Her Master and Commander

“That’s all it was to be. Your hair needs to be trimmed. Current styles do not allow it to be the length of yours.”

  Tristan scowled, touching the neat queue at the nape of his neck. It hung just below his shoulders, which was an acceptable length; indeed most other captains wore theirs longer. But he’d had his hair this way since he’d first sailed, and he’d be damned if he’d give it up now. “I’m not cutting my hair. The trustees can be damned.”

  Reeves sighed. “Perhaps Mrs. Thistlewaite can make you see reason.” With that, the butler dismissed a rather subdued Stevens, and went about the remaining morning preparations.

  Tristan found himself glancing at the clock, counting down the minutes until Prudence came to visit. His time with her was quickly becoming the highlight of his day. The thought made him pause as he buttoned his coat. He did think about her quite a bit. In fact, if he coursed out his morning, he’d been thinking of her off and on since he’d awakened. But his awake thoughts were not as disturbing as his last dream.

  In his dream, she’d been in his bed, just waking up as the morning sun broke over the horizon. She’d been deep in slumber, her long, silky brown hair wrapped about her naked shoulders—

  Not that he knew if she slept naked. He didn’t, of course. If she didn’t, he wondered what it would take to convince her to do so.

  He smiled a little, allowing Reeves to settle the new coat about his shoulders. Most women were so concerned with the way they appeared that they didn’t seem to care how they actually were. But Prudence was deliciously herself, a fact he appreciated. He’d sailed the seas alone for too many years to withstand the gale force of a petulant, self-absorbed woman. Prudence was different. She filled him, tantalized him, challenged him, and more.

  “My lord?”

  Tristan blinked. “I’m sorry, Reeves. You were speaking?”

  “Yes, my lord. Several times, in fact.”

  “I apologize. I was thinking of…a ship.” A ship with lovely topsails indeed.

  “Of course, my lord,” Reeves said, taking up the lint brush and smoothing it over Tristan’s shoulders. “I didn’t realize you had a ship called the Prudence.”

  “Th—what are you talking about?”

  “Only that you murmured the name as I was smoothing your sleeves.”

  “Oh.”

  Reeves replaced the silver-handled brush on the tray on the dresser. “An odd coincidence, that, to be certain. To have both a ship and a neighbor named Prudence. It must make conversation difficult at times.”

  Tristan met Reeves’s gaze directly. “Are we done dressing now?”

  “Yes, my lord. We are. Permit me to say that you look quite dashing.”

  “Thank you, Reeves.” Tristan turned to leave, but paused, a thought holding him in place. “Oh. I meant to ask this morning and almost forgot.”

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “Any word from Dunstead?”

  There was a moment’s pause. Not much, but telling all the same. “Not yet,” Reeves said.

  “Hm.” Tristan eyed the butler narrowly. “One night last week, a stranger came to visit. Very late. You met him and spoke with him. I know because Toggle was up to use the privy and he overheard. You received a missive from Dunstead.”

  A faint frown rested on Reeves’s forehead. “Master Toggle is very good at being where he is not wanted.”

  “It’s his gift.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Well?”

  Reeves did not answer.

  “I see. The second odd happening was three nights ago. You left after dinner and did not return for two hours.”

  “Yes, my lord. I did at that.” The butler met Tristan’s gaze, then sighed. “I was not going to say anything until the issue had resolved itself, but…perhaps this is better. My lord, Dunstead did indeed locate Master Christian.”

  Tristan’s heart skipped a beat.

  Reeves held up a hand. “I cannot say more now, my lord. Not yet. It is a matter of honor. He has not given me permission to reveal his location to you.”

  Tristan clenched his teeth. “Is he well?”

  “Yes, my lord. Quite well.”

  The tightness in Tristan’s throat eased. “Reeves, I will see him.”

  “I think it is what he hopes, too.”

  “I doubt it or he would already be here. Did he say why he does not wish for us to meet?”

