Her Master and Commander (11 page)

Tristan leveled a gaze at Reeves. “From what little I do know about my father, he thought fashion far more important than anything else.”

“I can see why you would think that and, indeed, you are correct; they are not men of superior intelligence. They will be concerned with comportment rather than character.”

“Just as I thought.”

The butler pursed his lips. “Perhaps you might see your way to taking a few lessons in comportment, and then a new wardrobe. The usual things a man might need when setting up a fashionable establishment.”

What an ill-gotten waste of time. “It’s a pity I can’t enroll in that damn academy Mrs. Thistlewaite wishes to begin. I daresay she knows all that sort of nonsense.”

Reeves’s brows slowly rose. “I beg your pardon, my lord?”

“I said it was a pity I couldn’t enroll in—” Tristan caught the gleam in the butler’s eyes. “No, do not even think it. I was merely funning.”

“My lord, perhaps you do not understand. We have only one month before the trustees come to inspect you. Stevens has been telling me about Mrs. Thistlewaite and her plans. It might serve well—very well indeed.”

The entire idea was preposterous. “Engaging Mrs. Thistlewaite as a tutor is—”

“A tutor! Yes, that would do very well. A capital idea!” Reeves said, nodding, his expression more and more animated. “Mrs. Thistlewaite might indeed be of service, for a small fee, of course. It would serve you well, and free my time so that I may oversee the training of your staff. A man is known by the quality of his servants.”

Tristan opened his mouth to protest when a small, interesting thought flickered through his mind. If he agreed to set his course just so, then the delectable Prudence would be in his house.

With him.

For hours on end.

He found himself grinning. Perhaps learning to be an earl wouldn’t be so painful a process with such a distracting armful within reach. Thus he was able to say with real feeling, “Reeves, you are indeed a genius.”

Reeves was already smiling. “Thank you, my lord. I do my best.”

Prudence put her sewing basket in her lap and began digging for some red thread. One day, she was going to organize her basket. Place all of the threads about cards by color, and tuck all of the scraps into a neat pouch. She might even place the straight pins in one cushion instead of having them stuck in the edges of the trim work left over from last year’s unsuccessful attempt to make a chemise.

She pulled out a pair of woolen stockings and examined the hole in the toe of one. “Blasted stocking,” she muttered, wondering if perhaps magenta thread would blend well enough to mend it. The red thread seemed to have vanished.

It was sad to be remending an already mended stocking, but she had little choice. They were reaching the last of their funds. If they did not gain some pupils soon, they’d be reduced to selling some of their precious furnishings.

Sighing, Prudence bent her head and began mending the stocking as best she could.

The door opened and Mother scurried in, her hand plopped on her lace cap, holding it in place. Her eyes lit on seeing her daughter. “Prudence! There is a man to see you!”

The captain.
Prudence flew to her feet, her sewing basket falling to the floor. “The captain is here? Now?”

“No, no! It’s not him. This gentleman is somewhat older. Very distinguished, too.” Mother leaned out the doorway and peeked down the hall, adding in a faux undertone, “I wonder if he’s a member of the peerage. He has such an air, but I don’t remember seeing him before.”

A member of the peerage? Prudence’s stomach tightened. She remembered all the days when one after another, men who’d invested in Phillip’s program had arrived at the house. Some had been angry. Some sad. But the worst had been desperate. They’d put their entire fortunes in Phillip’s hands and wanted someone—anyone—to tell them they would earn it back.

At the time, Prudence had still been reeling from Phillip’s illness. She hadn’t known where to turn and the interviews had been painful, though not as painful as Phillip’s eventual death and then the scandal following. She pushed away the unwanted thoughts, smoothing her skirts nervously.

Mother dashed to stand by the settee across from Prudence’s chair.

Mrs. Fieldings entered, the gentleman behind her. The housekeeper looked properly impressed. “Mr. Reeves, madam.”

The gentleman was tall and slender and dressed in an impeccable black coat, his cravat simply tied. He bowed, his blue eyes bright, his black hair tipped with white. “Madam, I am Reeves, butler to the earl of Rochester.”

Prudence paused in mid-curtsy. “Earl?”

“Indeed, madam.”

Prudence didn’t know quite what to say. After a belated moment, she gestured to her mother. “This is my mother, Mrs. Crumpton.”

Mother curtsied. “Mr. Reeves! From the earl of Rochester’s! How exciting! I didn’t even know there was an earl within distance—”

“Mother, I believe Mr. Reeves is referring to the captain.”

Mother’s eyes widened. “The captain? Is an earl? A real live
earl
?”

