Brethren of the Coast Box Set 2

by Barbara Devlin

  With that, Trevor sketched a bow, all but ran to his wife, and steered her toward a dark corner. Lance stifled a hearty guffaw when his friend extinguished a nearby candle and eased his bride to a chaise. And then Lance gave his attention to his intended target. Slowly, he smiled.

  Oh, yes.

  Thus far, Cara had successfully evaded Lance—her old pal—because he hadn’t deviated from the tried and true. To his detriment, he remained a comfortable, predictable childhood chum. But things were different now, because they had made love, a point of fact in his strategy he had woefully discounted.

  As such, he had to rethink his tack, had to consider Cara his conquest. She was no longer just an afternoon reading buddy—she was his quarry, his prey. And he would hunt her to the ends of the earth if necessary. Employing all his skills, drawing on his considerable expertise, his vast cache of knowledge in the sensuous arena, he would stalk her.

  Cara would never know what hit her.

  In that instant, he sincerely anticipated the chase because, despite his injury, everything else was in prime working order, so he was definitely up to the challenge. The end result, to make Cara his bride, would be the sweetest victory of all. And he did not doubt for a hairsbreadth of a second his eventual triumph, because once Lance set his sights on female game, he never lost.

  Adopting his best swagger, and with a bad leg that was no idle feat, he grasped the crystal decanter of brandy, poured another portion of the amber intoxicant, and raised his glass in insouciant salute.

  Let the games begin.

  #

  “Well, I believe last night was a smashing success.” Sabrina thrust her chin and sipped her tea.

  “I could not agree more.” Alex nodded with enthusiasm. “It was simply stupendous.”

  “Yes, I concur.” Rebecca tapped a finger to her chin. “Our plot appears to be working.”

  “Do you really think so?” Cara furrowed her brow and stared at her clasped hands, as doubt nagged her conscience. “Lance looked so sad.”

  “As he should.” Sabrina leaned forward and swiped a square of shortbread from a tray. “You must stay the course.”

  “I, for one, would very much like to know what our husbands were discussing with Lance,” Caroline said to Brie. “They had their heads together for quite some time, and Trevor skillfully evaded my inquiry regarding the topic of their conversation.”

  The friends gathered in the morning room at the Markham’s Park Lane town home. They had decided in advance to meet and discuss each successive event of their plan, but Cara already second-guessed her ability to carry out their scheme. After tossing and turning all night, she had arrived at the requisite hour, fully intending to end their foolhardy endeavor.

  “Do you think they suspect us?” Cara asked Caroline, who merely shrugged, and then frowned and shook her head at Brie. “And I do not want to hurt him.”

  “My dear, need I remind you that men do not come easily to love, as I grow weary of repeating myself.” Sabrina wrinkled her nose and sighed. “Must I again explain that we have to rip out their heart and stomp it flat before they realize how precious it is?”

  “But I do not wish to rip out his heart.” A haunting image flashed in her brain, of Lance with a bloody hole in his chest, and Cara gulped. “I only want to be his wife.”

  “Hmm.” Sabrina narrowed her stare. “I am not so sure it is possible to distinguish between the two.”

  “Then you must be strong.” Waving a fist in the air, Alex rallied the troops. “Yours is a noble cause. In the end, he will thank you.”

  “I daresay you would believe otherwise were it Jason who spent the evening moping as if he had just lost his best friend.” Mulling her circumstances, Cara snatched an open-faced cherry tart. “Would you relish the prospect of causing him torment?”

  “Well, I should think I would do whatever necessary to secure his affection, but it is of no concern.” With a smug smile, Alex stuck her tongue in her cheek. “Jason has already gifted me his heart—on a silver platter, no less.”

  “The man must have been a woman in another life.” Rebecca nudged Caroline, who giggled.

  “What makes you say that?” Alex looked her question. “I assure you, Jason is every inch a man.”

  “Because a male with uncommonly good sense is a rare creature, indeed.” Rebecca hugged a pillow to her belly. “How else could you explain it but that he is in touch with his feminine nature?”

  In concert, the women shared a hearty laugh, and Cara shed the tension investing her shoulders.

