Time After Time (215 page)

“From the woman with Trey.” For a moment, Porkchop forgot who he spoke with as the memory of Cara’s laughter filled his heart with lightness and joy. He’d couldn’t recall a happier time than spending most of the day watching her, listening to her sweet voice, hoping she’d smile at him, look at him, the way she looked at Captain Trey.

“Have a seat, Thaddeus.” Captain Entwhistle gestured to a chair on the other side of his desk. He poured brandy into a fine crystal snifter and slid it across the desk.

The simple request and offer of a drink took Porkchop by surprise. Never once, in all the time he’d been sailing with the captain had he ever been offered a chair in the captain’s cabin. Never once had Entwhistle called him by his given name. Never once had he shared his supply of spirits, at least not with him. Suspicion and fear grabbed hold of Porkchop, and it took every ounce of his will power not to shudder as he swiped his knit cap from his head and lowered himself to the offered chair.

“Tell me about the women traveling with Trey.” Entwhistle picked up his pipe, filled it with fresh tobacco and lit it. Smoke curled around his head and the image of the captain as the devil snaked through Porkchop’s brain.

The sailor opened his mouth, but no words would come forth. He grabbed the glass of brandy as if his life depended on it and took a big swallow. The warmth travelled to his belly, unraveling the knot in his stomach and loosening the thoughts in his mind. “There’s Temperance Beasley, the other lady’s companion, judgin’ by the way she’s always correcting the younger one and tellin’ her what to do.”

He sighed, realizing he spoke in a rush to get the words out before the captain turned from the charming man in front of him right now to the devil he knew the man to be. “Reminds me of me own mother but the one ye be most in’erested in is Caralyn McCreigh. Ye be knowin’ her father, Daniel, of the
Lady Elizabeth
. I heared her say she found the book and the cup in an old clock her father bought from an estate here in Jamaica. It’s filled with clues to find Izzy’s Fortune.” He pointed to the golden statue on the desk. “They foun’ that on the island, which led ’em back here.”

“Did you happen to hear what they’re planning to do next?”

“They talked about a chapel on the cliffs on the other side of the island in St. James’ Parish. Finnegan even pulled out a map to show them where it is, but I was too far away to see. They’re settin’ off tomorrow to start searchin’.”

Entwhistle sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his face. “A chapel,” he murmured and said it once again, as if repeating it to himself would jog his memory. His eyes glazed over as he stared at Porkchop. As if realizing he wasn’t alone, the captain jerked in his chair, and the smile he bestowed on the sailor did nothing to inspire confidence. “You’ve done well, Thaddeus. Now finish your drink and toddle off to sleep. Tomorrow will be a big day.”

• • •

“I like her, Tristan,” Fiona said as she refilled his glass. “Not only is she beautiful, but kind and adventurous, and might I say, daring. She reminds me o’ someone.”

“And who would that be?”

“Ye, ye scoundrel.” She grinned. “She’s the kind o’ woman ye always searched fer but ne’er thought existed. A far cry from yer mother, who left the raisin’ of ye t’ yer da. An’ she loves Jemmy. I be knowin’ how important that is to ye.”

Tristan raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t refute Fiona’s words. After all, he knew them to be true. He glanced at Caralyn now and his heart skipped a beat. Perhaps it was the wine that made her eyes sparkle, her cheeks explode with color, and her smile beam as she danced a lively reel with Socrates, but he didn’t think so.

“I have this for ye.” She handed him a letter she pulled from her pocket. Tristan recognized the seal immediately and heaved a sigh. Another missive from his father, another command to return home and marry the woman the earl had chosen, another opportunity to realize the woman he wanted was not the woman he would spend his life with. Perhaps this letter would contain the name of his future wife. Perhaps not. At this moment, it didn’t matter as his gaze swept the floor and found Caralyn once more.

“Yer da?” Fiona asked.

“Aye.” He tucked the letter into his pocket. There would be time later to read his father’s summons, time to regret the decisions he had no part in making.

“Aren’t ye goin’ to read it?”

Tristan shook his head. “I already know what it says.”

“An’ ’tis not what you want, is it?”

Again, he shook his head and sighed.

“Well, what is it ye be wantin’?”

