Lord of Temptation (12 page)
She wanted to be as strong as he, to remember the
wonderful moments she’d spent with Walter, to release the regrets. The regrets
no longer served a purpose. She saw that now. She had said good-bye. She must
move on.
Like Tristan. She had to turn her attention toward
the horizon where better things awaited. While she knew he would not be waiting
for her there, he was here with her now.
She couldn’t waste these moments with sorrow or
remorse. She needed to relish the joy that being with him brought.
Peering up at him beneath half-lowered lashes, she
gave him an impish smile. “I see your interest in me has dimmed. Pity.”
He gave her a cocky grin. “I can be at full sail
before you hit the bed.”
With a laugh he grabbed her and tumbled her onto
the rumpled sheets. The fragrance of their previous lovemaking wafted around
her. As he nestled himself between her thighs, she wasn’t surprised to discover
that he was true to his claims. He was ready for her.
“Are you tender?” he asked.
“Yes, some, but we have only tonight.”
She saw an emotion pass over his eyes that she
couldn’t quite decipher. He nibbled on her ear.
“Tell me if you experience discomfort. I know other
ways to enjoy each other.”
She’d learned that quickly enough. She supposed
there was a comparable way to pleasure him, but then his mouth was again
ravishing hers and she wasn’t supposing anything at all.
“J
ust
because we’re in dock doesn’t mean we have to leave the ship.”
Deciding her hat was as straight as it could get,
Anne turned away from her reflection in the mirror to the man leaning against
the door. He wore black trousers that hugged his thighs, boots, and the familiar
loose white shirt with its rebellious buttons. Only an hour before, he’d been
sprawled in glorious nudity over the bed. She suspected in spite of all the time
it had taken for her to dress with his assistance that he could have her naked
and beneath him before she took her next breath if she but encouraged him.
“My family is no doubt desperate for word from me.
If I don’t leave now, we would only be delaying the inevitable.”
“If it can be delayed, perhaps it’s not inevitable.
Pen them a missive. Tell them you’ve decided to see the world. I can have us
back at sea by dawn.”
Oh, she wasn’t half tempted. “I have
responsibilities here.” A Season to endure, a husband to find, a father to
please.
She crossed over to him, placed her hand on his
chest, right where his heart beat out a steady rhythm. “We’re from different
worlds, you and I. As lovely as it’s been, I can’t stay in your world. Not for
the long haul.”
“Then for a short haul. A year. Eighteen
months.”
“I would return a ruined woman with no hope for
marriage prospects or children.” She shook her head. She wanted him to say that
he’d marry her, but if he offered it would be foolish to say yes. She couldn’t
go gallivanting around the world. What sort of life would that be for their
children? Nor could she stand the thought of months on end, waiting at home for
his return. But she also suspected that he wasn’t a man willing to take a wife.
He’d lived his entire life unencumbered. “You know that
we
can’t be.”
In answer, whether acknowledgment or denial, he
captured her mouth with his, shoved the fingers of one hand into her hair, and
used the other to press her flat against him. She thought she would never tire
of his kisses, the heat and passion of them, the way they encompassed all of
her. Rising up on her toes, she wound her arms around his neck.
This would be their last kiss. She would be strong;
she would walk away once his mouth was finished ravishing hers. But she was so
tempted to stay, even knowing the disaster it would beget. She had known all
along that their association would come to an end. Between them was unbridled
passion, but no love. She wouldn’t even contemplate that she could possibly love
him, because how would any man ever measure up to her courageous, strong, and
unyielding captain?
She would have to forget him, cast memories of him
to the locked corners of her heart, only to be visited on the very rarest of
occasions.
His tongue swirled with hers, a familiar waltz now,
and yet desperation clung to her as she swept hers through his mouth, searching
for anything she’d not yet explored. She didn’t want to look back and wish that
she taken one more swipe, nibbled a little longer, tasted more deeply. With him,
she wanted no regrets. He’d given her a night that would sustain her for the
remainder of her life. But it was time now to say good-bye.
Drawing back, he pressed his forehead to hers. “You
should know that I’ll never forget you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut because she couldn’t
give him the same promise, even if it was true. It wouldn’t be fair to the man
she would eventually marry. She must forget him. She must condemn him to a faint
wisp of memory.
Reaching behind him, he opened the door. She walked
into the passageway and felt the heat suffuse her face at the sight of Martha
standing there with Mr. Peterson. She wondered if they had heard her moans,
sighs, and cries through the night. Then she decided what they might have heard
was of no consequence, and it was far too late to worry over.
