The only thing worse than watching a ticking clock was watching a window.
Sitting in a chair near said window, Anne knew it was ridiculous to waste her time wondering if Tristan would show. She hadn’t liked watching him trot off with Lady Hermione—especially as he would have been trotting with her if her family hadn’t approved Chetwyn escorting her to the park. For all she knew, perhaps he would be slipping into Lady Hermione’s bedchamber tonight. She didn’t want to acknowledge the queasiness that thought caused, but there it was—taunting her.
She wanted to shout out that he was hers, but he wasn’t of course. She was little more than a passing fancy. Convenient on the ship. Convenient now with the dratted tree growing outside her window. She should have had the gardener chop it down when she returned home late this afternoon. That would certainly send a message to Tristan that his attentions weren’t wanted.
But when she heard a faint scraping and saw a booted foot appearing over the window ledge, her gladness mocked her. Blast it! Why did she have to be so thrilled that he’d come to her?
He grinned right before he pulled her from the chair and covered her mouth with his, plowing his hands into her hair. She was vaguely aware of pins pinging as they hit the floor. Mostly she was lost in the sensations that his kiss invoked. Why did he have to be so skilled at causing her body to hum with so little effort?
But she wanted more than the physical. She wanted to mean something special to him. He was beginning to touch her heart and that terrified her. She broke free of the kiss and stepped away from him. “I suppose you’ll be climbing into Lady Hermione’s window next.”
“Doubtful. She doesn’t have a tree growing outside her window.”
With a fury she’d not expected ripping through her, she pounded her balled fist into his shoulder. He snatched her wrist and jerked her to him, holding her near, their bodies pressed together. “Jealous, Princess?”
“Absolutely not.”
Tenderness touched his eyes and he skimmed his fingers along her cheek. “She could have stairs leading to her window, and I’d still not go through it.”
She despised the relief that swamped her. There was no hope for her to have anything with him beyond this—a few nights of secreted lovemaking. He was not a man to be tied to shore. And she was not a woman who could go long unanchored.
She’d learned that lesson well enough after Walter’s passing. She’d been too lost with no mooring.
Suddenly Tristan was kissing her once again, scattering her thoughts before they refocused on the sensations he elicited with such ease. She could almost imagine that she would have this for the remainder of her life. He dragged his heated mouth along her throat.
“I hated seeing you with him.”
She knew of whom he spoke: Chetwyn. She dropped back her head, giving him easier access to the tender flesh. “He arranged the outing with Father. I couldn’t very well say no.”
“Say no next time,” he demanded.
She heard herself murmuring her agreement to do just that. She thought he could have asked for her soul, and at that precise moment she’d have not argued before handing it over. When he was nibbling at the sensitive spot below her ear, he robbed her of strength, of will, of purpose. She felt buttons loosening, air cooling her dampened skin, and somehow it was enough to bring her round. Wrenching free of his hold, she stepped away.
“We can’t do this. My father is still in residence, in his bedchamber, just down the hall. He wasn’t feeling well this evening.”
Mischief in his eyes, he took a step toward her. “We can be very quiet.”
Oh, he was alluring. Temptation in human form. She forced herself to skitter over to the sofa. “No, I can’t. I could never relax. I could never stop thinking that he might burst through the door at any moment. That somehow he would know.” She shook her head briskly and crossed her arms over her chest. “You should probably go.”
He glanced around, before bringing his gaze back to her. “I was disappointed this afternoon. I was very much looking forward to enjoying the park with you.”
She sank on the arm of a chair. “I was disappointed as well. Since we’ve met nothing we’ve done seems to lean toward the normal. I suppose you could stay and we could visit for a bit, as long as we didn’t laugh or speak in loud tones.”
“We can kiss quietly.”
She released a bitter laugh. “But that will lead to other things, you know it will. I am beginning to feel very much like a trollop.”
Stepping nearer, he skimmed his rough knuckles over her cheek. “I don’t treat you as I would a trollop. You must know that.”
“But neither do you treat me as someone you were courting.”
He swung away, toward the window, and it took every bit of pride she could muster not to call him back. She knew the words would strike at the heart of the differences between them. He wanted only now. She wanted forever.
He came to an abrupt halt. “I don’t want to go, dammit. All day, I’ve thought of nothing save being here with you tonight. Even when Hermione was rhapsodizing on about bows on a bonnet”—he faced her—“all my thoughts were on you. I’m not ready to leave.”
