Tristan waited until she was sitting before taking his own chair. Reeves poured tea into their cups and filled the juice glasses. He also placed some marmalade and honey on the table in small containers. Tristan tried to still his impatience; he just wanted to eat. All of this fussing was interfering with his efficient ways of doing things.
Finally, just as Tristan thought he could stand it no more, Reeves removed the covers from each plate to reveal some more of Signore Pietra’s magic. A variety of deep, rich scents wafted up to Tristan’s nose. His stomach, already rumbling, pinched in expectation. Tristan took his fork and knife and began to cut his ham.
Prudence cleared her throat.
In addition to the ham, there were eggs stirred with cream and cooked to perfection, links of spicy sausage, a rich bit of kidney pie, and several pieces of gently browned toast. Tristan reached for the marmalade.
Prudence coughed. Loudly.
Tristan spared her a glance. “You may have some, too.” He opened the marmalade jar and reached for his knife when—thunk. A blinding pain wracked his good shin. He dropped the knife with a clatter. “Bloody hell, woman! Why did you do that?”
She looked from him to Reeves, who stood patiently by, his gaze now fixed on the ceiling.
Tristan rubbed his shin and glared from one to the other. “What?”
“Reeves asked if you required anything else and you did not answer.”
“I was eating! Besides, he could just look and bloody well tell I didn’t need anything.”
“Before he leaves the room, you should let him know if you need anything else, and then, if not, thank him for his services.”
“Couldn’t you have just told me that instead of kicking me to death?”
Her cheeks flushed. “I tried to give you a hint, but you would not take it.”
“Is there no middle ground between a hint and a kick? Next time, say what you want and say it out loud.”
“I am sorry if you think my actions excessive, although the way you were looking at your plate, I didn’t think you would have heard a word.”
To be honest, Tristan didn’t think he would have, either. The eggs were damn good. “I suppose I should thank you for not kicking my injured leg.”
She sniffed. “I thought about it.”
“Why am I not surprised? You are incorrigible.”
She flashed him a look from beneath her lashes that warned him that his other leg was still within reach of her pointed-toed boot.
“Don’t even think about it,” he murmured.
She tried to look haughty but failed to look anything other than adorable. Tristan decided that one of the most delectable things about his prickly Prudence was the quality of her beauty. She was elegant in a quiet sort of way. She had lovely shoulders, softly rounded arms, and a graceful neck. But it was her face that caught his attention. From her stubborn chin to the sweep of her brow, every feature echoed intelligence and humor and…passion, perhaps. But what made her so different was the way she thought.
Reeves cleared his throat. “Is there nothing else, my lord?”
Tristan waved him away. “No, Reeves.”
Prudence coughed.
Tristan added quickly, “But ah, thank you for your efforts.” He raised his brows at Prudence.
She gave a tiny nod.
Reeves’s smile blossomed. He bowed. “Thank you, my lord. Pray ring if you need anything.” With that, he withdrew.
As the door closed behind the butler, Tristan leaned back in his chair. “Well? Was that better?”
“Much,” she said, almost glowing in approval.
To Tristan’s surprise, a full grin broke from him in the warmth of her smile. Startled by his own reaction, he quickly turned his gaze to his plate. Bloody hell, when had Prudence’s opinion come to mean so much to him?
It would not do to grow too used to having Prudence in his life. She was a temporary passenger on his frigate and nothing more. Which was a good thing, he decided, the glow from her warm smile wearing off completely. Unless he decided to retire forever on this rocky cliff and spend his remaining days contemplating the dust growing on his soul, he’d best steer clear of all women like Prudence; women who captured a man with the silken nets of companionship and home.
That was not for him. He would enjoy what benefits he could from these next few weeks, and then return to his old way of life, free and unfettered. Meanwhile, a little flirtation would not be amiss…providing he was cautious.
As he cut his ham, he decided that perhaps he’d been on his own a bit too long, for he’d forgotten how pleasant it was, looking across the table and into such beautiful brown eyes.
He was just finishing his last bite of ham when he caught Prudence regarding him consideringly. “Is something amiss?”
“Your table manners. Reeves was right; they are excellent.”
“Except when I forget to compliment the help?”
“Except then.” She took a sip of tea. “Well, my lord? Shall we begin? We have much to discuss.”
He put down his fork. “Do your worst. Subject me to whatever plaguey notion you have of comportment.”
“Comportment is not a plaguey notion at all. It is what makes us civilized.”
“And here I thought it was fear of being beheaded, transported, or sent to rot in gaol that made us such upright citizens.”
She sniffed. “That may be your reason for being civilized, but it is not mine. Manners set us apart from animals.”
“Animals have manners, too. They just do not take them to such extremes.”
She frowned. “What animals have manners?”
“Ants. They walk in a single line, do they not?”
“Frequently.”
“Ever see an ant shove another out of the way?”
“Well. No.”
“Exactly. They are polite to one another. Always. Meanwhile men bind themselves up in ridiculous fashion and rules, then do not pay one another the commonest of courtesies, like respect or kindness.”
