He shifted his gaze over to Peterson as he came to stand beside him.
“You’re going to a lot of trouble to get beneath a woman’s skirts,” Peterson said.
“I’m paying you well enough not to complain about it.”
“She’s different. You could hurt her.”
“I’m not going to hurt her.”
“Not intentionally maybe, but it can still happen.”
“When did you become a bloody philosopher?”
“Your mistake in teaching me to read.”
Tristan grinned. He taught any man who wanted to learn. Mouse was his latest pupil, making great progress.
“You know the maid is Johnny’s sister,” Peterson murmured.
“So I discovered this morning.”
“He sent them to you knowing you would protect them.”
“His mistake.”
“Jack, she’s nobility.”
So was he, but his men didn’t know it. When Sebastian had caught the offered pouch, the clinking of the coins inside had signaled the severing of Tristan’s bloodlines. None of his men knew the truth of his origins. Even when he returned to England and helped establish his older brother’s place in Society, Tristan had kept his two distinct lives separate. With a foot in both worlds, he wondered if he might be in danger of losing his balance.
“Relax, Peterson. I’ve never yet incurred a woman’s wrath.”
“There’s always a first time, Captain.”
She didn’t know why she was nervous. It was after all only dinner. Before she’d gone into mourning, she’d had dinner with all sorts. Royalty even. She’d thought little of it. She could carry her portion of a conversation. She knew how to present herself well.
Dining with a sea captain should be nothing at all. Yet when she was in his company, she couldn’t help but wonder when he would demand payment. She did wish he would do it soon. She didn’t much like debt hanging over her head.
“Did you wish to change your attire?” Martha asked.
Anne glanced over at the open trunk. She’d brought a gown for dining. She wasn’t certain what had prompted her to do so. She’d also packed a lilac gown that had been Walter’s favorite, but she wouldn’t wear it until she was ready to disembark the ship in Scutari.
She shook her head. “No need for anything formal. I’m sure his invitation was a result of politeness.”
“I’ve not noticed him being particularly polite.”
She grinned. “I’m not certain how you can say that when he had one of his men prepare something to settle your stomach.”
“I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
“And how would that be?”
“As though he’s contemplating devouring you.”
“It’s just his way to constantly appear intimidating so he doesn’t have a mutiny on his hands.”
“Know him that well do you?”
Anne placed her hands on her hips. “Your brother recommended him.”