It was obvious he hated admitting that. She wondered if it was so terribly wrong of her to be so glad. “I noticed you had chess pieces in your quarters, so I assume you play. It’s a rather quiet game that wouldn’t get us noticed.”
“Chess?”
“With a slight change to the rules.”
“That I allow you to win? Play with only half my pieces?”
“I have enough confidence in my skill not to require that of you, but I thought it might prove interesting if when we capture a piece we are granted the privilege of asking something of the other, and then the other would be obliged to comply with the request.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Such as?”
“Well, I might ask you to describe your favorite island.”
“Seems innocent enough.”
“Yes, quite, it will be. It’ll provide an opportunity for us to get to know each other better.”
His gaze leisurely traveled the length of her. “I know you quite well, Princess.”
“My favorite color? My dearest friend?”
“Lilac. Lady Fayrehaven.”
She stared at him open-mouthed. “How—”
“I’m quite observant.”
She desperately wanted to be able to ask questions of him, which meant she needed to entice him into wanting to play by her rules. “Who gave me my first kiss?”
He grinned. “I accept your rule, but I’ll add one of my own—whoever wins may demand a boon of the other.”
The wicked glint in his eyes might have given her pause if she had ever lost to her brothers. She suspected he was going to be quite surprised to discover that she knew her way very well around a chessboard.
“I accept your rule. Wait here. I shall fetch my father’s board and pieces.” She hurried to the door, stopped, and looked back over her shoulder. “I’m so very glad you’re staying.”
“We’ll see if you feel the same once I’ve beaten you”—his gaze slid to her bed—“and claimed my boon, with or without your father down the hall.”
After two seconds of misgivings, she almost tossed a taunt back at him, but decided it would be much more fun to have him learn the hard way that beating her would not come easy, if it came at all.
She set up the chessboard on the carpet in front of the fireplace. While she’d been gone, Tristan had started a small fire to create a cozier atmosphere. Now the flames danced and crackled. She’d doused all the lamps. He suspected their game of chess might turn into a game of seduction, especially if he had his way. He thought she knew him, but if she did she’d have not asked him to stay. He wanted her again; he intended to have her before dawn.
They were three moves in before she took his pawn and rolled it saucily between her fingers. “How did you acquire your ship?”
Not at all what he was expecting. It was a fairly innocent question, and yet he hesitated. He never spoke of his life on the sea, had already revealed far more of it to her than he ever had to anyone else. He studied her for a moment before answering, “I stole it from pirates.”
“Truly?” Her eyes were wide, and for a moment innocent. He wished he’d known her before her life had been touched by sadness. He wished he could play with the earnestness that she desired, but he had little patience for it—perhaps because much of his life had been simply a game. Hide where no one can find you. Be someone that no one will recognize. Bury everything deep, reveal nothing. Be as a phantom.
Through the years, he had created tales about himself. Not that he ever spread them, but he thought if anyone should ever ask . . . and here she was asking. But he couldn’t give her the fictional world of Captain Crimson Jack. So he told her the truth.
“No. I won it playing cards.”
“A man would actually bet his ship on the chance of a random draw being in his favor?”
He shrugged. “He wanted the money that was sitting in the center of the table.”
“Did you cheat?”
“You’ll have to take another piece before I’ll answer that.” He watched the way she scrutinized him, saw the disappointment flicker in her eyes, and knew it had nothing to do with his not answering, but with her accurately deducing the truth. He had cheated, dammit. But then so had the men with whom he’d been playing. The encounter hadn’t been so much about the cards but about how well a man could manipulate them without being caught. As with all things, he was very skilled with manipulation. Hadn’t he gotten her aboard his ship when she had decided she didn’t want to be there?
“You renamed it Revenge.”
She hadn’t asked it as a question, and he was feeling magnanimous so he replied, “Yes.”
Two moves later he captured one of her pawns. “Remove your bodice.”
She narrowed those lovely eyes, pursed those succulent lips that he was aching to kiss. “The rules are that you ask a question—”
“Those are not the terms you laid out. You said I could ask of you what I would and you would comply.”
She scoffed. “Yes, but—” Then huffed. “Anyone of any intelligence would know what I meant.”
“I have no interest in playing a game of questions.”
“Have you no interest in me beyond my body?”
He merely arched a brow and quirked up a corner of his mouth in answer.
“I know. You’re a man. Of course, you’re interested in only my body.”
She was upset with him, but she held up to her end of the bargain, even if she nearly ripped off a button doing it. He did want to know the particulars about her but that was so dangerous, more dangerous than having her in his bed. It would create a bond, a deeper intimacy—
Who in the bloody hell did he think he was fooling? The intimacy had been forged in tears when he’d knelt beside her at the British cemetery, and what remained of his heart had nearly shattered alongside hers.
