Her Master and Commander

by Karen Hawkins

  Tristan clamped his teeth over the things he wanted to say, none of which would help his case now. Damn it, he was an earl now. Surely earls could do things that sea captains could not.

  But no; he would not think like his father. There were rules and there were laws. Since Tristan was no gentleman, he didn’t have to worry about the rules. But laws—not even an earl should be above them.

  He leaned his head against the high squab of the carriage, regarding Prudence for a long moment. She sat fuming in the opposite corner, her jaw set mutinously, her eyes sparkling with ire.

  She looked…beautiful. Without another thought, Tristan leaned across the carriage, picked her up and set her on the seat opposite his. “Now we can talk.”

  She gasped. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “Bringing you to a more amenable distance.”

  “For whom?”

  He managed a grin. “For us both. I cannot hear you from the opposite corner.”

  She planted her palms on the seat and scooted even further away than before. “I can hear you just fine from here. If any of those men at the party tonight had treated me the way you are treating me right now, it might well have been within reason to wish to challenge them for their horrid and inconsiderate behavior. But tossing about threats merely because someone said a nice word—I won’t stand for it. Not now. Not ever.”

  Tristan raked a hand through his hair, wishing he could explain his feelings. The problem was, he wasn’t sure if he knew exactly what they were himself. “Prudence—”

  “That is another thing. When we are in public, it will not do for you to call me Prudence. It is Mrs. Thistlewaite.”

  He stared down at his boots, his irritation fading with each moment. Perhaps he had reacted a little too strongly. He sighed. “Did I embarrass you?”

  “Drastically!”

  He winced. “I apologize. That was not my intent. But I don’t like seeing other men treat you with disrespect.”

  “And I don’t like it when you barge in where you are not wanted. I am not one of your crew members injured in the war and in need of rescuing!”

  That galled him. A flame of something other than irritation spiked through him. “Prudence, I have apologized. I cannot do more.”

  “I do not accept your apology.”

  “No?”

  “No.” She turned from him, flipping up one corner of the leather curtain that covered the window and staring stonily into the night.

  Damn it! This was not how he wanted their night to end. His gaze flickered over her, noting the curve of her breasts through the low-cut neckline, the delicate hollows of her shoulders, the elegant line of her neck. His fingers itched and curled into his palms, his head swirling a bit from the wine and brandy.

  Before he knew what he was about, he’d reached across the carriage and picked her up once again, only this time, he placed her firmly in his lap.

  She sat still for a stunned moment, her skirts trailing over his knees. “You—you cannot do that!”

  “I just did,” he said smugly, placing a kiss on her jaw right where it touched her neck.

  She gasped, her eyes widening.

  “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you this evening, love,” he murmured against her neck.

  She scrambled as if to get out of his lap, but he held her tighter, trailing his lips from her jaw to just below her ear.

  “My lord, you—”

  “Tristan,” he murmured, nibbling softly on the sensitive lobe of her ear.

  Prudence grit her teeth, clinging desperately to her anger. She was furious, and with good reason, she told herself, even as a sensuous shiver traced down her back. His mouth traveled down her neck to her collarbone and, despite her intentions, she caught herself lifting her chin just a bit so he could continue his ministrations.

  Waves of delight shivered through her, her breasts peaking. He’d been horrid this evening, she reminded herself, fisting her hands in an effort to maintain coherent thought. But…he had apologized, too. She needed to remember that though she and Reeves had taught the earl manners, they hadn’t managed to civilize him. This was a man who would never be civilized, no matter the circumstances.

  His lips brushed her outer ear, then her temple, his breath warm and delicious. A bit more of her previous irritation melted, little by little. His hands were warm on her through the thin silk of her gown, his lips doing magical things to her. She should fight him, she told herself. She should fight him and demand that he return her to her seat. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t because her traitorous body was refusing to pay her any heed. The ability to think and thus frame a reasonable argument was rapidly leaving her. In the place of reason came a flood of emotions so potent, so powerful, that she was enthralled, caught in a net of heat and lust. Drowning in the silken honey of desire. She’d thought giving into her desire once would have slaked her fires. Instead, she wanted him all the more.

