Page 5 of Lord of Temptation
Tristan caught the eye of the disappointed maid and signaled another tankard be brought to him. When it arrived he took a long swig of the thick dark ale and leaned back his chair until it bumped against the wall. His thinking pose.
He’d grown remarkably bored of late. Two years ago he and his brothers had finally made good on their promise—a bit tardy, but still they’d returned to London, routed their uncle, and reclaimed their birthright as the lords of Pembrook.
But London Society had not been so quick to welcome the lords back into the fold. Once Sebastian’s position as the Duke of Keswick was secured and their uncle dead, Tristan had returned to the love that had usurped Pembrook in his heart: the sea.
But after nearly twenty months of fighting tempests and gales, he was back on England’s shores, feeling untethered, as though he’d somehow broken free of his moorings. He had no desire to return to the tedious London ballrooms. While there, he discovered women aplenty to warm his bed, but they were all cut of the same cloth: satin and silk and lace. They were drawn to the danger he represented. He had only to smile and they fell into his arms. They presented no challenge.
The lady who’d been sitting before him was different. She’d stepped through the door as though she owned the night, had called down the rain, had commanded the thunder to rumble. With the most gracious movements he’d ever seen, she’d reached up and moved aside the wet hood of her pelisse.
He’d felt a quick, almost brutal tightening of his body in response to the exquisiteness of the face revealed. High cheekbones, flawless skin. Her hair, piled on top of her head, was not quite blond, not quite white. The palest of shades.
She’d spoken to a man standing nearby, and Tristan—who had never been jealous of any man—was envious. When the lady began wending her way toward him, he’d anticipated her arrival as he’d anticipated little of late. He’d made a wager with himself regarding the shade of her eyes. Green, he’d thought. But he lost the wager. They were a faint silver, haunting. They’d known tragedy. Of that he was certain.
But they’d not been conquered and he was suddenly of a mind to do so. Her fiancé was a fool of the highest order to go off and play at war when he had her here to warm his bed.
Sebastian had fought in the Crimea. He’d left half his face on the battlefield, perhaps even a portion of his soul, until Mary had come back into his life and made him whole again. So Tristan had no love for that area of the world, for the trouble it had caused his brother, but the notion of having Lady Anne on his ship intrigued him. Although he didn’t quite fancy the idea of delivering her to another man. Rather he wanted her for himself. For a time anyway. For a bit of sport, a bit of fun.
He wasn’t surprised that she’d not recognized him. He wasn’t decked out like a gentleman. It was also possible, since she was betrothed, that she’d not attended the two balls where he and his brothers had made their scandalous appearances after returning to London.The nerve of them to actually be alive and not devoured by wolves.While Sebastian might be frequenting those circles now, it would take a keen eye to recognize the similarities between the two men. Most people didn’t see beyond his brother’s disfigurement.
Tristan liked that she didn’t know how he fit into her world—quite uncomfortably if the truth were known. He’d hid it well with quick smiles, laughter, and teasing. But he had little desire to return to the maze of London Society. Rafe had the right of it. Better to stay in the shadows where they were comfortable. They’d been too long without politeness. It was a tight shroud, one he didn’t enjoy wearing.
He had a keen insight when it came to discovering buried treasure. He wanted this Lady Anne who’d dared approach him and offer him money. He could have taken it and then wooed her once she was on his ship, but that would have made it all too easy.
He stroked her discarded glove where it remained on the table. In her haste to leave, she’d forgotten it. He yearned for a challenge.
He was fairly certain that she would provide him with one—one he was likely to never forget.
Chapter 2
“Well?” Martha asked as soon as Anne was comfortably settled in the carriage and they were on their way.
“Your brother was unfortunately mistaken,” she said succinctly to her lady’s maid. “He has not the makings of a hero at all, and he is most certainly not an honorable man.”
“Are you certain you spoke with the correct person?”
“Quite.”
“I don’t understand. Johnny sailed with him, spoke so highly of him—”
“Yes, well, I assure you that he is a man with whom I have no wish to associate.” She balled her hand into a fist. Blast it! She’d left her glove behind. Her hand was still so warm from the journey his fingers had taken over it that she’d not even thought about the silly glove. She’d never known such a sensuous touch. It was dangerous. So very dangerous. “Please, speak with your brother and ask him for another recommendation.”
“Would it not be better to simply book passage—”
“I will if I must but I’d rather not.” She didn’t want a long sojourn. She simply required a little bit of time with Walter to say good-bye. But when she had mentioned this to her father and brothers, they’d thought it an awful idea to go there. They didn’t understand, but then how could they? She loved Walter, but during their last night together before he left, she’d hurt him with words and deed. Perhaps if she hadn’t, he would have come home. She needed to apologize, to ask for his forgiveness.
He’d sent her his wages every month. It wasn’t a great deal, but she invested the funds for them, for their future. It was those funds that she would now use to visit him. She would leave a note for her father to find after she was gone. She feared that her departure being at the mercy of schedules and other passengers would result in her family being able to find her more easily, prevent her from leaving.
But a ship at her beck and call—they would leave during the dark of night and be well out to sea before her family discovered she was gone.
She gazed out the window and strove not to think about how Crimson Jack quite possibly ruled the night as easily as he did the sea. He no doubt was accustomed to women fawning over him, crawling into his bed with no compunction whatsoever. A naughty part of her that she didn’t wish to acknowledge could hardly blame them.
He was devastatingly handsome and something about him was regal in bearing. He’d ruined the illusion, though, when he’d turned down her offer for passage in exchange for money and asked what else she might barter. His smoldering gaze had revealed exactly what he had in mind.
She’d not given it to Walter. She certainly wasn’t going to give it to a crude sea captain, even if he did cause images of them tumbling between the sheets to invade her thoughts with little more than the tip of a finger caressing her skin. It was only because he was earthy and rough. A heathen. A man for whom lust was common. He was interested in the conquest, but his interest would wane once a lady was conquered.
She had no interest in being conquered.
She would find a more suitable captain. An old one with more experience. A hideous one who did not cause her heart to flutter. A poor one who had need of coins.
