Her Master and Commander (25 page)

Christian caught the serving wench’s eye and winked. “More ale, love.”

She winked back and sashayed off, Christian watching her go with appreciation.

“A skirt chaser, eh?”

Christian pretended to be hurt. “I am not a ‘skirt chaser.’”

“No?”

“No. I am, however, a ‘skirt
catcher.
’”

Tristan shook his head. “You were never shy.”

“And you were never slow. I’ve loved women from the time I could appreciate them. The fascination never wanes.”

“It appears you have inherited some tendencies from our father after all.”

Christian’s smile faded. “Never say that again.”

Tristan grinned. “Make me.”

Christian’s eyes narrowed even as he smiled in delight. “Don’t tempt me.”

It was an old game, one they’d played countless times before, a right of passage for most males, Tristan supposed. Suddenly, his heart felt full. Had it not been for the nagging worry over Prudence’s farewell look, he would have been an incredibly happy man.

Christian tilted his head to one side. “Do you sail at all?”

“I cannot keep my balance. A captain who cannot keep his feet when the ship rolls is as useful as an oyster with a cart.”

“I like to eat oysters. I get them from the street vendors in London all of the time.”

“Wonderful. I am reduced to street vendors’ fare.”

Christian flashed a white smile. “It’s your job to develop into an ogre and my job to remind you that you are all too human.”

“Thank you. I don’t know how I lived without you all these years.”

“Poorly, from the sound of it.”

Tristan nodded, though he wondered if perhaps Christian was right. Tristan had been well fed. His house was snug and warm. He’d had the companionship of his men. And when the urge had demanded it, he’d been welcomed by the tavern wenches in town.

Had he more coin to assist the lads, he’d have had a perfect life. Except for one thing…Prudence.

All throughout his home now, there were little touches of Prudence here and there; the chair remained ridiculously close to the settee, the breakfast table was now a permanent fixture in his library, and Stevens had hung a special hook in the front closet for her cloak. Small things and yet they gave the place a sense of something. Of home, perhaps.

His heart tightened. He’d lived in many places. Been to many countries. And lain with many women. But none had the ability to make him feel that one thing—the warmth of home. He set his jaw. He’d had a home once. And it had been ripped from him when his mother had been arrested. The pain of it haunted him still. He did not need another “home.” He needed—

Hell, he didn’t know what he needed any more. At one time, he’d have sworn that being able to sail once more would have completed him. Now…now he was not so sure. His entire life felt empty, useless even. Damn it. What was wrong with him? Could it be…was it Prudence? Was the mere thought of never seeing her again making him feel so wretched?

A strange hollowness filled his chest, stretched his heart. She’d snuck into his life and changed it without him even realizing what had happened.

“Tristan?”

He looked up.

His brother had pulled his chair closer and now sat facing him. “Tristan, what ails you? You keep fading away as if something is on your mind.”

“Prudence.” The word hung between them.

Christian sighed. “You are smitten.”

“I am not. I just…I care for her.”

“You are smitten.”

“Damn it—”

“I can see the signs. You, my dearest brother, are in deep smit. Very deep smit, indeed.”

Tristan raked a hand through his hair. “I care for her, but—”

Christian leaned forward and suddenly, the merriment was lost from his eyes. “There are no buts when love is involved. Tristan, if you love her, you must do something about it.” He slowly stood, rubbing his chest and wincing as he did so. “Life is never certain. If you want the lady, then make her yours. Otherwise…” Christian shrugged. “She will leave and you will be left alone. Again.”

The surety of the words cut Tristan like a knife. But they also built his resolve. Christian was right; there was no reason to tarry. Tomorrow he would call on Prudence and set all of this straight. He grabbed his cane and hefted himself to his feet. “Thank you, Christian. I will do as you say.”

It was wonderful to have his brother back in his life. Now, all he needed to do was convince Prudence that she belonged there, as well.

P
rudence blinked. “I beg your pardon. What did you say?”

