Her Master and Commander (22 page)

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.”

I
t 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 falling 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.