prudence groaned as the last image of the captain dissipated into wakefulness. She rolled onto her stomach, hugging her pillow even tighter.

Mrs. Fieldings threw open the curtains, the light streaming into the room.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Prudence said, pulling the covers over her head, the air brisk with morning chill.

Mrs. Fieldings calmly peeled back the covers. “Slothfulness doth not put bread upon the table.”

Prudence hated homilies, especially before breakfast. She opened her eyes to small slits. “Yes, well, not getting enough sleep can—it can, ah, make a fish grumpy.” There. Not quite as pithy as Mrs. Fieldings’s home truth, but it would do.

The housekeeper sniffed. “You made that up.”

“I did not,” Prudence said as loftily as she could while still hidden beneath the covers, her eyes barely open. “I heard it from, um, the captain’s men.”

“Those wastrels. ’Tis time you arose, madam. The early bird gets the worm.”

Blast it! This was war. Forcing the last vestiges of sleep aside, Prudence sat up. “Last in, first out.”

Mrs. Fieldings’s sparse countenance tightened. “Lazy hands make merry mischief.”

“Two in the hand are worth—oh bother!” Prudence swung her legs out of bed, stretching mightily. She mumbled, “I don’t know why I even try. You beat me every time.”

A faint smirk touched the dour housekeeper’s mouth. “Breakfast is ready. Your mother is already in the dining room.” She poured some fresh water into the china bowl on the washstand, placed a clean hand towel beside it, and left.

Prudence found her slippers and rammed her feet into them, then made her way to the bowl. She washed her face and hands, scrubbing hard at her lips where they still tingled as if the kisses had been real. She looked in the mirror and found herself smiling. It had been a long time since she’d dreamed of anyone other than Phillip. “It’s about time,” she told herself.

Not, of course, that the captain was the sort of man for a romance. He was dark, dangerous, and unruly. Still, he was pleasant to dream about. That was all some men were good for.

Smiling at her own nonsense, she took off her night rail, unbraided her hair and ran a comb through it, then pinned the long locks up on her head. Her hair was unfashionably long, the thick strands brushing the tops of her hips. She supposed she should have it cut, but somehow, she never did.

The sun shone warmly into the room, belying the chilled wind that rattled the shutters. Prudence stood in the warming beam and pulled a round gown of pink muslin over her head and tied it securely.

Odd that she’d awoken, dreaming of the captain. And not just thinking about him, but dreaming about him…about his eyes, that odd green color and intense. About the shape of his lips when he’d flashed that one swift smile that had sent her senses reeling. About how those very lips had covered hers and delivered the most passionate, unique kiss she’d ever—

She covered her face and shivered. Before now, she’d always thought Phillip’s kiss had been wonderful, gentle and tender, just like him. Her chest tightened at the thought. How could she compare a dream kiss from a man like the captain—a kiss that held less meaning than a scrap of torn paper—to a kiss from Phillip, who had been her husband and best friend?

Still…now that she thought about it, Phillip had never kissed her like the kiss in her dreams, with such passion and focus. Of course, that was probably because of the type of man the captain was. When she was with him, she felt as if his entire energy was directed at her and no one else. As if only she and he existed in that moment, even if he was irked with her about his sheep. Phillip had never made her feel that way, and yet…she had loved Phillip. Dearly.

It was a sign that the feelings she had for the captain were simple lust.

Heavens! She was losing her mind. Thinking was obviously not a good thing to engage in before breakfast. Hunger was warping her usual calm logic. Before she tackled weighty thoughts—or at least thoughts that had anything to do with one very masculine, very irritating sea captain and his wayward sheep, she’d have a nice breakfast and some tea. Yes, that was what she needed.

And after that…why, after that, she’d take care not to think about him again. Not even once. Yes, that was what she’d do. Besides, she had dozens of things to see to today as it was. She left her room and ran lightly down the stairs, trailing her fingertips on the smooth worn wood.

It was warmer downstairs. Mother was sitting at the head of the dining-room table, listlessly plucking at the edge of her napkin when Prudence came in.

“Good morning!” Prudence bent and kissed her mother’s cheek, then took the seat beside her. “I’m sorry I’m so late. I couldn’t wake up this morning.”

Mrs. Fieldings entered the room and went to the sideboard, lifting the cover off two plates. “Time waits for no man.”

Prudence sighed. “I think we’ve had enough homilies for one day.”

