Lord of Temptation (26 page)
I
n two hours Anne would be married, yet as she stood in front of the cheval glass in her gown of satin, lace, and tiny beaded pearls, she felt no measure of excitement. She liked Chetwyn. She surely did. Marriage to him would be proper. She would be proper. She adjusted the veil that fell from a wreath of orange blossoms and wished she’d chosen some other sort of blossom because oranges always reminded her of Tristan. And she didn’t want to think of him today. She didn’t want to think of him ever again.
She was wrapping about her finger the strip of leather that he had once used to bind his hair, to bind hers. She needed to toss it away, but she knew, instead, she would return it to her jewelry box before she left for the church.
“Don’t you look lovely, my lady,” Martha said. “Lord Chetwyn is such a fortunate man.”
“It is I who am fortunate.” The words were the proper thing to say, so why were her eyes burning? “I think you’ll be happy in Chetwyn’s household.”
“Ew.”
Anne turned to find her maid’s brow furrowed so deeply that she was surprised the woman didn’t yelp in pain. “Ew?”
Martha released a deep sigh. “I was going to tell you after the wedding—”
“Tell me what?”
She smiled brightly. “Mr. Peterson has asked me to marry him. I’ve said yes.”
Anne took Martha’s hands. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Congratulations. Although I don’t understand why that should make you dread Chetwyn’s household.”
“Oh, I don’t dread his house, but telling you, m’lady, that I won’t be going. I’m giving my notice.”
Releasing her hold on Martha, Anne scoffed. “That’s a silly thing to do. It’ll be years before he returns—”
“No, he came back last night. Said he missed me too much and had the captain turn the ship about.”
Anne’s heart slammed against her ribs. “They’re in port?”
Martha nodded. “Yes, miss.”
Anne’s gaze shot to the window. What was she expecting for God’s sake? To see Tristan clambering into her bedchamber?
“But they’re setting sail again this afternoon,” Martha continued. “Just not with Mr. Peterson. He’s given up the sea. He’s going to work in a shipping office or some such. He’s saved his money so we can purchase a home. I don’t have to work any more.”
“Oh, Martha, I’m so happy for you.”
“I’m happy for myself.” Her smile grew. “I never thought to find love. He’s a good man.”
“I’ve no doubt of that.”
A brisk knock sounded on her door. Martha hurried over to open it. Stiff and clearly unhappy, Jameson stood beside Chetwyn. “Leave us, Martha,” her brother ordered.
Martha gave Anne a quick look before scampering into the hallway.
“Chetwyn wishes to speak with you before the nuptials. Highly unusual, but I’ve granted him permission. However, the door is to remain op—”
Chetwyn stepped into the bedchamber and slammed the door shut in her brother’s face. Anne pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter. She could only imagine Jameson’s startled expression. She’d never seen Chetwyn so forceful. It was a bit disconcerting to realize that it excited her to see him this way.
He strode to the fireplace, raised his arm, pressed it against the mantel, and stared into the cold empty hearth. “Do wish I’d stopped by your father’s study for a bit of spirits.”
“I have some brandy.”
Looking over his shoulder at her, he grinned. “Do you?”
“Yes, would you like some?”
He shook his head. “No, I suppose not. You should know, Anne, that I will treat you kindly.”
“I never doubted that.”
“You will never want for anything. I am convinced and believe with all my heart that I can provide you with a satisfactory life. But I daresay that I believe you deserve more.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I think Lord Tristan is a rotten bastard,” he continued. “But be that as it may, I’ve seen the way he looks at you and more, I’ve seen the way you look at him.”
“How is that, my lord?” she dared to ask.
“As though you are the only two people who exist in the world.” He faced her completely. “Do you love me, Anne?”
She dreaded answering him. She didn’t want to hurt him but she couldn’t begin today with a lie.
“I don’t love you either,” he said as though she had responded. “I asked you to marry me because of Walter’s letter. I’ve come to the unfortunate conclusion at a rather inconvenient time that it’s not enough upon which to base a marriage.”
“Walter’s letter?”
He reached into a pocket inside his jacket and removed a yellowed crumpled piece of paper. “He was ill when he wrote it. I suspect he knew he would die. He asked me to see that you were happy, and I thought that I could ensure that best if you were my wife. I thought I owed him that at least. I pushed him into joining a regiment, into making his own way. Our coffers are thin, you see, and I didn’t want to give him an allowance. Then we declared war on Russia and I told him to sell his commission. Marriage to you would bring him a dowry; he could make do with that. But he didn’t want to be seen as a coward. It’s my fault he’s dead.”