The captain led her up to the deck. She’d known it
was night, of course, but somehow it seemed the right time for her parting.
Although she was so tempted to stay with him until dawn. But her family had
waited for her return long enough.
She heard him issue orders for someone to get her
trunk. Then he escorted her down the gangway and along the docks. His arm
remained inappropriately around her, nestling her against his side. She couldn’t
bring herself to step away.
When they reached the area where hackneys waited,
he hired two and she watched as her trunk was loaded into one.
“I should go with you,” he said.
“No. I want to say good-bye here, to remember you
here.” Turning into him, to face him fully, she touched her gloved hand to his
jaw. “May the winds always deliver you safely to your destination.”
“Anne—”
Rising up, she brushed a quick kiss over his lips
before scrambling into the hackney. Martha settled in beside her and the wheels
were soon clattering, carrying them away.
“We will never speak of this, Martha,” she said
tersely, shoring up her resolve not to weep.
“Yes, m’lady.”
“We must move forward. See to our duties.”
“Yes, miss.”
No matter how much it pained them to do so.
T
ristan watched the hackney roll away into the night, the emptiness
engulfing him similar to one he’d experienced fourteen years earlier on the
Yorkshire docks. It didn’t bear thinking about.
“What now, Cap’n?” Peterson asked.
“I intend to get bloody well drunk. Care to join
me?”
“W
hat
in God’s name were you thinking?”
Anne stood within her father’s study. Knowing that
she would be brought to task for her actions did not make the actual
bringing
any easier. Her father and brothers had not
yet left for their clubs when she arrived home. It was the one night of the week
that her father insisted they enjoy a meal together. She’d arrived too late to
partake in dinner, but early enough to receive a scolding.
Her brothers had taken up various positions around
the room, arms crossed, stances erect, obviously fully in support of the
tongue-lashing she was on the cusp of enduring.
“As I discussed with you previously and reiterated
in my letter, I needed to say good-bye to Walter so that I could move on with my
life, fully embrace the upcoming Season, present an engaging front, and entice a
lord into finding me worthy of becoming his wife. That is my duty, is it
not?”
“Your duty is to obey your father and I had
forbidden you to go.”
“Yes, well, I’m home now so it seems rather
pointless to harp on what I’ve done. I achieved my goal and am ready to reenter
Society.”
She’d never seen her father appear so flummoxed. He
blinked, opened his mouth, shut it.
“Upon what ship did you book passage?” Jameson
asked. As her father grew older, so her brother was beginning to assert himself,
to prepare for the day when he would step seamlessly into their father’s shoes.
“I made inquiries but had little success in determining—”
“I hired a ship.”
“What do you mean you hired a ship?”
“Honestly, Jameson, did you lose your comprehension
of the English language while I was away?”
“You’ll answer your brother,” her father snapped,
obviously regaining his faculties.
“I hired a captain willing to sail on my
schedule.”
“Who is the captain? What ship?” Jameson
barked.
“I don’t see that it’s relevant. The matter is
done.”
“Do you have any idea what could have
happened?”
“He came highly recommended.”
“By whom?”
“These pointless questions are becoming quite
tedious.”
“Your reputation—”
“Did you tell people what I’d done?” she
snapped.
“Absolutely not. We said you had determined you
were not yet ready to step out of mourning, required additional seclusion, and
returned to the country.”
“Then my reputation remains untarnished. And I’m
quite weary from my travels so if you’ll excuse me, I wish to retire.”
She turned to go.
“I’m not finished with you yet,” her father
shouted.
She sank into a chair, folded her hands on her lap,
and met his gaze. “By all means, then, proceed.”
“I don’t believe you fully comprehend the
seriousness of what you did.”
“And I’m not certain you fully comprehend that the
matter is done. It’s unlikely that I’ll ever have another need to leave
England’s shores. Hopefully it shall be many years before I lose someone else
whom I love. And even then, he shall in all likelihood die here. I shall have no
further adventures.”
More’s the pity,
a
little corner of her mind squeaked.
“It is only that we love you and were worried,” her
father reiterated.
“I know.” She gave him a warm smile. “I believe
your clubs await.”
“Indeed they do.”
Grateful that the matter was being put to rest, she
rose.
“The Greystone ball is next week,” Jameson informed
her. “I assume you will attend.”
“Most assuredly. And I shall put my best foot
forward.”
She strolled from the room, thinking how odd it was
that the house didn’t pitch at all. It seemed she’d finally gotten her sea legs
when it was a bit too late.
