Leslie Lafoy (21 page)

“And your sister lives where?”

“Go out to the livery—it’s behind the house—and have the coachman take you to Em’s and then down to the river.”

Gregory nodded—a put-out gesture of acceptance if Tristan had ever seen one—and held out the strand of Simone’s hair. “Do you want this back?”

“Thank you,” he said, taking it and returning it to his shoulder just to see what Gregory would do.

He rolled his eyes. “And your sister’s name? Just for the sake of not looking like a bumbling oaf on the front doorstep.”

“Emmaline,” Tristan provided as he left his clerk. “Lady Emmaline Townsend.”

“Would you mind if I asked her out to dinner?”

The wholly innocent and the exceedingly circumspect? Tristan laughed and started up the stairs. “Not at all. Go right ahead.”

Em and Gregory. Now there was a picture. With that pairing, there certainly wasn’t going to be an early-morning scene like the one he’d had with the duke. Which, he decided as he closed his bedroom door behind him and crossed to his dressing room, wouldn’t be a bad thing at all. And neither would a matching of the two, he realized as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Both Emmaline and Gregory were even tempered, a bit reserved, and more than happy to stay within the bounds of social expectations.

Unlike … His gaze dropped to his shoulder. He drew the hair from the cloth of his jacket, then slowly wrapped the silken thread around his finger. What was it about her? he wondered. He could ably command ships and crews. He was known throughout the East as a shrewd trader. Through hard work and determined focus, he’d amassed a personal fortune that most peers could only dream about. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time any woman had seriously rebuffed a carnal invitation from him. All in all, he was a man with sharp wits and the ability to keep them firmly directed toward a well-considered goal.

So what was it about Simone that made him throw caution and good judgment to the wind? She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. And she most certainly wasn’t the first to surrender to a seduction. And she wasn’t the first woman whose seduction could have led to a forced marriage, either. But she was the first woman for whom he’d added up the potential costs, recognized that they were too hefty, and then consciously decided to seduce her anyway.

What was it about her? The thrill of doing something absolutely indefensible? Or perhaps it stemmed from the fact that it had been months since he’d had a lover and Simone was the first willing female to cross his path. No, that wasn’t true. If he’d wanted just a warm body and release, then he could have had any one of a good dozen married women who’d batted their eyes invitingly at parties. And where they’d failed to stir his interest, something about Simone had reached inside him and shaken his mastery to the core.

Not, he told himself sternly as he unwound the hair, that he was going to allow it to happen again. It had been a onetime weakness, a momentary aberration. He’d send her a word of warning about Lucinda and that would be that. He wouldn’t see Simone again.

He laid the single strand of raven silk on the washstand, shrugged off his jacket, then filled the basin with water and forced his mind to mentally inventory the cargo that was coming into port.

*   *   *

Simone stood in the Townsend parlor, considering the furniture. The fragile white and gold-gilded chairs were gone. Nothing had been put in their place yet and so, for the moment anyway, the room felt a bit less overstuffed than it had the day before. Why she was noticing such things … The night had been as long as it had been wonderful and she was so very tired this morning that she could hardly stay awake, much less think straight. Simone shook her head and slowly dragged in a breath.

Since Tristan’s horse hadn’t been tethered outside, he likely was still on his way. If she’d had any more than a few hours of sleep, she’d have the energy to bounce with excitement. As it was, though, her anticipation coursed through her like warm honey. To find the opportunity to step into Tristan’s arms and lay her head on his chest. To close her eyes and feel the beat of his heart against her cheek … It would be heaven.

“You look positively wretched.”

Simone turned to the door and managed a smile. “Why, thank you, Emmy. You look absolutely radiant. If you weren’t my friend, I’d have to hate you.”

“Do you feel unwell?”

“I feel tired,” she admitted as Emmaline studied her. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. My sister had her baby. A boy they named Callen.”

“How wonderful! You’re an aunt!”

“For the third time. But he is my first nephew.”

Emmy sobered slightly. “And everything went well? Your sister is all right?”

Simone nodded in assurance as the footman stepped into the parlor doorway.

