Lord of Temptation (10 page)

She tilted back her head to study him. It was a lovely thought, but she couldn’t do that to her family. Become a vagabond, a gypsy. To turn her back on what was good and proper. Regretfully, she shook her head. “No, that would accomplish little except to confirm that I’m a coward.”

“A coward would not have hired me to take her to a place with a past tainted by horror in order that she might say good-bye to someone she cared for.”

“Someone I loved,” she felt a need to point out. But not enough. If she’d loved him enough, she would not now have so many regrets. “I thought it would heal this terrible hole in my heart, and yet at times I still feel as though I’m drowning in the sorrow.” Tears stung her eyes. “I wish I could have brought him home. I hate that he’s there.”

Gently, he touched her cheek. “What do you see when you look out?”

“So much water.”

“All the way to the horizon and beyond. When a man dies on a ship, he’s given to the sea. Over the years, Anne, I’ve learned that it matters not where a man is buried. It matters only where he is remembered.”

She thought she’d cried her fill in Scutari, but it seemed she had more tears to spill. They rolled over onto her cheeks and he gathered them with his thumbs.

“I would take your pain if I could,” he said in a low rough voice.

When she thought her heart could ache no more, he bent his head and tenderly brushed his lips over hers, before gathering her into his arms and holding her near.

Nothing he might have said or done could have devastated her more. He understood loss, he understood pain, he understood walking away when one dearly wanted to stay.

For the first time in so long, the fractured remnants of her heart felt as though they might finally heal.

Chapter 11

D
amnation! Through the long nights and days since he met her, when he envisioned claiming his kiss, he certainly had never envisioned it being so uneventful. It was never supposed to offer comfort; it was never supposed to be little more than a brief touch, a quick taste.

Blast it all! It was supposed to be designed to have her gasping and clinging to him. It was supposed to have her begging him to take it further. It was supposed to end with a tumble on his bed.

As he jerked free his unruly cravat to once more begin to properly tie it, he wasn’t certain he’d ever been more disgusted with himself. He couldn’t very well deliver the sort of kiss he’d dreamed of when she was moping about. Hence the journey to the crow’s nest.

But she’d seemed so vulnerable, the pain still in her eyes. Whatever had possessed him to utter such poetic nonsense about where people were buried? If that was not embarrassing enough, he’d dipped his head and grazed his lips over hers as though his body were not in a constant hardened state by the mere thought of her.

Now they were going to have dinner together—their last dinner together—after which he would not be at liberty to claim her mouth as though he owned it, because—dammit all—he’d already claimed the promised kiss!

Not only that. He hadn’t bothered to give her a kiss that any woman in her right mind would want to experience again. There had been no heat, no passion, no swirling of tongues.

Good God, it might as well have not happened.

But it had happened, and she would hold him to it. Debt paid and all that rubbish.

If he wanted another kiss, then he was going to have to well and truly seduce her. Tonight. Because the sails had captured the wind and they were nearer to England’s coast.

Whatever had he been thinking this afternoon? He hadn’t been thinking at all. The woman had the ability to send his thoughts scattering. It was unsettling, this strange influence that she had over him.

His cravat finally to his liking, he grabbed his jacket and slipped it on. He’d bathed and shaved. He hadn’t bothered to cut his hair because he didn’t want to appear totally civilized. He didn’t want her thinking of him as anything other than the sea captain that he was.

He wondered if he sailed by England without delivering her to its shores, if he would rot in hell. Having spent a considerable number of years in that horrendous pit, he supposed he shouldn’t be giving it any thought, and yet he couldn’t quite quell the niggling temptation to keep her with him for a time at least, until he grew tired of her. He always grew tired of women. Never had there been one that he wanted to keep for any length of time. He just hadn’t had his fill of her yet.

Hadn’t even had a proper kiss.

He cursed himself once more, then headed out of Peterson’s cabin and into his own.

I
f Anne’s experience with Walter had taught her anything at all it was that she was far more likely to regret things she
hadn’t
done than those she
had
.

So as she sat there dining on exquisite fare and drinking fine wine, both of which rivaled anything served at her father’s table, she contemplated the regrets that might haunt her where Captain Crimson Jack was concerned. When they arrived at the docks on the morrow, she would disembark from his ship and never see him again—except in her dreams. She was fairly certain he would frequent her there. Much to her chagrin.

She’d not expected to like him, to be drawn to him, to be fascinated by him. She’d not expected to be able to peer beneath his rough exterior and discover a kernel of goodness within him that rivaled that of the most generous lords she’d ever known.