She made her move, garnered no captives, and while it was not very wise strategically, he snatched up another one of her pawns.
“I suppose a corset,” she said sharply.
He’d been considering a shoe, saving the best for last. Instead he heard himself ask, “What became of your mother?”
She might have looked less surprised if he’d said, “By the by, I normally wear women’s clothing when I prance about the ship.”
“She passed,” she finally said. “Three years ago. Influenza. Father had a fondness for her. I don’t know if he loved her. He barely adjusted his stride.”
Tristan didn’t like the thought that popped into his head: if he discovered tomorrow that she had died, he’d have no stride to adjust because the devastation of learning she was no longer in the world would drop him to his knees. These were odd feelings, only for now, only while he was in her presence. Once he was back on the sea, they would leave him. He needed them to leave him. How could he concentrate on his charts, the stars, the storms if he was constantly thinking of her?
“I believe that’s the reason he lost patience with my mourning,” she continued. “It must have been completely incomprehensible to him that I could have been sad and melancholy for so long over someone to whom I was never married.”
“Are you still sad and melancholy?” He didn’t think so, but then he held a tight leash on his emotions.
She gave him an impish smile. “You’ll need to take another piece if you want me to answer that question.”
As she positioned her knight, he considered that perhaps she had answered it. Would her eyes be sparkling with such mischievousness if she were still sad over her betrothed’s passing? Would she be entertaining Tristan now, matching each of his moves with skill and cunning?
And she was entertaining him, but then she always did. From the moment she’d walked into the tavern from the rain, she kept him on his toes, challenged him, intrigued him, made him resent the moment when she would walk away. Everything about her fascinated him. She could be doing little more than sitting there breathing and he was content to watch her.
She grabbed his rook, let her gaze travel over him, and his muscles tensed as he wondered what item of clothing she’d have him remove. Now the game was definitely going to begin to get interesting.
“When you were a boy,” she began, “before you left Pembrook, when you thought of your future, what did you see yourself becoming as a man?”
Another damned question? He’d been halfway toward his buttons. “I’m the second son of a nobleman; I didn’t give it a good deal of thought. My options were few.”
“But they were still there,” she insisted. “Were you going to be a gentleman of leisure? A clergyman—”
“One must believe in God to serve his parishioners.”
Her brow furrowed deeply, until he wanted to reach across and smooth it out. “How can you not? With the wonders you’ve seen—”
“Changing your question, Princess?”
She snapped her mouth closed in a mulish expression. “No.”
It had been a long time, a very long time since he’d thought about his youth. As a rule he never let his thoughts drift farther back than the night they ran away. He stretched out on his side and rose up on an elbow to give himself time to arrange his memories. What had he planned? By fourteen, surely he had some inkling as to what he would do.
“You’ve chastised me before for discussing finances, but our estate provides a very nice income. Part of the reason Uncle no doubt wanted it. I would have had an allowance. I suppose I would have been a good deal like your brothers: drinking, gambling, seeking out the ladies.” He shrugged. “Much as I do now. Only now I have my own coins to toss about. And I would probably dismiss anyone who was not like me.”
Would he look at Mouse and see a cripple, instead of the potential for what he might be? Would he look at Peterson and see a lumbering hulk instead of a man who would protect his back at any cost? Would he see only Jenkin’s surliness and not a man who was hiding secrets, much as he once had?
“My brothers do have a rather narrow view of the world, don’t they?” She arched a brow. “That wasn’t a question, it was merely rhetorical. But I can’t see you being like them.”
Neither could he. He knocked over her bishop. “Take off your left shoe.”
He didn’t like where the questions were going. He didn’t want her to pry into his soul, his past, his regrets. He didn’t want to consider what he might have missed out on, what he might have gained.
Doing as he bid, she tossed the shoe at him. He caught it easily, studied it, concentrated on what he knew from holding her feet in the palms of his hands. He wanted them there now instead of the distance of this board between them. “You have such small feet. However do you walk on them?”
“You took only one piece, Captain.”
“Is that who I am tonight?” he asked. “The captain?”
She scrutinized him. “Aren’t the captain and Lord Tristan one in the same?”
No, he was comfortable as the captain. Knew his place, his role, his destinations. He had goals, dreams for what he would accomplish. Lord Tristan—it was as though he no longer existed.