  What did it matter, anyway? He had embarrassed her this evening, although a little part of her was thrilled at the attention. Truth be known, when she’d caught Tristan glowering at her dinner partners, she’d flirted a good bit more than she usually did.

  It was odd how she both enjoyed and detested such behavior. She enjoyed it because for that moment—when he was staring at her with such focused desire—she’d felt powerful and even beautiful. Both were rare emotions, and she’d treasure them. But at the same time, she disliked being so affected by such things.

  Tristan’s large, warm hands slid down her back to her waist. His hands tightened and he pulled her closer, settling her against the hard ridge forming in his breeches. Desire tightened her throat, sent her senses careening. Surely he wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t take this any further…

  He threaded his hand through her hair, dislodging her pins and scattering them over the floor as her curls tumbled to her shoulders. His other hand slid down her leg and closed about her ankle, his fingers warm through her thin silk stocking. The sight of his large, masculine hand about her ankle was oddly erotic, especially when he slid his hand up beneath her skirt to cup her calf, then her knee.

  Prudence quivered, her breasts tightened and she wished with all her heart that his touch would linger. Endure. Grow bolder.

  She wanted him, but…she thought of his expression at the dinner party, of how possessive he’d been. Wouldn’t this just make matters worse? Or would it release yet more of the pressure that steamed between them, that pulse of awareness that had been growing since the first time she’d marched to his house ready for battle?

  The thoughts chilled her and she caught his hand just as he readied to slide it up to her thigh. “There is one thing we must understand if we are to progress any further.”

  His gaze narrowed and Prudence’s heart beat even harder. There was a menace to this man, a dark power that attracted her almost as much as it caught at her senses. But she refused to be cowed.

  Ignoring the pounding of her heart, she straightened her shoulders and pushed free of his hold, sliding across the seat to a safer distance. She needed the space—and the time—to gather herself. When he was near, she had to fight to remember who she was, who he was.

  Not that such a thing kept her from wanting him. Hardly that. But it was important that neither of them have any doubts as to what their relationship was. She cleared her throat. “I believe we both need to understand that this…dalliance is nothing more than that.” Though her face burned with embarrassment, she managed to meet his gaze levelly. “Do you understand?”

  Amusement touched his lips. “You are a conundrum, my lovely Prudence. I thought ladies never—”

  “I am no lady.” For the first time since she’d left London, Prudence was unabashedly glad for that fact. And it was true, according to the dictates of polite society.

  His brows drew down. “You are a lady. One of the finest I’ve ever met.” He reached over and threaded a lock of her hair through his fingers, lifting the strand to his lips. “Bu
t you are also a woman, and therein lays the difference between you and those mewling cats society bows and scrapes before. They are not real, nor do they wish to be.”

  Her stomach tightened as he rubbed the strand of her hair over his cheek, his eyes never leaving her. “Prudence, I want you.”

  The words washed over her, his voice so deep it drew her toward him. She shivered, a trace of heated passion that rippled over her, across her, inside her. Her breasts peaked and crested, her knees grew weak and unstable. She wanted him, too. And why shouldn’t she? She was no innocent, never before touched. She had been touched. By Phillip.

  At one time, the thought of Phillip might have turned her from this moment, made her feel guilty and alone. But now, all it did was send her forth. Phillip would not have wanted her to stop living merely because he’d died.

  But now, she faced a choice of a more complex sort. Unlike her relationship with Phillip, there was no future for her with Tristan. No matter the physical attraction between them, it could not be. He was an earl, required by the trustees to be socially acceptable. She, meanwhile, was anything but. They would never approve of her, especially as the trustees were well aware of her public disgrace.