“Where will you go?” she asked. “When next you leave England?”

His plate now empty, he leaned back and swirled the wine in his glass, but his gaze was riveted on her. She was no longer uncomfortable by the intensity of it. Rather she found it oddly soothing, indeed flattering, that he would give so much attention to her as though she were all that mattered in his world. “The Far East most likely. Would you care to come with me?”

Her heart stammered at the improper suggestion, even as a small corner of her mind considered it. What would it be like to be free of all societal constraints? She suspected in time that she’d miss them terribly. It was what she knew, what she understood. “I wasn’t made for this vagabond of a life you lead. Does it not become mundane, traveling about, with no permanence in your life?”

“I have permanence, Princess. The men who serve with me, the sea always around me, and the knowledge that I’ll discover something new on every journey.”

“Even this one?”

His eyes never leaving her, he took a slow sip of wine before saying, “Especially this one.”

She was incredibly tempted to ask him exactly what he’d discovered. But that was only her vanity nudging her. They’d formed an odd bond of intimacy that she couldn’t deny. It was something else that she’d not expected to happen.

“A bit scandalous not to have your maid in here watching over you, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Her clacking needles were about to get on my last nerve,” she said. A partial truth. Dare she voice the real reason she was alone with him?

He chuckled low. “Especially when they speed up in disapproval.”

“Yes.” She felt the heat suffuse her face. Martha would most certainly disapprove of the journey her thoughts were now taking because they led to the captain not leaving these quarters until the sun rose. “I’ve—” She cleared her throat. “I’ve instructed her to stay in your first mate’s empty cabin for the night.”

“Have you now?”

She nodded, her throat threatening to knot up. “I think she rather likes him. Your first mate. Mr. Peterson.”

“He’s quite smitten with her.”

“Is he?” She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “How lovely for her. I suppose. It would be a rather lonely life, though, wouldn’t it? With him at sea?”

Before he could answer, a knock at the door had her nearly leaping out of her skin. She didn’t know why she was so skittish. Perhaps because her not having Martha in attendance had little to do with her irritating knitting needles and more to do with the fact that she was seriously contemplating giving him far more than a kiss.

She wanted to announce that she trusted him, but all she trusted him to do was misbehave. She was counting on it, in fact. It was as though she had changed on this journey, had become as liberated as his ship. It had the power to carry them anywhere, to reveal sights never before seen. It tempted her—
he
tempted her—to do her own exploring. What would she discover of him . . . and herself? Did she want to know? Or did she wish to remain forever naive?

They said that ignorance was bliss, but she was learning that it was little more than irritating. Better to know than to forever wonder.

With the lithe movements to which she’d grown accustomed, he got up from the table and opened the door. Mouse and Jenkins skittered in and cleared away the dishes. When the door closed on their retreating forms, she found herself standing, not certain what she should do next.

He was leaning against the wall, studying her, his arms crossed over his chest. Had she really considered that he could pass for a gentleman? His attire was well tailored, fit him to perfection. She suspected he’d paid a pretty penny for it. But still, beneath it hovered an untamed element, like the tempest that rose up unexpectedly. His life was coarse and harsh, had shaped him into the fascinating creature that he was. But just as his ship didn’t stay at port long, she suspected he wasn’t one to stay in her life for more than a short period.

They would never have more than this time together. And it was quickly drawing to a close.

“Can I interest you in a bit of after-dinner brandy?” he asked.

She nodded, grateful for something to do with her hands as the silly things wanted to reach out and touch him, skim over his chest, his shoulders, his back. “Yes, please, thank you.”

He prowled to the corner cabinet where he kept his spirits. She watched as he poured liberal amounts of brandy into two snifters before bringing them over to where she stood like a blasted mast. Whatever was wrong with her?

She took the glass he offered and he
clinked
his against hers. “To the end of a successful voyage.”

“Is it something to celebrate?”

“We survived.”

“Was there any chance we wouldn’t?”

“There’s always a chance, Princess. We can’t control the seas.”

Or our own destinies, for that matter, it seems.

She took a healthy sip, savoring the flavor, felt the familiar burn as the liquid went down but the vapors wafted through her nostrils, stinging. She smiled.

“What’s so amusing?” he asked.

“I was recalling the first time I sipped brandy, after pilfering it from my father’s cabinet. I went into a wretched coughing fit. My worst fear was that he would hear me, come to investigate, and discover what I was about.” Not daring to look at him, she tapped her finger against the glass. “I always strive to be so damned proper.”

