Chapter 15
Always be willing to share your knowledge with common man and nobleman alike. The seeds of wisdom can survive on the rockiest of soil.
A Compleat Guide for
Being a Most Proper Butler
by Richard Robert Reeves
The dinner party was doomed the second they arrived. Not only did the kindly country squire turn out to be far younger than Tristan remembered, but the lout was unmarried as well. Feeling betrayed by Reeves, Tristan had tried to accept the situation as best he could. Unfortunately, it quickly became apparent fate was against him, especially when the handsome young squire had the audacity to practically leer down the front of Prudence’s gown when Tristan helped her remove her cloak. That had not gone well at all. Though Tristan couldn’t blame the man on a purely masculine basis, it had infuriated him nonetheless. Fortunately, the squire caught Tristan’s warning glare and hastily beat a retreat across the room, though not without sending more than one admiring glance Prudence’s way. Tristan thought about dragging the lout outside right then and there and blacking both of the man’s clocks, but there was worse waiting.
He’d no more navigated Prudence through what seemed a gauntlet of lecherous men than they found their pathway blocked by Dr. Barrow. The young doctor was obviously surprised at Prudence’s appearance and spent a good ten minutes doing what he could to monopolize her precious time. The doctor was a more serious threat than the squire, for try as he would, Tristan could not hint the man off.
Well, Tristan would just stand here, at her elbow, and never leave her side. The blasted fool had to eventually catch one of Tristan’s “Black Looks.” Damn it to hell, his glares had frightened Barbary pirates nigh to death! How could a simple-minded doctor not be affected?
Tristan began to wonder if perhaps the doctor possessed poor eyesight. Perhaps the weak-kneed fool couldn’t see well enough to realize he was in dire danger. If that was so, it might take a word or two to get Tristan’s message through to the sapskull. But how to do it without Prudence hearing?
He spent the next fifteen minutes mulling over a plan and by the time the announcement came for dinner, he knew what he was going to do. Unfortunately, he didn’t realize that seating was by social standing. And an earl outranked a mere widow by several degrees, which meant he was captured by a horse-faced woman who had the audacity to practically toss Prudence at the doctor before she yanked Tristan out of the room, her fingers curled into claws on his elbow.
Tristan did not like this bit of maneuvering. No wonder the nobility were always challenging each other to duels and whatnot. The rules that bound society were barbaric, to say the least, especially when they forced a man to sit at the furthest end of the table and watch his woman surrounded by a pack of hungry he-wolves.
It was too much to bear. Every time Prudence laughed, he was torn with jealousy and longing. By the time the men excused themselves to the library for port, Tristan was ready to slit throats, prisoners be damned. However, thanks to the fact he was now unhampered by Prudence’s presence, he was able to do what he’d wanted to from the first.
Tristan made his way to the doctor’s side. That unworthy gentleman stood by the fire, sipping from a large brandy snifter in what Tristan thought was a deplorably effeminate manner.
Deep in thought, the doctor didn’t hear Tristan approach. Tristan leaned forward, near the doctor’s ear, and said in a booming voice, “Doctor!”
Doctor Barrow jumped, the snifter flying from his hand and crashing to the hearth.
Tristan looked down at the shattered glass, moving slightly when a servant rushed up and began to clean the mess.
The doctor’s face blazed red. He shot an embarrassed glare about the room before looking back at Tristan. “Lord Rochester. You surprised me.”
“I shouldn’t have,” Tristan murmured. “Surely you knew I would look you up. You have been quite particular in your attention to Mrs. Thistlewaite. I believe it would be good for you to desist.”
The doctor blinked. “Desist? B—b—but—I never—”
“Never is a lovely word. Let us keep it at that, shall we?” Tristan finished his drink and set it on the mantel.
“My lord! I must protest! My relationship with Mrs. Thistlewaite is—”
“Over.” Tristan leaned closer, his voice low with menace. “I once slit the throat of a rival pirate captain who stole a cargo that was mine. Slit it from here—” Tristan pressed a finger to the doctor’s jaw right below his left ear. “—to here.” He slid his finger across the buffoon’s throat to the same spot on the opposite corner of his jaw.
