“I’m so glad you’re finally back in London. I’ve missed you dreadfully.”
Reaching across the small round table in the garden, Anne smiled and squeezed the hand of her dearest friend, Lady Sarah Weston. “I’ve missed you as well.”
“I can serve as your chaperone this Season.”
Anne laughed lightly. It had been three years since Sarah had married the Earl of Fayrehaven. Anne had attended her at the wedding, served as her maid of honor. She had always planned for Sarah to assist her when the time came to exchange vows with Walter. They had decided to toss aside the societal rules that said a married lady could not stand beside a bride. They were going to allow it to happen. It was silly now to wonder if the possibility of flaunting convention had been responsible for fate’s nasty turn.
“You will find someone else, you know,” Sarah continued.
Anne wanted to confess that she had found someone else. But that had been a temporary holding. She’d been home all of three days now and she’d almost gone to the docks during each one of them to see if the Revenge was still in port. But going to the docks was not something that ladies did—although it had not stopped her before.
She wondered if he spent his evenings in the same tavern where she’d first seen him. Did he wait for other ladies to approach him? Would he compare them to her? Would he find them lacking? God help her, she wanted him to find them lacking.
“I have heard . . .” Sarah began, leaning forward as though the blooming flowers had the ability to gossip, “that Chetwyn has set his cap for you.”
“He has said nothing to me.”
“Well, you’ve hardly been in London long enough, have you? I called on you a month ago, when I first arrived in town and was told that you weren’t in residence. I was so disappointed. I’m remarkably glad you sent a note round letting me know that you were indeed in the city. Did you need a bit more time in the country?”
Anne nibbled on her lip. “No, actually. If I tell you, you must hold it a secret.”
“Of course.”
Now Anne was lowering her voice, which was ridiculous because no one was about. “I went to Scutari, to say good-bye to Walter. It was a remarkable trip, liberating.”
Sarah furrowed her brow. “Did your brothers take you?”
“No, I went by myself. Well, with my maid. I wore trousers. I climbed a mast. I stood in a crow’s nest and looked out on the world. I felt small, yet significant. It was a strange dichotomy.”
She realized she was throwing out everything in a nonsensical manner, but she’d been unable to share it with anyone and it was just there, bubbling to the surface.
“Not to mention scandalous,” Sarah said with a measure of disapproval that Anne fought to ignore.
“Yes, I know. Which is why you mustn’t tell anyone. I haven’t told my father or my brothers everything that I did. Only that I went to Scutari. They wouldn’t understand.”
“I’m not quite certain that I do either.”
“Do you ever consider that we behave a certain way because it’s expected of us, but no one ever truly explains why we must behave as we do?”
“We behave as we do because it’s the way one behaves.”
She had once thought the same, but now she questioned the staidness of her life. But how could Sarah understand when she’d never ventured from it?
Anne heard a servant approaching and glanced up to see one of the younger maids carrying a tray. Earlier she had brought them tea. Now she set on the table some scones and a bowl of orange segments. Anne couldn’t help but think of that first morning on the ship when she had bitten into one. “Those look tempting.”
“They’re very good, m’lady,” the girl said. “Cook had us taste them to make sure there was nothing amiss. A crate of them just showed up on the steps.”
“From the shops? Cook purchased them?”
“No, miss. We don’t know who sent them.”
Tristan. She was as certain of that as she was of her name. She wondered if it had been a final good-bye gift, knowing that she would never again eat an orange and not think of him. She wondered if he would think of her when he tasted one. She’d not anticipated that so many things would remind her of him.
“Are you in love?” Sarah asked.
Anne snapped her gaze over to her friend. “Pardon?”
“You’re staring at the bowl rather oddly, as though you care deeply about oranges. If you want one, simply take it.”
Anne did. It was as succulent and sweet as she expected.
“So continue with your story,” Sarah commanded. “What was it like to wear trousers? And why would you? Were you a stowaway or something equally atrocious?”
Anne smiled. “I paid for my passage, but after going to Scutari I became melancholy. The captain thought it would brighten my outlook to gaze out on the world. But I couldn’t very well shimmy up a pole in skirts.”
“You actually climbed a mast?”
She released a short burst of laughter. “Yes.” And I climbed a ship captain. But that memory was for her and her alone.
“Better keep it to yourself. Gentlemen prefer their ladies less adventuresome.”
“Oh, I fully intend to tell no one. But I wanted to share it with you, although I realize now that I haven’t the words to paint a true portrait of the experience.” She popped another orange segment into her mouth. “Sarah, are you happy being the wife of a lord?”