“No, Chetwyn.” Her heart going out to him, she crossed over and placed her hand on his cheek. She had yet to put on her gloves and she was grateful she could offer him a warm touch of comfort. “He always liked playing soldier as a lad. You know that. Nothing you could have said would have swayed him from going. His heart was set on it. You can’t hold yourself responsible. We all have to make our choices and live with them.”
“Is that what
we’re
doing, Anne? Making choices with which we must live?”
“Are you crying off?” she asked, halfway teasing, halfway serious, not quite sure what she wanted his answer to be.
“We beat him up you know.”
“Who? Walter?”
“No. Lord Tristan.”
Her stomach tightening, she stepped away.
“The night he came to the club,” Chetwyn explained. “After he told us that he had attempted to seduce you but that nothing occurred between you and he. We escorted him outside and pummeled him. Rather badly, actually. He didn’t lift a hand to stop us.”
“No, he wouldn’t have.”
“I thought he’d have been a better fighter, that he would have held his own against us.”
“He certainly could have if he’d chosen. I saw him beat off the ruffians that my idiot brother hired while barely mussing his clothes.”
“So why didn’t he resist?”
“I suspect because he thought he deserved the beating. Or maybe he wouldn’t hurt those I care for. Probably the latter,” she said after a bit more thought.
“Do you love him, Anne?”
Tears burning her eyes, she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. The sea is his home . . . and what sort of life would that be for a lady?”
“If it includes love, I should think it would be a very wonderful life, indeed.”
“Oh, Chetwyn.” A sob broke free, and he enfolded her in his arms. He smelled of tart spices while she longed for the fragrance of oranges.
“I vowed that I would honor Walter’s request and see you happy, but I don’t believe your happiness lies with me.”
“According to my maid, he’s sailing off today.”
“Then it seems to me that you should tell him how you feel before he goes. My carriage is in the drive if you wish to go somewhere.”
“My father and brothers have taken to watching me like a hawk.”
“I shall entice them into the library to drink a toast to my happiness.”
Leaning back, she studied his strong features and thought it was quite possible that in time she would have come to love him. “I hope someday you find a woman who deserves you.”
“Meanwhile, darling Anne, let’s stop Walter’s ghost from coming to haunt us, shall we?”
Laughing, she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “By all means.”
T
ristan read the words a third and final time. He’d never been a man of indecision and he wasn’t one now. He knew what he wanted, and while he wasn’t quite certain he’d acquire it, he did know that he’d live with regret for the remainder of his life if he didn’t at least try.
With a deep sigh, he dipped the pen into the inkwell and scrawled his name on the designated line. Dropping the pen on his desk, he headed for the doorway.
“Just like that and you’re done?” Jenkins asked.
Tristan paused at the door and glanced back over his shoulder. “I have a church to get to.”
“Good luck, Cap’n.”
He was going to need a good deal more than luck. Tristan rushed through the door and up the stairs to the deck. His plan had been to get off the ship as quickly as possible, but he needed one more moment. Just one.
He went to the railing, wrapped his hands around the familiar wood that had become worn over the years—
“Tristan! Tristan!”
He jerked his attention to the docks and watched as Anne, dressed in ivory, with a veil and a swath of skirts billowing out behind her, ran along the warped planks, dodging this way and that to avoid the working men. His heart lurched, tightened, threatened to stop. What the devil was she doing here?
“Anne!”
“Tristan!” She began frantically waving her arm as though he couldn’t see her.
But even a heavy fog wouldn’t have kept him from seeing her. And certainly nothing was going to keep him from her. He leaped over the railing and jogged down the gangway. He reached the dock in time to gather her in his arms. “Anne.”
Damnation but it felt so good to hold her again, as though he’d finally come home.
“I’m going with you,” she said, clinging to him. “I don’t care if it’s improper. I don’t care if my reputation will be ruined or no gent will want me after you’re done with me—”
Leaning back, he pressed his thumb to her lips before she could utter any more nonsensical words. “Why in God’s name would I ever be done with you?”
“Because I’m not a proper lady. Because I’ve lain with you without benefit of marriage. I know it makes me the sort of woman that a man doesn’t want forever. But I don’t care. I don’t care if you never marry me. I don’t care if I live in sin and my family refuses to acknowledge me. I’ll travel the world with you. I’ll swim naked in ponds and—”
“You don’t swim.”
