Alex huffed and stomped a foot. “Am I that transparent?”
“Afraid so.”
“It is Lance.” Pulling at the ribbons of her bonnet, she sighed heavily. “I have assumed your duties while you nurse your headache.” Her brow furrowed. “Tell me you are feeling better.”
Cara successfully suppressed her reaction to the mere mention of her tormentor’s name. “I am much improved.”
“Wonderful.” Alex settled in an overstuffed chair and rolled her eyes. “I simply can’t endure another day with His Grouchiness. Really, Cara, you must have the patience of Job to put up with him. I know it is difficult for him, being bedridden and all, but he has been downright boorish.” She paused to inhale. “And he asks for you, every day. I swear, as soon as I inform him you are not coming, he turns into a fork-tongued dragon of the orneriest sort.”
“Oh, dear.” Cara hugged herself and paced the floor. What could Lance possibly want? Not for a minute would she allow him to chastise her further for her behavior, because she was not entirely at fault for what had occurred between them. As far as she was concerned, he’d had a hand in the cherry compote, too. Had he wanted to cease their play, he had but to protest. Instead, he had encouraged her.
“I had thought he was growing tired of me.” She lied in a feeble excuse to explain why she would not journey to Raynesford House. “Surely one of the boys can help you. I have cared for him since they returned.”
“No.” Alex shook her head. “They are busy overseeing repairs to their ships.”
“Elaine?”
“You know how fragile she is.”
Cara stared at her properly clasped hands.
She searched for a justifiable reason to delay what she knew was her duty. And though she tried to convince herself otherwise, she had to admit Alex was not to blame for her injured heart and, therefore, should not suffer as a result. And if she did not have to be alone with Lance, she was certain she could bear his company.
“I suppose I could come with you, as long as you are willing to help me. Perhaps, between the two of us, we can handle him and his temper.”
“Oh, thank you, Cara.” With an easy smile, Alex hugged her affectionately. “I was positive I could depend on you.”
The next thing she knew, Cara found herself ensconced in the Seymour town coach, barreling up the lane for Raynesford House. She inhaled a shivery breath at the thought of seeing Lance again. Already, her cheeks burned with embarrassment. In an instant, she told herself he had just as much to be ashamed of, as had she.
When they pulled beneath the portico, she swallowed the fast rising panic in her throat. The door to the coach opened, and a footman handed them down. As they neared the entrance stairs, a familiar call brought them to a halt.
“Alex! Cara!” Wearing a teal wool riding habit, with a crop tucked under her arm, Elaine waved a greeting and tugged off her gloves. “I have been to the park this morning. It is such a lovely day, and the winter chill will be upon us soon enough.” She welcomed them with a kiss on the cheek before turning to Cara. “I am so happy to see you are feeling better. And I know Lance will be pleased, too. He has asked for you every day, sometimes at breakfast and lunch. He has missed you so.”
“Really?” Cara tried not to be excited that he had shown some interest in her welfare. Had she been mistaken? Had he altered his thinking? Perhaps he wanted to apologize. “Then my presence will reassure him that I am quite well.”
The friends ascended the entrance stairs and crossed the threshold, pausing in the marbled foyer to doff their outwear.
“Ladies, this is an unexpected treat.” A booming baritone snared Cara’s interest.
On the grand staircase stood Jason Collingwood, captain of the H.M.S. Intrepid, a warship of the Royal Navy. Dressed in a rich blue uniform festooned with gold epaulets, the impressive giant loomed at well over six feet tall. With wavy blond hair and a conqueror’s smile, he conjured images of a hero in a Greek tragedy. Immediately, his heated gaze settled on Alex, and Cara bit her tongue to stifle a giggle.
“Captain Collingwood, what a wonderful surprise.” Slowly, Alex approached the foot of the stairs, cocked her head, and peered at him through her long lashes. With what Cara would characterize as a flirty pucker, Alex lowered her chin. “It has been too long since you last graced my company, and I would have you rectify said deficiency.”