“Absolutely. Fayrehaven treats me very nicely. I’m fortunate in that regard. I daresay that by the end of the Season you’ll be on your way to becoming a wife as well.”
“Perhaps.”
“You can’t dally, Anne. Your prospects next year will be fewer than they are now. A new batch of eligible ladies will be stepping onto the marriage block.”
“You make it all sound so frightfully appealing.”
“It’s marvelous. Truly. With a husband comes children.” Sarah had given birth to a son fifteen months after her wedding. “It’s a tragedy that you’ve been denied so much for so long, which is the reason that I’m ecstatic to have you in London this Season. We shall find you a husband with all due haste. If not Chetwyn then someone else who appeals.”
An image of Tristan flittered briefly across her mind. She was giving herself leave to think of him until she attended her first ball. Then she would have to pack up the remembrances, store them in a corner of her heart, and never visit them again. Except perhaps when she was old and withered and looking back on the life she’d led. She would write her memoirs, and include the scandalous journey and the dashing sea captain with whom she’d felt the first stirrings of happiness after being dead inside for so long.
“Have you ever known any lady who didn’t marry into the nobility?” she asked Sarah.
“The former Duchess of Lovingdon. She married that Dodger fellow, but then he’s obscenely wealthy so sins are easily forgiven.”
She was fairly certain that Tristan was wealthy, yet she couldn’t imagine him remaining patient with Society’s rules. He’d always be chomping at the bit to return to the sea.
“What if Walter hadn’t asked for your hand in marriage?” Sarah asked. “Who would you have wanted to marry then?”
“I never gave it any thought. From the moment I met Walter . . . we were so alike with so many common interests.” She and Tristan didn’t meld nearly as well. Well, except when they were physically melded together. They fit perfectly then.
“Are you blushing?” Sarah asked.
Anne touched her cheeks. Was she? The man had the ability to warm her from the inside out even when he was nowhere in the vicinity. “No, it’s just an unseasonably warm day.”
“I think you’re not being quite honest, that there is someone other than Walter who caught your fancy. Whisper his name and if he’s still unmarried—”
“There’s no one,” Anne said sharply, trying not to remember how many times she’d whispered Tristan’s name during the throes of passion.
“There will be. Have no worries. As soon as you attend the first ball of the Season, I shall do all in my power to assist you.”
Anne thought she’d prepared herself for the whirlwind that awaited her. She’d anticipated her first Season with an air of giddiness and anticipation. Now she merely wanted this Season to all be over.
It had been ages since Anne had been to a ball and her arrival was causing quite the stir. She did wish that she hadn’t waited so long to return to Society. An awkwardness hovered about as people approached her. Should they mention Walter? Should they not? Should they offer condolences? Should they carry on as though nothing were amiss?
Gentlemen didn’t seem to know if they should ask her for a dance. How did one treat a lady who had the baggage of a widow, but wasn’t a widow?
The only one who seemed at all comfortable with her was Chetwyn, as he expertly glided her over the dance floor.
“My brother would be pleased to see you smiling again,” he said.
It was strange, but she saw little of Walter in him. His blond hair seemed more easily tamed. Not a single freckle dared to mar his skin, where Walter had always been cursed with an abundance that had only served to make him more endearing. Chetwyn’s smile was more stately and sedate. Walter’s had always been filled with fun and mischief. But what really surprised her was that she could think of Walter now without hurting, or feeling guilty, or longing for what could never be. She had been correct that she needed her sojourn. She was ready now to face whatever the future held.
“I’m frightfully behind on the gossip I fear,” she said, smiling warmly, striving to carry the conversation away from the past and their shared loss.
Chetwyn rolled his eyes. “With your brothers—the worst gossips in all of England—about? I rather doubt that.”
She laughed. It felt good to laugh beneath flickering chandeliers while an orchestra wooed the dancers with gentle strains of harmony.
“I should like to see Jameson married this Season,” she said.
“He should like to see the same of you.”
She couldn’t miss the speculation and interest in Chetwyn’s eyes. It wasn’t that he was an awful fellow, but he didn’t make her heart speed up or her body yearn for nearness. But then she suspected few men would have that influence over her.
“I was going to ask if you knew of any prospects with whom I might entice my brother into walking down the aisle,” she said, hoping to direct them off a path she wasn’t ready to travel. Her own possibility of marriage was far from her thoughts. Tonight she simply had to survive her reentry into Society.
“Perhaps I could come to call later this week and provide a list at that time,” he suggested.
Oh, she’d been too long out of the flirtation game, felt as though she’d maneuvered herself into a trap. “Do you not worry that your brother would always be between us?”