  Which left her with what? Over the weeks, she had come to know the sailors in Tristan’s household, and they had become important to her in their own right. There was Toggle, who was a bit confused, but always sweet natured. Gibbons with his missing arm; she worried about him for he was so despondent. Adkins who was horribly scarred, but always found something to laugh at. And Stevens, who always made her feel welcome. She’d come to care for them all. If she encouraged Tristan to pursue their relationship, it would easily jeopardize his chances of winning the fortune. She refused to be the cause of more distress to those who had already suffered.

  What she had to do was admit to herself that this attraction was only temporary. A short-term indulgence, one brought on by the yearning this wonderful, intelligent man aroused within her. And once the trustees arrived, it would end, as suddenly and as seriously as it had begun.

  Her heart ached as she looked at him in the flickering light of the carriage lamp, admiring his eyes, his fine nose, the cut of his jaw.

  He raised a hand to his own cheek. “What is it? You look as if you’ve found something horribly wrong.”

  She smiled somewhat mirthlessly, the carriage swaying a little as they rounded a corner of the narrow road. “Perhaps I’ve merely found something terribly right.”

  Tristan picked up her hand and held it to his lips. “Prudence, I was a fool this evening. Can you forgive me? I cannot promise I will never again be jealous, but I will at least contain my actions to a more proper time and place.” His breath warmed the skin on the back of her hand. “I can tell I upset you. Let me make it up to you.”

  “I might,” she said, smiling a little at the huskiness of her own voice. “But only on my terms.”

  His expression darkened, the smile still in place. “You are a warrior at heart, aren’t you, my dear? You’d sooner fight than breathe.”

  “I do not like to lose,” she said, the carriage bumping slightly over the uneven road. “Who does?”

  “And making love with me would be losing?” A deep chuckle escaped him. “I think you need to redefine what you think ‘losing’ is. Or perhaps…” His gaze dropped to her lips, his eyes darkening, “…perhaps I need to redefine the word for you.”

  Her heart sped up a bit at that, her breasts swelling a little. She met his gaze boldly, though she had to fight not to keep her breathlessness from showing. “What do you intend to do?”

  His green eyes sparkled then, the thick black lashes lowering. Ever so slowly, he reached over and undid her cloak, his fingers warm against her throat, her shoulders. He caressed every inch of skin as he exposed it, lightly brushing his fingertips over her. His movements were slow, languorous, sensual.

  They were going to make love. She knew it with a certainty that held her in thrall. A wave of anticipation clasped her, the intensity of it astounding her. Just the thought of being with this man was a torture and a pleasure unlike any she’d ever had.

  Tristan freed the cloak from her and then slid her to his side. Suddenly bereft of his warmth, as well as her cloak, she shivered a little, crossing her arms before her. She watched as Tristan rolled the cloak into a long thick rope.

  “What are you doing?”

  He flashed a grin that set her heart pounding. “I am marking the line of battle, m’lady.”

  The line of battle. She rather thought she liked that.

  He moved down the bench a bit and pushed one end of the ‘rope’ over the top of the seat, then slid it down the back of the cushion to tuck it between the cushions. The remainder of the rope he let trail over the seat to the carriage floor.

  “There,” he said when he’d finished, leaning back to observe his handiwork.

  She looked at the thickly cushioned seat, at the line of her cloak against the plush red velvet. “So…this side of the seat is mine.”

  “And this side is mine,” he answered, patting the seat by his thigh.

  She really wished he hadn’t done that, drawn her gaze to his thigh. He had the most incredible muscles there, outlined in sharp relief by his breeches. She had to swallow before she could continue. “And we are to wage war? On this carriage seat?”

  “I’d prefer to think of it as wrestle. For control.”

  Well. That sounded rather promising. Despite her misgivings, Prudence smiled a little. “I don’t believe it would be a fair match. After all, you are quite a bit larger than me.”

