She’d dressed in an exceedingly distracting sleeveless gown with a low décolletage that bared a good deal of her alabaster skin to his discerning eye. The only thing that pleased him more was the appreciation that had lit her face, tipped up the corners of her mouth, when he’d entered, because he, too, had taken the time to dress appropriately for dinner as though he were attending an affair in London.
Jenkins had done a superb job of arranging the dinner: starched white tablecloth, two flickering candles, fine red wine, and four courses that would have done Mary proud. Not that he was particularly hungry, except for feasting on the sight of Anne. He considered revealing his musings out loud but he suspected she would see it as false flattery. If he was learning anything at all about her it was that she seemed unaware of her allure. She was modest in the extreme and that made her so much more captivating.
The only thing that ruined the tableaux was the rapid clicking of knitting needles as her blasted maid sat in a corner keeping watch over her mistress.
“I’m quite impressed with the fare,” Anne said after taking a small bite of the glazed chicken. “I’d not expected such fine accommodations.”
“I spend a good deal of time away from ports. A first-rate cook was on the top of my must-acquire list when I gained my own ship.”
“Your crew is exceedingly polite. I’d feared they might be a bit rough.”
“They can be when the situation warrants.” He studied her over his wineglass, wondering where she was going with this. “I have the luxury of determining who I hire. I’m quite particular. If I’m going to be in the company of a man for months at a time, I want to at least like him.”
“You seem rather educated.”
“My father insisted.” He swirled his wine, and within the vortex he could almost see what his life might have been if his uncle hadn’t killed Tristan’s father. “I had a tutor for the longest. Then when I was fourteen I went to sea.”
She leaned forward. “Why?”
“Why does any young man go to sea? For adventure.” Although in his case, it was to get beyond his uncle’s grasp.
“From what I can gather, you certainly found it. The lad, Mouse, told me that you saved him from being eaten by sharks.”
Tristan downed his wine and poured himself some more. “You know that boy didn’t talk for weeks after we brought him aboard. Now he’s a regular magpie.”
“So what he said is true?”
Her brow was furrowed, her concern evident. He’d planned to use dinner to charm her into his arms, not discuss the brutal aspects of his life. “We were off the coast of a small island in the Pacific. Because he was born imperfect, he was thought to have no value. We were leaving the island, when we spotted them hunting for sharks. I couldn’t very well sail away without doing something.”
“You told me that you found him in the hold. I assumed he was a stowaway. You must have known what I thought.”
He shrugged. “We did find him in the hold, on numerous occasions. He was afraid, so he’d hide down there.”
“He also told me that you blew up the boat that he’d been on. Have you killed many men?”
“None that didn’t deserve it.”
“You lead a rather brutal life.”
“It’s not as brutal as it once was.”
She released a scoff that might have been a laugh. “The first night I met you I thought you were a blackguard. Now I’m not so sure.”
The tempo of the knitting needles was increasing in rhythm. Her maid was obviously not at all pleased with that revelation. Maybe he should see if Peterson or Jenkins had an interest in the woman. It would be nice not to have her constantly hovering. “I explained in the beginning, Princess, that I would never be what you expected.”
She set aside her cutlery. “Why do you call me that?”
“Because when you first walked into that smoke-filled haze of a tavern, I thought you looked like a princess from a fairy tale.”
This time there was no mistaking her laughter or amusement. “Not difficult to accomplish considering the clientele.”
Her cheeks flushed, and he wondered if she might be embarrassed that she was enjoying his company. They spoke of books. She preferred those with a romantic bent to them. When he sneered at the very idea, she challenged him to give Jane Austen a try and had her maid fetch Pride and Prejudice from the trunk.
She told him of growing up with four brothers, of being spoiled, of being thought to be the very princess that he mocked her as being. Sheltered, protected.
“Perhaps that’s the reason that I was so determined to make this journey on my terms—to simply prove that I could do it.”
“I don’t imagine they were too pleased with your plans,” he said.
“Oh, they know nothing about them. I left my father a brief note with no details, so yes, I suspect they are quite beside themselves at this point. I’m on the cusp of three and twenty. I felt the need to be rebellious. A woman should have a moment in her life when she’s rebellious, don’t you think?”