  “I believe he has some decisions to make first. About his chosen occupation.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I fear I am not at liberty to tell you that either.”

  “Reeves, I am not a patient man.”

  “No, my lord. I will make certain Master Christian is reminded of that fact, as well.” Reeves made his way to the door. “Enjoy your morning walk, my lord. I will have the breakfast table readied for your return.”

  Tristan gave a short nod, struggling to maintain his temper. To be so close to Christian and yet so far. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. But he could not force Christian to come forward if he was not yet ready. Finally, he said, “Thank you, Reeves. For everything.”

  The butler smiled. “It was my pleasure.” With a final bow, he was gone.

  Tristan stood staring at the closed door. Christian. What in the hell are you doing?

  Chapter 13

  To remove stains from furniture, mix a powder from black rose oil, alkaline soap, and bullock’s gall. Be sure to use only in a room with an open window. It is quite difficult to scrub whilst unconscious.

  A Compleat Guide for

  Being a Most Proper Butler

  by Richard Robert Reeves

  Tristan strode down the path, still mulling over Reeves and his secrets. The morning sun was just breaking over the sea, a brisk wind lifting over the cliff. The last week, he’d gotten up earlier than necessary in order to walk the cliff. It cleared his head and gave him a certain peace of mind. Today, it gave him no peace at all. All he could do was think about Christian.

  Waiting was hell on earth. Tristan would give Reeves one week to produce his brother. One week and no more.

  He wondered what Christian would think of Prudence. The thought brought to mind the tempting armful that arrived every morning arrayed in a blue cloak, her hair tightly pinned, her brown eyes warm with laughter. Prudence. Just the sound of her name in his thoughts made life seem more bearable.

  Today the path was strewn with glassy puddles, the stones covered with a slick moss. He tramped his foot onto the hard path, fire shooting up his leg. He winced, grinding his teeth against the pain. He would not let this wound beat him. Nothing would beat him. If Prudence had taught him anything, it was that even the irksome in life could be dealt with if approached with patience and diligence.

  It was a fact he’d known, but had somehow in the weeks and months of his convalescence, allowed to slip away.

  He rounded the corner, and the cottage came into view, sturdy and strong against the thrashing winds. Tristan forced himself to walk the remaining steps down the path to the garden gate at an even brisker pace, keeping the bruising pace with each step, his breath harsh in his own ears.

  Perhaps if he walked more forcibly, made the muscles in his leg stretch and reach…perhaps he would get better. He clenched his teeth and forced himself onward. Only the steady crunch of the cane and the thud of his boots mattered. Only that.

  He would reach the gate.

  He would not falter, no matter the cost.

  No matter the pain.

  Just the gate…

  He made it. Tristan grabbed the top board and leaned on it, lifting his burning leg and bowing his head. Pain coursed through him, but he welcomed it. It didn’t pay to fight the pain. Instead, he let it ripple through his leg, following the course of the lead ball that had almost killed him.

  It had always been that way for him—first he fought and then he accepted. Fate had never sat on his shoulder but had mocked him from afar, showing him what he could have, but did not. It did
that with his father, with the injury that ground him from the sea, and now it was happening with Prudence.

  He wanted her. Wanted her in his life even after this farce with the trustees was over. But it would never work. She was cultured, educated, and from a world he’d only viewed from a distance. Yet every day he ached for her in a new way. He’d been right about Prudence from the first; she was the sort of woman one married if one was also cultured, educated, and from that world.

  He was not. His father had seen to that.

  Tristan placed a hand on his leg and scowled down at it, the pain in his heart fresh and new. He wasn’t even whole. Had his life been different, he might have been able to provide for her, offer her something more than a sea-less captain.

  The truth was he had nothing to offer. Nothing to give her. Unless he won the fortune.

  But…would that be enough? He thought of her face when she mentioned her late husband, Phillip. She’d loved the man; that much was obvious. Tristan’s jaw ached. How much had she loved Phillip, and did she still?