  “Perhaps ‘wrestle’ is the wrong word. The more correct term would be…‘entice.’” His dark, smoldering gaze raked across her. “The game is to see who can entice whom to cross the line first.”

  Entice. Such a tiny word. And yet it held so much promise. Prudence’s heart rang loudly in her ears. “What exactly do you mean when you say ‘entice’? That could mean a lot of different—”

  He untied his cravat.

  “Oh!” she said breathlessly. She glanced at the carriage windows where the leather curtains were latched into place. “I don’t know if we should—”

  He tossed his cravat to one side. He was out of his waistcoat in equal time, tossing it to the opposite seat. “Whoever crosses the line first of their own free will, loses. Although…” His teeth flashed in a grin as he pulled his shirt free from the waistband and pulled it over his head. “In this war, my love, we both win.”

  Chapter 16

  Even the most cautious of servants will find that surprises happen. The question becomes whether they take you—or you take them.

  A Compleat Guide for

  Being a Most Proper Butler

  by Richard Robert Reeves

  It was silliness. It really was. And Prudence knew that. But she was fascinated. Fascinated with the thought of lovemaking in a carriage.

  And even more fascinated with the man who sat within arm’s reach, his shirt gone. “What if we get caught?”

  “My love, they will have to stop the carriage before they come to open the door. Besides, it is a long ride.”

  That was true. It had taken them almost an hour to reach the squire’s. Prudence watched as Tristan’s shirt joined the other articles of clothing on the seat across from them.

  He paused, eyeing her up and down. “Well?”

  She suddenly realized she hadn’t moved an inch, but was sitting on the edge of her half of the seat, watching Tristan disrobe. Every movement he made fanned the fires banked deep within her.

  If she wished to entice him, she had to do something. But what? Almost of their own volition, her fingers found the ribbon at the neckline of her gown. She had just begun to untie it when she caught Tristan’s gaze.

  He sat so still as to appear to be a statue, his lips firmly together, his eyes bright and hard. He looked so…tense. As if he was only barely in control.

  Ah! He was struggling to maintain his co
mposure. That was interesting, indeed. Perhaps if she slowed things down a bit and made the anticipation work for her…

  She dropped her hands back into her lap. “I think I will wait.”

  His brows lowered. “Wait?”

  “For you to finish disrobing.” She sat back in her corner, watching him from beneath her lashes. “Pray continue. I am vastly enjoying this.”

  He eyed her a moment, disbelief in every line of his expression. “I don’t believe that’s fair.”

  “Fair?” She smiled. “Who said we had to be fair? I rather thought the purpose was to test one another’s ability to withstand temptation.”

  “It is,” he said, though his tone was somewhat grim, which made Prudence’s smile widen.

  “Hm. Then perhaps you are just afraid…” She looked at him from beneath her lashes. “Of losing.”

  That seemed to goad him enough, for he snapped his mouth closed and yanked off his boots.

  Prudence was mesmerized by the site of his broad back, of the muscles that rippled beneath his skin, of the narrowness of his waist and the sinew of his arms. God, but he was a lovely man.

  And for this moment, all hers.

  The thought buoyed her a bit and she was able to keep her composure even when he tossed aside his boots, and began to undo his breeches. The next moment was one Prudence would remember all of her life. One moment he was before her, resplendent in his black breeches—and then he was naked, every tightly chiseled, sinewy inch of him exposed.

  The scar on his leg gleamed white against his muscled sinew. She remembered that she had kissed it, a delicious shiver rippling over her.

  Prudence’s pulse pounded behind her ears and eyes. Her skin tightened and tingled.

  Tristan turned on the seat to face her, his muscular legs slightly splayed so she could see—

  She closed her eyes, hands clenched at her sides, before taking a deep breath. Perhaps this was a dream, a wonderful dream. Slowly, she opened her eyes…he was still there. And still magnificent, every inch of him. She was awash in longing simply by looking at him.