Page 22 of Lord of Temptation
“Until later then.” He gave a brusque nod and strode away.
She rose and walked to the railing where nothing blocked the breeze from cooling her skin. Walter had kissed her, but she could not remember the flavor or the texture or the warmth of it. One more thing to add to her guilt: she’d not savored every kiss as though it might be their last.
At the bottom of the steps, Tristan nearly ran into her maid. She was carrying a parasol, and a quick glance told him that it was finely made. For her lady, then.
For the first time, he gave the maid a closer inspection. She wasn’t a beauty, not like her mistress, but she possessed a prettiness that he suspected drew attention. And something else about her niggled at his mind. “Have we met before?”
“My brother, John Harper, served under you. He recommended your ship for the journey.”
“And me along with it, I suppose.”
Her blush enhanced the sparkle in her eyes. “He vowed you would not take advantage of my lady.”
“His vow is not mine to keep.”
“But you won’t take advantage, will you?” she asked with a stubborn set to her lips.
“You’re both safe from unwanted advances while aboard my ship.”
She smiled, and he realized she was prettier than he initially thought.
“John’s married now,” she informed him, as though of a sudden they were friends.
“Yes, so he mentioned when he informed me that he would no longer be serving me. Seems his wife wanted to chain him to port.”
“They wanted to be together. I don’t think that’s so awful. He’s happy.”
As well as a marvelous teller of tales with a tendency toward exaggeration. Tristan now had an idea of who might have told Anne that he was a hero. John didn’t believe in allowing facts to ruin a good story.
“He’s employed by a merchant now, has a respectable income, and is quite settled,” Martha continued on.
Tristan fought not to shudder. He hired only unmarried men—not hard to find on the docks. During a storm, he didn’t want a man worrying that he might be leaving behind a widow. Women didn’t understand wanderlust. In his experience, marriage and a life at sea were a volatile combination, leaving everyone unhappy. He certainly intended to never take a wife.
His uncle had forced him to run. No one was ever going to force him into anything again.
When he reached his cabin, the first thing he noticed was that it already smelled of her, of Anne. Lavender and citrus mingling about. Everything was tidy, her trunk closed. He was tempted to riffle through it, see what he could discover about her. It seemed only fair.
Everything about him was visible to her. The books he enjoyed. The sturdy furniture he preferred. The liquor he favored. The wooden chest set he’d carved with his own hands. Even the globe for Rafe that he’d made during his last voyage—a gift he hadn’t yet given to his brother because he wasn’t certain how it would be received. Besides it wasn’t exactly perfectly round. Rather it was a lopsided view of the world that tended to roll until the north and south poles were east and west poles. He needed to make a proper stand for it. He would address that during his next voyage.
He spent an hour attempting to study his charts before returning topside. He wanted to see her again, but according to Jenkins, the breeze proved too much for her parasol. She and her maid had retreated below deck, to the cabin he’d had prepared for the servant. He was disappointed. He should have ensured that she understood she was always welcome in his cabin, even when he was there. He imagined what it would be like to look up from his desk and see her sitting in a chair near one of the windows. Domestic. He shook off the thought. There was no room for domesticity aboard a ship.
He made his way to the quarterdeck. Mouse had cleared away all evidence that she’d been with him for breakfast. The lad was good at keeping things neat and tidy. Tristan wondered if she’d finished eating the orange. He thought he might never taste another without recalling the joy of her laughter as the juice burst forth, surprising her with its abundance.
He leaned back against the railing and crossed his arms over his chest. They had a strong wind filling the sails. They were making good time. England was no longer visible. They would reach the Mediterranean within a few days. He was tempted to cause some damage to the ship that would require they head to the nearest port for repairs. He wanted to walk through foreign cities with her, through crowded streets.
He wanted to wipe away whatever it was that was causing the sadness reflected in her eyes.
She’s missing her fiancé, you dolt.
Not that much if she agreed to give me a kiss.
So much that she was willing to kiss you in order to get to him.
If he were an honorable man, he would take her there without claiming the kiss—all in the name of true love. Mary would expect it of him. Which was the reason he hadn’t told her more about his journey. She wouldn’t approve. Not that he cared for her approval.
He suspected he might be a very different man if he’d not been forced to leave his home, to leave Pembrook ... to leave England. He grew to manhood very quickly.
He’d tried to return to what had been—to being a lord, to living within Society, among peers. But he didn’t belong there, any more than Rafe did. Sebastian had no choice. He held the title, but Tristan was free to return to the life he loved, to the sea. And he did love it. The smell of the briny water, the rocking of the ship, the tickling of the wind. He enjoyed the camaraderie among his men. He would die for them and yet something was still missing.
