Her Master and Commander (9 page)

Her gaze narrowed. “Captain Llevanth, I will not be treated in such a—”

Tristan kissed her. He hadn’t
planned
on kissing her, but somehow, it seemed the logical way to stop her ranting. He was prepared for her anger. What he was not prepared for, was his own reaction to such a basic, simple touch.

The moment his lips covered hers, something changed. The amused attraction he’d been fighting exploded into a million raging fires. He paused, his eyes opening. He found her looking back, her gaze clouded by the same shocked passion.

Tristan didn’t give her time to think; he kissed her again, more forcefully this time, splaying his hands along her back, molding her to him.

After a second’s hesitation, she gave herself to the kiss. Her arms crept about his neck and her lips parted beneath his. Time held still as Tristan mingled his breath with hers, shared the tumultuous beat of his own heart, her low moan spurring him on.

Tristan heard the noise first, the unmistakable creak of the front door somewhere far down the hallway. Somewhere in the back of his lust-emblazoned mind he knew what that meant, that someone would soon be entering this room. Unfortunately, the part of his mind that was able to reason through what this interruption meant was unable to penetrate the deep, tightly closed, and far more sensually occupied recesses of the rest of his mind. Thus it was that when Stevens walked into the library after a brief knock, Tristan was not surprised to see him. He was, rather, surprised he hadn’t done anything to stop kissing his delectable neighbor.

Prudence, on the other hand, apparently hadn’t heard the door, for she gasped when Stevens’s rather shocked, “Gor!” rang through the room.

“Oh my goodness!” She immediately tried to gain her release from Tristan’s arms by wiggling madly, but he wouldn’t have anything to do with such an inane idea. He liked her there. Wanted her there. Wanted it more than anything he’d wanted in a long, long time.

“Captain Llevanth!” she hissed under her breath.

He noted how a long strand of her hair had been released from the knot of hair at the base of her neck. “I believe you should call me Tristan.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“And I will call you—” He frowned. “I don’t know your name.”

Stevens cleared his throat. “Her name is Prudence, me lord.”

Prudence cast a baleful gaze at the first mate, who reddened and shuffled his feet, though that in no way diminished the huge smile on his face. “Sorry, missus,” Stevens said. “Yer upstairs maid is a bit of a talker.”

“And your employer is rude. Captain, release me.”

Tristan supposed he really didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t hold her forever. “As you wish, madam.” He sighed and set her on her feet.

The instant he loosened his hold, she whisked herself as far away from him as the room would allow, moving so quickly her skirts hung on the small tea table and pulled it with her.

Stevens looked at the crooked table, his brows high, his face red. His smile widened. “Well, now. I didn’t mean to interrupt ye, Cap’n. I mean, me lord.”

Prudence’s face was about the same shade as she reached down and unhooked the hem of her skirt from the edge of the table. “Dratted table!” she muttered.

Her heart was still thundering in her ears and blocking all coherent thought. Somehow, she feared she was making a horrid mull of things, though she didn’t know how. “I—I will leave now.”

“Nonsense,” the captain said calmly, not looking in the least put out at being found in such a—Prudence didn’t know what she would call the embrace, other than “most improper.” “Mrs. Thistlewaite, I have some questions for you. You just arrived, and yet here you are, poking through my things. Tell me, is this the way they do things in London? Wait until a man is out of the room, then feel free to look at all manner of personal items?”

Prudence’s cheeks heated. “No! Of course not. I didn’t mean to pry, it’s just that Stevens mentioned Trafalgar and I was curious, so—” She bit her lip. “I am sorry. There is no excuse for my curiosity.”

“Hmm.” The captain crossed his arms over his chest and flicked a lazy glance at Stevens. “What’s toward?”

“’Tis about Reeves, Cap’n.”

Prudence paused in straightening her gown. “Reeves?” She hadn’t meant to ask the question aloud, but something about the way the first mate said the name sparked her curiosity.

Stevens nodded. “He’s a butler. From London! He came to serve the cap’n.”

Prudence looked at the captain. “
You
have a
real
butler?”

Stevens nodded even more vigorously. “He does now! Reeves was the old earl’s butler and now—” He broke off when the captain sent his first mate a glare guaranteed to burn the man’s socks.

