First Comes Desire. Tina Donahue
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the carnage and nodded. “Good work.” He tucked his volume beneath his arm, helped Diana with her shoes, then to her feet. “Peter, her jacket.”
He tossed it.
Tristan handed the garment to her. “Put this on. Time to go.”
He led her through the ship and across the moon-washed deck littered with bound-and-gagged men, all unconscious.
She stepped around their bodies the same as the others. “You plan to leave them here?”
Tristan stopped. Moonlight silvered his eyes and hair, turning his eyebrows and stubble even darker, making him look like a dangerous angel.
He glanced around. “Would you prefer to take a few with us?” He made an elaborate bow and gave her a roguish grin. “Your wish is my command.”
She nearly laughed. “I was wondering if you’re leaving them here to die.”
“Hardly.” He pulled her toward the rail and a skiff.
She held back. “Are we taking this to the beach and your ship?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
“You’ll see.”
* * * *
With three strong males to work the oars, they made swift progress away from the Lady Lark.
Diana twisted in her seat, trying to determine their destination, since they appeared to be putting out to sea. Surely, Tristan hadn’t planned to row to the African coast. That would be madness. The skiff was far too small for the journey.
James and Peter kept their peace, seemingly unconcerned.
Diana wished she could trust as easily but wanted answers, and faced Tristan.
He regarded her.
Her pulse quickened and her limbs grew heavy with desire. When they’d been on the ship, she had no trouble denying he’d ever wed her. Now, the notion seemed inevitable and far less disturbing than living out her days with Bishop. Arousal blunted her caution at the man who would soon be her husband.
He rowed with grace and power, his face damp from sea spray, neck and shoulders tensed. Hard labor had sculpted his strong arms and body. His direct, unashamed gaze spoke of things he’d seen that she could only imagine and might very well fear. Yet he still fascinated her, and she wasn’t certain why.
She’d always hoped a quiet, unassuming man would woo, then bed her, pleased to have her make the decisions. Tristan would have great difficulty doing so. Yielding wasn’t in his nature. Ruling was.
The wind pressed her shirt against her breasts. She didn’t bother to hide what he’d already seen. Soon, he’d be intimately familiar with her flesh, while she’d know his male passion.
Carnal hunger crossed his face. “Best you get some sleep.”
No need to ask why. Once they arrived at their destination, he’d take her, expecting her full desire and participation in every act. A dull ache settled between her legs, same as earlier. The feeling was frustrating yet oddly pleasant.
Shaken from desire and uncertainty, she turned away.
Moist air laced with salt pulled at her hair. The heavy moon sparkled on water that held more lights than the star-splashed sky. Sea and air stretched forever, one touching the other, making her feel too small and ache for the familiar.
She had no idea where England was from here. Perhaps her homeland no longer existed. Her quest didn’t. She’d failed to rescue her brother whom she no longer knew or recognized. She’d offered her own happiness and freedom in exchange for Peter’s safety, protection he refused. Soon she’d be the wife of Captain Tristan Kent, a dangerous angel who caused her to want him so easily. Her passion was already his. Her heart, though, would have to resist.
He’d said he wanted a taste of home, an Englishwoman, not necessarily her, since they didn’t know each other.
Despite the longing she’d seen in his eyes, lasting love might not matter to him. She’d always yearned for someone to cherish her. Not likely in a marriage that had come about as theirs would. She’d know a few sensual nights followed by too many lonely days that she was afraid to face. The hours ahead were as unfathomable as where the sea touched the sky, as out of reach and unknown. She hadn’t an idea of where she’d be a day from now, much less a year, or when the moment would arrive when she no longer recognized herself, as she no longer knew her brother.
Heartsore and weary, she slid from the plank seat to the hull, curled up, and escaped into sleep.
* * * *
Tristan pulled in his oars and rested them to the side. He removed his waistcoat and draped the garment over Diana.
She stirred a hunger in him he found nearly painful, as any man would, yet she didn’t flaunt her beauty. As a reverend’s daughter, she’d probably learned to be quiet and plain.
Imagining Diana in either role was impossible. Her loveliness was undeniable, her courage nothing short of a miracle. Never had he known a woman to take the risks she had. Although her strong will rankled at times, her spirit mostly impressed.
He captured a lock of her hair. Her tress whispered across his palm, then floated on the wind, black as night, smelling fresh and flowery, like a proper Englishwoman.
Everything he’d left behind was here now with Diana, but only because of Peter and her sweet rescue. Back home, she would never have looked Tristan’s way. Circumstances wouldn’t have allowed a reverend’s daughter to wed a man who’d had nothing, once made his living as a mariner, and then was a pirate. Of course, no one expected more of someone who came from poor beginnings. He’d surely had the humblest.
He lifted his face to the stars, knowing them far better than he had his father, a man who’d given him a name and nothing else. Best not to recall what his mother had done to fill their bellies. Most times, they hadn’t food or a place to live. They’d left Wales, which had been misery itself, and came to England and found the new land far worse. Going to sea at ten hadn’t posed a hardship for him. Working on ships was a way to eat and survive. In those early days, his shipmates hadn’t thought him strange for not being able to read or write, since most also lacked the skills. Eventually, he’d taught himself those things, craving knowledge only books could offer and wanted to use his newfound talents to get a better life. That’s when the men thought him odd.
Tristan hardly cared. He wanted to be educated and clean. He needed to be free. He craved respect.
Once, he’d even hoped for love.
Diana’s delicate profile was to him, her lips parted in sleep, hands pillowing her head.
She’d agreed to be his wife, nothing else. He could take what he wished from her, but she’d offer nothing freely. She considered him uncivilized and without redemption, certainly not a man she would have chosen for herself.
James cleared his throat. “You all right?”
Tristan nodded. He picked up his oars and rowed hard. No matter Diana’s initial appraisal of him, he would change her mind and have her desire.
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