Brethren of the Coast Box Set 2

by Barbara Devlin

  “Of course not.” Still, he held her.

  “I grieve what might have been.” And what grand aspirations she had envisioned.

  “Alex, I know we begin our life under inauspicious circumstances, and I understand that I failed you.” He could not possibly comprehend what he had done to her. “Please, do not turn me away.”

  For several seconds, she pondered his request, as his heartbeat lulled her into a relaxed state. Although she would deny it should her husband inquire, she desperately needed him—the man of honor she had pursued to Plymouth, not the blackguard who left her alone, unwed, and pregnant. And while she had heaped a boatload of hellfire and brimstone on his imaginary head during those six months he was at sea, part of her celebrated his return, as he owned her heart, body, and soul, much to her chagrin.

  “Are you sincere in your desire to set things right between us?” It was a question he had posed, the day she had arrived at the small rented cottage.

  “I will do anything to restore your faith in me.” Another mirror response, and it cut like the sharpest knife, as she longed to believe him. “Tell me what you would have of me, and you shall have it.”

  “You must earn the chance you seek, but I know not what I require, as I hardly know myself, any more.” In that moment, she dried her eyes and peered at him. “I am lost, Jason.”

  “Beautiful Alex, allow me to help you find yourself again.” And then he tipped her chin and covered her mouth with his.

  #

  “I will always be here, Alex. While I know you remain angry with me, you must understand that I acted in the best interest of your children. I am still your brother, and I love you.” Damian sighed, in a mournful exhalation she felt all the way to her marrow. “If you ever need me, you know how to reach me.”

  Alex stiffened her spine and faced forward, as she refused to look at Damian. Yes, she was furious with him for forcing her to wed, because she considered his action a bitter betrayal, but she feared she would collapse into a fit of tears if she met his gaze, as he had been her staunchest defender for as long as she could remember. How much heartbreak could one woman withstand?

  “Are you ready, my dear?” Jason handed her into the traveling coach. “We have a full day ahead of us.”

  “For the last time, must we journey to Stratfield now?” As she glanced at the graceful equipage, Alex blanched. “My stomach is rather fragile, and—”

  “If you have your way, we will never leave Penhurst, so what is the difference, whether now or later?” When she settled her skirts and sank into the squabs in the middle of the bench, he frowned. “Will you scoot to one side, please?”

  “You wish to share a seat?” Alex gulped at the prospect, because the morning malaise might necessitate a quick exit. “Jason, you should not—”

  “Never mind.” Without ceremony, her husband plopped beside her, turned, and drew her into his lap. “There. Surely we shall pass a far more enjoyable trip so comfortably situated.”

  “Do you intend to force your attentions on my person for the duration of our travels?” Alex wiggled her hips and then froze, when her errant knight hissed.

  “Easy, love, as you tempt me beyond reason.” With a flirty nip of her ear, he chuckled and squeezed her thigh. “And in response to your question, the answer is no. I intend to force my attentions on your person for the duration of our marriage, as I count that state-sanctioned right chief among the perks of my newfound status as your lord and master.”

  “Lord and master, indeed.” And then she noted the telltale bulge of his erection, and it dawned on her that he spoke the truth. He wanted her. That seemingly insignificant bit of information worked on Alex in a manner she could not have anticipated, and she involuntarily clenched the muscles between her legs. “Jason, I swear I am not trying to be difficult. My last carriage ride did not end so well, and I would spare you the unpleasantness.”

  “My dear wife, I manage a boatload of surly sailors for a living.” Jason kissed her forehead. “I promise, whatever you throw at me, I can handle it.”

  Famous last words.

  And so Alex rested her head on his shoulder and wept softly, as they passed through the gates of Penhurst Castle, leaving behind all that was familiar and comforting for—what, she knew not. Resolved to persevere, she closed her eyes and drifted into dreamland.