Mrs. Fieldings sniffed. “I said ’tis the captain—or the earl—or whatever he is. He’s here. In the sittin’ room.”

“But—but—” Prudence sat in her own bedchamber, before the mirror, a brush in one hand. She looked down at her nightrail. “He’s here
now?
”

Mrs. Fieldings crossed her arms. “The cat as chases the yarn best beware the hidden tangles.”

“I don’t care about cats and tangles. It’s only seven thirty in the morning!” Prudence dropped the brush and hurried to twist her hair into a neat knot at the back of her head. With the housekeeper’s help, Prudence was soon dressed and running down the stairs.

What could he want? Perhaps…a faint leap of hope lifted her heart. Perhaps he came to tell her that he loved her.

Her heart thundered at the barely whispered thought.
What if he did?
Would that mean that he’d given up his dream of going back to sea, of living a free and unfettered life? Could he be happy with such a decision?

Morning light streamed through the windows as Prudence opened the door to the sitting room.

Tristan turned from where he stood beside the fireplace, staring down into the flickering flames. He was dressed in one of the new coats Reeves had ordered for him, his hair neatly tied back, his riding boots so shiny they gleamed like a mirror.

He looked so handsome that Prudence’s step faltered ever so slightly, though she quickly hid it under a bright greeting. “Good morning, my lord. I trust you are feeling no ill effects from last night’s excitement?”

His gaze darkened on seeing her. “Prudence.”

She dipped a curtsy. “Good morning,” she repeated in her firmest tone, praying he would follow her lead and make this easier for both of them. Prudence took a chair by the fire and gestured to the opposite one. “Pray have a seat.”

He paused, his brows lowered as he looked at her.

“Please,” she repeated, a faint rush of desperation tinting her voice. She did not want to cry—
would not
cry.

Tristan took the seat, setting his cane to one side, his gaze never wavering. He appeared tired this morning, too. Only that and the cut on his chin proved last night’s events.

She touched her own chin. “You might have a scar there.”

“Scars are nothing new.”

Prudence nodded. “How is your arm?”

“Fine, fine. Prudence, we must—”

“And your brother?”

Christian’s expression softened. “I spent over an hour with him last night. I had missed him.”

A million emotions were hidden behind those words. Prudence’s throat tightened. “I am glad you found him.”

“Thank you. But that is not what I came to speak to you about. Last night, we did not have the time to discuss what happened between us. Prudence, I have made a decision. We must marry.”

Prudence didn’t think she was breathing. It certainly felt as if her heart had frozen in place.
“Must?”

He straightened his shoulders as if the weight of the world pressed them down. “It is only right.”

She looked at him. There was nothing light or happy in his expression, just the grim determination of a man doing his duty.

Her heart sank. Duty. He merely felt guilty for—“No.”

Tristan scowled. “No?”

“No.” It was a pity love did not solve all problems. Oh, it made them bearable, but only if both people loved equally.

“Damn it, why not?”

“I was married once. Phillip and I had love, respect, common interests, an understanding of each other—Tristan, we have none of those.”

His brows lowered. “We enjoy being together and—”

“We have passion and nothing more. That is not enough.” She drew a shaky breath and stood. He did the same, leaning on his cane, his brows low.

“It’s enough for me,” he said, his voice low. “I never before had any wish to marry. But now, I can think of no reason not to. Surely that is enough.”

“Is that all you can say?”

Tristan’s jaw worked. “I find your company entertaining.”

How lovely. She thought she would explode from her feelings and he thought she was “entertaining.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Tristan, you should know something. Two of the trustees were harmed by Phillip’s investments. When I left London, it was under a cloud of scandal. Phillip had already died, but the furor over the financial losses was still raging. Tristan, if those two members of the board—Lords Ware and Southerland—see us together, they will not be happy. They will demand you never see me again.”

She waited but after a moment, Tristan just shrugged. “We won’t tell them then. I shall say you’ve been my tutor. Once the funds are mine, I may do as I wish. It would serve them well if I did such a thing.”

