“W
hat are you doing here?”
She didn’t seem alarmed, so much as curious.
“I came to see you of course.”
“My brothers are—”
“At their clubs. As is your father.”
“Still, this is my father’s home and for me to allow you to stay . . .”
Her voice trailed off, and he strove not to let show his joy at her considering allowing him to stay. Damnation but the past week had been hellacious. He suspected, and tonight it had been confirmed, that his calling on her would not be welcomed by her family. Before tonight he had no opening, no way to explain how he knew her. Now an introduction at a ball opened doors . . . and windows.
He strode over to her, cupped her face in his hands, and tilted up her chin so he could gaze squarely into her silver eyes. “Tell me to leave and I will.”
“God forgive me for my weakness,” she whispered, rising up to meet him as he lowered his questing mouth to hers.
It felt marvelous to once again have the taste of her, the scent of her, the feel of her. Why did she call to him so? Why could he not leave? He’d readied the ship for departure. He wanted to be back on the seas. He wanted to hear the wind slapping the sails. He wanted to look out and see nothing that hindered him. He’d stood on the deck prepared to give the order to set sail and the words that had come out of his mouth surprised him as much as his men. “We’re staying in port.”
He’d gone to Sebastian’s, knowing that Mary would have an inkling as to which ball held the promise of attracting most of the nobility. He hadn’t confessed his interest in Anne to her, although she’d certainly given him a speculative look. Once he returned to his brother’s residence, she’d no doubt pepper him with questions regarding what she may have witnessed this evening. Small sacrifice for what he had now gained.
Anne was as greedy as he was, her mouth matching his eagerness, her tongue darting and exploring as though she’d only just discovered a treasure map and needed to memorize the paths that would lead to gold. Bold, so very bold. Her hands skimmed over his shoulders, his back, up into his hair. He couldn’t get enough of her touching him, but he wanted it to be flesh meeting flesh with no clothes between them.
Breaking away, she staggered back, her hands pressed to her mouth, her eyes dimmed with misgivings. “Not in my father’s house.”
“Get dressed. I’ll meet you in the back and we’ll find a room in a hotel where we can be alone.”
“As though I’m some common doxy?”
“As though I shall go mad if I don’t possess you.”
A bubble of laughter burst from her mouth, lighting her eyes, even as she shook her head. “It’s too tawdry. A room somewhere in which other people have slept.”
“You didn’t seem to mind my climbing into bed with you when we were on my ship.”
“It was another world. Far away. Not . . . here.”
God help him, he wanted to push her, but he’d seen how she’d suffered with the refusal she’d given her fiancé. He wanted to do nothing that brought back memories of the man who had once—and possibly still—held her heart.
“Seems you could at least be hospitable and offer me a drink. Still hoarding your father’s brandy?”
He saw the gratitude wash over her features because he was squelching his desires.
Only for now, sweetheart
. Misjudging an adversary on the sea could cost a man his ship and possibly his life. Tristan was not in the habit of misjudging. He was very skilled at biding his time until the moment was right.
With a nod she turned and headed toward her wardrobe. He wandered over to the sitting area and stared into the empty hearth. He couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like to be with her in winter, snuggled beneath a layer of blankets, seeking warmth.
“Here you are.”
He took the snifter she offered, glad to see that she had one of her own. Brandy would serve much better for seduction than a fire.
He wondered if she read his mind, because a wariness touched her voice when she asked, “Would you care to sit?”
“Delighted.”
She sat on one end of the small sofa, drawing her feet beneath her, while he sat on the other, stretching out his legs. She looked young and innocent, cupping the snifter with both hands, watching him over the rim. “My brother informs me that you gave Lady Hermione cause for hope that your interest in her went beyond the ballroom.”
Damnation! It could be Lady Hermione more than this being her father’s residence that had Anne hesitant to welcome him into her bed. “I didn’t.”
“But you are in the habit of leaving women . . .” Her voice trailed off into an unasked question.
At every port.
“Yes.”
“So this between us is—”
“I don’t know what it is.”
“Or how long it will last?”
“Does it matter?”
“I’m not sure.” She sipped on the brandy.
“Your brother warned you away from me.”
