Brethren of the Coast Box Set 2

by Barbara Devlin

  “You will cooperate, or I shall hang you from the Intrepid’s highest yardarm,” he declared through clenched teeth.

  Marching as a dutiful daughter, with Jason in tow, into the Brethren’s strategic domain, Cara seized upon limitless excuses to account for her behavior, none of which possessed sufficient gloss to save her posterior, in her estimation.

  The subtle aroma of cigar smoke teased her nose, and before her sat eight high back chairs, one for each knight of the ancient order, situated in a wide arc in the middle of the cavernous room. In pride of place rested her father’s hand-tooled, antique mahogany desk. It was an arrangement meant to convey eminence and intimidation, at once, and the effect was not lost on her.

  When the bolt slide home, with an ominous click that seemed to reverberate off the walls, Cara almost swooned. That her sire had locked the door portended dire consequences, and no interruption, however impassioned, could save her.

  “Have a seat.” Her father poured himself a brandy.

  “Papa, you are making a terrible—”

  “I said sit down.”

  “Please, do not incite him further,” Jason whispered and quickly perched in obeisance of her father’s command.

  Without further delay, she clamped her mouth shut and followed suit. When her sire assumed his customary position, steepling his hands atop the leather blotter, she gulped.

  “Cara Felicity Douglas, I cannot begin to imagine what would possess you to disgrace this house, your family, and yourself with such deplorable behavior.” He then seared Jason with a fiery glare. “And you dare come into my home and defile my daughter in my presence. By God, I will not have it!” The last was said as he pounded his fist on the desk, enunciating each syllable.

  “Father, please.” In defiance of all measures of self-preservation, Cara stood and approached the edge of the desk. “You are making a dreadful mistake.”

  “Young lady, you—”

  “Am I to have no say?” Cara would not be silenced. She had claimed too many victims in her failed campaign to win Lance, and she was determined to spare Jason any additional repercussions. “Will you judge me without cause?”

  “All right.” He arched a brow and frowned. “You may have the floor.”

  Now that she had her sire’s attention, Cara was not sure she wanted it. She took a minute to compose herself and considered her words. When faced with similar circumstances, Sabrina, unabashed and unapologetic, always charged the field. In the end, she opted for the truth—to some extent.

  “Papa, despite what you observed, nothing illicit or improper occurred between myself and Captain Collingwood.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “I was merely thanking him for his assistance in a difficult matter, and he is all that is noble and kind. He is an honorable man, and you do him a grave disservice with your accusations, for they are unfounded.”

  “If I am proven wrong, then he shall enjoy my utmost regret,” her father stated, in monotone, which conveyed his skepticism.

  “And if I have brought shame on our family, then I, alone, am responsible.” How much more she could withstand, she did not know or care. “But I seek to make reparations, and I will endeavor to restore your good opinion.”

  Her father propped an elbow on the armrest of his chair and rested his chin in his hand. After what seemed an interminable silence, during which he appeared to weigh her impromptu oratory, he inclined his head. “Well, Collingwood. Have you anything to add to my daughter’s heartfelt plea?”

  “Miss Douglas speaks the truth, sir.” Jason shifted in his seat. “Could not have said it better, though I am humbled by her praise.”

  “You make an impassioned argument, my dear.” Her father rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “But I have to wonder how much of this charming display is influenced by engaged affections.”

  “Sir, if I may, you read too much into the situation,” Jason proclaimed.

  To wit her sire impaled Captain Collingwood with a potent stare.

  “Sorry.” Jason choked and crossed his legs. “Perhaps I should just sit here and remain quiet.”

  “An excellent notion.” Her father gave her his full attention, and she shrank beneath his scrutiny. “Cara, of the fruit of my loins, you have always been the sensible one. While the constancy of my concern for your sister never wavered, because she seemed destined for trouble, I have never fretted for you. I had thought you a woman of uncommon intelligence, not only because you are my daughter, but because you have merited such opinion by the steadfastness of your behavior.”

