Chetwyn 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.
Lady 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.
Anne 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.
With 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.
“I’m not lost anymore, Anne,” he said quietly. “After fourteen years of wandering, I’ve finally found home. You are my safe harbor.”
“And you are mine, my love.”
She didn’t delude herself into thinking that their life would be without storms, but they would weather them, because they would have each other.
Always.