“The old earl?” Prudence blinked. Heavens, what was this? “I am confused. Which earl?”

“The earl of Rochester,” Stevens said, turning his shoulder a bit so he couldn’t actually see the captain. “The old earl was the cap’n’s father.”

Prudence turned to the captain, her mouth agape. “Your father was an earl?”

The captain’s expression darkened and he said in a heavy tone, “My father was a lazy, worthless jackanapes. Anything more than that is left for question.” He glared at Stevens. “What did you have to report about Reeves? I hope he is taking down that mess he made in the barn.”

“Actually, me lord, he decided that since ye gave him one more night and he had all of that sauce readied, he might as well make use of it. So he’s invited the lot of us to join him fer dinner. Ye are included, o’ course!”

“What?”

“Aye, Cap’n! He’s havin’ them put white cloths over the table his men made and they set out the china as was packed in the barrels on that last cart that he lugged up the cliff. The lot of them is in there now, making a horrid noise and scaring poor Winchester to death.”

“Winchester?” Prudence asked. Her breath still came rapidly and it was all she could do to distract herself from what had just happened.

“Winchester is a cat,” the captain said quietly, his curiously green gaze flickering toward her a moment.

His eyes were so unusual, she thought, so…beautiful. He raised his brows, his lips curving in a self-satisfied smile.

Prudence blushed, realizing she’d been staring. She hurriedly said, “I really must be going.”

“You only just arrived,” the captain replied.

“Aye, missus! Ye’d like Winchester. He’s an orange tabby and the best mouser we ever had.” Stevens chuckled a bit. “We kept Winchester aboard the
Victory
right up to the very end. We never so much as saw one rat the whole time we was at sea.”

Prudence managed a smile. “Indeed. Winchester sounds like a prime cat.” Somehow, she could not see the captain…no, the
earl
caring about such things as a cat.

She tried to reconcile herself with the fact that her neighbor was not all he seemed. Still, she didn’t think she quite believed the earl story. Not that the captain seemed to, either. “Captain, about this earl question—”

“There is no question,” the man said quietly.

Stevens rocked back on his heels. “I remember one rat was so big as could lift the mainsail by hisself, he could.”

Distracted, Prudence’s gaze narrowed. “Oh?”

“Why yes, madam,” Stevens said, warming to his audience. “’Twas a huge rat, the size of a dog.”

To Tristan’s delight, Prudence plopped her hands on her hips. “And how could a rat raise a sail? Did you tie his tiny paws to a rope?”

“Of course not! Ye couldn’t make that work, ’deed you couldn’t. But we did make a little rope harness for the beastie. And off she went, pullin’ that blasted sail, even against the wind! ’Twas the damnedest—oh, sorry, madam. ’Twas the most twiddlepated thing I ever saw.”

Prudence looked Stevens up and down. “Have you been drinking?”

He blinked. “Why…no, madam! ’Tis scarce on ten. Now had it been noon, ye might have got me on that one.”

“If you have not been drinking, then what on earth possessed you to think I’d believe such a tale as that?” She puffed out her cheeks in an exasperated sigh. “Rats hoisting sails. Next you’ll be telling me you used one to navigate with, too.”

“Actually, madam,” Stevens said earnestly, “there was one rat as swallowed Johnny Barn’s silver pocket watch and—”

“Oh! Not another word!” She rounded on Tristan well before he had time to hide his grin. “And you!”

His smile faded of its own accord. “What about me?”

“It seems that lying is a natural attribute of all sailors.”

“Here now,” he protested. “I didn’t lie to you and neither did Stevens. We were merely telling you a yarn.”

“Which time,
my lord
?” Her voice scoffed across the last words.

Tristan shrugged. “I don’t like the title myself.”

“Pull about there, madam!” Stevens said. “The cap’n is indeed a real live earl.”

Prudence cocked a disbelieving brow at the first mate. “Of course. He is an earl. And I am the duchess of Devonshire.”

Stevens gaped. “No! And right here, in our own little corner of the world! If that don’t beat all. I suppose ’tis a good thing then that ye’ve become cozy with the cap’n. He could use a duchess or two on his frigate, ’deed he could. Especially now he is gentry.”