“No. He and I were very different. I daresay, my mother often quipped that if she wasn’t present at the birthing, she’d have not believed we were brothers.”
She felt the heat suffuse her face. Not exactly a proper topic, and she wondered briefly if he was slightly nervous about being in her company. It couldn’t be easy to be with a woman who had a past with his brother. “Well, then, I suppose a call later this week would be lovely.”
The music wafted into silence and without another word he escorted her to her aunt, her father’s sister, who was serving as her chaperone this evening. In spite of Sarah’s offer to take on that role, her father thought she needed a more seasoned lady. Especially as he wasn’t here, but had elected to spend the evening at his club.
“He is such a handsome devil,” her aunt Penelope said after the marquess had wandered away.
“Yes, he is.”
“I’ve heard he’s set his cap on you.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You could do far worse, my girl.”
“That is a ringing endorsement.”
All the wrinkles in her aunt’s face shifted around until she looked rather like a dried prune. “Whatever do you mean by that?”
“It just seems that one should set one’s standards a bit higher than simply not going with the worst.”
“You’re close to being on the shelf. You can’t be particularly picky. You had your love, which is more than most women have. Now you must settle in and do your duty.”
“Is one allowed love only once?”
“I daresay, if at all, once is all that one can hope for.”
“That’s a rather sad state of affairs for women, isn’t it?”
“It is the way of it, m’dear. I’m a bit parched. Perhaps you’d like to come with me to the refreshment room.”
So she could continue to be bombarded with such demoralizing commentary? “No, thank you. I believe I shall watch the dancers.”
After her aunt left, Anne moved farther back into the fronds. It wasn’t that she didn’t like being here. She loved the gaiety and the music and the lovely gowns. She enjoyed watching the gentlemen flirt, but she couldn’t quite relish them flirting with her. She caught speculative glances from time to time, knew they were sizing her up. She’d forgotten how calculating everything was. Perhaps she should simply drop every eligible bachelor’s name into a hat and draw one out. It seemed as good a solution as any if her aunt was correct in her assumption that love wouldn’t be part of the bargain. It would certainly save her time, humilia—
“I never took you to be a wallflower.”
Her breath hitched at the familiar silken voice that rasped near her ear. The tang of orange wafted around her. Fighting for composure, she slowly turned. Her heart pounded at the sight of Tristan, so devilishly handsome in his black swallowtailed coat. His face was bare of whiskers. His hair, while still long, had been trimmed. His light blue eyes were filled with devilment. “You,” she croaked.
He grinned, a grin that spoke of secrets shared. “Me.”
“Whatever are you doing here?”
“Speaking with you obviously.”
“But—” She was fighting not to panic. He shouldn’t be here. He couldn’t be here. “However did you get in?”
“Through a door.”
Oh, God, the infuriating man! “Invitations were required.”
“And I managed to gain one.”
“How?”
“I had hoped you’d be a bit more pleased to see me, rather than seeking answers to such trivial matters.”
“But this isn’t your world.”
“Unfortunately it is.” Some emotion that she couldn’t identify flickered in his eyes. Loss, grief, sorrow. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. Allow me.” He tipped his head slightly. “Lord Tristan Easton.”
Lord? Impossible. He was untethered, did as he pleased. He grew up on the sea, he—
Then the name he’d spoken registered at the back of her mind.
“Easton?” The word came out on a choked breath. “Your brother is—”
“The Duke of Keswick.”
She fought to remember everything her brothers had told her, what she’d heard over the years. She’d been a child when they went missing, yet she could remember the nightmares that had visited her, the fear that she, too, would suddenly disappear. “One of the lost lords. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m a lord by birth and blood, but not by life. I don’t fit comfortably here as you can well imagine, since you know something of my life beyond London. To be honest, I had no particular interest in claiming my place in Society until I realized that it would provide me with much easier access to you.”
“But you’re a ship captain.”
“Must a man be only one thing?”
She had shared her body, her soul, perhaps even a portion of her heart with this man, and yet she knew so little about him. It made her feel tainted in some way, less than she should be. “It was your uncle you were running away from, the one who wished you harm.”
The glimmer of teasing dimmed. “Yes.”
“Was he really going to kill you?”
“We had evidence to indicate so. But that was long ago. I’m much more interested in claiming a dance than talking of the past.”
How like him to avoid revealing the mysteries behind the myriad of stories that surrounded him.
“A dance?” she squeaked, irritated that she could not appear as composed as he.
“Yes, it’s an activity where one—”
“I know what a dance is. I’m simply having a difficult time comprehending your being here. I thought never to see you again.”