Her dark eyes twinkled with a reluctant flare of mirth. “That is a very good point.”
Tristan wiped his mouth with his napkin, then leaned back in his chair. “Now you know why I find this entire situation lamentable. But it matters not; I must have that fortune. So go ahead, ruin me with rules. Keelhaul me on your idea of etiquette. Confine me to perdition with politeness. Do your worst. I am yours to do with as you will.”
Prudence’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tempt me with words like ‘keelhaul.’”
He pretended amazement. “My lovely Prudence, I am astounded to hear such uncharitable words fall from your lips.”
“Yes, well, if you were privy to my thoughts at times, you’d be far less astounded by my words.”
That made him laugh. “You look like a soft wind in an easy port, but I fear you’re more of a typhoon on a very rocky and inhospitable shore.”
“What I am is determined to earn the money Mr. Reeves has promised me. Now, if you don’t mind, the trustees will be here in a few short weeks, and one of the most important lessons of all will be how you comport yourself over the table.”
“Desultory dinner talk is one of the most important lessons? Surely you jest.”
“I’m afraid not. You will be expected to know how to converse intelligently and without hesitation or rudeness, plus address all manner of persons.”
“I already know how to speak like a member of the nobility. Here. I’ll show you. Talk to me.”
She raised her brows. “I beg your pardon?”
“Talk to me. I’ll show you that I know how to speak like a member born.”
Prudence had to stifle a sigh. She wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but it couldn’t be anywhere good. Still, the quicker she played along and proved him wrong, the faster they could get to their lesson. She finished her tea and stood. “Shall we move closer to the fireplace? We can take up this conversation there.”
Tristan stood as well, leaning on
his cane. “Of course.” He watched as she walked to the red chair that was now positioned next to the settee. Her gown was full, tied beneath her breasts with a wide pink ribbon, the skirts scarcely touching where they swept down to her feet. Tristan found that he could just make out the curve of her hips as she walked, a fact he found quite absorbing.
She sat in the chair. “Pray have a seat, my lord.”
He took the settee, legs stretched before him, cane leaning against his knee. Prudence noted that his hair fell over his brow, shadowing his eyes until they appeared a more muted color. He really did have the most gorgeous eyes, surrounded by thick lashes and—
Good heavens. Do your job and nothing more. “The best way to show you how to have a genteel conversation is to have one.”
“Very well,” he said, his eyes gently mocking her. “What do you want me to do?”
“Pretend I am the duchess of Devonshire—”
He almost choked.
“What?” said Prudence.
“Have you met the duchess?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Prudence confessed. “The woman is a sad flirt and talks in a very affected manner.”
“Then why do you want to be her?”
Prudence made an impatient sound. “I don’t want to be her! I just wish to give you some opportunity to practice using titles and the proper forms of address. So I said I was the duchess.”
He smiled at her, a glint in his eyes. To her chagrin, he slid down the end of the settee until his knee was almost touching hers. Prudence gathered her skirts. They were brushing against Tristan’s legs and for some reason, that drew her attention to such an extent that it made speaking sensibly very difficult.
Bother it all, but she’d thought she’d come prepared to deal with the earl’s flirting manner. She’d spent the better part of yesterday evening telling herself over and over that she had to maintain a nice, safe distance and keep the topic on the issue at hand. That was all she had to do.
She’d even carefully planned on sitting in the chair and not the settee, as that would make certain the earl would not traverse too closely. She glanced down to where his foot was now pressed against hers. Apparently not.
She moved her foot and plastered a determined smile on her lips. “Please stop that. Let us pretend I am the duchess and we’re sitting together at a soiree and—”
“A soiree?”
“Yes. It is a party held in the evening hours.”
He leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. Now his hand was only an inch from where hers rested on the arm of her chair. “If you wish to be at a soiree, then we will be at one. But before we go any further, I have one question.”
“What?”
“What are you wearing to this soiree?”
She blinked. “Wearing?”
“Yes. I want the full experience. What would you, the sensual duchess of Devonshire, be wearing to this event?”
“I never said she was sensual.”
“Oh, but she is.”
“That is a matter of opinion,” Prudence said stiffly. For some reason, it irked her to hear the captain call the duchess a “sensual” woman. Just what did he mean by that?
He put his hand on hers where it rested on the arm of her chair.
Prudence pulled free. “No, thank you.”
Chuckling, he dipped his head so that his eyes were level with hers. “If the duchess is anything like you, then she’s very sensual.”
Her irritation fled before an onslaught of heat and…something else. Good God, but the man was a master at making her skin heat, her heart gallop, her mind flutter like the edge of a curtain in a hot summer breeze. She tried to swallow and failed. “Lord Rochester, pray do not make this so…”
“Amusing? Interesting?” He brushed the back of his hand over her cheek. “Enjoyable?”
She jerked her head away. “My lord, please!”
“Now that is a word I love hearing from a woman’s lips: ‘please.’” He leaned on the arm of the settee, his fingers hanging over the edge and near her hand. “So…what are you wearing, my dear Lady Devonshire?”
She sighed. “You are impossible.”