Reeves gave a stately nod. “Indeed, madam. He has but this week inherited the title. Which is why I am here.” The man turned to Prudence, his gaze lingering at her feet. “I trust I am not disturbing your sewing.”

“My—” Her sewing basket laid at her feet. Oh yes. She’d forgotten about that. “I was just finishing.” She bent and retrieved the basket, scooping the contents into it as quickly as she could.

As she did so, he bent as well and calmly assisted her. “Madam, I have come on a matter of business.” He sat back on his heels and met her gaze squarely. “The earl is in a quandary. To gain control of his fortune, he must be approved by a set board of trustees. They will expect to see a man of distinction and manner or they will not approve the release of the funds. You have met the captain. While he has the distinction necessary, his manner could use some gentle polishing. I believe that is where we need you.”

“You want me to tutor that—the captain?”

He stood, helping her to her feet and placing the basket on a nearby table. “Yes, madam.”

Mother clapped her hands.

Prudence sent her a quelling glance. Really, the captain didn’t even like Prudence. Well, he liked to kiss her, that much had been evident. If Prudence was truthful, she’d rather enjoyed it herself. Quite a bit, in fact. Her cheeks heated. Spending time with the captain—the earl, that is—was not a good idea. “Mr. Reeves, I am afraid I cannot do as you request. I am quite busy and—”

“Nonsense,” Mother said firmly. She looked at the butler. “Prudence would be delighted to assist.”

“But Mother—”

“Prudence, the man is an
earl
, for heaven’s sakes! How can you refuse him?”

“Easily. Mr. Reeves, I am afraid it is impossible. I don’t think I could—”

“Of course, there will be a handsome compensation.”

Mother’s eyes brightened. “How much?”

“Mother!”

“You should not sell your services for a pence less than they are worth,” Mother said calmly. She lifted her brows at the butler. “Should she?”

“Indeed she should not,” he agreed, implacable as ever. “The earl is prepared to be generous.”

“He knows of this?” Prudence asked suspiciously.

“It was his idea,” Reeves returned in a gentle voice.

“Oh.”

“He is willing to go as high as a hundred pounds for the month.”

It was a fortune. Prudence cleared her throat. “Well. That is certainly generous. However, there is a small issue of—Reeves, the captain does not like me.” He desired her and any other woman who might tumble into his arms. But he certainly had never expressed any other emotion—like concern or respect. Which was, she thought a bit tartly, a great pity.

Reeves’s smile turned wry. “I haven’t found many people the captain does hold in affection.”

“He must hold his crew in some affection; he lets them live with him.”

“You are right; he does care for them. Deeply, I believe. But he is not affectionate toward them. He is, in fact, rather short tempered. However, they know him and love him and thus everyone seems quite happy with the arrangement.”

“I wouldn’t be.”

“No, madam. Fortunately, what I am asking of you has nothing to do with affection. I merely wish to hire you to tutor his lordship.”

Prudence pressed two fingers to her forehead. Tutor. The captain. The man who, by simply brushing his fingertips over her arms, could send shivers over her bared skin. “I—I am not sure I—”

“Without your help, he will lose the fortune and his men will suffer greatly,” Reeves said in a quiet, earnest tone.

Prudence thought of the men she’d seen, many of them battle scarred and unfit to make it on their own. “What exactly would I have to do?”

“Within one month’s time, you will need to teach the new earl the rudiments of polite society.”

“One month?”

“Yes. The trustees will come then to make their decision. He will need instruction in dancing, conversation, rules of behavior…” Reeves shrugged. “Just think of the captain as a rather large and gauche debutante.”

Despite her misgivings, Prudence had to chuckle. “I don’t believe he’d like anyone to think of him in those terms.”

“No, madam. Which is why we won’t tell him.”

She looked at the butler for a moment. “You believe secrets are sometimes necessary things?”

“Indeed, my lady. Don’t you?”

“Sometimes. But not with the captain. If I think of him as an overgrown debutante, then I will tell him. Personally, I believe his arrogance has caused quite a few of the problems in his life.”

“Indeed, my lady. It is also one of the things that has kept him alive. His life has not been as easy as he would have you believe.”

Prudence’s interest flared yet higher. The captain did have a limp, but other than that, he seemed so strong, so capable, so assured.

Reeves added, “It is also possible that that very arrogance will make his transition to earl all the easier. Members of the peerage are not known for their humble manners.”

She smiled a little at that. “Reeves, in your experience, have you found all earls to be as arrogant?”

“Every last one.”

“Heredity?”