Which had made it so much easier to be with him on the ship. What they had shared would sail away with him. But he hadn’t sailed away. He was here. And if he told—
“Anne?”
She jerked around to find Jameson studying her while managing to glare at Tristan at the same time. “Jameson, allow me to introduce Lord Tristan—”
“Easton. Yes, I know. Unfortunately, I saw him arrive with his brother.”
The duke was here? That must have set tongues to wagging. How had she managed to miss it? Was she so wrapped up in her own worries that she wasn’t paying attention to everything else happening around her?
“Lord Tristan, my brother. Viscount Jameson.”
“M’lord,” Tristan said with a slight bow. “A pleasure. I was about to ask your sister for a dance.”
“I fear you’ll find her dance card filled.”
Shock at his rudeness rippled through her, and she couldn’t help but blurt, “Pardon?”
“I believe the next dance is mine,” Jameson said, wrapping his hand possessively around her upper arm. He never danced with her, and she certainly didn’t appreciate his interference now.
“On the contrary. It belongs to Lord Tristan.”
“Anne.”
The warning in his voice was unmistakable but she had to speak with Tristan, and on a crowded dance floor was the perfect place because if she sought a tryst in the garden, he would no doubt use the darkness to advantage and she would find her back up against a rose-covered trellis with his mouth devouring hers. She’d be so absorbed by the kiss that she’d not notice the prickle of thorns.
“Release her,” Tristan snarled, his voice low, but his threat evident.
“Or what?” Jameson challenged.
Tristan grinned, but there was nothing pleasant in it. Rather it reminded her of a predatory cat anticipating its next meal. “You’ll discover that I am the barbarian you and your brothers whisper me to be.”
“Jameson, please. It’s only a dance. If you don’t release me I shall be forced to kick you. And such unladylike behavior will no doubt make it much more difficult for me to secure a husband. Don’t make a scene and ruin my entrance back into Society.”
He released his hold, but not before saying, “One dance and then you leave her be.”
The very worst words he could have said. Tristan wouldn’t stand down. She knew him well enough to know that.
“Oh my word. Lord Tristan, I thought it was you.”
As Anne turned to the newest intruder, out of the corner of her eye she saw some emotion she couldn’t quite identify wash over her brother’s face. Longing, followed by stoicism? She couldn’t be sure. Then she was staring at a gorgeous lady with blond hair. The largest green eyes that Anne had ever seen were fastened on Tristan as though he were her favorite sweet.
He bowed slightly. “Lady Hermione.”
“Why ever did you not let me know you’d returned to London?”
“Yes, my lord,” her brother stated succinctly, “pray tell, why ever did you not inform the lovely lady of your return?”
“I’ve had other serious matters that required my attention.”
Anne felt herself floundering. What did this young woman mean to Tristan?
“It truly doesn’t matter,” Lady Hermione said. “You’re here now. I daresay that I’m free for the dance that’s just starting.”
“I’ve already promised to partner with Lady Anne,” Tristan said, a gentleness in his voice that reminded Anne of lying beneath him and hearing murmurings in the same tender tone. Had he bedded this girl? She certainly seemed to have cause to believe she meant something to him.
“Oh.” Lady Hermione looked at Anne. “Lady Anne, my apologies. I didn’t notice you standing there. You’re out of mourning, I see. Such a tragedy. To lose your love at such a young age. I daresay, the man can never be replaced. It is so kind of Lord Tristan to take pity and dance with you.”
Before Anne could respond to her assumption that it was pity he bestowed on her, the girl turned to Tristan. “But I must claim the next dance, my lord. Please.”
“It will be my pleasure. Perhaps Lord Jameson will partner with you for this dance.”
“I don’t take another man’s leavings,” Jameson said before turning on his heel and striding away.
Anne gasped at her brother’s callousness but Lady Hermione didn’t seem at all bothered. Anne was fairly certain the girl heard nothing that was not uttered by Lord Tristan.
“If you’ll excuse us?” Tristan said to Lady Hermione, while offering Anne his arm.
She wasn’t certain she should take it. She felt as though she’d stepped into the middle of some sort of drama.
“Yes, of course,” Lady Hermione answered brightly. “I shall wait here with bated breath for your return.”
He arched a brow at Anne, and in spite of her reservations, suddenly well aware that they were capturing the attention of others standing nearby, she placed her hand on his arm.
“What is she to you?” she heard herself ask as he escorted her toward the dance floor.
“An annoyance.”
“She seemed incredibly smitten.”
He stopped. “I promise you, Anne, I never gave her reason to believe she was anything more than a dance partner—twice. Two years ago.”