  A crunch sounded on the path behind him. “Good morning.”

  The warm voice was at odds with the chilled wind, which tried to whip away the round, mellowed tones. Tristan turned to see Prudence coming down the path toward him, the wind tugging strands of her dark hair free and whipping them across her face. She caught his gaze and paused, leaning against the yew tree, her eyes dark with some indiscernible emotion.

  Was it pity? Bile rose in his throat, burning him, burning his thoughts. “You are early,” he said, his voice harsh even to his own ears.

  She raised her brows. In most women, the gesture would seem somewhat imperious, or at least questioning. But on Prudence, with her flyaway brows, the effect was different. On her, a quick lift of the brows made her look mischievous.

  He swallowed his irritation. “You shouldn’t be out in this weather. It is damp.”

  She shrugged. “It is not as cold as it was last week.” Her gaze drifted past him to the sea. “It is beautiful from here.”

  “Indeed it is.” He glanced up at the gray sky and frowned, unable to tell the hour because the sun was hidden. “Is it time for breakfast?”

  “Reeves sent me to find you.”

  Tristan took the cane firmly in his hand and strode toward her, his teeth clenched against his limp. He paused when he reached her side and silently held out his arm.

  She smiled and curtsied before placing her hand on his arm, her fingers resting lightly on his sleeve. “Very prettily done,” she said with a blinding smile that made his body react in a most inappropriate way.

  Taking his lustful thoughts firmly in hand and tamping down any emotion he might feel, he returned her smile, realizing with a sinking feeling that one day soon, she would no longer be here. No longer come out onto the path looking for him.

  But at least he had her for today.

  He placed a hand over hers. “Let the lessons begin.” With that, he escorted her through the terrace doors and inside.

  Prudence undid her cloak. Tristan took it and laid it across a chair. She watched him, wondering if his hands were indeed lingering on the soft wool or if it just appeared that way. She frowned. There was something different about him this morning. Something…uncertain.

  The table was set as it always was, everything just so. Prudence stood beside her chair and waited for the earl to approach the table.

  To her surprise, she found that she rather enjoyed breakfast in such a high fashion. It was especially nice seeing Tristan each morning, his large, brown hand cupped about the delicate china, a ready smile in his green eyes.

  This last week had proven difficult on many levels, not the least of which was the way Mother waited at home at the end of each day, her eyes full of hope.

  It had become painfully obvious Mother harbored some ill-founded hopes for Prudence and the earl far beyond that of tutor and pupil. Her incessant questioning was beginning to grate on Prudence’s temper. The earl might well be attracted to Prudence, but it was nothing more than a physical spark, a connection of a rather earthy nature. One she was well aware of and, to be honest, very tempted to sample.

  And why not? she asked herself rather determinedly. She might be a widow, but she was not dead. She missed being with a man, and seeing the earl in such close proximity was stirring her passions anew. And all too soon their time would be over.

  The earl walked toward her, his hand clasped about the cane. She frowned when she noticed his limp was a bit more pronounced today. “Are you feeling well?”

  “I am fine. But you…” His gaze raked her from head to toe. “You look lovely.”

  His green eyes seemed darker this morning, too, as if he’d been carrying some weighty thoughts. She tilted her head to one side and regarded him. There was concern in his gaze…and something else that sent her heart thudding against her ribs.

  Their eyes met and the air closed in. He walked closer, then slowly circled her. Like an animal on the hunt, his attention was completely on her. Prudence’s skin heated, and it was all she could do not to turn and watch him as he closed in behind her, his legs brushing against her shirt. She held her breath as he reached past her, his chest touching her back lightly, his breath brushing her neck as he reached out…

  And pulled a chair from the table. He murmured in her ear, “Pray have a seat, Mrs. Thistlewaite.”