“And a firm belief they are favored by God. Which is something only they and the Creator truly know.”

Prudence looked down at her hands, clasped before her. “I don’t know. I just—”

“He needs your help, madam. Unless I greatly mistake the matter, the men in his employ are all he cares about. Yet there are so many, he cannot keep up with the costs.”

Mother sighed. “That’s true. Why, the doctor was just telling me how some of those poor men were wounded and had been improperly cared for. He is over there at least once a week and says he should go more often, but dares not as the burden on the captain’s purse would be too much.”

“That is too kind of the doctor,” Prudence said dryly. She looked at the butler. “You believe the captain will use the money for his men?”

“I am certain of it.”

She squeezed her fingers together, mulling this through. She would make a healthy wage, which would ease Mother’s mind a good bit. She would also be assisting those poor sailors who lived with the captain—or rather, the
earl.
She needed to remember his title, if nothing else.

Perhaps the best part was that she would have the chance to mold the earl to a more acceptable form, teach him the rudiments of society and have the benefit of watching him bloom under her tutelage.

For an instant, she had an image of the earl on his knees before her as he thanked her for showing him the error of his ways.

It was purely imaginary, of course, but still…the scene held a lot of appeal.

She nodded once. “I will do it.”

Reeves smiled. “Thank you, madam!”

“Tell him I will come tomorrow by noon. If the trustees have given us naught but a month, we will have our work cut out for us.”

T
he next morning, Prudence slowly made her way toward the captain’s cottage. After a fitful night filled with uncomfortable dreams and restless feelings that would not go away despite the teaspoon of laudanum she stirred into her nightly cup of tea, Prudence had awoken heavy-eyed and irritable.

She’d exchanged halfhearted homilies with Mrs. Fieldings, dressed in her second-best morning gown of pink muslin, and then joined Mother for breakfast. While Prudence was dreading the coming day, Mother was annoyingly cheery. She chattered about how exciting it was to know a real earl until Prudence could stand it no more. She’d abruptly finished her breakfast, made her goodbyes and, wrapped in her blue wool cloak, left home for the captain’s.

No, she told herself. Not the captain’s. The earl’s. She sighed, her breath frosty white in the chill of the morning. It would take some time adjusting to that.

She was a bit late and she knew it. Still, she could not seem to hurry. Since late last night, an odd sort of dread had begun to settle in her stomach. She could not forget the captain’s heated kiss, nor her impassioned response. That was what really made her feet drag along the path despite the freezing wind; that she wondered at her reaction to a mere embrace.

Perhaps it was just the length of time since she’d been with a man. Certainly she’d enjoyed the physical aspects of being with Phillip. He had been a tender and gentle lover, something she now treasured. He’d loved her reactions to him, as well, and had encouraged her in every way.

Growing close to Phillip had been easy, relaxed; she’d done it almost without thinking. From their first meeting to the day of his death, being with Phillip had been…simple. With the captain, nothing was simple. Every moment quivered with tension and awkward awareness.

That sort of thing was not love, Prudence told herself firmly. She was not some green girl to confuse tension with true emotion.

She’d already experienced love, had lived in the warmth of Phillip’s adoration for their brief time together. What she felt for the captain was nothing more than simple physical attraction that would fade all too soon.

She straightened her shoulders. Enough of that. Time to face forward. Today she would find out what she could about the earl’s abilities and, perhaps, a little of his past history. Reeves’s words from yesterday had piqued her curiosity.

A blast of icy wind sliced through her cloak and gown. She put her head down and pressed on. The wind was wild and unruly, growing more furious with each step. By the time she reached the cottage she could no longer feel her feet. Blast it, was even nature against her today? She needed all her wits to deal with the captain.

He was an odd mixture of gruff ill temper and subdued humor. Beneath it all lay a heavy and seductive sensuality that sent her senses humming. Still…little as she knew him, she didn’t fear him at all; for all his harsh talk, the man couldn’t bear to fence his own sheep or turn away a single wounded sailor. She rather suspected the captain’s bluster and brawn hid a heart much softer than he wished.

She really should think of him as “the earl” or even as “Rochester,” difficult as it was. “The captain” he’d been when she’d first met him, and the captain she’d always secretly think of him.

Prudence reached the house just as a skittering of wind swirled against it, chilling her to her woolen chemise. “Lud! I am going to mull myself into a block of ice.” Without another thought, she knocked briskly on the door.