“I’ll learn. Just please. Take me with you to the far side of the world.”
“I can’t, sweetheart.”
He saw the devastation of rejection fill her eyes and he wanted to kick himself for the words he’d spoken and the ones he hadn’t. “I’ve sold my ship, Anne.”
She blinked, the shock of his words apparent. “Why ever would you do that?”
“So you’d have no doubt that I was committed to living a life on land. I was on my way to the church, to embarrass you in front of all of London. I was going to charge to the front of the sanctuary, kneel down, and ask you to become my wife before you had a chance to exchange vows with Chetwyn.”
Smiling brightly, she laughed. “Were you really?”
“I love you, Anne, so damned much that it terrifies me. But a life without you terrifies me more. I don’t need the sea. All I need is you. We’ll find a posh house here in London and one in the country and I’ll be a gentleman that you can be proud of.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, my darling, I am proud of you. And you are a gentleman and a gentle man in spite of the hardships of your life. I love you, Tristan. I didn’t want to. I didn’t think I ever wanted to love again because the potential for hurt is so great, but so is the potential for happiness. With you I’m happy. With Chetwyn, I would be only content. I don’t care if we live in London or the country or a cottage by the sea. I only care that I’m in your arms.”
“That, my darling, is where you shall always be.”
C
hetwyn stood off to the side of the vestry. He’d told Anne that he would keep the guests waiting some fifteen moments before announcing that no wedding would take place—on the off chance that Lord Tristan broke her heart and she still wanted to marry Chetwyn.
“I can’t believe you sent her to him,” Jameson grumbled. He was beside Chetwyn while her father stood at the window, also not terribly pleased with Chetwyn at the moment.
“She loves him and well you know it. I daresay she loves him more than she loved Walter.”
“He’s not a proper lord.”
“I suspect his father, if he were still alive, would disagree.”
Jameson scoffed.
Chetwyn heard a commotion at the front of the church and stepped toward the doors. Anne strolled in with Lord Tristan at her side. Behind them were the Duke and Duchess of Keswick and Lord Rafe Easton. Taking a deep breath, he went to greet them.
“Well, it seems I shall announce that a wedding will not be taking place this morning.”
“Not necessarily,” Lord Tristan said. “I already obtained a special license.”
Chetwyn fought not to be taken aback. He knew it was something that couldn’t be done in a day, so apparently marriage to Anne was something Lord Tristan had been planning. “Cheeky bugger. What if she’d say no?”
“But I didn’t,” Anne said. Leaning up, she kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Chetwyn.”
He thought she’d never looked more beautiful. Her eyes were filled with such joy, joy he didn’t think would be there if she was going to be marrying him.
“You’re very welcome.”
Then Lord Tristan turned to Anne’s father, Lord Blackwood. “My lord, I know having me in your family is probably the last thing you would ever wish for, but I treasure Anne with all my heart. She will never want for anything that is within my realm to provide. But I cannot give her your blessing. That must come from you. I hope you will bestow it.”
Lord Blackwood approached his daughter. “Are you sure about this, Anne?”
“I love him, Father. With or without your blessing, I intend to spend the remainder of my life with him. It would be easier with your blessing.”
“Then God help me, you have it.”
With tears in her eyes, Anne hugged her father. “Thank you.”
“Lord Jameson—” Tristan began.
“I won’t give my blessing.”
“I’m not fool enough to ask for it, but I thought if Lady Hermione were here—”
“She is.”
“Perhaps you would ensure she doesn’t create a fuss.”
Jameson straightened his shoulders. “I’ll do it for Anne. Not for you.”
Chetwyn wondered if Jameson realized he was also doing it for himself.
“I say, Chetwyn, I was wondering if you might stand with me,” Lord Tristan said.
Chetwyn could not have been more surprised if the man had asked for
his
hand in marriage. “Surely your brother—”
“If you would honor this request, I think it would go a long way to smoothing things over for Anne and the scandal we’ve stirred up. I also have an additional request.”
As Chetwyn listened, he couldn’t help but think that Walter was smiling down on them with approval.
L
ady Hermione could hardly countenance that Lord Tristan was standing at the altar slightly behind Lord Chetwyn. She wondered what that was about. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Lord Tristan had returned and he would no doubt be at the reception. She could apologize to him for her deception and work to convince him that he belonged with her.
