He lifted his eyes to hers.
She waited, waited . . .
He came nearer. Her eyes began closing—
“The moment is of my choosing, Princess. And this isn’t it. Sleep well.”
Grinning, he tweaked her nose, spun on his heel, and strode from the room.
If she could have drawn in a breath past her fury, she’d have shrieked at him. Martha rushed in. “Oh, dear God, what did he do?”
“Nothing.”
He tweaked my nose!
She wasn’t about to admit that. Didn’t he want to kiss her? Had he changed his mind? She dropped onto the edge of the bed and stared at the closed door. She popped back up. “He told me to sleep well. I’ll show him. I shall accomplish that with remarkable success.”
As they prepared for bed, they were both surprised to find warm water in the basin. Obviously the captain had someone prepare the room before they came down. The bedding was crisp, freshly laundered, but when Anne climbed onto the bed, the spicy scent of Crimson Jack rose around her.
Martha blew out the lamp and crawled in beside her, but they had enough room between them that they didn’t touch. Anne didn’t want to consider that the bed had been specially designed to accommodate for the captain’s size and a woman lying in his arms.
“I think my brother might have been mistaken,” Martha whispered. “I think this captain might be a very dangerous man.”
“If he were dangerous, he’d have locked that door, and he—not you—would be in this bed with me.”
In the darkness, Anne listened to the creaking of the ship. But she didn’t sleep. Instead, she wondered why he could so easily resist kissing her. And why she wished he’d just get it over with.
S
tanding at the helm, Tristan gripped the wheel so tightly that his hands were beginning to ache. Walking away from her without tasting those succulent red lips had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. When he touched his knuckles to her cheek, skimmed his thumb over that pouting bottom lip, inhaled her scent . . .
When her breath hitched and her eyes began to close . . .
One kiss. That was all he’d demanded in payment. Stupid fool. He’d never in his life made a bargain in which he came out at the short end. He should have demanded one kiss every day. Instead he had only one for the entire journey. He had to make her want it so badly that she would willingly give him more. Because once he had his kiss, she had to initiate the next one. Unfortunately his wooing was on a schedule. He had to claim his kiss before they reached Scutari because once she visited with her fiancé, her love for him would be renewed and she would return to considering a kiss to Tristan as nothing more than a payment.
With any luck, the winds would die and their arrival at their destination would be delayed. Perhaps he’d take a wrong turn, go down around the Cape of Good Hope, then across the Indian Ocean to tropical islands. Perhaps he could even convince her to embrace local customs and strut about in very little clothing. That thought brought a smile. She could very well be in little clothing now as she snuggled in his bed.
His sheets, his cabin would smell of her when she left. No woman had ever been inside his domain. His men thought he was a bit mad to make this journey with two women in tow, but those who remained were being paid well enough for their services not to grumble.
The unrelenting fog curled around him in the same manner as he wanted to curl around her—all encompassing, leaving nothing untouched. He wondered how far she would allow him to take the kiss. Not nearly as far as he wanted to take it, he was certain.
Would her fiancé be returning with them? That was a disappointing thought that hadn’t occurred to him before. Not that it mattered. He didn’t want her for any longer than the voyage. As with all things in his life, the constancy of something bored him. He needed new adventures, new women, new challenges. But conquering her would be his greatest triumph.
He would taunt her with that kiss until she was willing to give him everything.
A
nne awoke to a gentle rocking and sunlight peering through mullioned windows. She was on the ship, on her way to Walter at last—and yet it was not visions of him that had filled her dreams. Rather it was one very dark blue-eyed devil whose nearness caused her skin to tingle with the need to be touched. She’d never experienced this sort of longing, wasn’t quite certain what to make of it. He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met before. He was a curiosity. That was all. If she but touched his bristly jaw, felt his lips pressed to hers, then her interest in him would be satisfied.
Obviously her father was correct: it was time to leave her mourning behind. During the Season she was bound to meet someone who appealed with equal fervor. She was a young woman with needs. She’d been lonely for far too long. That’s all these strange yearnings signified: that she was not only receptive to a man’s attentions but in need of them.
Captain Crimson Jack was simply very skilled at setting a woman’s blood to simmering.
After nudging Martha awake, she dressed in the same clothes she’d worn the night before. She’d brought a special dress for her visit to Scutari, and a couple of other dresses to see her through the journey there and back. But she hadn’t set her cap on the captain so it mattered little if he saw her in the same clothes. In fact, it was probably better that she not go to much trouble in preparing for the day. She had no wish for him to think she had the slightest bit of interest in him. The ballrooms of London had no place for men of his roughened ilk.
When Anne was ready, she allowed Martha to return to bed while she ventured out. When she reached the main deck, she squinted at the bright sunlight. She couldn’t recall it ever being so harsh in London. The men were about, all seemingly busy, but they each took a moment to doff their caps if they were wearing one or to touch two fingers to their brows if they weren’t. No one leered, no one made her feel as the captain did—as though he knew exactly what she looked like beneath her skirts.