Tristan knew she waited for an answer but he couldn’t speak. He knew exactly what he wanted . . . something he couldn’t have. From the corner of his eye, he saw Fiona follow his line of sight and sigh.

“Ah, I see. ’Tis her.” She gave him a gentle push toward the dance floor. “Then go and get her. At least dance with the lass. Tomorra be a long way away.”

Tristan needed no more urging than that. He stepped onto the dance floor and tapped Socrates on the shoulder. “I believe this is my dance.”

“O’ course, Cap’n.” The sailor relinquished his light grasp on Caralyn’s fingers and bowed.

She’d had too much wine. Tristan could tell the moment he took Caralyn in his arms, her body soft and pliant and leaning into his, although the tempo of the song did not require them to embrace. Her eyes, the color of the sea he loved so well, twinkled with merriment . . . and something else. Invitation? Promise? Desire? For him? Or was it the wine she had consumed and he only saw what he wanted to see?

Whatever message her straightforward gaze sent, he’d be more than willing to comply. He held her closer still and felt her heart pounding through his body. The heat of her hand on his shoulder seeped beneath his jacket and not only touched his skin, but his soul as well.

“I like your friends.” Her words were slurred, just a little.

“They like you as well.”

He swirled her around the floor, the warmth of her hands, the way her body moved in time to his—all conspired against his good intentions as a gentleman. The music stopped and yet he wanted to keep moving with her, wanted to keep holding her close, wanted to take her upstairs and touch every part of her body, taste the sweet nectar of her kiss, bury himself deep into her softness and feel the ardor of her response.

Instead, he whispered in her perfect, shell-like ear, “I do believe, Cara, you have had a bit too much wine. Perhaps, it’s time for you to retire.”

“I’m not the least bit sleepy.”

He couldn’t help the grin that parted his lips, couldn’t help touching his lips to her ear, couldn’t help delighting in the shiver that shook her. “Be that as it may, we’ve a busy day tomorrow and it wouldn’t do for your head to be pounding.”

Caralyn giggled. “Perhaps you’re right. I do feel giddy and so happy, I could dance all night, but tomorrow will be a busy day.” She sighed then and he felt the reverberations all the way to his toes. “I hope we find the treasure, Tristan. I have such plans.”

“As do I, but nothing will happen unless you get some sleep.”

He released his hold on her but caught her again as she swayed. The urge to kiss her, to taste her tempting lips once more overwhelmed him. Blood sang through his veins and thundered in his ears. In her inebriated state, he could do anything he wished, and yet that wasn’t the way he wanted her.

She hiccupped and another giggle escaped her. “Ooh, perhaps I have had too much to drink.”

“Come, I’ll take you upstairs.” He led her through the crowd of people dancing to yet another lively reel. Graham smirked at him and quirked an eyebrow. Socrates and Mac scowled and tried to impede his progress but the greatest obstacle remained Temperance Beasley.

She stood at the bottom of the stairs, hands on her hips, her foot tapping the hard wood floor. “Where do you think you’re going, Captain?”

“I’m escorting Caralyn to her room.” He lowered his voice. “I believe she’s had a little too much to drink.”

The woman raised an eyebrow as her lips pinched together. “Your services are not required. I will take care of her.”

Tristan nodded once and relinquished his hold on Caralyn, trusting her to the woman who held her safety above all else. “As you wish, Temperance.”

He watched them ascend the stairs, one riser at a time. Twice Caralyn lost her balance, but Temperance held her in a strong-armed grip. At the top, Caralyn turned and waved to him, her smile warm and inviting, her eyes soft as she let out another burst of laughter.

He stayed where he stood until they disappeared from view then turned, almost colliding with Socrates. The man said nothing but the expression on his face spoke volumes. The sailor would protect Caralyn with his last breath, as would any one of the crew. Tristan nodded, understanding the intent, though he said nothing to defend himself. “I think I’ll turn in as well. We’ve an early start tomorrow, Mr. Callahan, you may want to make the announcement to the men.”

Tristan wandered through the main house behind the tavern and climbed to the third floor. He found Jemmy, tucked into bed, sleeping the sleep of the innocent, hands curled beneath his chin. He kissed his son’s forehead, pulled the light blanket over his shoulders, and left the house.