He’d attended a ball for the sole purpose of dancing with one lady. Did gentlemen go because they wanted to be there? She made a move, he took a pawn. “Do your brothers enjoy attending balls?”
“I’m not certain they enjoy them so much as tolerate them.” As though understanding what he was truly asking, she added, “Chetwyn seems to enjoy them but then he’s hunting for a wife.”
“Will he make a good husband?”
She hesitated, and he knew she was trying to decide whether to stick to their rules of one question per piece, but then she said, “Yes, I believe he will.”
She boldly moved out her queen. He ignored it for a pawn. That was the piece’s purpose after all. To provide fodder, distraction, sacrifice. “Why?”
Anne wasn’t certain what she’d expected to accomplish when she suggested this game. She knew she wasn’t ready for him to leave. Perhaps she’d hoped to learn more about the mysterious particulars that surrounded him. But his latest question flummoxed her. To compare Chetwyn to Tristan was to compare an unfolding blossom to a raging storm. In both there was beauty, power, something to be appreciated. But they were hardly the same. She had tasted a storm. Could she be content with a rose?
She cleared her throat. “He’s kind.”
Reaching across, he trailed his finger over her hand where it rested in her lap. “Many men are kind.”
“He’s generous.” Then she realized—
“I’m comfortable with him. I never have to measure my words.”
“Or your actions.”
“A lady must always measure her actions.” She balled her hand into a fist, moved it beyond his touch because she was growing warm. “I don’t always measure them with you.”
“Do you regret that?”
She hated the stupid game, the questions it was eliciting. She wished she’d never suggested it. She shook her head. “No, I would not take back a single moment but neither would I boast about it. I should hope that you wouldn’t either.”
“Your secrets are safe with me.”
“As yours are with me.” She moved her queen. “Have you a secret you wish to share?”
“I didn’t notice you capturing a piece.”
“Tristan, you don’t have to take the rules of the game so literally.”
“Well, then there is something I want to share, but you must never tell.”
“I won’t. I’ve already promised. You can trust me.”
Leaning across the board, he cupped her face with one hand and steadied himself with the other. He stroked her chin, circled his thumb around her mouth. “No one knows this, not even my brothers.”
Gazing into his eyes, she could see the seriousness there. “Tell me.”
He pressed his cheek to hers. She heard him breathing in her scent. His lips toyed with her lobe, before he whispered, “I am very, very skilled at chess. Checkmate.”
“What? No!” Shoving him back, she stared at the board. He’d somehow managed to move his bishop into position while leaning toward her. He had her.
“My boon,” he said. “Meet me in the mews tomorrow at midnight. We’re going to the ship.”
“I’m not sailing—”
“It’ll stay moored. You, however, shall journey into the land of pleasure.”
She contemplated not living up to her end of the bargain. He’d obviously cheated, because she didn’t lose at chess, ever, but she couldn’t determine how he’d managed to do it. By distracting her, she supposed.
Wearing her pelisse with the hood raised over her head, she slipped out into the night. It was far easier than she’d anticipated, but she’d taken no more than a half-dozen steps when Tristan was beside her.
“I thought we were going to meet in the mews,” she whispered.
“I couldn’t wait to be near you again.”
Oh, he was such a flirtatious devil, and yet he sounded incredibly sincere. Her weak heart chose to believe in the sincerity. Before she knew it they were in an enclosed carriage traveling through the streets. He sat beside her, his hand wrapped around hers. The intimacy of it astounded her. Chetwyn had done the same and yet this, somehow, seemed more profound, not nearly as casual. Perhaps because she knew what awaited her on his ship.
She was rather surprised that he wasn’t devouring her within the quiet confines of the carriage, yet neither could she deny the mounting anticipation.
“Will you attend other balls this Season?” she asked.
“Only if you’re there.”
“You’re so flirtatious.”
“I’ve never said anything to you that I didn’t mean.”
She looked over at him, lost in the shadows. They’d not lit the lantern inside the carriage, which made their clandestine meeting seem even more forbidding. “I suppose, being with you now that I can no longer deny we’re lovers. Have you had many?”
She sensed a stillness in him. If possible, he’d gone even quieter. Finally, he said, “I believe you’re my first.”
“Lover?” she scoffed. “Now I know you lie.”
With the hand not holding hers, he cradled her face and she was immensely grateful for the shadows now. She didn’t want him to see how his words sliced.