  “Tell me something, Alex,” Cara inquired, as she wiped a stray tear from her eye. “Just how did you persuade the estimable captain to help us?”

  Alex averted her gaze and bit her lip.

  “Come now.” In the process of taking another bite of shortbread, Sabrina paused. “Do tell.”

  “Why do I get the impression we will not like what we hear?” Rebecca stated with a grimace.

  “Oh, no.” Caroline swallowed hard. “What did you do?”

  “Well.” Alex paused, squirmed in her chair, and glanced at Sabrina, then Cara, then Rebecca, and back to Cara. With a flick of her wrist she drew them near. In a low voice, she said, “I put his hand on my breast.”

  Sabrina’s eyes grew wide as she dropped the remainder of her shortbread.

  Rebecca and Caroline gasped in unison.

  In horror, Cara almost sent her cup and saucer to the floor. After a few seconds of impenetrable silence, she blinked. “Alex, you quite take my breath away.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Caroline inquired with a countenance of disapproval. “Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?”

  “Cara let Lance do it to her—oh.” Alex covered her mouth with a clenched fist.

  The room spun on end, and Cara slumped in her seat. A chorus of male grunts, groans, and whispered praise filled her ears as she relived the memory of Lance touching her, kissing her, loving her.

  Sabrina folded her arms and snickered. “Well that is a charming image.”

  “Oh, it was a vast deal more than charming.” With a dreamy expression, Alex clasped her hands to her bosom and closed her eyes. “It was divine.”

  “Spare me the details.” Sabrina pressed a napkin to her brow. “Else the morning malaise will surely revisit me.”

  With a nervous chuckle, Cara lifted the pot and sought distraction in polite decorum. “May I pour you more tea, sister?”

  “No, thank you.” Sabrina favored Alex and Cara with an icy glare of reproach. “But you would do well to heed my advice. If you want to secure a husband, hold your favors until after you are wed. With the exception of Trevor and Dirk, why on earth would any man buy a cow when it freely bestows the milk?”

  Duly chastised, Alex dipped her chin. “Yes, Brie.”

  “I do not understand.” Cara considered her little sister’s instruction but could make no sense of it. “What has this to do with cows?”

  “What she means to say is that you may talk to Lance. Walk with Lance. Dance with Lance.” Caroline pointed for emphasis. “But for heaven’s sake, Cara, keep his hands off your breasts.”

  #

  Like a wolf scenting its meal, he spied her as soon as she entered the ballroom. When the invitation arrived, Lance had not intended to grace the halls of Hogart House, but he decided it was time to enact his grand plan to win his lady.

  Gowned in crimson velvet, with her raven hair coifed in her usual style, Cara silently beckoned him as she descended the main staircase. And as a bull in the ring, he prepared to charge.

  But he lurked in the shadows, hugging the sidewall. Patient and deliberate, he loomed as an apparition of doom for his competition, because he would make his move soon enough.

  As he had expected, Jason lingered at the foot of the steps and offered to escort Cara into the gala, which she accepted without hesitation. To his satisfaction, the blonde Adonis led Miss Perfect to the back corner where the Brethren gathered.

>   Lance would join them—eventually.

  Focused on a wealth of tempting ebony curls, he navigated the throng, winding his way across the cavernous ballroom. At his leisure, he nabbed a glass of champagne from a passing servant. Sipping the cool refreshment, he strolled along the edge of the dance floor, relaxed and unhurried, nodding a casual acknowledgement here and a modest greeting there, just enough to feign interest.

  When he reached his lifelong friends, he eased into the group, paying particular attention to the male dominated conversation, and ignored Cara completely. As anticipated, the men congregated to one side, and the women to the other, and he positioned himself behind his intended target.

  As Dalton laughed aloud at some audacious comment, Lance cut loose with boisterous mirth and simultaneously seized the opportunity to trail the curves of Cara’s bottom with his fingertips. She rewarded his efforts with a feminine gasp of surprise.

  Round one: Advantage, the Marquess of Raynesford.