It had been difficult to come here today, to suffer the stares and speculative looks, but she had wanted to witness Lady Anne’s marriage, to see her nemesis permanently removed as a threat. Surely Lord Tristan was standing beside Lord Chetwyn as a symbol that he was glad the lady would no longer be available to him. For she had lied as well, saying that she’d been intimate with him, when all she’d done was sail on his ship.
Perhaps later this afternoon, Lord Tristan would take Hermione aboard his ship. They could sail the world—even if she got dreadfully sick in a rowboat. A ship would be different. His ship would be different. Perhaps they would even kiss. It wasn’t fair that he’d never even tried to steal a kiss from her.
She was startled from her reverie as Lord Jameson edged onto the pew beside her.
Organ music floated toward the rafters and everyone stood as Lady Anne glided down the aisle, her hand on her father’s arm. As she neared the altar, Lord Tristan stepped out from behind Lord Chetwyn and took his place beside her.
“No,” she whispered and started to move past Lord Jameson.
“Let my sister have her moment.”
She jerked her gaze up to Lord Jameson. His eyes held pity—no, sadness. For her. She wanted to weep. Lord Tristan would forever be beyond her reach if she didn’t stop it. But then she realized he had always been so. She simply had been too foolish to admit it.
As everyone took their seats, Lady Hermione sank onto the hard pew.
Lord Jameson leaned near her and whispered, “At the reception at my father’s house there will be dancing. Perhaps you would honor me with your first dance.”
She looked at him then, really looked at him. Hadn’t Lord Tristan told her that Lord Jameson was for her? Hadn’t he bid on her at that awful charity ball when no one else had?
In answer to his question, she simply wrapped her hand around his. He gave her a small smile before turning his attention to the ceremony.
Something in her shifted and she saw him quite differently. He was far more handsome than Lord Tristan. More polished. And someday he would be an earl. Lord Tristan, well, he would always be merely a second son.
She realized something else as well. Lord Jameson had always been there for her. How could she have overlooked him with such ease? What a silly chit she’d been.
A
nne watched as Tristan stepped around Chetwyn to take his place beside her. The favor he had asked of Chetwyn was to stand in the groom’s place until Anne arrived at the altar. He feared if he was initially standing there that the speculation and gossip would create a stir that would detract from her entrance.
Based on the sharp intakes of breath, gasps, murmurings, and whispers, she suspected he’d been right. She imagined the loudest of all was Lady Hermione’s but Jameson was with her now, and he would keep her from ruining this moment, even if it meant carrying the barnacle out of the church.
Then Anne was no longer thinking of Lady Hermione or the people in the pews. All her attention was focused on the strong handsome man standing in front of her. She didn’t know what had possessed her to think she could have married anyone else, that she would have been content with him off sailing the world without her at his side.
She loved him so much, wounded soul and all. They were each broken in their own way, but somehow the cracks and fissures allowed them to fit together perfectly.
He looked so deeply into her eyes that she felt as though he touched the very core of her. In his improper way, he’d managed to do everything right. He’d asked her father for his blessing. He’d included Chetwyn so he wouldn’t feel completely cast aside.
As words about love and devotion echoed around her, she slid her gaze to Chetwyn. With a smile, he winked at her. She did hope he would find someone worthy of him. She was glad that he didn’t hold it against her for not being that person. He was so remarkably good. She would always be grateful to him.
As she exchanged vows with Tristan, she knew Chetwyn was correct: she was on the path to having a very wonderful life, indeed.
W
ith the moon turning the water to silver, Anne stood on the deck of the
Revenge
with Tristan’s arms wrapped tightly around her. It seemed an appropriate place to be for their first night together as husband and wife. He’d paid Jenkins to take them to Yorkshire. They planned to stay at the ancestral estate at Pembrook, in his brother’s new residence, while they searched for a home of their own.
She didn’t think she’d ever known such happiness.
He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck. “Had enough of the sea, my love?”
She leaned back against him. “Will you truly be able to stay away from it?”
“Bit late to be questioning me about it now.”
“Tristan, I’m serious.”
“I thought it was the traveling I loved, the exploration, the adventure. But I came to realize it was simply that I was lost. I thought my home was the sea, and instead, I finally realized that my home was with you.”
She turned about in his arms and cradled his face between her hands. “Poetic words, Tristan, but not an answer.”
“I might need the sea from time to time, but not the far side of the world. We’ll get a smaller ship, perhaps. We’ll sail around Great Britain. Picnic on an island. I can be content with a piece of the sea as long as I have you.”