“I’ve been with women, Anne. I’ve never denied that. But the trysts with each of them were few, and there was never this undeniable yearning that no other woman would do. If you had decided not to come with me tonight, I’d have not sought solace with another because I’ve no doubt the encounter would have been lacking simply because she wasn’t you. The words sound trite when spoken. And false. But for whatever reason, you are the only one who appeals to me at this moment.”
At this moment. But what of the next? she wanted to ask. How many moments would she intrigue him? How many before he’d had his fill and would look for greener pastures—or in his case, she supposed, bluer water? Yet even as the doubts assailed her, she couldn’t deny the truth of what she was feeling. “I know I should be ashamed of my behavior and yet I can’t seem to regret it.”
“For which I’m incredibly grateful.”
She saw him flash a smile in the darkness. Or perhaps she only imagined seeing it. Still she knew it was there. In spite of all he’d suffered, he’d not lost the ability to smile, and that was part of his appeal. He didn’t mope about wishing that his life had taken different turns. Instead, he forged ahead on the path that had been set before him.
She wondered if that was part of the reason that her brothers and the other lords didn’t like him. They couldn’t force him to fit into their world, and they feared they’d find themselves lacking if faced with the challenges that had confronted him. He’d been a boy, younger than Mouse, metaphorically thrown to the sharks.
When they stepped out of the carriage she tried to imagine what it might have been like those many years ago. With her arm wrapped securely around his, as they walked among crates littering the dock, she asked, “Were you frightened?”
“Pardon?”
“When you were put on your first ship. Were you frightened?”
Occasional lanterns fought to hold the darkness at bay, and she could see the harsh lines of his face. How different they might have been with a less adventuresome life.
“Terrified,” he finally said in a clipped voice.
“And yet you went.”
“Because it was more frightening to stay.”
“You must have been so lonely.”
“It was long ago, Anne. Nothing is to be gained by revisiting it.”
“But I want to understand you.”
“I am as you see me.”
But he had been shaped by the past. She suspected it influenced him still.
“Still, I would like very much—”
Suddenly he shoved her away from him. She staggered back, her unceremonious landing softened by a pile of coiled rope. She stared up in horror as four men descended on Tristan like ravenous dogs. Screaming for help crossed her mind, but she feared she’d only distract him from his purpose and draw attention to herself. She glanced around for a weapon, but she saw nothing that she could use. All she had were her fists, her teeth, her feet. She could punch, claw, bite, kick but would she be more hindrance than help if she leapt into the fray?
Still she readied herself for the opportunity when she could strike.
Grunts, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, harsh curses filled the air. She’d expected Tristan to go down, to be beaten. Instead, he remained standing, tossing a man one way, pounding a fist into another’s jaw, sending him spiraling back. A kick into the stomach. A duck. A swing. A hit. Dancing away. Charging.
Dear Lord, even when fighting, he was poetry in motion.
One man ran away. Another limped into the darkness. The other two lay sprawled on the dock.
Breathing harshly, Tristan knelt beside her and tenderly touched her cheek. “Are you all right?” he asked, as though she’d been the one caught in the fracas.
In the dim light, she could see a dark oozing along the side of his beloved face. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing. Are you hurt? Can you stand?”
“I’m perfectly fine.” Not so fine she realized as he slipped a hand beneath her elbow and helped her to her feet. Her knees were weak and she was trembling. She forced herself to remain standing when she dearly wanted to sit.
With his arm at her back, his hand clamped on her waist, he guided her along the creaking dock.
“Who were they?” she managed to ask.
“Troublemakers.”
“That much was obvious. But what did they want?”
“They mistook me for a gentleman and thought to rob us.”
“But why?”
“Sorry, Princess. I didn’t think to invite them to tea in order to determine their motives.”
The words stung but she knew his impatience had nothing to do with her. She wondered if she’d not been there if he might have finished them all off.
They reached his ship. Once aboard, they were met by a surprised Jenkins.
“Cap’n, wasn’t expectin’ you tonight.”
“Double the watch, then fetch us some warm water. We ran into some ruffians up to some mischief.” He leaned in and said something she couldn’t hear.
The sailor nodded perfunctorily. “Aye, Cap’n.”
Tristan led her down the stairs to his quarters. Once the door was closed behind them, she rounded on him. “What if they had killed you?”
He grinned. “That wasn’t likely to happen.”
“You’re not invincible.”
“No, but I’m quite good in a fight.” He strode over to the corner table where he housed his spirits and poured two generous glasses. He offered her one. “This’ll take the edge off.”
She downed a huge gulp, grateful for the burning in her eyes that covered the tears threatening to spill. “How can you be so calm?”