  With a tight lid on burgeoning confidence, he adopted a demeanor that he hoped conveyed unutterable passivity, half-turned, and stared at Cara.

  With her lips parted, her cheeks flushed a charming red, which almost matched her gown. Shock and something he could not quite define danced as shadows in her blue eyes.

  Cara blinked and murmured, “I beg your pardon.”

  Without a word, he arched a brow, nodded once, and gave her his back. His smile came easy as he engaged in the vigorous banter between seamen.

  The familiar strains of the first waltz sliced through the air, and prospective suitors jockeyed for a fair partner. With calm deliberation, Lance hobbled aside as Jason claimed Cara.

  As couples whirled about the marble floor, he relocated to a position of serviceable concealment provided by a bust sitting atop a pedestal, which suited his purpose. From his vantage, he studied his prey.

  Every time his lady neared the locale in which the Brethren assembled, Cara cast a surreptitious glance in that direction. As certain was he of his name, Lance surmised she searched for him. When the dance ended, he tarried in the shelter of the statuette.

  Watching Cara watching for him.

  To her detriment, she retreated to the corner, and he decided it was past due to tweak her again. With his walking stick for support, Lance limped to her vicinity. Engrossed in some female occupation with Elaine, Cara did not spy him.

  Persisting in her wake, he bent his head, pretended to consider the toe of his shoe, and expelled his warm breath across the nape of her neck. She flinched ever so slightly, and gooseflesh covered her in a flash, only to be concealed by her gloved hand, but he saw it just the same.

  Victory: The Marquess of Raynesford.

  #

  Cara shivered, peered over her shoulder, and stared Lance straight in the eye. His answering smile was pure wolf and did nothing to soothe her frazzled nerves. She expected him to say something—anything, but he abandoned her to her thoughts, which ran amok at his bold and curious behavior.

  Just what was her hero about?

  For the next hour, her world rocked on end, and Cara teetered beyond her control as a familiar-faced incubus haunted and taunted her. Every time she recollected her faculties, Lance caught her in another sneak attack, rendering her befuddled and weak-kneed.

  If only he would declare his love.

  She would accept his proposal, and anything else, for that matter. Regardless of his endeavor and aim, which she speculated had everything to do with righting his perceived wrong and nothing to do with undying devotion, she had no idea how to counter his licentious offensive. Worse, she suspected her conspiracy had unwittingly pricked the pride of a past master of passionate pursuits, resulting in her perilous predicament.

  “May I escort you to dinner, Cara?” Jason stood tall and winked. Then he bent and whispered, “Have we caught the attention of your errant suitor?”

  She glanced from side to side, and then nodded once and gulped. “Oh, I would say we definitely have caught his attention.”

  “Then we should toast to your future happiness,” stated the affable captain.

  When Collingwood settled at her right, she had thought to find refuge in his company. How quickly she realized her error when her tormentor appeared as if from nowhere and claimed the seat to her immediate left.

  “Is this a private party?” Lance inquired with cherubic innocence, which didn’t fool her for a second.

  “Not at all,” Jason replied. “Pull up a chair, Raynesford.”

  Almost at once, her not-so-gallant hero brushed the bare skin of her inner arm, and she shivered.

  “You are chilled, my dear. Allow me to fetch you a glass of ratafia.” To Lance, Captain Collingwood said, “Would you guard our fair Miss Douglas until I return?”

  “Oh, it would be my pleasure.” And that is when Lance really went to work on her nerves.

  No sooner had Jason disappeared than her nemesis rubbed his leg to hers in an illicit rhythm that left her in no doubt of his meaning and the memories he intended to provoke. And the energy she expended to maintain her prim and proper façade, else she risked exposure and further ruin, exhausted her resolve. Indeed, nothing her finishing governess had taught her prepared Cara for his onslaught.

  Just then, she spotted Jason and Alex deep in conversation and realized she was truly on her own.

  “Will you not look at me, Cara?” Lance asked in a low voice, which gave her gooseflesh. “Or are you afraid of what you might reveal?”

  “I beg your pardon? Of what should I be afraid?” Against her trusty intuition, Cara met her tormentor’s gaze. “After all, there is nothing to see.”