The doctor’s mouth opened, then closed.
The story wasn’t true, of course. But the oaf seemed to believe it easily enough.
Even now the doctor was blenching as if he might faint. “You—you—you—I—I—I—Must go.”
Tristan shrugged. “You don’t need to leave now. You may wait until after—”
He spoke to empty air; the doctor was already across the room, speaking in an animated voice to the squire, who was looking at Tristan with something akin to astonishment.
Tristan was actually smiling when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, but his triumph was short lived.
“What have you been doing?” Prudence hissed, not five minutes later.
“Me?”
Her brows lowered even more, her arms crossed beneath her breasts.
“I did nothing but tell the truth.”
“You told Dr. Barrow you would slit him from his throat to his—” Her eyes snapped. “What were you thinking?”
Tristan scowled. He hadn’t really been thinking. Just reacting. Of course, now that he thought about it, perhaps he had overstated his case a tad. But only a tad, and he’d be damned if he’d admit as much to Prudence. Not with her looking at him as if she’d have him split and gutted for a pence.
“He was rude to you.”
She blinked. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“No one did. I saw it for myself.”
She crossed her arms, which was an unfortunate thing to do as it pressed her breasts upward, even more prominent in the low-cut gown. “You saw it for yourself? When?”
“Before dinner and then during. He was monopolizing your attention. Why, I could barely get a word in edgewise, the lout.”
She closed her eyes and pinched her nose, breathing deeply.
Tristan became concerned. “Prudence? Are you well?”
“No. I am not. I have a headache and I want to go home.”
“Good!” At her outraged look, he added hastily, “I’ll get your cloak.”
They made their excuses and left, much to Tristan’s satisfaction and the seeming relief of their host. Prudence’s manner was strained and unhappy, and Tristan could only suppose her head truly was bothering her.
Silence reigned in the carriage. Prudence looked steadily out the window, her mouth pressed in a mutinous line. Tristan watched her from where he sat in his corner. He supposed he shouldn’t have acted so strongly. But he couldn’t help it. The doctor had been all but pawing Prudence. As for the others, by Neptune, it had been too much to be borne. Tristan was just a man and he could only take so much.
In fact, considering what he could have done but hadn’t, he thought he’d handled the situation rather well.
Prudence looked at him. “I cannot believe you threatened poor Dr. Barrow.”
“That bastard wants to bed you, in case you haven’t noticed.”
She flushed. “We were merely talking. I see him quite frequently at my house as he loves Mrs. Fieldings’s cooking.”
Tristan crossed his arms. “That’s not all he loves. He was annoyingly present, leering over you, staring at you. I’ve never seen such behavior—”
“Haven’t you? In all the taverns you’ve frequented, all the houses of ill repute, you’ve never seen anything so tawdry?”
“I would not wish my behavior to be compared to that of someone who frequents a house of ill repute,” he retorted, and then paused. Good God, was that really him, sounding so priggish? What the hell was wrong with him?
Prudence sniffed. “I would not wish to have such double standards of good and evil. I am not a green girl who needs rescuing. I am over thirty and well capable of taking care of myself.”
“That man was importuning you.”
“No, he was paying attention to me. There is a difference, you know.” Her chin firmed mutinously. “Either way, ‘tis none of your concern. I am well able to deal with my own suitors, thank you.”
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. “But 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 composure. 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.
Had there been no line down the center of the seat, she might well have disrobed, slid to his side, and pulled him to her. But this was no longer a moment of sharing, but of winning.
And she refused to do anything else.
Forcing herself to appear calm, Prudence smiled ever so slightly, hoping her lips weren’t trembling as much as her legs. “Well…” She let her breath smooth the word and linger in the smoky darkness of the rocking carriage.
She traced the neckline of her gown with her fingers, noting how his gaze seemed locked on her hands. She slid one hand down her front, over the curve of her breast, to her stomach, and lower.
His expression tightened. “What are you doing?”
She smiled. “Undressing.” This was power, she realized. Real power. He was watching her every move, unable to look away.
Prudence lifted her foot and placed it on the opposite seat. She pulled off her slipper and let it fall to the carriage floor. Then she gathered the hem of her dress in one hand.