She stiffened, her gaze meeting his. “I will not hide from those men. Not now, not ever.”

“I wasn’t suggesting you hide, just—” He rubbed a hand over his face as if struggling with the words.

Prudence didn’t know what to say. It was worse than she thought. He wished to keep their relationship a secret and then, when it no longer mattered, parade it forth like a beacon of rebellion. “I am flattered,” she managed to snap, unable to disguise the hurt.

His brow lowered, puzzlement on his face. “Prudence, I truly mean this.”

“I don’t believe that. Tristan Llevanth, I will not marry you. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. I want no part of such a farce. Now, if you don’t mind, I have things to do. Please do not return. We have nothing more to say to each other.” Heart thudding sickly, she turned on her heel and left, shutting the door behind her. As soon as the latch clicked, she picked up her skirts and ran up the stairs for her room, her feet flying. The tears began before she reached her room, but at least she was spared the embarrassment of weeping before the man she loved.

“Hmm,” Reeves said thoughtfully. He pursed his lips for a long moment, then shook his head. “I can think of no answer, my lord. I would suggest you forget about Mrs. Thistlewaite.”

Tristan blinked. “Forget about her?”

“Yes, my lord. It sounds as though Mrs. Thistlewaite does not care for you as you thought.” Reeves waved a hand. “I would forget about her and find another. With the earldom secured and the fortune in your pocket, you should have your pick of any woman around. In fact, you can have your pick of any woman in the country, I daresay.” Reeves’s blue gaze met Tristan’s. “Why settle for the widow? You can do far, far better.”

Tristan grit his teeth. “I do not wish for another.”

Reeves shrugged, then picked up the tray. “I would suggest you think it through a day or two and then decide. There really is no hurry, for as you told Mrs. Thistlewaite, you cannot claim her until after the trustees leave, anyway. Perhaps the doctor will be available to console her in the meantime.” The butler turned toward the door.

“Reeves.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I did not mean to insult Prudence when I suggested we not tell the trustees.”

“No, my lord. I am certain you did not. But I cannot but think the words must have been rather…hurtful.”

Tristan rubbed his forehead. “I shall apologize to her. I—I wish her to be in my life.”

“May I ask why, my lord?”

Why? Because he could not imagine life without her? Because it seemed that his happiness was completely bound up in hers? Somehow the words would not come. Tristan looked over at the untouched breakfast table. “I do not like taking breakfast alone.”

Reeves followed Tristan’s gaze. “Indeed, my lord. It is quite unpleasant, having breakfast alone. It is a dilemma, my lord.”

“Damn it, I know that!”

“Yes, my lord. If you see Mrs. Thistlewaite and declare yourself to her now, then you risk losing the fortune. If you wait until after the trustees leave, then you risk making it seem as if you didn’t really care for her so much as you cared for the funds.”

“Exactly.”

“My lord?”

“Yes?”

“I am quite certain you will think of something.” The butler turned, and let himself out of the door.

“Bloody hell!” Tristan muttered. “What good is having a butler if they don’t have better answers than that?”

Tristan leaned back, staring into the fire, feeling completely lost and alone. Good God, he’d made such a muddle of it all. What was he to do now?

The clock ticked loudly in the library. Tristan didn’t notice. The breakfast table had been removed and a luncheon tray had arrived, followed several hours later by a dinner tray. Tristan had not touched either, instead preferring liquid sustenance in the form of his brandy.

Drinking would not solve his problems. He knew that. But it dulled his pain so he could think more clearly. He stood, stretching a bit and then fumbling for his cane. God, but he was stiff and sore from his adventure last night.

Wincing, he took his glass to the sideboard, grumbling when he found the brandy decanter empty. “Blast it all!
Stevens!
”

There was no answer.

Tristan cursed loudly, then went to the door and out into the hallway.
“Damn you, Stevens! Where are you?”

Still no answer.

“
Reeves!
” Tristan bellowed.

Almost immediately a measured tread could be heard approaching. Reeves entered the hallway, pausing when he saw Tristan. “My lord?”