“I’ve been in my share of brawls, Anne. I can hold my own.”
She rolled her eyes at his arrogance. Did he not comprehend—
“You did quite well,” he added.
She glared at him. “I sat there like a ninny and offered no help whatsoever—”
“Most women would have been screaming, crying, distracting me from my purpose.” He tucked some stray strands of hair behind her ear. “But not you. You were stoic and brave.”
“I was useless.”
“Never.” He stared into her eyes with admiration and she wondered how he could make her feel courageous when she’d been anything but.
The light rap on the door had them separating. He opened it and retrieved a large bowl from Jenkins before dismissing him. He set the bowl on the table and picked up a towel.
“Sit down,” she ordered. “I’ll see to your wound.”
She expected him to object. Instead, he sat. She angled a chair nearer to him and eased into it. After dipping the cloth into the warm water, she gently lifted the hair from his brow and began dabbing at the gash. He barely flinched.
“It doesn’t look deep, but there’s so much blood,” she said.
“There always is with a wound to the face.”
“Have you had many?”
He shrugged.
She pressed the cloth to the wound, hoping to staunch the flow of blood. “Do you often brawl?”
“Not as often as I did in my youth. I don’t start the fights any longer, but I don’t back down from them either.”
“You live a very dangerous life.”
He said nothing, and that was answer enough. Walter had as well. Before Tristan left England’s shores, she would have to end things permanently with him. It would be lonely enough waiting for his return, but it would be unbearable wondering if he would ever return. He could be dead for years before word reached her.
“Why would you choose it? This life you lead?”
“Because it makes me feel alive. I never know what adventures await over the horizon.”
“But your brother has reclaimed his title. You don’t have to keep wandering.”
“I enjoy wandering, Princess.”
Moving her hand aside, he came to his feet and drew her up until her hips were pressed against his. “What we encountered tonight was rare. I don’t know why they were skulking about the docks, although I’ve sent Jenkins out to have a word with the two who are sprawled on the ground—if they’re still there. If my uncle were alive I’d suspect him of sending them to do me harm. But he’s long gone. I suspect you and I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But let’s not let it dissuade us from our purpose in coming here. If anything, let it make us appreciate that we are here.”
His mouth blanketed hers. Images and thoughts of lurking rapscallions, blood, danger, fear all melted away as his eager hands and hungry lips quickly carried her away on a tide of pleasure. She could hardly credit her wantonness. It seemed to take so little effort on his part to have her desperate for what they could share.
With unbridled haste, their clothes were in a discarded pool on the floor and they were on the bed in a feverish tangle. She thought she would never tire of the velvety warmth of skin against skin. It seemed, since she now knew his body so well, that all should be familiar and yet she always discovered something new: a small mole on his left hip, toes that weren’t quite straight, a tiny scar just above his elbow, bronzed flesh above his hips, ivory below.
His body hinted at tales that she suspected he would never tell. He might say that the past didn’t matter, but if he truly believed it, why not talk about it? He revealed bits of himself like the flowing tides. He would give her an inkling of what his life had been like and then he would retreat.
But here, in his bed, when they made love, he held nothing back. He touched her with reverence, worshipped her, taunted her, mollified her. Each time they came together, she became bolder—exploring every inch of him, marveling at the various textures. She ran her hands over him with abandon while relishing his doing the same to her.
He flipped her onto her stomach, grabbed her wrists, and carried her arms above her head. Provocatively, he moved her hair aside.
“Tristan.”
“Shh.” He kissed his way along her spine while she emitted languid sighs. He nipped her backside. “You have dimples you know.”
“When I smile? I think not.”
He laughed. “No, here.” Releasing his hold on her wrists, he planted a kiss just below the small of her back, first on one side, then the other. “I like them.”
“Is there anything about the female form that you don’t like?”
“There’s nothing about you that I don’t like.” He flopped onto his back before gathering her close and easing her over him until she was straddling him, her hair forming a curtain that enclosed them until all they could see was each other. Plowing his hands through the thick strands, he brought her mouth down to his and kissed her thoroughly. Oranges and brandy. She could taste neither without thinking of him. Tart and rich. Seductive.
But then everything about him was.
He bracketed her hips, lifted her up, adjusted his position, and brought her down, stretching her, filling her. She scraped her nails over his chest, watched his eyes smolder, before leaning down and running her tongue around a nipple. She nipped at it.
He groaned, low and long. “You are a witch.”