“You shall always have me.”
Rising up on her toes, she pressed her body to his as she kissed him. She could hardly countenance now that she had thought she could not endure the loneliness if she married him. A bit of time with him was preferable to none at all. She would always have a tender regard for Chetwyn for his forcing her to face that fact. Walter had taught her that life was short, could be snatched away at any moment. Chetwyn had shown her that it was not enough to be content. Tristan had revealed to her that love was based on choices, sacrifices, and passion. A passion that was not limited to bedchambers.
She had loved Walter. She truly had. But what she felt for Tristan went beyond anything she’d ever experienced.
As his mouth moved expertly over hers, she heard the distant lowing of a whale. It didn’t sound quite as lonely as it had before. Perhaps because now her heart and soul were filled to overflowing with love for this man who held her as though she were his anchor, his mooring.
He lifted her into his arms, and she nestled her head into the crook of his shoulder. The curious had been at the reception her father had held for her following the marriage ceremony. While there was some tension in the air—she wasn’t certain if her brothers would ever fully embrace Tristan—she’d been too happy to give it much credence.
The Duke of Keswick had been the one to raise his glass in a toast to them. “To my brother and the lovely lady who brought him home.”
It had seemed simple enough, but she suspected there were undercurrents in his words. Tristan had returned home two years ago, but she knew he had still been adrift. They’d both lost their moorings, had been floundering about with no tether.
But now her life again had purpose, her feet were sturdy on the path. She, too, was home.
Once locked inside the cabin, they took their time removing each other’s clothes, building the anticipation when they would once again come together after what had seemed ages. He had new scars: a small one above his left brow, a tiny one on his chin. Gifts from her brothers, no doubt. She gently touched the faint, fading bruising on his ribs.
“You shouldn’t have let them beat you,” she said.
“I didn’t think you’d much like it if I tore into them. Besides I deserved it.” He cupped her face. “I’d hurt you, Anne. I’ll never hurt you again.”
His mouth covered hers, and she couldn’t help but think that she would have this taste, this heat, this passion for the remainder of her life. Anytime she wanted it. He would be there. Yet even knowing she would have no lonely nights without him, she was greedy for tonight.
It was she who deepened the kiss. She who stroked. She who led them to the bed.
When his weight came down on her, she curled around him, held him near. Happy. So gloriously happy. Had she truly thought she could live the remainder of her life without this, without him?
What a silly goose.
“Hmm?” he murmured as he swirled his tongue over the shell of her ear.
She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. “I was just thinking what a silly goose I was to think I could be content with anyone other than you.”
Lifting himself up, he gazed down into her eyes and she couldn’t help but remember that first night. His crystal blue eyes held a tenderness now that they hadn’t then. Oh, there was still the deviltry in them, there always would be. She knew that it was a lingering piece from his youth—something in him that his uncle had failed to destroy, something that lashings couldn’t dim, something that Society couldn’t tame. She wished he’d suffered none of the hardships that had plagued his life, but she also knew they had brought him to her. This remarkable man, whom she loved so deeply.
“I’m glad you came to your senses,” he said.
“Me?
My
senses?” She laughed. “You sold your ship.”
“Glad I came to my senses as well. Dear God, but I love you, Anne. I would have had a wretched lonely life if you hadn’t married me.”
“How could I refuse to marry you when I love you so desperately? I love everything that comprises you—the sea captain and the lord. They’re so intertwined. You may think they’re different aspects to you, but they’re not. Even when I knew you only as a captain, I always thought there was a certain nobility in you, in your deportment. When I discovered you were a lord, I could still see the courageous and commanding sea captain. And always, there was the wicked man you were.”
“Wicked in a good way?”
Her grin widened. “Definitely in a good way. Be wicked now, my love.”
“Only if you’ll join me in the wickedness.”
She did. Wholeheartedly. Touching, stroking, tasting.
They explored each other as though it were their first coupling, as though they’d arrived on an uncharted island and were carefully making their way around it. Yet laced throughout was the familiarity that they had traveled here before.
When he joined his body to hers, she wanted to cry out with the wonder of it. He was hers, absolutely, completely. And she was his.
When the pleasure soared through her, she did cry out—his name—and she heard her name forced through clenched teeth. Their voices mingled, become one just as their bodies had.
Rolling to the side, he brought her up against him, tucked her in close.