  “Papa, you must believe me, as nothing untoward occurred between Captain Collingwood and I.” Everything in his demeanor, from the tone of his voice to the blank emptiness of his gaze, bespoke disappointment. If any portion of her heart remained whole, it shattered in that instant. “Despite the familiar sobriquet by which I am known throughout the ton, I am not perfect. I am human and, therefore, fallible. But in this situation, Jason is innocent. You must not punish him for my shortcomings.”

  “Well said, my dear, but I expected nothing less.” Her sire cast a half smile that did not fool her for a second. “You see there was a time when I was fully prepared to place my children’s happiness above the ton’s good opinion. When faced with similar circumstances regarding your sister, I indulged her stubborn streak, as she decided whether or not to marry Everett, and I lived to regret it.”

  “Father, no.” Gooseflesh covered her from top to toe. “You would not force me to wed. I will never—”

  “Silence.” Her father downed his brandy and speared his fingers through his gray hair. “I am not inclined to repeat what I feel was a grievous mistake on my part, especially in light of the wonderful match Sabrina enjoys with Lord Markham.”

  Cara glanced at Jason, and he peered at her. In unison, they blinked.

  “But I do not love Captain Collingwood,” she responded, in desperation.

  “Then you should not have engaged in improper advances on his person.” Her father snatched a pen from an inkwell and a sheet of parchment. As he made notations, he said, “I shall meet with my solicitors in the morning. Captain Collingwood, you have a choice to make. Either you announce with sufficient enthusiasm your engagement this evening, at Cara’s birthday celebration, or you will meet me at dawn, with your second, as I demand satisfaction, one way or the other.”

  #

  In nervous anticipation, Lance twittered his thumbs and assumed a position near the double doors leading into the drawing room. Beyond the entrance, a spirited discussion commenced, lauding the tenets of naval warfare, with Everett playing the devil’s advocate, a role he often adopted as the only Nautionnier Knight without a commissioned vessel.

  Several minutes had passed since he spied Admiral Douglas in the hall, headed in the general direction of the study. So where were Cara and Jason?

  The dinner bell sounded.

  As his odd extended family ceased their verbal jousting and filed into the dining room, Lance lingered in their wake. It was not until he had claimed his usual seat that Admiral Douglas, Jason, and Cara walked into the dining room.

  To the casual observer, nothing might have seemed strange or extraordinary. But he was no casual observer, so he could not overlook the profuse perspiration on Collingwood’s brow, the pale expression Cara sported, or the granite-like set of Admiral Douglas’s jaw.

  “Is everything all right, Mark?” Cara’s mother inquired.

  “Everything is fine, Amanda.” Admiral Douglas nodded once. To the butler, he barked, “You may serve dinner.”

  Confident of his plans, and his eventual success, Lance savored the six-course meal, scarcely noting neither Jason nor Cara appeared to have much of an appetite. When a servant steered a tea trolley, bearing a three-tiered cake decorated with roses of rich marzipan, to the sideboard, Lance envisioned future celebrations heralding the birth of his heir.

  While toasts were made to Cara’s beauty, continued health, and long life, Lance raised his glass a
nd added a personal, albeit silent, wish for a rousing wedding night.

  “Shall we adjourn to the drawing room?” Lady Amanda covered her plate with her napkin and stood. “Cara must be anxious to open her gifts.”

  “I would wager she favors my selection best.” Blake winked.

  “I beg your pardon?” Caroline snorted. “I chose her present.”

  “But I paid for it.” Blake grinned.

  “Do not upset my wife, brother.” Trevor chucked Blake’s shoulder. “Else I will box your ears.”

  “I should very much like to see that,” Everett remarked with a chuckle.

  “Oh, shut up.” Blake elbowed Everett. “Landlubber.”

  “Now I resent that, Blake.” Everett scowled.

  “But I do not,” Sabrina replied, with an air of whimsy. “As I prefer you to sleep at home, my shameless lord. And I want a rather large family to secure the Markham lineage, so you shall be too busy to sail for the Crown.”

  “My saucy Sabrina, it will be my pleasure to accommodate you.” Right there, in front of everyone, Everett kissed his wife.