He took a seat in the courtyard beneath a flaming torch. Through the multi-windowed Dutch door, he saw that most of his crew had departed though a few hardy souls remained, Hash included, to help Fiona clean the mess from their feast. A grin split his lips but quickly disappeared as he pulled the letter from his father from his pocket. Turning it over and over in his hands, he took a deep breath then broke the seal and read the words.

Again, no mention of his future wife’s name, only a summons to be in London on April twenty-fifth and to be at a specific address in Mayfair at noon to marry a stranger. Odd how Caralyn needed to be in London so close to when he was to be married. He shook his head, dismissing the coincidence, and thought about the letter he meant to write to his father, the words of which remained random thoughts in his head, but perhaps the time had come to take those thoughts and put them into action. If need be, he would beg to be released from his upcoming nuptials. His other option would be to meet the woman before the priest pronounced them man and wife and convince her he wasn’t the man she should want. He could think of half a dozen other men who would be thrilled to be married to an heiress, but he wasn’t one of them. A noise drew his attention. He glanced up toward the second floor of the tavern and his breath seized in his lungs. Caralyn stood on the balcony, her hands lightly resting on the carved balustrade. She smiled at the moon above and he could see her lips move, although he could not hear what she said.

Did she pray? To find the treasure? Or for another reason? Mesmerized, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the vision before him. Moonlight bathed her in silver and reflected off her tanned shoulders. A breeze ruffled her long hair. Indeed, the slight wind molded the diaphanous white gown against her body, leaving nothing to his imagination. She looked like an angel from heaven. One sent to torment him? Or one sent to fulfill all his dreams?

Tristan’s body responded faster than his thoughts. His heart thumped in his chest, blood pounded through his veins and roared in his ears. An urgency he couldn’t deny swelled within him and the desire to climb the trellis to her balcony, take her in his arms, and make love to her as he longed to do caused his muscles to tighten. And yet, he did nothing. He was, above all else, an honorable man. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t dream of how she’d feel in his arms. He closed his eyes and let the fantasy take hold.

Chapter 14

Tristan tossed and turned. He rolled over on his side, bringing the sheet with him. The pillow beneath his head had grown warm again but he didn’t flip it to the cool side as he’d done so many times during the night. He hadn’t slept well, hadn’t been able to get the vision of Caralyn standing on the balcony out of his mind, and when he did sleep, he dreamt of her—in his arms, the taste of her lips on his tongue, the curves of her body perfectly molded to his hands. Every thought conspired to make one hellish yet oddly pleasant night.

The morning sun streamed through the windows as he chased the dregs of his dreams away, tossed back the sheet, and climbed out of bed. He strode toward the open French doors, bringing the sheet with him to wrap around his waist, and surveyed his surroundings. Bird song filled the morning. Palm fronds rustled in the breeze. He heard the telltale sounds of someone cooking—the quick chops of a knife against cutting board, the metal clink of pots and pans being placed on the stove, the murmur of quiet conversation. Fiona and Donal had begun their day.

He yawned and stretched then rubbed the sleep from his eyes. A smile crossed his lips as he placed his hands on the balcony railing and glanced toward where he saw Caralyn standing last night. Today, they would find Izzy’s Fortune. He felt it in his bones and yet, for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to find the treasure he sought. And he knew why.

Caralyn.

She would take her share and go on with her plans, her life. He’d never see her again, never touch her again, never feel the softness of her lips beneath his again. The thought, the realization, made his stomach clench but most surprisingly of all, his chest ached in the region of his heart.

“It’s gone! Dear Lord, it’s gone!”

Though they weren’t loud, he knew in a moment who had uttered those sad, tortured words. Caralyn. Her sobs echoed in his head. Instantly, his body tensed and the pain in his chest intensified to the point where he didn’t even think. He grabbed his trousers from the chair arm where he’d left them and stepped into the legs on the run. By the time he reached her closed door, he’d finished buttoning his trousers, though how he accomplished the task he couldn’t begin to fathom. His hands shook so badly, he had trouble twisting the doorknob.

Without a second thought for propriety, for whatever state of undress he might find her in, he flung the door open. And stopped.