One with power that she’d never considered she might possess. She began rocking, and now she was the one to moan as the center of their joining reawakened to pleasure. So good. So good. The reality of it was always so much better than the memory. Each coming together never seemed to be quite the same. The intensity caused her entire body to curl in on itself, to strain outward, to cavort inwardly. She always wondered how she would survive the sensations, and yet she did.
From her position above him, she had a clear view of the tension radiating through him. It served to spur her to greater heights. Cupping her breasts, he kneaded the pliant flesh, scraping his thumbs over the sensitive pearls that had hardened with his touch.
Snaking his arm around her, holding her in place, he sat up and captured her mouth, hungrily exploring as though he’d never kissed her before. She scraped her fingers into his hair, careful of his fresh wound. His chest brushed against her breasts, titillating, increasing her pleasure. The musky fragrance of their lovemaking rose up around them.
Then they were both crying out, arching back, clinging to each other as sensations tore through them. Spots of color danced behind her eyelids. When she opened her eyes, it was to see his taut jaw, his fiery gaze. She kissed his forehead, his chin. He sank back onto the pillows and she collapsed on top of him.
She thought it likely that she would never move a muscle again.
Stretched out, one arm behind his head, Tristan watched as Anne wandered his quarters, picking up items, setting them back down, moving on. After nearly destroying him with their lovemaking, she’d donned his shirt. He enjoyed the way it left so much of her legs bared, legs that had squeezed his hips and thighs as she’d carried him to new heights. “Didn’t you have enough of examining my things when you were here before?”
With slumberous eyes that caused his body to tighten, she glanced over at him. “I looked but I didn’t touch.”
He arched a brow in disbelief. “You didn’t touch anything?”
“It felt as though it would be invading your privacy.”
“And it doesn’t seem so now?”
“Now I don’t care. Now I want to know everything about you.”
“Didn’t you get enough with your infernal questions last night?”
“I suspect a lifetime of questioning you wouldn’t be enough,” she said distractedly, lifting the lopsided globe from his shelf and examining it.
A lifetime. He could imagine all the questions he’d ask her. He still didn’t know who had given her that first kiss. He hadn’t asked because if it wasn’t her betrothed he might have to kill the fellow.
“Did you make this?” she asked. “Was it to commemorate your travels?”
“Yes. No.”
She jerked her head toward him. “Pardon?”
“You asked two questions. I answered them.”
“You’re being difficult.”
“Come back to bed.”
“Not until you tell me about the globe, why you’re not more forthcoming with information about it.”
He sighed. Had he ever met a more stubborn woman? “I made it for my brother. He seems to collect them for some reason.”
“Keswick?”
“No, Rafe. My younger brother.”
“Was he at the ball?”
“No, he prefers . . . the darker corners of London.”
“Why?”
He couldn’t stop the regret from seeping into his voice. “I don’t know.”
Carefully, she set the globe back on the shelf before gliding quickly but quietly over to him and settling on the edge of the bed. She combed her fingers through his hair. “I can’t imagine how awful it was to be separated from your brothers. Mine often irritate the devil out of me, but I know they mean well and that they are always within easy reach if I need something. Even when I was in mourning and wouldn’t come to London, I had only to send a missive and they were quickly at my side.”
“I don’t want to talk about the past. Or the future for that matter. I just want now.” He planted his hand behind her head and pulled her down for a kiss. When he was with her, the past barely mattered. He could forget about how awful it had been to be separated from his brothers, his family, from everything familiar. From the moment he’d galloped away from Pembrook, he’d sworn that he would never complain, whine, or cry about the unfairness of life. He’d buried deeply anything that could hurt him, because it had very nearly destroyed him to leave all that he loved. He’d built a wall so nothing could ever touch him again, nothing could ever harm him.
He was his own man: independent, strong.
Yet this mere slip of a woman was working to find a crack in his defenses. He couldn’t allow it to happen. Never again would he be vulnerable. Never again would he open himself up to hurt. She, of all people, should understand how easily the heart bruised.
Together they could share passion, their bodies . . . but beyond that, he had nothing else to give.
It was nearing dawn when Anne found herself again in the carriage, hurtling through the London streets. The curtains were drawn at the windows so no one could see her, but she picked up the sounds of morning activity, people beginning their day. If fortune were smiling on her, her father and brothers would already be home and abed in a liquor-induced haze.
As for herself, her haze was pleasure induced. She was nestled against Tristan, his arm around her shoulders, his hand absently stroking the side of her breast while he nuzzled her ear.
“We can’t continue on with these trysts,” she said quietly.
“Mmm,” he murmured. “I’ll change your mind tonight.”