“The pleasure is mine, Lady Seymour. You are stunning, as always.” He held her stare as he descended the steps. When they met, toe-to-toe, Alex brazenly offered her hand, which the captain caught in his grasp, before bringing her gloved knuckles to his lips. “A thousand apologies if I have neglected you so, but I am afraid duty calls. Were I a gentleman of leisure, know that your every happiness would be my first priority.”
The intimate interplay between the obviously smitten couple left Cara breathless, and she cast Elaine a questioning glance. “Perhaps—tea?”
“Oh, yes,” Elaine blurted. “What a marvelous idea.”
To Cara’s astonishment, neither the handsome naval captain nor her good friend seemed to notice them. Still, she spoke softly. “Why do we not adjourn to the drawing room and leave them to enjoy their reunion?” She slipped her arm about the younger woman’s shoulders and steered her to the left.
“My lady?” Banks positioned a vase, filled to overflow with a mix of red and white roses, on a table. “I did not know you had returned from your ride.”
“I let myself in.” Elaine grinned. “And we would like tea, Banks.”
The stodgy butler nodded once. “Yes, my lady.”
Arm in arm, Alex and Captain Collingwood strolled into the sumptuously appointed chamber. “Captain, you do recall Miss Cara Douglas and Lady Elaine Prescott?”
“Of course.” With a warm smile, he bowed. “How do you do, ladies?”
Cara smoothed the folds of her skirt. “Fine, thank you.”
“Have you visited Lance?” Elaine inquired.
The seaman shifted his weight and winked at Alex. “I have, indeed.”
“How fares he this morning?” Alex tugged on his elbow, and the naval man blushed.
“He seemed much improved when I left him.”
At that moment Banks appeared, bearing a tray loaded with a pot of tea and a plate of shortbread.
“Will you join us, Captain?” Elaine asked.
Cara sighed in relief when the younger Prescott assumed the position of hostess. As the youngest and most reserved of the Brethren women, Elaine had yet to find her footing, and Cara often worried that her friend was destined for a permanent position on the shelf.
“While there is nothing I would rather do than pass the afternoon in your estimable company, I must decline your gracious offer.” With a mighty frown, Captain Collingwood stared at Alex. “To my infinite disappointment, I must away, as I am due at Deptford.”
“May I show you to the door,” Alex offered in an unabashed manner.
Elaine picked up the pot. “Tea, Cara?”
“No, thank you.” She wrinkled her nose, because it was time to face the music. “I believe I shall see how Lance progresses.”
As she crossed the foyer, Cara spied Alex and Captain Collingwood at the entrance stairs, with their heads together, dallying shamelessly, and deep in conversation. Though propriety demanded she part the couple, Cara could not bring herself to intercede, because she could only imagine having her affection returned. And she was in no hurry to meet her fate at Lance’s bedside.
Still, with resolve as a shield, she ascended the steps and navigated the hall leading to the family apartments. Wiping her uncharacteristically damp palms on her dress, she mulled recent events and vowed never to surrender her cause. Her future groom might not realize it, but he would be hers.
At last, she paused before what she had recently come to consider the door to her doom, because she had shown her hand and lost. But a first round loss did not equate defeat, from her perspective. Yet she had not constructed a suit
able flanking maneuver. She glanced over her shoulder and thought of retreat. Forcing the memory of that horrible afternoon from her mind, Cara decided her best course of action was to ignore the past. Pretend nothing had happened between them.
They were friends—nothing more.
Without knocking, she opened the door and crossed the threshold.
“Morning Lance. I hear you are doing much better—”
Cara froze.
Her lifelong friend, the husband of her dreams, the man she had lovingly called her hero reclined in the middle of his bed, with the covers gathered at his waist. With one arm draped across his lap, in an obvious attempt to gain his attention—and more—Lady Moreton, a beautiful young widow quite popular with gentlemen of the ton, sat beside him.
“Cara?”