In her bedchamber she found Martha putting away the
last items from the trunk. Her maid looked up as though guilty. “Did all go
well?”
“As well as it could.” She began tugging off her
gloves.
“I found something in the trunk. I’m not sure what
it is. I put it on your vanity.”
Anne walked to the vanity and discovered a small
paper-wrapped parcel. The paper was more suited to serving as stationery but it
had been crumpled and folded, secured with string around an object. Slowly she
untied the string and pulled back the paper to reveal a starfish.
On the paper was written:
For
making a wish when there are no stars to be seen.
Tears stung her eyes. So many things to wish for,
but only one mattered:
Be safe, Captain. Please always be
safe on your travels.
Carefully she flattened the paper, then folded it
and placed it, along with the starfish, in her jewelry box.
“I’m tired, Martha. Help me prepare for bed.”
When she was dressed and Martha had left, Anne sat
in a chair by the window and gazed out as the fog rolled in. The gaslights
offered a meager attempt to hold it at bay, but they lit a path to the
residence. She wished now that she hadn’t left the ship so soon. Perhaps Tristan
wished the same. He could climb the tree. He could come to her. She wouldn’t
turn him away. Just one more night.
But morning found her asleep in the chair,
alone.
“I
’m so glad you’re finally back in London. I’ve missed you dreadfully.”
Reaching across the small round table in the garden, Anne smiled and squeezed the hand of her dearest friend, Lady Sarah Weston. “I’ve missed you as well.”
“I can serve as your chaperone this Season.”
Anne laughed lightly. It had been three years since Sarah had married the Earl of Fayrehaven. Anne had attended her at the wedding, served as her maid of honor. She had always planned for Sarah to assist her when the time came to exchange vows with Walter. They had decided to toss aside the societal rules that said a married lady could not stand beside a bride. They were going to allow it to happen. It was silly now to wonder if the possibility of flaunting convention had been responsible for fate’s nasty turn.
“You will find someone else, you know,” Sarah continued.
Anne wanted to confess that she
had
found someone else. But that had been a temporary holding. She’d been home all of three days now and she’d almost gone to the docks during each one of them to see if the
Revenge
was still in port. But going to the docks was not something that ladies did—although it had not stopped her before.
She wondered if he spent his evenings in the same tavern where she’d first seen him. Did he wait for other ladies to approach him? Would he compare them to her? Would he find them lacking? God help her, she wanted him to find them lacking.
“I have heard . . .” Sarah began, leaning forward as though the blooming flowers had the ability to gossip, “that Chetwyn has set his cap for you.”
“He has said nothing to me.”
“Well, you’ve hardly been in London long enough, have you? I called on you a month ago, when I first arrived in town and was told that you weren’t in residence. I was so disappointed. I’m remarkably glad you sent a note round letting me know that you were indeed in the city. Did you need a bit more time in the country?”
Anne nibbled on her lip. “No, actually. If I tell you, you must hold it a secret.”
“Of course.”
Now Anne was lowering her voice, which was ridiculous because no one was about. “I went to Scutari, to say good-bye to Walter. It was a remarkable trip, liberating.”
Sarah furrowed her brow. “Did your brothers take you?”
“No, I went by myself. Well, with my maid. I wore trousers. I climbed a mast. I stood in a crow’s nest and looked out on the world. I felt small, yet significant. It was a strange dichotomy.”
She realized she was throwing out everything in a nonsensical manner, but she’d been unable to share it with anyone and it was just there, bubbling to the surface.
“Not to mention scandalous,” Sarah said with a measure of disapproval that Anne fought to ignore.
“Yes, I know. Which is why you mustn’t tell anyone. I haven’t told my father or my brothers everything that I did. Only that I went to Scutari. They wouldn’t understand.”
“I’m not quite certain that I do either.”
“Do you ever consider that we behave a certain way because it’s expected of us, but no one ever truly explains why we must behave as we do?”
“We behave as we do because it’s the way one behaves.”
She had once thought the same, but now she questioned the staidness of her life. But how could Sarah understand when she’d never ventured from it?
Anne heard a servant approaching and glanced up to see one of the younger maids carrying a tray. Earlier she had brought them tea. Now she set on the table some scones and a bowl of orange segments. Anne couldn’t help but think of that first morning on the ship when she had bitten into one. “Those look tempting.”
“They’re very good, m’lady,” the girl said. “Cook had us taste them to make sure there was nothing amiss. A crate of them just showed up on the steps.”