Mrs. Fieldings sniffed. She brought the plates to the table and set them before Prudence and her mother with a decided thunk, then marched from the room.

“Oh dear!” Mother said, looking after the housekeeper. “She is certainly in a mood.”

Prudence buttered her toast and spread a healthy amount of marmalade over it. “We have a lot to do today. We have to finish the curtains for the back two bedchambers, to get them ready for our boarders.”

“That is going to take some time.”

“We should be able to finish one set today if we both work on it. Once that’s done, we must see to getting the barn in more presentable shape. We will eventually need to get another horse besides Elmira.”

“I hope we will be able to afford one. I quite hate seeing poor old Elmira harnessed to the carriage. She tires so quickly.”

“We will be able to afford it. I’m certain we will. Mother, I have been thinking. Perhaps our school should specialize in something.”

Mother poured cream into her cup. “Goodness, you are full of ideas this morning! You must have slept very well indeed.”

Somehow, Prudence’s dream had revitalized her in some way. She shrugged. “I just want to help.”

“Oh, you are, dear! I couldn’t do anything without you. What is your idea?”

“The other seminaries for girls specialize in something. Mrs. Ashton’s Select Seminary believes theatrical productions produce a becoming confidence and they perform several tasteful plays each term. Lady Barkstow’s Academie for Ladies has its own horse trainer. Every girl is given a horse on arriving, and the school promises that they will all be capital horsewomen by the time they leave.”

“Horses?” Mother put down her fork. “That sounds rather expensive.”

“I wasn’t suggesting we do the same thing as the other schools,” Prudence said quickly. “But we must find our own specialty so we can convince good families to bring their daughters here and not elsewhere. We could provide a combination of the gentler arts and some good, healthy fresh air activities. We are in the countryside, so perhaps we can turn that to our advantage.”

Mother sighed a little. “Prudence, I wish we weren’t reduced to this. I love the idea of a school, but I hate that we
have
to do it. That takes so much of the enjoyment out of it.”

Prudence pushed herself from the table. “Mother, I am sorry about Phillip’s—”

Mother put her hand over Prudence’s. “Stop. He didn’t mean to leave things in such a state.”

“It’s not only the money, but the humiliation of—” Prudence pressed her lips together. “All those people trusted him. He should have realized he was in over his head and not made so many promises.”

“He was overly optimistic, perhaps. But what he did was not criminal. There should have never been so many people pressing him for funds. And then, to cut us socially—” Mother looked down at her plate. “I know that was difficult for you.”

“For both of us. I thought some of those women were my friends, but they weren’t.” No, her supposed “friends” had believed the lies published in the papers. That Phillip had stolen money from his investors, that she had enticed men to invest. It was horrid and tawdry, and still, after three years, left a horrid taste in her mouth. Worse had been the strain on Phillip of those ugly rumors. He’d grown pale and tense. And then ill. He’d just seemed to waste away before her very eyes.

She took a sip of tea to stop the tightness from building in her throat. “There is nothing to be gained in reliving the past. Besides—”

A loud bleating filled the air. Mother and Prudence looked at each other. The bleating came again, louder and much closer this time.

Mother jumped to her feet and ran to the window, almost pressing her nose to the pane of glass. “Prudence! It’s that same sheep! Eating the tops off all of the winter kelp.”

“Not the winter kelp!” Prudence tossed her knife and fork to the table. “That does it! I am going to the captain’s cottage, only this time—” What could she do? Her mind raced, rejecting plan after plan. Finally, one clear thought danced before her. “I know what I’ll do.

Mother, I will take that silly sheep to him! Let
him
put up with it!”

Mother blinked. “But—”

Prudence was already out the door. Mother rushed to follow. “Prudence, wait! Don’t go while you are in a dither! You’ll just say something foolish. Finish breakfast, at least.” Mother caught Prudence’s arm and halted her. “You’ll be calmer. You might even have some time to do something with your hair. And while I like that gown, perhaps the blue one with the—”

“No.” Prudence pulled free, yanked her cape from the hook by the front door and slung it about her shoulders. “It’s time we spoke to the captain in his own language.”

“Oh dear!”

Prudence wrapped the muffler about her neck. “I am going to take the captain’s sheep right into
his
household for a change. See if he likes that!”

“Prudence, perhaps it would be better if you—”

But Prudence was already gone, her face set in determined lines. “Captain Llevanth,” she muttered as she marched out the door and toward the sound of the bleating, “ready or not, you are in for a very sheepish morning.”