Prudence drew herself up to her full height, what there was of it, and flashed a distempered look at Tristan. “You’ve trained them well. They lie with authority, the lot of them.”

Tristan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “That particular bit of information happens to be the truth. I am an earl.”

“Of course you are.”

“I am not saying it’s deserved. My father held the title, though he refused to acknowledge me.” He managed a faint smile. “I was born on the wrong side of the blankets, you know.”

Her cheeks pinkened. “I didn’t know, but it does not matter.”

“It eventually did to my father. When he discovered he was dying without legitimate issue, he did what he is best known for—blatant chicanery—and made things work to his favor, as ever. Thus, here I am, possessor of a proud title.”

Her brows lowered and she frowned, as if mulling this over.

Tristan didn’t enjoy telling her this. He wasn’t really sure why he had bothered, except that he didn’t wish her to think him a braggart, holding a title that wasn’t his. “It’s all quite confusing. I won’t inherit the fortune, land or houses unless I comply with the late earl’s notions of behavior.”

“Which would be?”

“Bowing and scraping and kissing the arses of half the nobility.”

“Goodness. You sound disenchanted.”

Tristan scowled. “I’ll not dress in velvets just to win some blunt, no matter the amount.”

Prudence sniffed. “That is quite noble of you, turning your back on a fortune in an effort to keep to your values of slovenly dress and rude behavior.”

Tristan burst into laughter. “A man must have his principles.”

“Indeed. I’ve often heard it stated that a man without principles is like a ship without a rudder. What would you be without your surly disposition and unmannerly outbursts? Certainly not the rough sea captain we’ve all come to know and…recognize.”

“Please don’t hold back on my account.”

She smiled sweetly. “Ah, but you are an injured man. I would so hate to insult you when you’re not at your full capacities.”

Stevens threw his hands in the air. “Heads down! I think perhaps I’d best be going, I should. Mayhap I’ll bring back some tea, if there’s any to be had.” He scurried from the room, sending Prudence a warning glance before he disappeared.

The woman had the audacity to smile. “Your man seems to think I am in some danger.”

Tristan’s eyes narrowed. “So you are, sweetheart.” He leaned forward. “Allow me to assure you that I am at my full capacity, injured leg or not. The musket ball did not come anywhere near the Important Part.”

Her cheeks bloomed. “That will be enough of that, thank you.”

“You were the one who suggested I was not able to take the seas at full sail.”

“Yes, but I did not mean—oh, never mind. I can see that you are merely teasing me.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. He admired the delicious way her lips quivered as she tried not to return his smile. Her eyes met his, and suddenly, everything felt right. Right in a way they had not for a very, very long time. Perhaps ever.

He wondered if perhaps, in accepting the title, he might not find many more such moments—with a woman such as this.

“I wonder…” She regarded him steadily, her head tilted to one side. “What exactly do you have to—” She colored suddenly. “I’m sorry. It is none of my concern.”

No it wasn’t. Still…Tristan watched her from beneath his lashes. Mrs. Thistlewaite may not be titled, but her every movement bespoke breeding and elegance. She seemed out of place in the simplicity of his library. She moved like a countess, he decided. And since he was now an earl—

Good God, where had
that
thought come from? He needed to focus on the funds, not daydream about such wasted silliness.

Yes, he told himself. Think of the funds. Never again would an injured sailor go hungry or without wages. The house could be enlarged. Perhaps some berths added in a wing that would keep him from turning away the newly arrived. He was at capacity as it was now.

To win the funds, he’d have to pass muster with the trustees, and something in Reeves’s expression had led Tristan to think that that might not be an easy task. What if he couldn’t do it?

He suddenly became aware of Prudence standing before him. She gave a sharp curtsy and said, “I really must go. I’ve errands to run this afternoon, though I’ve yet to complete the task I set out to do in coming here.”

“Ah, yes. My sheep.”

“The next time one finds itself in my garden, I shall make soup of it.”

He raised his brows. “You can cook? Had I known that I should have sent you a more tender ewe.”

Her eyes narrowed, her full lips pursed in an accusing scowl.

Tristan threw up his hand, laughing. “Hold fire, woman! I am teasing you! I vow on my mother’s grave I did not know my sheep had climbed your gate yet again. I am as mystified as ever as to how that keeps occurring.”