“No, Tristan.” Moving away, she turned and faced him. She saw mostly shadows and yet she was familiar enough with him now to sense his gaze on her. “I am determined to find a husband this Season, to please my father, to see to my duty. It was the reason behind my trip to Scutari, so I could say good-bye to Walter and accept another man’s attentions with a clear conscience.”
“I would say you accomplished your goal since you’re accepting my attentions easily enough.”
She heard the fissure of irritation in his voice. Unfortunately, a spark of annoyance was riffling through her as well. She’d not have him toss into her face what they’d shared. “But we both know it comes with no permanence. It would be unfair to any gentleman who might be courting me if I were to continue with these . . . encounters—as lovely as they are.”
“Lovely? Princess, you can no more keep your hands from me than I can keep mine from you. Hot, torrid, wild, yes. But lovely indicates a tameness that doesn’t exist between us.”
Oh, yes, he was getting angry, addressing her as Princess rather than her name. But she knew it was his pride talking now, not any deep feelings that might be wounded with her departure. “Please, let’s not squabble. There can never be anything more between us than what we’ve shared.”
“Oh, I think there could be much more between us. We’ve only had a few nights when we could have a thousand.”
“But nothing permanent. You’ll grow bored and sail away—”
“Then keep me from becoming bored.”
She laughed at the ludicrousness of it. “Answer me truthfully. If you were not to lose interest in me, would you stay in England . . . forever?”
“It’s not that simple. I’m the captain of a ship.”
“So you’ll leave?”
“Of course I’ll leave.”
“So I can’t hold you here—even if I’m perpetually entertaining.”
He cursed harshly. “I need the sea. I can only stand being landlocked for so long and then I’ll go mad. But you could come with me—”
“No, I can’t. I’m not an adventurer. I want security, children, a home. Tristan, I want what you can’t give me.”
“You want what I can give you in my bed. You’re mad for it.”
“No. Yes, all right. I do want it, but we cannot always have what we want. Sometimes we must say no, no matter how difficult. It is what is proper. It is our duty. When a gentleman calls on me, I must be able to look him in the eye, face him squarely, and not suffer from guilt because when he leaves I’ll be sneaking off with someone else.”
“Don’t feel guilty. Men don’t.”
“Women are held to a higher standard. Doesn’t make it fair, but that’s the way of it. I can’t encourage a man to seek my affections when I’m giving them to someone else. Perhaps you have the ability to hold your heart separate when joined in intimacy with another, but I can’t.”
It was as close as she dared come to admitting that she was beginning to have strong feelings for him. As her words seemed to have left him mute, she could only assume that what he shared with her never went beyond the physical. She had suspected it of course, but a part of her had held out hope that she might be wrong.
On the other hand it made severing things between them so much easier. She settled back against the seat but not against him. He didn’t move to hold her or to take her hand. With each clop of horses’ hooves, she felt the chasm widening between them.
She’d been a distraction, an evening’s entertainment.
She’d not regret what they’d shared. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t find herself wishing she could have more.
When the carriage came to a halt, he stepped out and handed her down. She drew the hood of her pelisse over her head, hoping no one would spot and recognize her. He walked beside her until they were almost to the house.
“I can go on my own from here,” she said quietly.
“Anne, I want to see you again.”
Swallowing hard, she turned to face him. “Not in my bedchamber or on your ship. I’m quite determined that from this moment forward I shall behave properly. If you care for me at all, you’ll honor my wishes.”
“I’ve never liked a woman as much as I like you,” he said.
“Such poetic words. Careful, you’ll have me swooning.”
A corner of his mouth hitched up, then settled back into a firm line. “Meet me in Hyde Park this afternoon. Ride with me, as we’d planned before Chetwyn interfered.”
How she dearly wanted to. “He didn’t realize he was interfering. Besides, I can’t. Not today. I have a garden party to attend.” Then before she thought things through, she added, “You should come.”
“I doubt an invitation has been extended to me.”
“It’s being held by Lady Fayrehaven—whom you correctly identified as my dearest friend. She won’t mind that I invited you. Besides, I can’t see you as being a man waiting for something as paltry as an invitation if you want to be somewhere. Belgrave Square.” She gave him the address. “At two. Unless of course you’re afraid.”
“Whatever would I have to fear—an attack by the roses?”
“Then you’ll be there. Splendid.”
Before he could correct her assumption, she turned, skipped up the steps, and entered the house through the servant’s quarters. She knew it unlikely that he would be there. Still she could hope.