“I need more brandy, and Stevens is nowhere to be found.”

“He is in the kitchen with some of the men, fixing one of the table legs for the chef.” Reeves came forward and took the decanter. “Will there be anything else, my lord?”

Yes. The starched-up butler could fetch him Prudence. That would be nice. But it was also an impossibility. Tristan knew how stubborn Prudence was. If there was one thing a day and evening of deep thought had made him realize, it was that it would take a significant act to win her attention now that he had made such a mess of things. “Just fetch the damn brandy.”

“Yes, my lord.” Reeves bowed with dignity, then turned and walked down the hallway.

Tristan watched the butler leave, a faint feeling of guilt plaguing him. He was in a foul mood and he knew it. There had to be something he could do to prove himself to Prudence. He sighed and turned back to the library. He entered the room, coming to a halt within two steps. There, sitting by the fire, booted feet stretched out to the flames, was Christian.

He caught Tristan’s shocked expression and grinned. “Good evening, brother.”

Tristan looked at the terrace doors. “How in the hell did you get in here? Those doors were locked.”

“And I opened them.”

“How?”

Christian waved a hand. “I cannot tell you. It would break my oath to the brotherhood of highwaymen.”

Tristan limped to a chair near Christian. “A brotherhood of thieves. Lovely.” He sat heavily. “I would offer you some brandy, but I am out at the moment.”

Christian reached into his pocket and took out a flask. He reached over and took Tristan’s glass from a small table, unscrewed the top of the flask, and poured a generous amount into the cup. “Here. I daresay this is better than what you have, anyway.”

Tristan took a sip. The brandy was rich and smoky. “Where did you get this?”

“A benefit from being in the brotherhood,” Christian said, taking a long pull of the flask, before sighing with satisfaction. “There. ’Tis damnably cold, you know.”

“Yes,” Tristan answered, his mind mulling over his situation with Prudence once again.

Silence flooded the room for a short time.

Finally, Christian sighed. “As cozy as this is I must ask why you sent for me?”

“I didn’t.”

“But I received a missive. It said you needed me.”

Tristan scowled. “Reeves and his damn interfering.”

Christian’s brows rose. “So you don’t need me?”

“I can handle my own problems.”

“Hm.” Christian’s gaze flickered over Tristan’s rather mussed clothing. “What problems are we talking about?”

“Prudence.”

“Ah.” Christian reached over and took Tristan’s empty glass. “I fear I can be of little help there. But I can, at least, share your misery.” He poured some more brandy into the glass and handed it back to Tristan. “What happened?”

“I made a mull of it. I asked her to marry me.”

“Good God! I didn’t know it was so serious.”

“Well, it is. Or so I thought. But when I asked her to marry me, she refused.”

“Did she tell you why she said no?”

“I don’t think so.”

“She didn’t say a word? Not a hint? Nothing at all?”

Tristan’s face heated. “No. I told her I wished to marry her, but not until the trustees had left.”

Christian picked up the flask and replaced the lid.

“What are you doing?”

“I do not share my brandy with fools.”

“She agreed with me! She said herself that the trustees would not approve of the marriage. Her husband died amid some scandal and she left London in a hotbed of rumor. Some of the trustees were involved and they were not kind to her.”

“‘Kind’ is not a word I’d apply to Father’s friends. What did you reply to all of this?”

“That we didn’t have to tell the trustees anything. We could keep it secret.”

“Good God!” Christian put the flask on the floor on the far side, away from Tristan. “I will never bring you another dram for the rest of your life.”

“Then don’t!” Tristan snarled.

“Did you at least mention to her that you loved her? That you could not live another day without her? That the stars ride in her eyes, and the silky wind is blessed by the tumble of her hair?”

Tristan scowled. “That is nonsense.”

“It is poetry,” Christian said smugly. “Women love it.”

“I didn’t get the chance to say much of anything to Prudence, though if I had said that, she would have laughed in my face and then thrown me out, rather than simply thrown me out.”