The wind blew again, whistling up the face of the cliff before spilling over the garden and slapping against the house, whipping her skirts forward. Prudence shivered, knocking once more. Where was Stevens? Surely even if he was out, someone would be home—

The door swung open. But it wasn’t Stephens. Instead, a huge form filled the entire door frame, an oddly light-colored green gaze pinned upon her. “You,” the captain said, his voice more a growl than anything else.

“Yes, me,” she said, forcing her frozen lips to make the words. “Didn’t Reeves inform you I was to be here?”

The capt—no, the
earl
—leaned on his cane, the muscles in his arm bulging slightly. “Reeves said you would be here at noon. It is now”—the earl took a watch from his pocket and flicked it open with his thumb—“twenty minutes past.”

“I had urgent things to attend to this morning.” Goodness but she was cold. Her lips were numb and her teeth beginning to chatter ever so slightly. “Where is Reeves?”

“In the barn. He has decided to teach Stevens the manner of a real butler.”

Prudence thought that humorous, though her attention was fastened on the wind as it whipped harder than ever, almost roaring. It blew Prudence’s skirts forward and made her ankles ache with cold, plastering the earl’s white shirt over his chest.

He was dressed very inappropriately, she decided, shivering and huddling deeper in her cloak. He wore black breeches and boots, his white shirt open at the neck and revealing the strong column of his throat. He placed a hand on the door frame, and looked down at her, his expression inscrutable.

Prudence clenched her jaw. “It would be p—polite of you to invite me inside.”

His brows lifted. “And have you berate me under my own roof?”

“I didn’t come to b—berate you at all.” She pressed her lips over teeth just beginning to chatter.

His gaze traced her up and down, disbelief plain upon his face. “No?”

“Why d—d—don’ t you invite me inside and s—s—see?” she managed to gasp.

He gave a muffled curse, reached out and unceremoniously plucked her from the stoop and set her inside. “You little fool.” He slammed the door closed.

“I am n—n—not a f—f—f—” It was too cold to finish the word. She sunk her chin to her chest and tried to grit her clacking teeth.

He took her by the elbow and led her down the hallway, his cane thunking softly on the hall runner. “So you say, my little ice maiden. Come inside and thaw.”

It was hardly a hospitable offer. But she knew it was all she was going to get and, frankly, as cold as she felt, she’d have been tempted by an invitation from Beelzebub to warm by the grates of hell. Gritting her teeth against the urge to refuse, she allowed him to guide her into his library.

To her chagrin, more than her teeth were chattering now. Her whole body trembled with cold.

He glanced down at where his hand closed over her elbow. “Good lord, woman! Why are you so cold? Surely you weren’t on the stoop that long?”

“I—i—it was a l—l—long w—w—way here,” she managed, the shaking deepening.

“You walked? The entire way?”

“I w—w—walk that far all of the t—t—time.”

His face darkened. “Not in this weather, you don’t. Blast it! I thought you’d bring a carriage.”

“We d—d—don’t have one.”

“Then I shall send one for you from now on. Bloody hell, do you want to catch your death? No doubt you’d blame that on me, too.”

“Y—y—you didn’t invite m—m—me in and—”

Large hands grasped her shoulders and marched her across the room to where a warming fire crackled. “Stand here and stop talking. I cannot stand to hear all of that stammering.”

Once they reached the hearth, he turned her to face him. “Don’t move.”

She looked up at him, unable to speak for her chattering teeth, and nodded.

He paused, and to her surprise, the faintest hint of a grin touched his mouth, momentarily softening his face. Prudence blinked. He was always a handsome man. But when he smiled, his entire face changed. He looked approachable and gentle, his handsomeness compounded. He appeared so handsome, in fact, that her chest tightened in a most distressing way.

Stop that!
she told herself, forcing her gaze downward. But all that did was put the earl’s broad chest directly in line with her eyes. He was built on massive lines, a giant, in a way.

She shivered, hugging herself, the warmth from the fire slowly seeping through her skirts. “Th—thank you.”

He grunted. “You need something more to warm you.” He turned away and limped to the small table by the terrace doors.

An odd sense of loss filled Prudence at his absence, which was completely silly for he was only across the room. The cold was truly affecting her. She put her hands behind her, blessed warmth soaking through her, stilling her trembling a good bit.

He returned then, a small brass pot in his free hand. “You’re damned lucky I was about to make some rum punch. I already had it mixed and on the fire. I had to remove it to answer the blasted door.”

Prudence started to tell him that she didn’t drink rum, but her lips wouldn’t form the words.

The captain sent her a wry grimace. “Don’t even try. I’m fixing it whether you want it or not.” He set his cane to one side and took up an iron hook. He slid this into the pot handle and used it to hang the pot on a metal peg over the fire. “It won’t take long. I had the fire stoked a few moments before you arrived, just for this purpose.”

