She was late, dammit. Tristan checked his watch again.
Three whole bloody minutes late. He fought not to pace the
deck, not to give the impression that he cared one whit
that his passenger might have changed her mind. He should
have borrowed Sebastian's coach and stopped by her
residence to provide assistance if needed.
The fog was rolling in. It distorted sounds, gave
everything an ominous feel. The ship's lanterns were lit,
but they would not hold the encroaching gray at bay. He
wondered if the weather had turned her back, but she hadn't
struck him as one who was easily intimidated. He wasn't
usually a poor judge of character, so why wasn't she here?
Because she'd come to her senses and realized that he
would take advantage of her. He wouldn't force her, but by
God, he'd certainly work to seduce her. Although he
suspected a woman who had been loyal to a man for four
years would not succumb easily to his charms. She obviously
loved the scapegrace. What sort of man could stay away from
her and still hold her heart?
Someone far better than you, mate, more worthy. It
didn't bear thinking about. She'd struck a bargain. That
was all that mattered. Or so he'd thought.
Damnation. He should have taken the kiss from her when
he was in her bedchamber. He was a merchant, a trader. He
knew better than to set sail without payment in hand.
Payment first, services second. It had been his motto from
the moment he'd begun to barter his skills. Always money
first. Then if someone decided to back out on the bargain,
he still had his gain.
Now, he had nothing to show—
Not exactly true. He removed her glove from his pocket
and stroked it through his fingers before bringing it to
his nose. After she turned toward the door, he'd stolen it
from where she tossed it. He didn't know what had possessed
him, except that he'd wanted it and he wasn't accustomed to
not taking what he wanted. Her scent of lavender with a
hint of citrus wafted around him. He suspected it was a
perfume made especially for her. If not, it should be. He
couldn't recall ever smelling it on another woman.
What was this insane obsession with her? Why should he
care if she had shown herself to be a coward, if she had
decided not to make the journey?
He glanced at his watch again. Five blasted minutes. She
wasn't coming. His men were waiting for his order to set
sail. What was he to do now in order not to look like an
absolute fool?
He could leave, decide later exactly where they would
go. Or he could tell his crew to stand down, while he
disembarked, hired a hackney, and confronted the
treacherous—
Through the thickening fog came the unmistakable sound
of rapid footsteps, determined, a steady cadence echoing
over the wooden planks of the docks. A woman's steps. A
slight woman. Seven stones worth. Others followed, more
distant.
He fought back the jubilation as she became visible. He
wasn't going to give her the upper hand in this encounter.
She was fortunate that he hadn't already cast off. Stuffing
the glove back into his pocket, he strolled nonchalantly
across the quarterdeck and descended the steps to the main
deck. Then he sauntered down the gangway to the dock just
as she came to a stop, breathing heavily. Even in the dim
light, he could see she was flushed. She would be even more
so when he claimed his kiss.
"You're late," he said in as flat a voice as he could
muster.
Her silvery eyes widened. "I daresay, not even ten
minutes."
"Ships run on a schedule, my lady."
She angled her chin. "Yes, well, as I'm paying for this
voyage, I expect it to run on my schedule. If you didn't
understand that was my purpose in hiring you, then perhaps
I should look elsewhere."
He couldn't stop the smile this time. He should have
known she'd not apologize. "Unfortunately, any schedule
involving a ship is subject to tides and winds."
"Oh, my dear. Will we not be able to leave tonight?"
He wondered at the urgency, but didn't comment on it
because it worked to his advantage for them to be underway
as soon as possible.
"I think we can manage." A dark–haired woman who
didn't seem to be much older than Anne was standing
slightly behind her, her eyes blinking continuously as
though she couldn't quite believe she was here. Her maid,
her chaperone no doubt. He nodded toward the two men
carrying her trunk. "Are they coming with you?"
"No, only the trunk."
"Peterson! Get the lady's trunk on board."
"Aye, Captain."
Peterson was a big brute of a man. He took the trunk
from the liveried footmen as though it contained little
more than feathers. As he passed back by, Tristan said
quietly, "My cabin, Peterson."
"Yes, sir." He trudged up the gangway.
"He doesn't sound pleased," Lady Anne said.
"He's a grumbler. You'll get used to it. The men who are
on board are there because they choose to be. Those ruled
by superstition are remaining behind."
"Will that cause a hardship for you?"
"For you, Princess, I'd suffer any hardship."
She laughed, a sweet sound that wove around him, and he
wondered if she were descended from Sirens. He thought he
might gladly crash upon rocks just to hear that clear pure
tinkling. "You're not going to wait until we're at least on
the ship before beginning your absurd flirtation?"
She wasn't going to fall easily, but then he'd known all
along that she wouldn't. "Your words are like a dagger
through my heart."
"I doubt you can be so easily wounded, Captain." She
spoke briefly with the men who had accompanied her. When
they left, she indicated the woman who remained. "This is
Martha, my lady's maid. She comes with us, of course."
"Of course. Allow me the honor of escorting you aboard."
He called out for Jenkins and when the young man joined
them, instructed him to escort Martha up the gangway.
Tristan extended his arm to Anne.
She wrapped her hand around the crook of his elbow and
allowed him to lead her up the corridor. He'd thought Lady
Anne might tremble, if not with his nearness, then with the
anticipation of the journey. Instead, she seemed to become
almost somber as she stepped onto the deck.
"Peterson, get us underway."
"Aye aye, Captain."
While Peterson began shouting commands and men began
scurrying around the ship, Tristan said, "I'll show you to
your cabin."
"I'd rather stay out here while we leave."
"As you wish, but let's get you out of harm's way. Up
the steps there."
She did as he bid, and he followed her up, his eyes
level with her swaying hips. Once up top, she crossed over
to the railing. Joining her there, he realized that the
maid was right behind him. She was going to be an
inconvenience, but he could work around her.
"Why Revenge?" Lady Anne asked quietly.
"Pardon?"
"Why did you name your ship Revenge?"
Planting his elbows on the railing, he clasped his hands
together and stared at the black water beneath them. He'd
done similarly the first time the ship that Sebastian had
left him on had drawn away from the harbor. He'd thought
the sea mirrored his soul. The next morning it had been a
brilliant blue that had given him hope once again. "For a
good many years the need for revenge gave purpose to my
life. It seemed an appropriate name for a ship that would
bring me untold wealth."
"It's bad form to speak of money."
"You asked." He shifted his gaze over to her. She, too,
was looking out, and he wondered if she was imagining her
meeting with her fiancé.
"Whom did you wish revenge against?" she asked.
"I don't know you well enough to share that tale with
you."
She did glance over at him then. "I suspect you're a
very complicated man, Captain."
"Not really. I see something I want and I take it. It
doesn't get much simpler than that."
She looked back out as the ship gave several creaks and
moans. A sudden lurch and it was moving slowly through the
water.
"I was under the impression you had a fast ship," she
said.
"Not when we're in the harbor. We have little moon by
which to see. You could have hardly picked a worse night. A
daytime departure would have been better."
"Yet you didn't try to convince me to hold off for a
better time. Why ever not?"
"Because, Princess, I'm not certain you've been quite
honest with me, and you required a midnight departure for a
reason."