He looked hurt. “I just asked what you were wearing so I could picture it more accurately. If that is a problem, then—”
“No,” she muttered. “If that’s what it takes to win your cooperation, so be it.” She thought a quick moment. “I am wearing a white and blue silk gown covered with pink and blue rosettes.”
He leaned back a little, his gaze traveling slowly up and down her as if he could actually see the gown. After a moment, he leaned a little closer. “Lady Devonshire, may I say you look lovely this evening?”
Prudence nodded approvingly. “That is quite an unexceptional comment.”
“Thank you,” he said gravely. “But ah…is that you speaking? Or the duchess?”
“Oh. That was me. The duchess would probably say something like, ‘What a compliment, my lord. Thank you.’”
“It is naught but the truth.” He captured her hand and pulled it to his lips. He kissed her fingers, his mouth warm on her bare skin. “You are the most beautiful duchess in the room. And the way your gown is so low cut…” He leaned forward, his gaze staring at her bosom.
Prudence yanked her hand from his.
He gave her an innocent stare. “What?”
“That is not a proper statement and you know it.”
“It’s what I’d say to the duchess, if she were here. In fact, it’s almost exactly what I did say to her when she supped with me aboard my ship. And she enjoyed it very much.”
Prudence’s brow snapped low. “I don’t want to hear about the time you met the duchess. Let us return to our playacting and ascertain what is correct behavior and what isn’t. Commenting on the cut of a woman’s gown is not correct.”
He sighed. “So many rules.”
“My Lord Rochester,” she said, once again the duchess, “what brings you here to this delightful rout?”
He took her hand, turned it over, and pressed a warm kiss on her palm. “You, my love.”
She sprang up from the settee. “Oh for the love of—Will you please stop that!”
He sighed. “How am I to pretend you are the duchess of Devonshire if you will not stay in character?”
“How am I to play the duchess if you keep saying such things?”
“It’s what the duchess would expect.”
She glowered at him, then sat down and arranged her skirts. “Let us forget about the duchess of Devonshire for the moment. Let’s pretend instead that I’m the duchess of Richmond.”
“Richmond? I don’t know her.”
“She’s all of eighty years old and a termagant. She is also something of a prude, so you’d best watch what you say. I once saw her slap a man across the cheek with her fan for merely looking at his watch while she was speaking.”
Tristan eyed Prudence morosely. “You are determined to take all of the fun out of this, aren’t you?”
“I want you to be successful in your bid to win the fortune. Now, let us begin once again. Lord Rochester, don’t you think it is rather warm today?”
His brows rose. He looked past her to the terrace window. Prudence’s gaze followed his. A frigid blustery wind blew, ruffling the thin trees and round shrubs in waves.
Prudence forced herself to meet Tristan’s gaze. “It’s quite, quite hot here in London.”
Tristan grinned, his teeth flashing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I suppose if you can pretend you’re a duchess, I can pretend the sun is shining in London. So yes, it is a warm day.”
They continued on for several more moments, bantering back and forth in a most unexceptional way. Finally, Prudence sat back, smiling widely. “You do very well once you are not talking to someone with whom you might flirt.”
“As the trustees are all men, we’ll hope it doesn’t become an issue.”
She chuckled. “That is a very good point.” Tristan w
ould not have to learn so many of the ton’s useless posturing and manners if some of the trustees had been women. A woman would forgive much in a man who was so disturbingly attractive.
A sudden thought occurred to Prudence. What had Tristan said about the duchess of Devonshire? Something about the duchess being such a sensual woman.
A jumble of heated thoughts rushed through Prudence’s head, an unfamiliar pang tightening her heart. She’d met the duchess once and the woman’s overt sensuality had made Prudence quite uncomfortable. Was it possible that the duchess and Tristan had met and—
Prudence bit back the thought. It didn’t matter though it would not surprise her one little bit. Tristan was the sort of man to enjoy such dalliances; he’d probably had hundreds. Prudence shifted in her chair, wondering why the thought was so unpalatable. She didn’t care what the earl liked or didn’t like. She was here to assist him in gaining a little polish and nothing more.
He must have noticed Prudence’s reticence, for he asked, “What is it?”
“When did you meet the duchess of Devonshire?”
“She and her retinue traveled on my ship to France.”
“And?” Prudence’s heart pounded in her throat. She didn’t want to know any more. And yet…she couldn’t seem to stop asking. “You spoke to her?”
He leaned back against the settee. “Yes.”
“I see.” She clamped a hand about the arm of the chair. “And what did you think of her?”
He took longer to answer this time, his brow lowering. “A lowly sea captain is an acceptable companion when a lady of fashion is traversing the seas, away from her usual friends and family. Such a captain might, if he was willing, even be a candidate for a discreet dalliance. But for anything else…”
He shrugged, though there was a tension across his face that hadn’t been there before.
Every word hurt. Prudence hated that she’d asked. Now she was left feeling oddly empty. “Society can be cruel.” And harsh. And lonely.
“You don’t know,” he returned, his voice sharp.
Her Master and Commander Page 15