Even more of the shivers receded. Prudence turned to face the fire. The orange and blue crackle of the flames chased the chill from her body, a faint lassitude seeping through her.

The earl stirred the contents of the pot. The tantalizing scent of lemon and cloves and cinnamon filled the air, spiced with something more pungent.

He replaced the lid and regained his cane, then limped back to the table to collect some glasses.

Prudence was left by the fire. She held her hands to the dancing flames, soaking in the heat.

“Warm yet?”

The voice was so close to her that she jumped.

A deep chuckle met this and he passed her to set the glasses on a table. Then he lifted the cover off the small brass pot.

“That smells w—wonderful.”

“It is. It’ll warm you up, too.”

She squinted her eyes at him, but his attention was back on the brass pot. He took the ladle and poured a goodly amount into a glass mug, then turned and pressed it into her hand. “Here. Drink this.”

The amber liquid sparkled in the half-filled glass. Light from the fireplace reflected in the depths and the mouthwatering scent engulfed her. “I don’t think I sh—”

“Yes well, I think you should. I’m master and commander of this rig, and a bloody earl to boot, so drink up.” He came to stand near her, leaning an arm against the mantel and glinting down at her. He held a glass himself, this one filled almost to the rim.

He was so close. And so…large. The heat from the fire was slowly melting her frozen skin and she lifted the glass and took a delicate sip. Warmed liquid drenched her mouth, filled her senses, heated her stomach…and sent a swirl of rum-soaked pleasure through her. She gasped, staring at the glass with surprise.

He grinned, taking a deep drink himself. “Good, isn’t it?”

She pressed a hand to her throat.

“Take another drink.”

She eyed the glass with misgiving. It was as potent as the man who’d made it, and as dangerous. “No, thank you.”

He chuckled, his green eyes sparkling. He took another drink, as if in challenge. “I daresay you’ve never before had spirits.”

“I’ve had wine. And sherry.”

“Water, both of them. This is premium rum punch.”

She looked at the glass. “It’s quite strong.”

“Yes, it is. Which is why you should drink some. Try it again, only this time, go a little slower. After that, we shall begin the lessons.” An amused twinkle lit his eyes. “I promise to be a very apt pupil.”

She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to take one drink. Besides, her chest was pleasantly warm where she’d tasted the beverage before. She lifted the glass and took another slow sip. This time the liquid slid down her throat and tickled her palate, caressing her chilled bones.

“Better?” He watched her from over the rim of his own glass.

“Much,” she murmured, drinking a bit more. A curious warmth trickled through her, heating her from heels to shoulders. She was suddenly very aware of everything around her—the man before her, the warm red of the room, the coziness of the roaring fire, the delicious scent of the rum punch. “What a pleasant room.”

He paused, his glass halfway to his lips, his gaze never leaving her. “Yes, it is. I like it better than all of the others.”

“I know that. Stevens told me.” Prudence smiled and finished off her rum punch. “He likes to talk about you.”

“Odd,” the earl said, giving Prudence a lopsided smile that quite stole her breath. “He rather likes to talk to me about you.”

“What does he say?”

“Ask him yourself. He is but down the hallway. All you’d have to do is open the door and yell.”

She lifted her chin. “I do not yell for servants. Perhaps that is a good place to begin our lessons—how to address servants.”

He reached over and took her empty glass from her resistless hands. “Why not?”

“A true gentleman never raises his voice.”

“That is a hard rule for a man of the sea.” He refilled her glass with fragrant punch and placed it back in her hands.

Prudence curled her fingers over the warmed glass. She wouldn’t drink this one; she’d just hold it. She was already the tiniest bit tipsy from the first glass. A second glass would be dangerous. “It isn’t what you know of manners, it’s what you wish to know.”

“I don’t want to be fettered to such nonsense, though it seems I have no choice.”

“I don’t consider using manners being fettered.”

“That depends on what your objectives are, my dear,” the captain said, his voice deep with meaning.

She eyed him narrowly. “What do you mean by that?”

He grinned. “Nothing, my love. Pray have another sip of punch. It will make things all the clearer.”

“I think you’re trying to get me drunk.”

“Trying? Does one
try
to walk?
Try
to breathe? No, one does it or dies.”

“Ah ha! You
are
, then!”

He chuckled softly. “You are too swift for me.”

She smiled triumphantly, holding her glass before her. “I didn’t drink any of the second glass. I knew what you were trying to do.”