She never once looked away from Tristan’s face, from the flash of heat that darkened his eyes when she pulled the hem across her knee and exposed her calf and foot. “My stockings must come off.”
She slid the gown a bit higher, exposing now her thigh all the way to the top. Her chemise hid the top of her stocking ties, but she pulled it aside and began to slowly unlace the satin strings.
Tristan’s gaze never left her leg. Indeed, he seemed mesmerized, his gaze captured by the movement of her hands, his breathing harsh in the silence.
She undid the ties and then began to slowly roll her stocking down her leg. As she did so, she allowed her hands to linger on her own skin, brushing here, touching there.
The sound of his breathing filled the narrow space. Prudence watched Tristan from under her lashes, her own body heating at the sight of his obvious arousal, at the tension that marked his expression, at the desire that burned in his gaze.
She removed the stocking and then took off her other shoe, careful to keep the hem of her skirt on her thigh, high but not too high. Not yet, anyway.
She took her time taking this stocking off as well, lingering on her own curves, using Tristan’s expression to gauge her movements. He seemed particularly heated when she touched her skin, and so she cupped her calf and trailed her fingers up it to the hollow behind her knee.
Tristan leaned forward, his hands touching the cloak line but not moving it. His eyes burned tightly, his body taut. “If you will cross the line, I will kiss you where your fingers touch.”
Prudence found that her own breath was unsteady, her own body burning beneath her fingers. “Everywhere?”
“Everywhere.”
She threw the stocking to the floor and pulled her gown back to her ankles. His gaze was riveted to her. “Tristan, if you cross the line, I will allow you to do more than merely kiss me.”
A white line appeared beside his mouth.
Smiling, Prudence undid the ribbon at her neck. It opened and released her gown. She loosened the shoulders, and pushed it down, off her arms, past her waist. She lifted her hips from the seat and pushed the gown to the floor, where it lay, a puddle of satin and lace.
Tristan had never seen anything so beautiful. She was brazen and yet of a rare and beautiful quality. A respectable woman, and yet a woman of passion and longing that made him want her all the more.
He’d never met anyone who so completely tantalized him, challenged him. Watching her undress was torture and pleasure, both.
She sat now in nothing but her chemise. The thin material clung to the tops of her breasts, casting curious shadows between and beneath them. Pert bows rested at the crest of each breast, begging to be untied.
Tristan was so aroused he ached. Yet still he did not move. He grasped the edge of the seat, totally engaged in watching the woman before him. He regretted the challenge he’d made in drawing a line down the seat.
She undid one of the ties of her chemise. The top draped down over one breast, clinging to the delectable slope. She reached up for the other tie, her fingers hovering.
Her rich brown eyes met his. “What if you invite me to cross the line?”
He set his jaw. “I would lose.”
“I see.”
Tristan heard the desire in her voice, her fascination with her own longing. He felt the same way. But he could not allow her to win this contretemps. He could not.
She undid the other tie and the chemise fell from her breasts, exposing the creamy mounds to his hungry gaze. They were beautiful, full, with rose-kissed nipples that drew his attention and made him even more painfully aware of her.
With a graceful lift of her hips, the chemise went the way of her gown and she was completely nude, her eyes shining, her lips curled in a secret smile, as if she knew very well what she was doing to him.
It was the most arousing, sensual moment of his life.
She lifted her arms and began pulling pins from her hair. “What if we should change the rule?”
Tristan found he could not look away from her breasts. “Yes?”
“It is not crossing the line unless your hips touch the cloak. But hands and else…” Her eyes sparkled. “Hands and else may roam wherever they will go.”
Tristan’s blood roared anew. “Hands and else?”
“Anything but hips.”
“I accept the change in rules.”
Her lips curled into a small smile. “I thought you might.” She withdrew two last pins. Her deep brown hair fell to her shoulders in a silky swath.
Tristan caught his breath. She was glorious.
She leaned back, her legs slightly parting as she did so, the dim light touching her body with intriguing shades. Her hair streamed over her shoulders, covering one breast and leaving the other for his hungry gaze. “What now?”