  “Ah-ha.”

  “Lance—”

  “Cara,” he mocked her sigh as she had done to him in his bedchamber. “And it is just as I predicted.”

  “What is?”

  “Lovely lying eyes, sugar kisses.” He leaned near. “You could never keep secrets from me.”

  “Your ratafia, Miss Douglas.” Jason placed a cup of the noxious brew before her, and she jumped. “I apologize for the delay, but I became distracted.”

  “No worries.” At his charming admission, she couldn’t help but laugh. “And I had Lance to—” When she peered over shoulder, she discovered her mischievous hero gone. “Well, he was here a minute ago.”

  Just then the music resumed, and the revelers cued to return to the ballroom.

  “Shall we, Miss Douglas?” Jason offered his arm in escort.

  “No, thank you.” Desperate for a moment’s peace, Cara shook her head. “Given the success of this evening’s enterprise, perhaps you should ask Alex. I know she would love to indulge you in a country dance, and it is not fair of me to monopolize your company.”

  “Well, if you insist.” Jason favored her with a boyish grin. “I shall seek my lady as a boon for my efforts.”

  The handsome naval captain waggled his brows and approached Alex from behind. With a gentle tap on the shoulder he gained her attention, and she cast a wide smile. How Cara envied the palpable emotional undercurrent they shared, and she yearned for the same connection, the unspoken communication. Their attachment reflected what she thought she had found with Lance.

  An imaginary darkness shrouded her in impenetrable melancholy, and the misery of her situation loomed as storm clouds on the horizon. Disappointed hopes played agonizing vignettes, which only intensified her heartache. The room seemed unseasonably hot, and she almost suffocated from the heat. In dire need of fresh air, she searched the vicinity, navigated the throng, and located a small alcove. Standing before a pair of French doors, she grasped the knob but paused to check for Lance. To her relief, he was nowhere to be found.

  A full moon cast a silvery glow on the crisp November night. Wrapping her arms about herself, Cara walked to the rail of the diminutive terrace, which overlooked a small topiary garden. A pebbled path led to an orangery tucked amid a cluster of rose bushes, and their gentle fragrance teased her nose as she inhaled
deeply. At length, she relaxed, closed her eyes, and shivered.

  Arms encircled her waist, and welcoming warmth enveloped her.

  Lance chuckled. “Alone at last.”

  ONE-KNIGHT STAND

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was just her luck to walk straight into the devil’s embrace. When Lance cupped the undersides of her breasts, Cara conjured all manner of protests to his inappropriate behavior. But given what had already transpired between them, how could she object? And though she would deny it were he to ask, she hadn’t realized how much she needed him until that instant. So she leaned back her head and sighed, as he blazed a fiery path along the curve of her neck with his lips.

  “I miss you, my hero.” She gasped with pleasure when he nipped the crest of her ear with his teeth. “I miss you so much.”

  “But I am right here, sugar kisses.” His new term of endearment thrilled her to her toes, as his hands seemed to be everywhere at once, caressing, massaging, tickling ever so teasingly, and she was grateful for his expertise and what he made her feel.

  And, oh, what she felt.

  “Yet it is not the same with us, is it?” She turned—right into his kiss.

  From the first, their lips met in calm and gentle communion, as he brushed and sashayed his mouth to hers. Then, in a flash, everything exploded in a fevered pitch, and without shame, she opened to her man, licking and suckling his tongue, as she wound her arms beneath his formal coat and pressed herself to his body. Sumptuous fire sang in her veins and charged every nerve, stealing every scrap of rational thought. Dizzy with desire, she ground her pelvis to his and hummed in appreciation when his impressive erection jutted against her belly.

  “I want you, Cara,” he whispered.

  Drunk with passion, and seduced by the addictive power he wielded over her, she craved more, and Lance did not disappoint. A subtle shift provided the slightest warning of the dazzling enticement on the horizon, before he slipped a hand between them. For a scarce second she held her breath, and she emitted a plaintive cry as he delved beneath her velvet bodice and lightly pinched a nipple. To her frustration, words of warning rang in her head.