“Pardon the intrusion, madam,” he said with a slight bow. “There is a messenger from your brother at the door.”

Emmy looked a bit startled but recovered quickly enough to practice good manners. “Please show him in.”

The footman departed with another bow and Emmy turned to her. “A messenger? Something must have happened. He promised he’d be here to help me paint this morning.”

Simone shrugged in noncommittal reply, thinking the odds were that Tristan was every bit as exhausted as she was and had chosen to stay home and sleep. A good decision that she had every intention of doing herself as soon as she could get away.

“Mr. Wade Gregory.”

The footman backed away, clearing the doorway for a rather tall and decidedly bookish-looking young man. He certainly hadn’t fallen out of the pages of any fashion magazine, Simone noted, deciding that it was a point in his favor. His gaze skimmed over her and then, with a slight smile, moved to consider Emmaline.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said, turning the bowler hat in his hand.

Was he actually blushing?

Emmy beamed. “You’re an American!”

Yes, he was blushing. Even more so now that Emmy was eyeing him like a piece of Swiss chocolate.

He cleared his throat and lifted his chin. “Yes, ma’am. I’m your brother’s clerk. He asked me to call and offer his apologies for not being able to join you and your friend for your painting session this morning. One of his ships has come into port and he needs to be at the docks.”

“I’ve never been on a ship before.”

Simone inwardly groaned, knowing what Emmy was about. God, she wanted to go home and back to bed, not play chaperone.

“I’m sure your brother will be more than happy to arrange a tour for you later this week.”

“Wouldn’t you like to see the ship, Simone?” She didn’t give her a chance to answer. Instead, Emmy smiled brightly, said, “Let me get my hat and coat, Mr. Gregory, and you can escort us,” and then swept out of the room.

Wade Gregory stood there, his hat frozen in his hand, his jaw sagging, and his gaze fixed on the doorway.

“She does that,” Simone explained with a slight shrug. “Just decides and dashes, leaving everyone else to follow whether they really want to or not.”

Mr. Gregory nodded slowly and then rallied to offer a weak smile. “As does her brother.”

Yes. Tristan. Who was at the docks. It was a considerably more public place than she’d envisioned for their next meeting, but, now that she thought about it, that might be for the best. “I’m Lady Simone Turnbridge, by the way.”

He gave her a polite bow. “A pleasure, ma’am.”

Then he looked away, his cheeks coloring pink again and the corners of his mouth tipped ever so slightly upward. Thinking that he might be nervous and uncomfortable with the silence stretching between them, she dredged through the memories of her past lessons on appropriate parlor conversation and asked, “Have you been in Lord Lockwood’s employ long?”

“Some days it feels like an eternity,” he answered. “In actuality, it’s been seven years. Since the day he founded the company.”

She was nodding and trying to think of something else to talk about when Emmy sailed to the parlor doorway and saved them all.

“I’m ready! Simone? Mr. Gregory? Shall we?” And then she was gone, heading for the front door.

“Trotting right along, ma’am,” Mr. Gregory muttered with a shake of his head.

“You’re a terribly good sport.”

“Not really, but I pretend well,” he countered with a quiet chuckle. He motioned to the parlor door with his hat, saying, “After you, ma’am.”

Simone followed after Emmy, hoping that no one expected her to be the ever vigilant doyenne of propriety during the carriage ride to the docks. Once her bottom hit the seat, she had every intention of taking a nap. Just in case Tristan was feeling hungry and daring. Yawning—however delicately—in the midst of a seduction had to be considered very poor form.

Chapter 12

Tristan emerged from the hold and narrowed his eyes against the sudden brightness of sunlight. Dockside, the massive doors of the warehouses had been thrown open and carters stood ready with their handcarts and dollies. Behind him on the deck and down on the dock, crews worked the complicated rope-and-pulley crane system, making flawless work of lifting the first of the wooden crates from the bowels of the ship. Ahead, at midship … His gaze skipped forward, searching. Yes, and at the bow.