He reached over the line and placed his hands on her knees, his fingers lingering on her delicate skin. “What now, indeed?”
Her bare skin burned him through the pads of his fingers. His body reacted immediately. Already hard, his erection leaped with the touch.
His mind and imagination was already inflamed, fanned by her tempting disrobing. Now, his skin tingled with delicious sensation, and his body yearned for more. “May I kiss you?”
Her eyes darkened, her chest rising and railing in a way that let him know she was as affected as he. “I suppose we could meet at the line.”
“Indeed we could.”
Prudence leaned forward. Tristan found himself watching her full breasts as she leaned, the sight enrapturing.
And then… she was there. And he was kissing her, his mouth covering hers, his tongue gently slipping through her lips.
The kiss heated, expanded, exploded. Suddenly, kissing was not enough. His hands were everywhere, as were hers.
This was madness. Lovely, sweet, joy-inspired madness. Tomorrow he’d think about the consequences. For right now, he just wanted to get lost in her loveliness.
It seemed to him that Prudence felt the same. He could feel the tumultuous pounding of her heart, smell the clove-scented passion of her breath. She was his. All he had to do was slide forward, pull her into his lap, make her his and—
Something caught at his leg. Tristan looked down at the cloak bundled against his hip.
She moaned and tugged at him.
With the most incredible control he’d ever exhibited, Tristan put a bit more space between himself and the line. “I can’t, sweetheart. I can’t cross the line. Not unless you invite me…” He waited, praying she’d give in, hoping she’d allow him to—
“No.” She leaned toward him, sliding her fingers through his hair, and pulling him forward until his lips were against hers. Her lashes lifted, and her eyes met his as she said against his lips, “Take me.”
He trembled with the need to plunge into her, to bury himself to his loins, and take her over and over and over. But every time he slid in her direction, the cloak stopped him. Reminded him of their game. If she was too proud to lose, he was too stubborn.
He placed his hands on her arms and pushed her from him. “I will not forfeit myself.”
A slow smile curled her lips and she leaned back against the squab, the red velvet making her skin milky white, her breasts begging for his touch. She stretched her arms over her head and shrugged. “Then do not.”
Tristan realized she was being deliberately provocative. And doing a damned fine job of it, too. As if she could read his thoughts, she reached down and cupped her breasts, her lashes low over her eyes, her lips pursed invitingly.
God, but she was delicious. He could not hold out much longer. This called for extreme measures. He reached over the line of battle and placed his hand on her knee.
Her lashes lifted, her eyes such a warm, cinnamon brown. He leaned over the cloak line and placed a kiss on her cheek, the corner of her mouth, her neck… With each progressive kiss, he slid his hand higher. Higher still. When his lips found her shoulder, his hand rested on her thigh. He lightly brushed his fingers over her skin, trailing them up… up… He allowed his fingertips to trace the tight curls that enticed him beyond measure.
He bent to clasp her nipple in his mouth the same moment his fingers found her secret folds, Prudence gasped and arched, bringing herself even more within his reach.
“Say it,” Tristan murmured as she writhed against the seat. “Say you want me to join you.”
“No,” she gasped. “I—Oh, God!”
“Say it,” he ground out. He slipped a finger deep into her wetness, curling it just so. “Say you want me to cross the line.”
“No,” she repeated, shaking her head vehemently, her dark hair spilling over the back of the velvet seat.
Damn, but the woman was determined. She was also intriguing and erotic, and he ached with the desperate need to taste her. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman this badly. Ever working this hard to win his way into any woman’s graces. But there was something about Prudence that was just… different. She was more than most women—more caring, more honest, more sensual.
She moaned as his fingers moved in her. She reached down and clutched his wrist, writhing against him.
He could feel the moisture that slipped from her, the fullness of her causing him an agony of need. “Prudence, let me—”
“No,” she gasped and then squirmed, her want growing, the finger tormenting but not satisfying. “Tristan, I want—” She bit her lip, twisting her head this way and that.
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Indeed I can, my love. But you have to ask first. Ask me to cross the line and you will stop wanting, stop needing.”