She could not miss the shock in his tone as she averted her gaze. “My lord, pray, forgive me. I did not know you had company. I thought...that is to say...I labored under the mistaken impression that you were alone. Had I known you were otherwise occupied, I should never have trespassed on your privacy. I shall leave you now.”
“Cara, wait!”
Ignoring his plea, she hauled the door open and fled his suite.
And ran straight into Alex.
“Oh, dear.” Her friend was out of breath. “Oh, dear. Jason told me Lance had a visitor. When I returned to the drawing room, Elaine informed me you had come up. I had hoped to catch you before you discovered them.”
With a crushing pain permeating her chest, Cara gasped for air. Tears welled in her eyes, and unimaginable humiliation stole her voice.
“Cara, what is it?” Alex shook her by the shoulders. “What did you see?”
Just then, Lady Moreton emerged from the bedchamber, wearing a sultry smile to which Cara would have taken exception under better circumstances.
“Good day, ladies.” Her head held high, she continued down the hall as if she owned the place. “The marquess is all yours.”
“Cara!” Lance roared, and she feared she might be ill.
“I can’t go in there,” she whispered. “Please, Alex, take me home. I beg you.”
“Cara!”
“Wait here.” Alex grasped Cara’s hand and squeezed her fingers. “I will make our excuses.”
She disappeared into Lance’s bedchamber and, to Cara’s relief, returned a minute later.
“Let us go.” Wrapping a protective arm about Cara’s shoulders, Alex lent unshakeable support as they descended the stairs.
“Miss Douglas?” Banks caught Cara just as her knees buckled. “Are you unwell?”
“Please, help me secure Miss Douglas in my coach,” Alex stated with the authority of a highborn daughter of a duke. “And give our apologies to Lady Elaine.”
As the Seymour equipage lurched forward, Alex asked, “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
With a soft sob, she unleashed her tears, and misery flowed as a rushing river, completely out of control. In a flash, the world as she knew it tilted precariously. Cara sank into the squabs and fainted.
ONE-KNIGHT STAND
CHAPTER SIX
When next Cara woke, she found herself in an unfamiliar place, until she regained her wits and realized she reclined in Alex’s bedchamber at Seymour House. As a child, she had spent many a night in that room, telling spooky stories by candlelight. As they grew and matured, the tales had focused decidedly on one tantalizing topic.
Men.
The elegant suite had also undergone a transformation, indicative of the changing tastes of its occupant. At one point, everything had been decorated in a very feminine pale pink, with lace accents. Now, the drapery, the counterpane, the canopy, and trimmings boasted rich burgundy velvet.
“How do you feel?”
She blinked rapidly and turned her head. In a bedside chair, Alex sat with an open book on her lap.
“Much improved.” Cara stretched, shifted, rolled on her side, propped an elbow on the mattress, and rested her cheek in her palm. “Why did you bring me here?”
“Because I did not know how to explain your sudden illness.” After setting aside the volume, Alex moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “Something tells me you do not wish to share the details of what transpired in Lance’s chamber.” She paused for a moment and rested a hand on Cara’s shoulder. “Do you want to enlighten me? I shall carry it to my grave, I swear on the Brethren oath.”
Invoking the Brethren oath was tantamount to a vow of eternal silence undertaken by the most devoted monk upon entering the monastery, and no member of the Brethren could idly dismiss such a promise.
With a heavy sigh, Cara shuddered as images of the day flashed through her mind. She would rather keep the extent of her humiliation to herself, but as Alex had seen fit to protect her secret, she felt honor-bound to confide in her friend.
“Oh, Alex.” She closed her eyes. “I fear I have made a dreadful mistake.”
“Come now, it could not have been that bad. Jason said she had only just arrived.”
“I am not referring to Lady Moreton.” Cara groaned and stared at the younger Seymour. “Would that it were so simple.”
With her brow a mass of furrows, Alex inclined her head. “I do not understand, because you are talking stuff and nonsense. If interrupting Lance and Lady Moreton did not upset you, then what did?”