“When it places her on my ship? Absolutely.”
She laughed then, the unselfconscious tinkling that reminded him of the clinking of fine crystal. He couldn’t imagine her ever being boisterous or loud or crude. She was a lady down to her core and this gent to whom she was betrothed was the younger brother of a lord. A man who didn’t shy away from acknowledging his place in Society. Tristan didn’t want to think about the lucky bastard who would have her in his bed, while all Tristan would have of her was a kiss.
He finished off his wine. “Take a walk with me about the deck.”
“Do you ever ask?”
“I suppose I’m accustomed to giving orders. While it might not have sounded like it, it was an invitation. You can refuse.”
“I could use some fresh air.”
The clicking of knitting needles came to a stop as Tristan rose. He pulled out Anne’s chair and whispered near her ear, “I don’t think you really need the chaperone, do you?”
He was aware of a stuttering in her breathing before she said, “Martha, see to tidying up the cabin so that we might retire when I return.”
His heart nearly slammed into his ribs with the vision of him and Anne retiring—
Then fantasy collapsed and reality crashed in as he realized she was speaking about her blasted maid retiring with her. He was a fool. From her, he would only ever get the promised kiss. He was an idiot to consider that she might gift him with anything else.
It was cool on deck, with the wind whipping around them. She hadn’t considered that, hadn’t thought to grab her pelisse before they left the cabin. She was considering returning for it, when he shrugged out of his jacket and placed it on her shoulders. The warmth from his body was lovely as it enveloped her. She drew the jacket closed as they stared out at the inky blackness of the sea.
He stood near enough to provide a partial buffer from the breeze. She would only have to move a hairsbreadth to be nestled up against him. Perhaps she’d had too much wine, because she felt slightly off-balance and was half tempted to lean into him, to let him hold her up.
Instead she gazed up at the twinkling velvety sky. A star arced across it, quickly followed by another. She released a small laugh. “I’m not certain I’ve ever seen stars so clearly before.”
“Because there’s nothing between us and them. No dirty air, no gaslights, no fog.”
“Do you think it fell into the ocean?”
“I’m certain of it. That’s where starfish come from, you know.”
She peered over at him. “That’s a fanciful thought. You don’t strike me as a man who would have them.”
His white smile flashed. “I’ve seen mermaids.”
“No.”
He tilted his head slightly. “They looked like mermaids. But when they came out of the water they did have two legs instead of a tail.”
“I can’t imagine all the things you’ve seen.”
“None compare to you.”
She laughed. “You are impossible with your flirtation.”
“Why do you not believe me?”
The seriousness of his tone informed her that he was baffled by her reaction, was truly curious regarding her reasoning. “I own a mirror, Captain. Several in fact. My features are not particularly appealing.”
“Did your fiancé never—”
“He told me I was pretty; pretty is not beautiful. I don’t wish to talk of him.” Not tonight. Not when she’d enjoyed dinner with a charming man, when that same man brought her senses to life as they’d not been in a good long while.
A deep mournful moan echoed in the distance.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“A whale.”
“That’s a rather lonely sound, isn’t it?”
“He’s probably searching for his mate.”
She found herself looking at him once again, studying him. “Do you ever get lonely out here?”
He didn’t answer right away, but his gaze was focused on her as though he were striving to determine how much to reveal, how much to trust her. “Sometimes,” he finally said quietly. “But I’m not lonely now.”
She wasn’t certain when, but he had moved closer and the motion of the ship caused them to brush up against each other from time to time. His stance was steadier than hers, but she no longer fought the rolling toward him. They didn’t have much more moon tonight than the night before, but with no fog the stars stretched into eternity. His face seemed to be lost in fewer shadows, although perhaps it was only that she now knew every mountain and valley that comprised his strong, noble features.
How simple it would be to just lift up on her toes and press her mouth to his. Give him the kiss he demanded. She had no doubt that it would be as slow and leisurely as he’d promised. But she also thought it would be incredibly warm and very, very intoxicating.
She heard another whale, the lowing slightly different from the first. Was it the whale’s mate? Or just another desolate creature? Until this moment she hadn’t realized how terribly lonely she was, how she longed for this emptiness inside her to be filled.