  “Must you do that here?” Blake wrinkled his nose.

  “Mama, I require a moment to compose myself.” Cara smoothed a stray curl. “The evening has been quite overwhelming.”

  “Are you unwell, my dear?” Lady Amanda frowned. “Perhaps your father was right, and I should send for the doctor.”

  “No, I am not ill.” Cara shook her head. “I just need a bit of privacy, and I promise to join you shortly.”

  “All right, but do not tarry.” Lady Amanda wagged a finger. “It is discourteous to keep our guests waiting.”

  Lance counted to three before following Cara, after she veered in the opposite direction of the crowd. He had just stepped into the hallway, when Jason all but attacked him. “What in bloody hell—”

  “Shh.” Wild-eyed, Jason glanced left and then right and dragged Lance into the morning room. “We need to talk.”

  “What is it?” Lance wrenched free. “What has happened?”

  “Admiral Douglas happened.” Collingwood wiped his brow and groaned. “I am in a fine mess, thanks to you.”

  “I do not follow.” Perplexed, Lance listened with great care, digesting every revelation of the showdown in Admiral Douglas’s study. “Hell and the Reaper. What were you doing with Cara?”

  “Is that really of importance?”

  “Sorry.” Lance exhaled in exasperation. “But I have a precise strategy, and it does not involve a hasty engagement. I had hoped to broach the subject tonight and secure her response tomorrow.”

  “Might I suggest you alter your plan?” Jason rested hands on hips. “You have to act, else you may lose your ladylove, because Admiral Douglas made his position crystal clear. Either I announce our betrothal this evening, or I will not live to see the morn.”

  “All right.” Lance assessed his predicament and mulled the possibilities. “Do me a favor. Bring me the parcel with the pale blue wrapping and the lavender bow, and be quick about it.”

  “Aye.” Jason all but ran down the hall. Less than a minute later, he returned with the requisite item. “Good luck, brother.”

  Lance continued to the rear of the elegant townhome but found no sign of Cara. His pulse raced, and his palms dampened, as he crossed the morning room and exited the French doors leading to the garden. After a brief searched yielded no hint of his intended, he returned to the house and turned left at the side hall. At long last, he located his wayward bride-to-be in the back parlor, sitting on the floor before the hearth.

  Just as he prepared to reveal his presence, she sighed heavily, slipped her hand beneath the neckline of her gown, and drew an item, which he recognized in an instant, from her bodice.

  “It is time to let you go, my hero.” With a sob, she pressed the cotton square to her cheek, and then she tossed the embroidered gentleman’s accouterment into the flames.

  “Oh, I say. That was one of my good handkerchiefs.”

  “Lance?” Cara gasped and jumped to her feet. “What are you doing here?”

  “I have come to compose a suitable proposal for the woman who has claimed my heart. But I am not sure she will be swayed by the customary request.” He arched a brow in question. “Perhaps you can help me?”

  “I suppose I can.” Cara bit her lip. After a few seconds, she gazed at him with a sorrowful expression. “Is she what you want?”

  Oh yes. “She is everything to me.”

  “Then tell her so.” She smiled, but a subtle shiver betrayed her true state.

  “Men are not very good with particulars, my dear,” he said softly. “Any suggestions?”

  “You should declare your love, as she will need that to make her decision.” Cara peered at the floor. “Explain how you have watched her grow into a charming young lady, and so much more, and you want her as your partner, your lover, and the mother of your children. Proclaim her the embodiment of your dreams. Then you need only say, ‘Alex, will you marry me?’”

  “That sounds perfect.” Lance detected the briefest hint of a plaintive cry as Cara gave him her back. “Except I require one minor alteration.”

  “Oh?” Now she trembled violently. “What did I miss?”

  “Her name is not Alex.” He approached from behind, hugged her at the waist, and whispered in her ear, “My lady has been, is now, and always will be you, Cara.”