  The jackanapes, she thought even while fighting to still her pounding heart. She took the seat reluctantly, waiting for him to find his own chair.

  He took his seat and lifted his brows. “Well?”

  “That was nicely done. Except the touching part.”

  “Oh. Did I touch you?” He was all masculine innocence…if there was such a thing.

  “Yes, you did. You were a bit close.”

  “You don’t like close?”

  “Not that close. Our aim is to practice politeness.”

  “I thought I was polite, pulling your chair from the table.” He watched her pour the tea, then said in a thoughtful tone, “However, now that I think about it, I suppose your sentiments explain why you don’t have any children.”

  She almost choked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said—”

  “I know what you said! It’s just that—” She took a deep breath. “It is not correct to mention such topics.”

  “Such topics?”

  “As having children and—and being touched.”

  “I didn’t bring up the touching. You did.”

  She had, hadn’t she? She sighed. “If this was a real breakfast, then you should not mention either of those topics.”

  “Never?”

  “Well, not directly, of course.”

  He paused in placing his napkin across his lap. “What do you mean ‘not directly?’”

  “I have heard women talk about another woman they said was ‘increasing.’”

  He chortled. “If she was going to have a child, I daresay she was increasing.”

  “Yes, well, it’s not a topic a gentleman should mention, so please do not,” she said stiffly. Goodness, but her cheeks felt hot. She cleared her throat. “Now, let us talk about dinners. When the trustees arrive, you may want to—”

  “Wait. This is not a ‘real breakfast,’ as you said.” He leaned forward, his elbows coming to rest on the table before him. “Tell me, Prudence, why didn’t you have any children?”

  Her jaw tightened and a low, almost forgotten ache arose in the region of her heart. She lifted her cup to her lips and took a sip, more to still their trembling as to give her time to regain control. “As I said, that is not a topic for polite conversation.”

  “Ah, but we aren’t polite society, are we?” he answered softly, leaning back in his chair. “Not yet. For now, you and I are the outcasts from society. The expatriates.”

  “I am. But you will not be for long.” It was true, with the title and the fortune, he would be accepted in any home in London, while she…She put down her cu
p. She would be left behind.

  Something was happening here. She was slowly beginning to feel something for the earl. Lust, she told herself firmly. It is just lust. Unfortunately for her, it was a lot of lust.

  “…and it happens every time.”

  She blinked, realizing he was speaking. “I’m sorry. I did not hear you.”

  “I said that women often forget I am present. One moment they are speaking to me, the next they are staring at their teacups in a trance-like state.”

  She had to smile. “Was I staring at my teacup?”

  “Yes. I tried not to take it personally, but I failed.” A reluctant smile lurked in his green eyes.

  He really was a handsome man, especially when he grinned at her like that. She cleared her throat. “Well. This is certainly a lovely repast.”

  Every day she did this to him. He’d get a little too close, a little too emotionally intriguing for her comfort, and out came her teaching face. He’d be forced to make impersonal small talk until he could turn the topic back into more interesting lines.

  She buttered her toast. “Orange marmalade is the best thing on earth.”

  “No.”

  She paused, knife hovering over her toast, her brown eyes questioning. “‘No’ is not an acceptable answer to a comment. You should agree or expound on your reasons for not agreeing. You do not just say ‘no.’”

  “I wasn’t talking about the marmalade. I was saying I don’t want to make inane small talk today. I’ve had my fill.”

  Prudence put down the knife. “We have done quite a bit of social banter. Perhaps we should discuss something Reeves mentioned to me. He has suggested that in the days before the trustees arrive, we should attend a local gathering, a country dinner of some sort to test your new skills.”

  “I would rather talk about you.”

  Tristan saw her rejection before she uttered it. She shook her head almost vehemently. “Let us instead talk about the coming visit from the trustees.”

  He sighed. She was not going to make this easy. “Very well. I will give you three minutes to talk about the trustees, and then I do not want them mentioned over the table again today.”