He took her in his arms and swept her over the floor, and God help her—if he had danced with such skill two years ago, if he had gazed on the girl with the intensity that he now gazed at Anne, she could well understand how Lady Hermione might have fallen under his spell. He was so very masculine, so very earthy. She had succumbed to his charms easily enough. Why shouldn’t every other lady in the room?
“You should have told me who you were,” she said, her words clipped because she had to shore her resolve that things between them were over.
“Why?”
“Because you made a fool of me.”
“That was never my intention. Nor did I ever intend to return to this madness. Your brother is not the only one here tonight who has expressed dissatisfaction over my presence.”
“Then why are you here?”
His jaw tightened. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I wanted to make sure that you were all right. That your family didn’t ship you off to a convent or something.”
She laughed lightly. “Why ever would they do that?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders without missing a step. “I’ve heard of it being done.”
“I was given a scolding but nothing worse than that. But they wouldn’t send me away when they are quite desperate for me to marry.”
“The chap you were dancing with earlier . . . is he whom they wish you to marry?”
She almost stumbled with the realization that he hadn’t just arrived at this affair. He’d been here for a while. He’d been watching her.
“The Marquess of Chetwyn. Walter’s brother. And yes, he has apparently expressed interest. But I haven’t settled on him.” She didn’t know why she felt compelled to say the last. Perhaps because she feared he might get into a row with Chetwyn. Seek to stake his claim. A claim he didn’t truly have.
As her hand rested in his, as his other hand cupped her waist, she tried not to think about how marvelous it had been to have those hands roaming over her flesh. To have him rising above her. To have him bring her pleasure. She was fairly certain, though, that her cheeks were flaming red, because she saw satisfaction in his gaze and feared he knew what paths her thoughts traveled.
“I found your gift. The starfish. Thank you. Where did you find it?”
“I’ve seen them along many a shore, but that particular one I found in Yorkshire.”
Her laugh, though light, sounded as though it was on the edge of hysteria. “I imagined it came from the Far East or somewhere equally exotic.”
His gaze darkened, and she saw secrets hidden there.
“No, it came from my youth. The morning I left England.”
“Why give it to me?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps because of your fanciful tale of stars falling into the sea. Just something to remember me by.”
As if she could ever forget him.
“The oranges. You sent those.”
“Yes. I can’t eat one without thinking of you. I hoped the same could be said of you regarding me.”
As much as she wished it wasn’t so, she did very little that didn’t remind her of him.
“Don’t you have journeys that await you? Obligations that must be met? You transport goods, do you not?”
“The advantage of owning my own ship is that no one commands me.”
Even if he didn’t own his own ship, she suspected no one would command him.
“But you must earn a living, you must . . .” She felt as though she had so much to learn about him.
“All I must do, Anne, is dance with you.”
Each time he called her Anne, it spoke of intimacies. She wished he’d revert to calling her Princess. It kept her hackles up, made it easier to deal with him, to keep her distance. He was a lord and it gave a new meaning to everything they’d shared.
“The duke, your brother, I’ve never seen him. Is he about?”
“He’s dancing with his wife, Mary. To your left.”
As unobtrusively as possible, she glanced over her shoulder and nearly lost her footing. The left side of his face was heavily scarred and he wore an eye patch.
“He’s my twin,” Tristan said quietly.
“I can see a bit of resemblance.” The dark hair, the jawline—
“Most people don’t look beyond the scars.”
She studied the duchess. She had vibrant red hair and was smiling up at her husband as though she adored him, as though he had no hideous countenance to look upon.
“She doesn’t seem bothered by them.”
“But then she loves him.”
That much was obvious. She returned her attention to Tristan. “Do all of you bear scars?”
“None we can’t live with.”
Why could others not see what these brothers had endured to reclaim what they’d lost? Why were they not welcomed? Because they’d not grown up within the familiar confines, because they stood out as different.
She realized the music had drifted into silence as their movements came to a halt.
“Will you keep your promise to Lady Hermione?” she asked.
“If would be cruel of me not to, don’t you think? But I want another dance with you.”
“That would be most unwise.”
She hated the words even as she spoke them. He didn’t argue. He simply began to lead her from the dance floor. Tense and bristling, Jameson was standing at its edge. She was surprised he didn’t charge into the fray and snatch her away.
Just before they reached her brother, Tristan said, “The last dance of the evening is mine.”
Before she could object to his possessive tone—or admit how it thrilled her—he released her and strode away.
For the first time that night she was truly looking forward to something, and that filled her with a certain amount of dread. Nothing could exist between them beyond what they’d already shared. In spite of his being a lord, his life was the sea. Hers was here.