  “But I thought—”

  “You thought wrong, love.” He turned her in his arms but kept her close. “For two people who have been lifelong friends, we have mucked up what should have been a rather simple affair. And yet I must shoulder the greater portion of the blame, as I should have known you loved me, as I love you, when you performed that oh-so-sumptuous dance at the foot of my bed. You are the marrying sort, so you never would have gifted me your maidenhead without first committing your heart.”

  “Please, do not speak of that day.” Cara buried her face in his chest. “I am so ashamed.”

  “Why would you be ashamed?” He chuckled and gave her a playful squeeze. “You were quite the seductress, and I desperately hope to see that side of you again—on our honeymoon.”

  “That will never happen.” She wiggled and squirmed in his embrace, until he released her.

  “And why not?” Somehow he knew she would not cooperate. “We belong together.”

  “I recall a time when you argued otherwise. Do you remember what you said to me that afternoon, because I will never forget it.” Her chin quivered, as tears welled. “‘I will never be your husband.’ Those were your precise words. Would that I had listened to you.”

  “Darling Cara, I was injured, drugged, frustrated, and angry. And I would assert, however late, I was also grievously mistaken about us, but never have I claimed to possess above average intelligence.” Lance cupped her cheek. “Marry me. You know we belong together.”

  “I had once thought you wanted me, but I no longer know how to believe you.” Cara frowned. “And I will not enter a union based on some misguided notion of chivalry. Do you not understand? I seek only to make things easy for you.”

  “Oh, yes. About as easy as peeling a turtle—which reminds me.” With a grand flourish, he presented her the beribboned parcel. “Open your gift, as it may sway you in my favor.”

  “I fail to see how any token—”

  “Bloody hell, you are a stubborn woman. Then again, I know you as I know myself, and once you seize upon an idea you will not relinquish it without a fight.” Lance could not help but laugh at the irony. “So, if I am to convince you that I am in earnest, I must change my tack, sugar kisses.”

  “Do not call me that.” She pouted.

  “But I thought you liked it. Here—” He thrust the wrapped box into her hands. “Hold your present. There’s a good girl.”

  Without warning, he bent and hauled her over his shoulder as a sack of wheat.

  “Lance.” Cara shrieked. “Put me down this instant.”

 
“Not a chance, and be still, else my bum leg may land us both on the floor in a terrible tumble.” His injured limb smarted under the additional weight, be he did not care. Limping to the door, he smacked her bottom when she pummeled his back with a fist. “Watch your head, darling.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” His bride-to-be shifted in his grasp. “What are you doing?”

  In the hall, he veered right and set a course for the family gathering and a date with destiny. “What I should have done a long time ago.”

  ONE-KNIGHT STAND

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Cara’s shouts of alarm brought everyone to their feet when Lance strode into the drawing room. Without fear or hesitation, he marched to the one person with sufficient power to terminate his campaign.

  With an expression of utter shock, Admiral Douglas asked, “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Papa, make him put me down—Ooh!” She shrieked when Lance again spanked her bottom.

  “Sir, consider this my formal petition for Cara’s hand.” As his sails caught wind, Lance gained renewed determination. “She loves me, and I love her. I will marry her, one way or another, but I would prefer to have your blessing.”

  “It is not true.” Resting her palms to the small of his back, Cara braced herself. “He does not love me. His offer is born of the mistaken assumption that he ruined me, but I gave myself to him, of my own volition.”

  The room fell silent as a tomb.

  With Lady Amanda at his side, Admiral Douglas looked to be on the verge of an apoplectic fit. With a dumbfounded visage, the admiral pointed to Jason. “But I thought he—”

  “You thought wrong.” Lance gulped as he prepared to seal his fate. “And if you must know, I have well and truly compromised your daughter.”

  The admiral dropped his glass of brandy.

  “Bloody hell,” Dirk, Damian, Blake, Jason, Dalton, Everett, and Trevor swore in unison, as they retreated behind the line of fire.

  “Do not listen to her, Papa.” Sabrina edged to the fore, grabbed her father’s wrist, and wrenched him to face her. “Despite what she says, Cara loves Lance. She told me so, herself. That is why she seduced him.”