“Yes. He believes you to be barbaric. I told him he was wrong, that you were a perfect gentleman on the ship.”
Tristan couldn’t hide his surprise. “You told him you were on my ship?”
She nodded. “He guessed. He wasn’t happy, and I shall no doubt be brought to task by my father in the morning.”
“What exactly did you tell your brother?”
“Only that you were the captain of the ship. Certainly nothing about the intimacy that we shared.” She gave him a shy smile. “I’m not certain if he would have killed you or dragged you to the altar.”
“I suppose it goes without saying that neither option appeals.”
“And yet you said it.” Her voice had an acerbic edge to it. She furrowed her brow. “Have you no plans to ever take a wife?”
He wished a fire on the grate was producing writhing flames into which he could stare contemplatively rather than into her eyes. But she deserved him holding her gaze. “Surely you weren’t foolish enough to see me as the marrying sort?”
“No.” She sipped her brandy, then licked lips that he wanted to once again kiss. She studied the contents of her snifter as though she could read the answer there. “It was one of the things that made you safe for a night’s indiscretions. You would never demand or desire anything more of me than a quick romp.”
“It was hardly quick.” He set aside his snifter and slid across the cushions until her eyes widened with alarm. He skimmed his fingers along her throat, felt the fluttering of her pulse against his skin. “And I’m still safe. I’m a blackguard to the core. I’ve never claimed otherwise. All I want from you is passion and pleasure. To give. To receive. You don’t want me for a husband any more than I want you for a wife. But you can’t deny there is an attraction between us, like the moon to the tides.”
“And which am I?” she asked on a breathy sigh. Before he could respond, she answered, “The moon, of course. I stay put in London Society while you come and go where the sea takes you.”
“Yet here I am, with you pulling me toward you. Let me come nearer, Anne.”
I
t was a bad idea. An awfully bad idea. Anne could think of a thousand reasons to say no, but she didn’t object when he took her snifter, finished off its contents, and set it aside. She didn’t snatch free her braid when he took hold of it and slowly unraveled the strands. She didn’t move back, only swayed forward when he cradled her face with one hand, her nape with the other, and covered her mouth with his. Lovely, so lovely. Molten heat flowed through her as his thumb stroked the underside of her chin and his mouth worked its magic. She could taste the brandy on his tongue, more intoxicating there than in the glass.
She maneuvered herself around until she was in his lap, straining to get as close to him as she could. She shoved his jacket off his shoulders, worked it free of his arms, never breaking the kiss. The familiarity astounded her. It was as though she had been with him forever, as though the days separating them had never occurred. She dispensed with his cravat next, then began working on the buttons of his waistcoat while he nimbly freed those on her nightdress. She felt the air cool her flesh, then he was warming it again, trailing his mouth along her throat before dipping into the valley between her breasts. She dropped back her head, relishing the rasp of his rough tongue as it circled a nipple.
“Yes,” she breathed, then he was drawing it into his mouth, tugging and suckling. The pleasure coursed through her, pooling between her thighs. She was acutely aware of the straining bulge against his trousers.
Suddenly he was standing, she was in his arms, and he was carrying her to the bed. “You’ll be the death of me,” he growled.
She stifled her laughter. It seemed wrong, here in her father’s house, to take joy in such wicked pleasures, but she couldn’t have sent Tristan away now if her life depended on it. He laid her on the bed and whipped off her nightdress. She felt no need to cover herself from his heated gaze. The appreciation that lit his eyes only served to warm her further. She watched as he hastily removed his own clothes. In this larger bedchamber, he shouldn’t have looked as powerful as he had on the ship, he shouldn’t have caused the room to seem dwarfed. But he did.
He dominated everything. He crawled onto her bed, near her feet, and skimmed his fingers up her legs, along her hips, her sides, easing up until he was looking down on her.
“What sort of spell have you cast over me?” he whispered before lowering his mouth to hers.
It was marvelous, having him so near, having the weight of his body resting on hers. The scent of brandy and oranges wafted around her. Wrapping her legs around him, she raked her fingers up his strong broad back, feeling the uneven flesh. Her husband wouldn’t be marred like this. He would have lived a leisurely existence fraught with few dangers. Would he stir her to life like this? Would he have her writhing and panting beneath him?