“Ye’ll find the cap’n up top,” a man said, and she remembered him from last night.
“Thank you, Mr. Jenkins.”
Quietly, she made her way up the stairs. If he was busy, she didn’t wish to disturb him. Nor did she want to startle him, although he didn’t seem a man prone to being caught unaware.
She halted at the top of steps. Leaning back in a chair, with one booted foot propped on the railing, he was meticulously whittling on a small piece of wood. A lad, whom she judged to be around five and ten or so in years, sat cross-legged on the floor, hunched over a book, reading aloud. He stuttered out the more difficult words and when it was clear that he could go no further, the captain provided the answer. She wondered if he’d memorized the story that she soon recognized:
A Christmas Carol
.
She didn’t realize she made a sound, but the captain looked back over his shoulder before leisurely straightening and coming to his feet. The boy ceased his reading.
“Lady Anne, I trust you slept well,” the captain said.
“You have a most comfortable bed.” She wished she hadn’t mentioned that particular bit of furniture when he gave her a once-over as though he could clearly imagine her tangled in those sheets. “I fear, however, that my maid is feeling a bit queasy this morning.”
“Hopefully it’ll pass once she gets her sea legs beneath her. Are you hungry?”
“Famished.”
He grinned. “The sea air can do that. Mouse, fetch her breakfast.”
“Aye aye, Cap’n.” The lad carefully set the book on a small table as though it were the greatest of treasures before scampering with a noticeable limp past her.
She eased nearer to the towering man with the powerful shoulders. “He’s a cripple.”
“Hardly,” he bit out sharply. “His leg’s merely bent, but I suspect he can climb rigging faster than you.”
“Yes, of course. I meant no insult.”
He indicated a chair on the opposite side of the table from his.
“In a moment,” she said before walking to the railing, turning, and leaning against it. Her breath caught at the white cliffs in the distance. “What a magnificent sight. I thought we’d be beyond view of it by now.”
“The fog required slower travel.”
The breeze was again toying with his shirt and the same three buttons were undone. She didn’t know whether to button them so he’d looked more proper or loosen the ones that were fastened so he’d appear less proper. Why did she care at all about the state of his buttons?
To hide the weakness that had suddenly settled in her legs, she took the chair he offered earlier. Her knees became jelly because she was on the water, not because of him. Like Martha, she’d yet to gain her sea legs.
“Why Mouse?” she asked. “The lad. Why did his parents name him Mouse? Have you any idea?”
“I’ve no idea what they named him. But we found him hiding in the hold, quiet as a mouse. The name stuck.”
“He’s a stowaway then?”
“In a manner of speaking. Now he’s part of my crew.”
“His job is to read to you?”
He grinned. “Among other things.”
The boy returned with a tray that was far more appetizing than she’d expected. Eggs, ham, bread, oranges, and a lovely pot of tea. Once he set the tray before her, he disappeared without the captain giving any orders, and she suspected the captain had already discussed the matter of privacy with Mouse before she ever woke up.
“Will you be sharing the meal with me?” she asked, because she couldn’t possibly eat the entire abundance of offerings.
“I’ve already eaten.”
“Tea then?”
“No.”
She settled the napkin on her lap. She couldn’t deny that something was very appealing about sitting out here enjoying her breakfast. “Must you watch? Your intense perusal threatens to upset my digestion.”
“It’s difficult to look away from something so lovely.”
“False flattery, Captain, will get you nowhere.”
“I have no need to use false words.” Still, he did return to his whittling while she slathered butter on her bread.
“You’d not struck me as a man who would apply knife to wood,” she said.
“As I mentioned last night, boredom can easily overtake one on a ship. We have days, weeks, months of nothing punctuated, with a few seconds of excitement now and then. Idle hands and all that. Although I can think of more pleasurable ways to use my hands.”
She jerked up her gaze to find his wicked smile aimed at her.
“Yes, well, you shall have to be content with thinking about it. A kiss involves lips, not hands.”
“Ah, you are obviously not well tutored in the art of kissing, Princess.”
She felt as though the winds had unexpectedly risen up from the bowels of hell, she grew so warm. Her throat knotted with the implication that the kiss they shared might be more than she’d thought she was agreeing to. She was grateful she’d not begun chewing. She’d no doubt choke. Best to change the course of their topic. “What are you carving?” she asked.
He chuckled darkly as though he understood her strategy, and she feared he’d continue on with his innuendoes. Instead, he said, “A toy ship for my nephew.”
“You have family?”
“You sound surprised. Did you think I’d sprung fully formed from Satan’s forehead?”
She laughed lightly. “I did on occasion suspect that might have been the case.” She couldn’t envision him with a family. “You seem more a lone wolf than part of a pack. Have you a wife then?”
“I wouldn’t be bartering for kisses if I did.”
“Yes, of course, I’m sorry. I’m having a very difficult time categorizing you.”