“You say that as though you’re not quite pleased with that aspect of your character.”

She lifted her gaze to his. Why was it that he seemed to know her so well? She swallowed hard. “I believe there are times when one shouldn’t be quite so proper.”

“Like when climbing a mast for example?” he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

“I was quite daring, wasn’t I? And the reward—the view from atop the ship—was so very worth it.” She took a deep breath. “You claimed your kiss there.”

He released a long suffering sigh. “Yes, I did, didn’t I?” He then proceeded to finish off his brandy.

She followed suit, and this time, it felt as though the vapors invaded her brain. She felt lightheaded and bold. “It wasn’t as you promised.”

He arched a brow. “Oh?”

“You said it would be slow, leisurely, and long. It was none of those things. Quite honestly, Captain, I’m not certain you’ve been fully paid for your troubles.”

“I did say
a
kiss, the moment of my choosing.”

“But I think it was a kiss brought on by pity.”

“Never. I don’t pity you, Princess. It was simply that I could no longer resist and we did have an audience.”

“We don’t have one now.”

“No, we don’t.”

He was watching her intently, and she realized that he would never force her, would never take what she was unwilling to give. She’d instinctively understood that of course. She’d have not boarded his ship otherwise, but now she fully comprehended that all the power was hers. “This long, slow, leisurely kiss of which you spoke . . . where does it lead?”

“Wherever you want it to.”

She felt the weight of responsibility, but more she sensed the depth of yearning for something she’d been denied. “I believe I would like to . . . explore the possibilities.”

“And where exactly do you want it to lead?”

“I don’t want to say. In case I get frightened and change my mind. But we’ve shared so much on this journey. I would like a little more.”

He touched her cheek. “At any time, all you have to say is ‘stop.’ ”

“And you’ll stop?”

“Even if it kills me.”

“You’ll get angry.”

“I won’t.”

Walter had. He’d called her a tease, because she’d dared to allow him to kiss her until they were both breathless. She didn’t want to think about that now. She only knew that she was drawn to this man who stood before her, and she didn’t want to look back on these moments with regret. She knew only that if she heard of his death, she didn’t want to have to journey to the other side of the world to beg his forgiveness. She knew that the kiss he’d given her in the crow’s nest was not the one he’d envisioned that long-ago night when he’d stood in her bedchamber and made a bargain with her.

During the days and nights since, she’d come to anticipate what he’d promised. She didn’t want to leave the ship without acquiring it—and perhaps a bit more.

“Well, then, Captain, I don’t see that the kiss you bestowed upon me this afternoon—as lovely as it was—really fulfills my obligation to you at all.”

A corner of his mouth hitched up. “I certainly wouldn’t want you to disembark tomorrow feeling as though you’ve failed to live up to your part of the bargain.”

Never taking his eyes off hers, he wrapped his long fingers around her snifter and set it on his desk. He was progressing so remarkably slowly that she wanted to shout at him to get a move on. Did he not want to truly kiss her? Did he not find her desirable? Perhaps that was the true reason that he’d been willing to be content with a light brushing of lips.

But when he turned back to her, she saw desire smoldering in his eyes, and she saw with alarm how very good he’d been at holding his true feelings at bay. She almost backed up, almost changed her mind, but before she could fully acknowledge that she was suddenly terrified by the intensity of what she saw, he snaked an arm around her waist, brought her up flush against him, cradled her face with one rough callused hand, and lowered his mouth to hers.

No light brushing of the lips, this. No sweetness, no gentleness.

It was as though he were a starving man, devouring his first meal after years of deprivation. His mouth pressed firmly against hers as his tongue enticed her lips to part. He explored as she’d discovered he did everything: boldly and without hesitation. His tongue thrust and parried, gentled and waltzed. Of their own accord, her arms wound around his neck, bringing her closer to him. His hand skimmed along her throat, halted. She could feel her pulse thrumming against his fingers as his mouth continued its leisurely plunder. He tasted of rich brandy, fine wine, tart oranges. He tasted of desire. His mouth was hot, wet, and so very, very talented.

Lethargy seeped into her bones, heat swirled through her, pooled between her thighs. Her toes curled, her fingers dug into his scalp, keeping him near. Not that she expected him to leave.

She didn’t think it possible, but the kiss deepened, became more, became everything until nothing existed except for him and the incredible sensations he was stirring to life. She had been dead for so long. She hadn’t realized exactly how dead she’d been, but now she was being brought back to life—her body, her soul, her heart.