Or was this wild abandonment limited to the wicked?
“You’re beautiful, so beautiful,” he rasped, worshipping her body with his mouth, hands, and words.
How quickly she’d grown accustomed to the manner in which they waltzed in bed. Holding her gaze, he rose above her. “Be sure, Anne.”
“I am.”
He plunged into her. She cried out with the pleasure of it, the rightness of it. It felt so good to have him pounding into her, as though each thrust was a return home. She met his movements with a determination and fierceness that astounded her. She wanted to claim him, possess him, own him. She’d never felt this way. She hadn’t liked watching him dance with Lady Hermione. She’d wanted to tell the girl that she couldn’t have Tristan because he belonged to Anne. Only he didn’t.
He belonged to the sea.
And she knew that she would have to give him back to his demanding mistress. Anne was only for now. Tonight. Maybe one more. Already she was contemplating one more.
But each night would only add to the weight of sorrow when he finally parted from England’s shores. She knew he would leave. The sea would call to him and he would answer.
Yet at this moment, it was her cries that he responded to. It was his answering grunts that echoed around her. His eyes held hers. He measured her pleasure, increased it with deeper, more forceful thrusts. She dug her fingers into his buttocks, anchored herself to him as a deluge of sensations rocketed through her.
As she cried out, he covered her mouth, swallowing her screams, giving her his grunts just before he arched back and shuddered above her in a magnificent display of pure masculinity. As replete as she was, she still managed to find the strength to trail her fingers over his glistening chest.
He cursed soundly before rolling off her onto his back and drawing her up against his side. Staring at the canopy, in between harsh breaths, he muttered, “I didn’t think to protect you. Damnation.”
After the first time they’d made love, he’d begun withdrawing, spilling his seed on the sheets rather than in her. She understood the precautions that were needed, but it always left her wanting. While she didn’t want to find herself with child, a distant part of her thrilled with the possibility. But it would be such a disaster. She should remind him to leave her, but when he was inside her, her only thought was that she wanted him to stay.
She cradled his taut jaw. “It doesn’t always happen immediately. It took my friend Sarah six months to get with child.”
He chuckled low. “I gave no thought to anything except the wonder of being inside you again.”
She felt the heat suffusing her entire body at the crudity of his words. One didn’t talk so pointedly about such things.
He shifted his gaze to her and a corner of his mouth quirked up. “After what we’ve shared how can you still be embarrassed?”
“The words are so . . . raw.”
“Shall I tell you how scaldingly hot you are inside?”
She furrowed her brow. “Does it burn you?”
“No, it feels bloody marvelous. Hence my inability to remain focused on what I should do as a gentleman. Rather, I become lost in being a scoundrel.”
“Are you complimenting me?”
Turning onto his side he tangled together their legs and threaded his fingers into her hair. “Never doubt for a moment that any woman can compare to you.”
“As you unravel the mystery of me, perhaps you’ll become quite un-enthralled.”
“Impossible. I suspect there is always a new mystery to discover.”
“I’m not comprised of as many secrets as you. Tell me of your boyhood, of why you ran away. What did your uncle do that made you believe he would kill you?”
The teasing left his eyes as he sighed. “It was long—”
“Yes, I know, long ago,” she said impatiently. “But it made you the man you are. You can’t deny that. It was one thing when I thought you were a ship captain, but now that I know you’re a lord . . . Tristan, I don’t know what to make of you.”
“I’m the same man that I was on the ship.”
She flattened her hand against his chest. “But there are so many layers to you. Please reveal this one so that I might understand why you didn’t tell me who you were sooner.”
He studied her for a moment before releasing a gust of air. “Pembrook. The family estate. More castle than manor. Built before the days of Henry VIII, but used as a stronghold and a prison for that king. It had a dungeon for tormenting those who did not support Henry and a tower for housing prisoners. For adventuresome boys, it was a wonderful place steeped in history. Sebastian and I used to go down to the dungeon and try to scare the other by saying that we heard ghosts. I loved it there. I think he did, too. It was home.”