“As I explained that first night, where I’m concerned, you shouldn’t expect anything.”
“I suppose.” She took a bite of ham before saying, “So tell me about your family.”
“Why?”
“Because I suspect you know everything about mine.” He knew where she lived after all.
He grinned. “Servants will talk.”
“So you know I have a father and four brothers. What of you?”
“Two brothers.”
“Older? Younger?”
“One older. One younger.”
“You don’t like speaking about them. Why is that?”
He placed an elbow on the table, leaned forward, and tucked behind her ear several strands of hair that had come loose and begun whipping around her face. “Because they don’t interest me as you do. I’d rather talk about you.”
Her lips tingled and she wondered if he would kiss her now. But he only perused her features as though every line and curve were a fascinating oddity. She suspected in his travels he’d encountered the most exotic of women. How plain she must be compared with them.
She drew back, needing the distance. Reaching for the orange, she began to peel it with slightly trembling fingers, hoping he wouldn’t notice that he could set her nerves to dancing with so little effort. “Have you traveled the entire world?”
“Most of it.”
“Did your brothers choose a life at sea?”
“We didn’t choose anything. Life presented opportunities and we took them.”
She separated off a section of orange and bit into it, startled by the abundance of juice that shot into her mouth, dribbled down her chin. Before she could snatch up her napkin, he was gliding his finger below her lips, wiping away the succulent nectar. Then holding her gaze, slowly, ever so slowly, he sucked on his fingers, the light blue of his eyes darkening.
Her chest ached as she fought to draw in breath. How could something so ill-mannered be so erotic? She felt as though the sun had traveled closer and was scorching her skin. She was vaguely aware of him taking the fruit from her, tearing off a section, biting it in half before offering her the remains.
“I couldn’t possibly—”
“It won’t make quite the mess, and you must admit that it’s frightfully good. And you don’t want to get scurvy.”
It was delicious, yes. She took the offering and popped it into her mouth. “I thought scurvy happened only on long voyages.”
“Who knows?” He tore off another segment, ate half, and extended what was left. It didn’t seem quite so wicked this time when she took it. “Maybe we’ll decide not to return to England. We’ll simply sail around the world.”
“Oh, that sounds lovely.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized her mistake in saying them. He’d grown still, the partially eaten orange seemingly forgotten. She released a self-conscious laugh. “I was only teasing. I have far too many responsibilities to go wherever the wind blows.”
“Who hurt you, Princess?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I sense sadness in you.”
She shook her head. She couldn’t confide in him. She barely knew him. Her heart was only just beginning to heal. She would not, could not, risk it becoming bruised again. Perhaps she would marry Walter’s brother. She would never love him, and therefore she could never again be hurt—or worse, cause hurt.
Tears pricked her eyes. She angled back her head and pointed. “What is it like to view the world from the crow’s nest? It must be marvelous to see so far, to be able to see everything.”
“You can’t see everything. You never can.”
“It’s like life then, isn’t it? Because if you could see everything, if you knew what would stretch out before you, you might say or do things that wouldn’t leave you with regrets.”
She looked to the sea, needing not to see the sympathy in his eyes. She didn’t want him to be kind. She simply wanted him to get her to Scutari so she could ask Walter for forgiveness. “Walter always wanted to sail the sea. Spoke of one day purchasing a sailboat.”
“Walter?”
The word came out like the crack of a whip.
“My fiancé. It’s the reason he arranged for his earnings to be sent to me. His brother is a marquess, and Walter feared the money would go into the family coffers. He was going to use it as our nest egg.”
“Is that what you were using to finance this voyage?” His voice was a bit more relaxed, but flat, the way the sea looked in the distance, as though nothing at all disturbed for good or ill.
“Yes.” She dared to look back at him. “Why did you agree to take me on the journey for something as paltry as a kiss? I’m sure you’re no stranger to kisses.”
“Kisses and I are well acquainted, and so I know their value. Every woman’s kiss is different. Some lips are chapped, others I could swear had been woven together from threads of silk. Some mouths are dry, others wet. Some women taste of garlic and some”—he touched his fingers to his lips, made a smacking sound before unfurling them like a flower—“are as rich as fine vintage wine. Some women make not a sound as they kiss. Others sigh a sweet melody that teases the ear and remains vibrant in memory long after she is no longer there. A kiss can be all things. It can be profound.” He shrugged. “Or it can be forgettable.”
She couldn’t imagine that a kiss bestowed by him could ever be forgettable. Would he forget hers?
“And if you discover that my kiss isn’t worth the trouble of the voyage?”
“I don’t think there’s a chance in hell of that happening.” With a wide grin he got to his feet, towering over her, and set what remained of the orange on her plate. “I have to check my charts, see to my duties. It’s my hope that you’ll dine with me this evening in my cabin.” He tilted his head slightly. “Your cabin.”
“Yes, of course.”
“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.
A
t 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.”