“I can’t believe what I am about to impart.” Sitting upright, Cara clutched Alex’s fingers and squeezed. “You see I care for Lance.”
“Of course, you do. We all do.” Alex chuckled. “There is nothing new or wrong with that.”
“You do not comprehend the full weight of my declaration.” Cara lifted her chin and looked her straight in the eye. “I care for him—deeply.”
At first, Alex cast an expression of pure confusion.
To emphasize her point, Cara added, “As you care for Captain Collingwood.”
After a few painful seconds, the smile on Alex’s face faltered, and Cara knew the precise moment that realization dawned, because Alex gasped. She opened and then closed her mouth.
“What?” A chill of unease traipsed her spine, and Cara leaned forward. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” Alex averted her stare.
“You know something,” Cara remarked, and it was a statement, not a question.
“No.” Never one to avoid controversy, Alex remained uncharacteristically evasive. “I know nothing.”
“You are not being truthful.” Her well founded instincts piqued, and Cara pressed her suit. “Look at me, Alex, and tell me otherwise.”
“It is nothing, really.” With a piteous countenance, Alex frowned. “You see, I have always wondered if there were something more than friendship between you and Lance.”
“You knew?” Cara inhaled sharply, because discovery equated her worst fear. “Does anyone else suspect me? Has anyone said anything?” she asked in rapid succession, praying no one had stumbled upon her secret.
“I had an inkling.” Alex sighed. “And I believe there are none the wiser.”
“But—what gave me away?”
“I am not sure.” She shrugged. “It was just a feeling.”
“Oh, no.” Cara could have cried, because her carefully constructed demeanor, her invisible armor, possessed a glaring chink. “Do you think anyone knows?”
“No, I am certain they do not.” Alex paused, as though searching her memory. “It has never been mentioned.”
“Oh, dear. Whatever am I to do?” Cara scooted to the edge of the bed and dangled her legs from the side. “How will I ever be able to face Lance again? How can we ever go back to being nothing more than friends?”
“Come now, Cara.” Alex draped a supportive arm about her shoulders. “You do not think Lance will let something as trivial as your intrusion on his private audience with Lady Moreton come between you? Yours was a harmless mistake.”
“There is rather more to it than that.”
“Does this have something to do with y
our mysterious ailment of late?” Alex arched a brow. “Is that why you have been avoiding him?”
Incapable of speech, Cara nodded an affirmative.
“Out with it,” Alex said, with a friendly nudge. “What happened between you two?”
Cara considered lying for a scarce second. She had already told Sabrina of her plans and rued burdening her sister, given her pregnancy. But she desperately wanted to share her anguish. Wanted to divulge the pain threatening to suffocate her, as if acknowledgement would somehow lessen her suffering. She knew without doubt that Alex would not betray her secret.
Summoning courage, she said, “We kissed.”
“You kissed?” Alex asked in a whisper.
Once again rendered mute, Cara nodded.
“Was it a friendly little buss?” Alex inquired indifferently—before leaning in to add, “Or was it the kind with your lips parted, which curls your toes?”
“Alex.”
“What?” Her smile was pure devil. “It is an honest question.”
Cara humphed. “It might be honest, but it is certainly indelicate.”
“Was his kiss?”
“What?”
“Indelicate?”
“Alex.” She flung herself, face first, into the pillows. “I never should have told you.”
“Oh, come now. Do not be hesitant with me, sister.” Alex clucked her tongue. “Sometimes, when Jason takes after me, I feel as though I could rip his uniform off with my teeth.”
“I beg your pardon?” She peeked at her friend and blinked.
“Did you not experience similar sensations? Wait.” Alex flinched. “I just pictured that in my mind.”
“Pictured—what?” Cara shivered with unease, because the depth of their conversation was a vast deal more than she was prepared to digest.
“You with Lance.” Now she had the nerve to grimace. “He is as much my brother as Damian.”
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