He made his way along the deck, wondering which of them had convinced Gregory to bring them along. Not that Tristan believed the old superstitions that women on board were bad luck. It was more a practical matter of the inexperienced getting in the way and inadvertently creating a disaster.

Not, he realized as he reached Gregory and Emmaline at mid-deck, that they were going to stay long enough to be a problem. “Em, you look a little green.”

“I feel green,” she admitted, pressing her hands against her midriff.

Gregory played the gentleman perfectly, taking her gently by the elbow and turning her toward the gangplank and saying, “Perhaps we should disembark, Lady Emmaline.” As they moved away, Gregory glanced over his shoulder. “Sir, Lady Simone—”

“I see her,” he said, already heading toward the shapely creature standing at the bow, her back to him. To know that those luscious curves owed nothing to laces, whalebone, or padding … And that satin skin, smooth and warm and so responsive to his touch.… God, he ached to have her in his arms again, to lose himself in her passion. Damn Lucinda. Damn the peerage and the fact that they both belonged to it. Why the hell couldn’t he have met Simone in America?

Continuing to close the distance, he watched her lean out and look down at the water. And provide him with a most inspiring view of her backside. His blood heated and his groin tightened. Clenching his teeth, he reminded himself of all the reasons he couldn’t touch her again. She eased back to her feet and then stepped sideways to stand perilously close to the coiled hawser lines. Tristan smiled tightly and decided that as excuses went, it would do.

He quickened his pace, reaching her to throw his arm around her waist. She squeaked in surprise and looked over her shoulder. Laughter bubbled up from her throat as he wheeled about and set her back on her feet.

“Never stand near a coil of anything on a ship’s deck,” he explained as he reluctantly released her and put a circumspect distance between them. “Unless, of course, you’re hoping for a sudden death.”

“I’m not,” she replied, grinning up at him. “So thank you.” Her gaze darted to midship and her smile was replaced by a frown. “Is Emmy leaving already?”

“I don’t think so. It’s just that she doesn’t appear to have much tolerance for the movement of the deck.”

“It’s barely moving at all.”

Tristan shrugged. “For some people even the slightest bit is too much.”

“I like it,” she declared, smiling up at him again. “I’ve never been on a ship before.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” he countered, trying to affect a casual smile while fighting the impulse to wrap her in his arms and kiss her breathless. “I’d offer you the grand tour, but we really need to stay out of the way while they’re unloading cargo.”

“Understandable. Are your other two ships just like this one?”

Interesting. No other woman had ever asked him about his ships. “
Bernie
’s twelve feet longer and six feet wider,” he supplied. “
Maggie
’s considerably smaller and has only two engines. But, of the three, she has the biggest heart. She’ll ride any storm and laugh while she does it. Her draft is more shallow, too, and she’ll go places other ships wouldn’t even consider.”

“How long are you going to be able to stand the life of a land-bound gentleman?”

Another interesting question no one had ever asked him. No wonder he found Simone so fascinating. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”

“I’d think you’d be very bored with it very quickly,” she offered. Her smile faded a bit as she added, “Of course, there is the other side of always being away from family and not really having a home.”

“Which doesn’t matter if you don’t have a family. Home is the ship and wherever you are at the moment.”

Her smile disappeared as she nodded. “When I was younger, I lived that way,” she said softly. “Not on a ship, of course. But still, I was unrooted.”

“Would you go back to it now?”

“No.” She brightened and looked up to meet his gaze. “Oh, sometimes I think it would be nice to come and go as I please without having to be accountable. But then there’s a certain comfort in knowing that if anything horrible happened, someone would miss me and care enough to come looking. I suppose that having lived so long without that, having a home and family means a lot more to me than to most people.”

Yes, she’d been very lucky. He hadn’t. “A crew is like a family,” he proposed, hoping it didn’t sound as lame and desperate to her ears as it did to his.

“But they move from ship to ship.”

“Some do. Not all.”

She nodded and looked around the ship, asking, “So which of your three ships is your real home? Your real family? The
Maggie
?”

He never considered himself as having a home, on land or sea. Rather than admit it and invite pity, he smiled, shrugged, and answered brightly, “I suppose so.”