“From the shops? Cook purchased them?”
“No, miss. We don’t know who sent them.”
Tristan. She was as certain of that as she was of her name. She wondered if it had been a final good-bye gift, knowing that she would never again eat an orange and not think of him. She wondered if he would think of her when he tasted one. She’d not anticipated that so many things would remind her of him.
“Are you in love?” Sarah asked.
Anne snapped her gaze over to her friend. “Pardon?”
“You’re staring at the bowl rather oddly, as though you care deeply about oranges. If you want one, simply take it.”
Anne did. It was as succulent and sweet as she expected.
“So continue with your story,” Sarah commanded. “What was it like to wear trousers? And why would you? Were you a stowaway or something equally atrocious?”
Anne smiled. “I paid for my passage, but after going to Scutari I became melancholy. The captain thought it would brighten my outlook to gaze out on the world. But I couldn’t very well shimmy up a pole in skirts.”
“You actually climbed a mast?”
She released a short burst of laughter. “Yes.”
And I climbed a ship captain.
But that memory was for her and her alone.
“Better keep it to yourself. Gentlemen prefer their ladies less adventuresome.”
“Oh, I fully intend to tell no one. But I wanted to share it with you, although I realize now that I haven’t the words to paint a true portrait of the experience.” She popped another orange segment into her mouth. “Sarah, are you happy being the wife of a lord?”
“Absolutely. Fayrehaven treats me very nicely. I’m fortunate in that regard. I daresay that by the end of the Season you’ll be on your way to becoming a wife as well.”
“Perhaps.”
“You can’t dally, Anne. Your prospects next year will be fewer than they are now. A new batch of eligible ladies will be stepping onto the marriage block.”
“You make it all sound so frightfully appealing.”
“It’s marvelous. Truly. With a husband comes children.” Sarah had given birth to a son fifteen months after her wedding. “It’s a tragedy that you’ve been denied so much for so long, which is the reason that I’m ecstatic to have you in London this Season. We shall find you a husband with all due haste. If not Chetwyn then someone else who appeals.”
An image of Tristan flittered briefly across her mind. She was giving herself leave to think of him until she attended her first ball. Then she would have to pack up the remembrances, store them in a corner of her heart, and never visit them again. Except perhaps when she was old and withered and looking back on the life she’d led. She would write her memoirs, and include the scandalous journey and the dashing sea captain with whom she’d felt the first stirrings of happiness after being dead inside for so long.
“Have you ever known any lady who didn’t marry into the nobility?” she asked Sarah.
“The former Duchess of Lovingdon. She married that Dodger fellow, but then he’s obscenely wealthy so sins are easily forgiven.”
She was fairly certain that Tristan was wealthy, yet she couldn’t imagine him remaining patient with Society’s rules. He’d always be chomping at the bit to return to the sea.
“What if Walter hadn’t asked for your hand in marriage?” Sarah asked. “Who would you have wanted to marry then?”
“I never gave it any thought. From the moment I met Walter . . . we were so alike with so many common interests.” She and Tristan didn’t meld nearly as well. Well, except when they were physically melded together. They fit perfectly then.
“Are you blushing?” Sarah asked.
Anne touched her cheeks. Was she? The man had the ability to warm her from the inside out even when he was nowhere in the vicinity. “No, it’s just an unseasonably warm day.”
“I think you’re not being quite honest, that there is someone other than Walter who caught your fancy. Whisper his name and if he’s still unmarried—”
“There’s no one,” Anne said sharply, trying not to remember how many times she’d whispered Tristan’s name during the throes of passion.
“There will be. Have no worries. As soon as you attend the first ball of the Season, I shall do all in my power to assist you.”
A
nne thought she’d prepared herself for the whirlwind that awaited her. She’d anticipated her first Season with an air of giddiness and anticipation. Now she merely wanted this Season to all be over.
It had been ages since Anne had been to a ball and her arrival was causing quite the stir. She did wish that she hadn’t waited so long to return to Society. An awkwardness hovered about as people approached her. Should they mention Walter? Should they not? Should they offer condolences? Should they carry on as though nothing were amiss?
Gentlemen didn’t seem to know if they should ask her for a dance. How did one treat a lady who had the baggage of a widow, but wasn’t a widow?
The only one who seemed at all comfortable with her was Chetwyn, as he expertly glided her over the dance floor.
“My brother would be pleased to see you smiling again,” he said.