She had no doubt that the man standing near could fill her to overflowing, but then he would leave and she would once again be empty. Was it better to have the fullness for a little while than to never experience it at all? Was it worth the pain that would surely follow?
Her lips tingled, her breasts tingled. Her toes curled. She realized that her fingers were clutching his waistcoat and she wondered when she’d released her hold on his jacket and grabbed him instead. They were facing each other, and that, too, she didn’t remember making a conscious decision to accomplish. But here they were, so close again that their breaths were mingling, his warming her cheek. “Are you going to kiss me now?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Anticipation will serve only to make the moment that much more unforgettable.”
“It might also serve to disappoint, to build up expectations that cannot be met.”
“I think that highly unlikely.”
“You do realize that you’re tormenting me.”
He flashed a grin. “Not nearly enough. Not yet. One kiss is all I shall have, Princess. When I claim it, I want you yearning for it so desperately that you hold nothing back.”
“I won’t hold anything back now.”
He lowered his head. She closed her eyes, felt his lips skimming along her cheek.
“Not yet,” he said in a low voice near her ear, sending shivers of pleasure gliding through her.
She almost grabbed his hair, yanked on it, and forced his mouth onto hers. But if he could resist, so could she. Inhaling deeply, she opened her eyes. “You’re a cruel man, Captain.”
To her surprise, chuckling low, he turned her to face the sea, stepped behind her, and wound his arms around her. “So I’ve been told.”
She didn’t know why at that moment, protected by the curve of his solid body, she was happier than she’d been in a good long while.
Why the devil was he tormenting himself? He hadn’t a bloody clue. He could have had her tonight—a kiss and more. He was almost certain of it. It was the almost that had him waiting. Unfortunately, in spite of all his reassurances to her, he wasn’t going to be satisfied with only a kiss.
Dammit all! No woman had ever plagued him as she did. When he escorted her from the deck, he’d been so tempted to follow her into his cabin and chase out the silly maid and her clacking knitting needles. Instead, he simply retrieved Jane Austen. Poor substitute.
Since her hovering maid wasn’t using the first mate’s cabin, Tristan decided to bed down there. It wasn’t nearly as comfortable as his own quarters. He’d had all his furniture handcrafted to accommodate for his height and broad shoulders. He’d also paid extra for comfort. Few homes could boast nicer accommodations than what he provided for himself. What was the point in accumulating wealth if one didn’t enjoy the fruits of one’s labors?
He could hear soft murmurings from the room next door. He was half tempted to hold a glass to the wall and press his ear to it so he could hear the exact words. Instead, he simply lay there with the lamp still burning and listened to the feminine lullaby. Eventually it drifted into silence, and when it did, he opened the book. On the inside of the cover was an inscription:
To my darling Anne
With all my love always,
Your Walter
Tristan wondered what other gifts the pup may have given her. As he valued books, he couldn’t fault this present, but he wondered if she possessed jewelry or hair ribbons or gloves that her betrothed had bestowed upon her. Perhaps when he returned to London he would send her a gift for remembrance. Something naughty. Stockings perhaps. Something that would glide over her toes, the arch of her foot, her heel. Something that she would slide up her calf, over her knee, along her thigh.
Why was he allowing his thoughts to travel down such wicked paths that resulted in little more than pure torture? He couldn’t remember the last time he had a woman. He’d quickly grown bored with the ones in London two years ago. During his travels since, none had managed to entice him. He would think he’d become a eunuch if he didn’t react so strongly to Anne’s presence. What was it about her that called to him?
After the brief flirting on the deck, he’d been content to simply hold her in his arms. He wondered if she was aware of the sigh she’d released as she nestled against him. If she hadn’t been wearing a gown with so many layers of skirts and petticoats she’d have realized how very difficult it had been for him not to kiss her then. She’d have been aware of his immense desire.
He wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. Not unless he took a quick dive into the waters to cool his ardor. Not a wise move at night, but then he was beginning to doubt that he was as smart as he’d always thought he was.
When it came to Lady Anne Hayworth, it seemed he had no sense whatsoever.