His entire body was taut with the effort to control his responses. He wanted her, badly. So badly. But he would not be the one to give in. He increased his ministrations, now brushing the pad of his thumb over her most sensitive spot.
She arched almost instantly, growing hotter, more insistent. “Tristan!” It was a cry and a plea.
“Damn it, Prudence,” he said through gritted teeth. “I can’t—” He tried to pull his hand away from her, but she grabbed his wrist and held him fast.
Damn it all. She could neither stop nor leave her pride behind, and neither could he. What in the hell had he been thinking, to suggest the damn line to begin with?
Prudence placed her hands on either side of his face, drawing him near. “Tristan, move with me.”
“What?”
“Move with me. We’ll cross the line at the same time. We’ll make love on top of it.”
He just looked at her. Then, ever so slowly, a smile broke through his lust-clouded mind. “We will both win,” he heard his astonished voice say aloud.
He had to laugh. His Prudence was always the most practical of all women, even in the heat of passion. He reached over and cupped her bottom in his hands and in one smooth movement, slid her beneath him even as he moved over her. She helped, too, her legs splaying to engulf him, welcome him, her feet on the edge of the opposite seat.
The cloak line ran directly beneath her back. “Will this bother you—” He got no further. With a blissful smile, Prudence clasped her legs about his waist and impaled herself on him.
All thought left Tristan’s mind. All he could do was feel. Feel her heat and tightness, feel the warm band that encircled him like a hot, wet glove. He was enthralled, engrossed, and enrapt, all by a woman whose head did not even reach his shoulder.
She wiggled slightly, her breathing as harsh as his. “Tristan,” she managed to say through panting gasps. “More.”
More. What a powerful word. And if it was more she wanted it, it was more she would get. Tristan obligingly began to move, pressing into her, increasing the pressure, the rhythm.
The feelings increased, multiplied. The rocking motion of the carriage pushed them further, adding to the moment. Tristan twisted slightly in an effort to get even better angle, but his bad leg hit the seat behind him.
He winced, gasping in pain.
“What is it?” Prudence asked.
“My leg,” he groaned. “This damned carriage.”
Prudence’s gaze met his, a wicked smile playing about her lush mouth. “Tristan, let me on top.”
For a moment, he could just look into the warm brown of her eyes. Then an answering smile tickled his mouth. “Very well, sweetheart. Hold on to me.”
She clasped her arms about his neck. Tristan put his hands on her waist and then, with a smooth movement, he rolled to one side.
Her gasp filled the air and for a moment, she held completely still, her head thrown back as she savored the feeling of him buried truly deeply in her. Tristan grasped her hips and helped her move, sliding her forward and then backward, rocking her against him. Prudence was soon setting the pace, a hand on each of his shoulders, her hair raking across his neck and chest. The sensations built and grew. Tristan had to fight for control, but fight he did. And he was amply rewarded when suddenly, she stiffened and gasped his name.
Waves of pleasure tightened about his shaft as she fell forward across him. Tristan clasped Prudence to him, holding her tightly as his own desires exploded along with hers.
Moments later, his arms still tight about her, their hearts still thundering loudly, Prudence pushed herself upright. She still encased him in her velvet sheath, the motion making him groan.
She paused, pushed her hair from her eyes, a concerned expression on her face. “Are you—did that hurt?”
He chuckled and pulled her back to his shoulder, then held her in his arms as he returned to his seat. “No, my sweet.” He tugged the cloak free from where it was partially pinned beneath them and spread it over her. “That did not hurt at all. In fact, it felt—” He kissed her nose. “—magnificent—” He kissed her cheek. “—and absolutely wondrous.”
A shy smile touched her lips, her eyes sparkling gently. “I think I have a slight problem.”
He twined a strand of her hair about his finger. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her, stroking her, exploring her softness. “What problem is that?”
“I think I might like this too much.”
He laughed softly. “There is no ‘too much’ where this is concerned.”
“No?”
“No. Indeed, that is the beauty of the thing; there are few limits.”
“Hmmm.” She traced a finger along his jaw. “I suppose neither of us won the war.”
He smiled, sleepily satisfied and ******* somehow. “We both won, sweetheart. We both won.”