It was strange, but she saw little of Walter in him. His blond hair seemed more easily tamed. Not a single freckle dared to mar his skin, where Walter had always been cursed with an abundance that had only served to make him more endearing. Chetwyn’s smile was more stately and sedate. Walter’s had always been filled with fun and mischief. But what really surprised her was that she could think of Walter now without hurting, or feeling guilty, or longing for what could never be. She had been correct that she needed her sojourn. She was ready now to face whatever the future held.
“I’m frightfully behind on the gossip I fear,” she said, smiling warmly, striving to carry the conversation away from the past and their shared loss.
Chetwyn rolled his eyes. “With your brothers—the worst gossips in all of England—about? I rather doubt that.”
She laughed. It felt good to laugh beneath flickering chandeliers while an orchestra wooed the dancers with gentle strains of harmony.
“I should like to see Jameson married this Season,” she said.
“He should like to see the same of you.”
She couldn’t miss the speculation and interest in Chetwyn’s eyes. It wasn’t that he was an awful fellow, but he didn’t make her heart speed up or her body yearn for nearness. But then she suspected few men would have that influence over her.
“I was going to ask if you knew of any prospects with whom I might entice my brother into walking down the aisle,” she said, hoping to direct them off a path she wasn’t ready to travel. Her own possibility of marriage was far from her thoughts. Tonight she simply had to survive her reentry into Society.
“Perhaps I could come to call later this week and provide a list at that time,” he suggested.
Oh, she’d been too long out of the flirtation game, felt as though she’d maneuvered herself into a trap. “Do you not worry that your brother would always be between us?”
“No. He and I were very different. I daresay, my mother often quipped that if she wasn’t present at the birthing, she’d have not believed we were brothers.”
She felt the heat suffuse her face. Not exactly a proper topic, and she wondered briefly if he was slightly nervous about being in her company. It couldn’t be easy to be with a woman who had a past with his brother. “Well, then, I suppose a call later this week would be lovely.”
The music wafted into silence and without another word he escorted her to her aunt, her father’s sister, who was serving as her chaperone this evening. In spite of Sarah’s offer to take on that role, her father thought she needed a more seasoned lady. Especially as he wasn’t here, but had elected to spend the evening at his club.
“He is such a handsome devil,” her aunt Penelope said after the marquess had wandered away.
“Yes, he is.”
“I’ve heard he’s set his cap on you.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You could do far worse, my girl.”
“That is a ringing endorsement.”
All the wrinkles in her aunt’s face shifted around until she looked rather like a dried prune. “Whatever do you mean by that?”
“It just seems that one should set one’s standards a bit higher than simply not going with the worst.”
“You’re close to being on the shelf. You can’t be particularly picky. You had your love, which is more than most women have. Now you must settle in and do your duty.”
“Is one allowed love only once?”
“I daresay, if at all, once is all that one can hope for.”
“That’s a rather sad state of affairs for women, isn’t it?”
“It is the way of it, m’dear. I’m a bit parched. Perhaps you’d like to come with me to the refreshment room.”
So she could continue to be bombarded with such demoralizing commentary? “No, thank you. I believe I shall watch the dancers.”
After her aunt left, Anne moved farther back into the fronds. It wasn’t that she didn’t like being here. She loved the gaiety and the music and the lovely gowns. She enjoyed watching the gentlemen flirt, but she couldn’t quite relish them flirting with her. She caught speculative glances from time to time, knew they were sizing her up. She’d forgotten how calculating everything was. Perhaps she should simply drop every eligible bachelor’s name into a hat and draw one out. It seemed as good a solution as any if her aunt was correct in her assumption that love wouldn’t be part of the bargain. It would certainly save her time, humilia—
“I never took you to be a wallflower.”
Her breath hitched at the familiar silken voice that rasped near her ear. The tang of orange wafted around her. Fighting for composure, she slowly turned. Her heart pounded at the sight of Tristan, so devilishly handsome in his black swallowtailed coat. His face was bare of whiskers. His hair, while still long, had been trimmed. His light blue eyes were filled with devilment. “You,” she croaked.
He grinned, a grin that spoke of secrets shared. “Me.”
“Whatever are you doing here?”
“Speaking with you obviously.”
“But—” She was fighting not to panic. He shouldn’t be here. He
couldn’t
be here. “However did you get in?”
“Through a door.”
Oh, God, the infuriating man! “Invitations were required.”
“And I managed to gain one.”
“How?”
“I had hoped you’d be a bit more pleased to see me, rather than seeking answers to such trivial matters.”