Prudence rested her cheek on his shoulder. Had they both won? She was not sorry they’d made love again— it was destined to happen. She knew that with every beat of her heart. This moment was meant to be. What she wasn’t so sure about was what would happen now. Some of the glow left at the thought. “We should get dressed.”
He sighed. “Must we?”
“Yes. As much as I love Stevens, if he came out to meet the carriage and found me like this, I don’t think I could bear to ever face him again.”
“That would be a problem. Very well, my sweet. Let us dress.”
They gathered their clothes and began to dress, though Tristan slowed things down considerably by passionately kissing her while she was attempting to put on her stockings.
It was as she was adjusting her dress and smoothing it back into place that the truth dawned on Prudence with the clarity of the ring of a church bell; she loved him.
The thought sucked all of the strength from her legs and made her sink weakly to the seat. Surely not. Perhaps it was just a warm flicker of enjoyment from their passionate embrace. Or a response to being touched after such a long, long time. Surely it was nothing more…
But it was true. She, Prudence Thistlewaite, loved Tristan Llevanth, the dangerously uncivilized earl of Rochester.
She placed a hand over her mouth, more to still her trembling lips than any other reason. There had to be some mistake. Some lapse in judgment or consideration. Some… error.
“Done,” Tristan said, his cravat once again about his throat, though only knotted this time. “That is much better. Now we will be able to maintain our dignity when Stevens opens the carriage door.”
Prudence managed a faint smile. “That is very important.”
“Keeping one’s dignity? At times, yes.” His teeth flashed in a smile. “And then there are times when it can be quite cumbersome.” Without any more warning than that, he reached over and picked up Prudence and set her back in his lap.
“What are you doing?”
“Staying warm.” He wrapped the cloak about them both and leaned back in the corner.
Enclosed in his arms, Prudence pressed her cheek against his chest. Once the trustees gave their approval, he would be London-bound where the women of the ton would make it their business to match him with someone of his own station.
And that would not be her. She never again wished to return to the heart-rending emptiness that she now felt was London. Never again did she want to walk the halls of the great houses and hear the stirrings of whispers, the cruel mocking laughter, or worse, the superior stares of those who never really cared.
Tristan brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “I always knew you were a passionate woman. But until tonight, I didn’t really know what passion was.”
Prudence tried to smile, snuggling deeper against him as the coach swayed down the road. “It was wonderful.”
And it had been. And would be. At least, it would be until the realities of their life intruded. For now, at least, she wouldn’t think of that.
She listened to the steady beat of his heart, her cheek resting against the crisp linen of his shirt. His breathing deepened, his body relaxed and she wondered if he slept.
She’d never thought to love again, not after Phillip. But she’d been wrong.
Tristan shifted a little and moved his shoulders, his arm tightening about Prudence as if he wished to hold her closer. The warmth of his embrace soothed her.
Prudence didn’t move. She blinked back tears even as she snuggled against him. The trustees would be coming soon and the reason she was in his life would disappear the second they agreed to grant him the title and funds. It would be time for her to go, soon enough.
Meanwhile, she’d take what she could from this moment, savor it as much as she could, and then, let it go, just as she would let him go. Just as she’d had to let Phillip go—
The carriage lurched to one side, sliding them both against the door. Tristan’s arms tightened and he took the brunt of the force on his shoulder.
“What is that blasted coachman doing?” Tristan muttered as they swayed wildly to the other side.
The coach lurched again, even more wildly this time.
Tristan was thrown toward. He grasped Prudence to him with one arm and used the other to catch his weight, his bad leg hitting the edge of the seat opposite. He grunted with pain.
The carriage careened side to side as if the hounds of hell were at its rear wheels, the single lantern swaying on the ceiling hook and flickering madly.
A shot rang out, the sound reverberating in the silence of the night.
Through the uncertain light, Tristan cursed. “Damn it all! It’s a highwayman!” He pushed Prudence to the floor and reached behind her for a box. Inside were two pistols. He pulled them out and glinted a cold smile. “Do not fear, my love. This is one highwayman who will never again see the light of day.”
18-01-08, 01:33 AM
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