  The sun was low in the western sky when Alex woke, hours later, cursed with the most prominent malady in her cadre of pregnancy plagues. At some point, Jason had shifted and propped in the corner, but he held her close in his lap. He dozed peacefully, unaware of the danger lurking in his midst, and she reconsidered disturbing him—just as a tidal wave of nausea struck her. As bile rose in her throat, the world spun out of control.

  “Jason, wake up.” With a violent shake, she roused him. “Hurry.”

  “What is it, darling?” He yawned and stretched.

  “Stop the coach, as I fear I am going to—” To her utter mortification, Alex revisited the large breakfast she had enjoyed at Penhurst, on his coat.

  “Good God, my wife erupts.” Jason lowered the window, just as she surrendered to another wicked paroxysm. Then he pounded a fist to the ceiling. “Hoi! Hold Hard. Mrs. Collingwood is ill.”

  The coach came to an abrupt halt, and she would have fallen to the floor, had her husband not held her firmly in his grip. Jason lifted her in his arms and kicked open the door. As soon as her feet hit the ground, Alex collapsed on her hands and knees and heaved. Again and again, she retched, and to her inexpressible amazement, her fledgling spouse provided unshakeable support, for which she was grateful, as she needed his kindness just then.

  When pins slipped from her coiffure, threatening to place her long locks in the line of fire, her captain knelt beside her and pulled back her hair. “Let me help you, love. Just rest against me, relax, and do not fight it.”

  “I think it has passed—” And then she vomited, with the driver and footmen as witnesses, in a repeat performance of monumental embarrassment.

  “Take your time, sweetheart.” Jason rubbed her shoulders and along her spine. “We are in no hurry.”

  “Captain Collingwood, would her ladyship like a drink of water?” The driver offered a military-styled canteen. “We have plenty, and we are happy to share.”

  “Thank you.” After helping Alex stand upright, her husband shrugged from his spoiled coat and fetched the canteen. “How is your constitution, darling?”

  “Better.” She swayed, and Jason rose to the rescue.

  “Easy, Alex.” He wet a handkerchief, wiped her face, and then pressed the linen to the back of her neck. “There is no rush, and we will continue our trip when you are ready.”

  “Oh, that feels delightful.” How she longed for her comfortable bed and an uninterrupted, rejuvenating nap. “But I do not think I can go much further, as I am exhausted.”

  “No worries, love.” He held the canteen to her lips. “Here, drink some water, but take small sips, else it will come up as fast as you swallow it.”

  “How do you know so much about morning sickness?” Of course, her particular brand of the ailment paid no heed to the hour of the day, as the queasiness struck her without prejudice.

  “It is not so dissimilar from the illness that strikes most landlubbers during their maiden sea voyage.” In a flash, Jason bent and swept her into his arms. “The footmen cleaned the coach, so we are good to resume our travels.” To the coachman, her captain said, “Keep your team at a trot, and stop at the first inn, as we shall take a room and break our journey for the night.”

  “Aye, sir.” The driver nodded. “And I will steer toward the verge, for the smoothest ride possible, given the lane has large ruts.”

  Reclining in the squabs, Alex smoothed her skirts and sighed, as her fragile belly had quieted. But just as she balanced on the bench, her curious spouse lifted her to his lap. “Jason, I am quite capable of sitting on my own.”

  “I am well aware of your independent strea
k, sweetheart, as we have met on occasions too numerous to count.” He favored her with a sweet kiss, which she deemed far too brief. “But I missed you terribly, these past six months, so indulge me. I wish to hold you.”

  “You thought of me?” Alex cursed herself in silence, as she sounded bloody interested.

  “Every minute we were apart.” Cupping her cheek, he frowned. “And as I explained last night, I know I hurt you. While our problems will not resolve themselves in a mere sennight, I ask only for a chance to make amends, that you might believe in me, again.”

  “You promised not to pressure me, yet you already break your vow.” And Jason terrified her, because he possessed the power to destroy what little remained of her. “Do you not comprehend that the chance you seek requires a measure of hope for success, on my part?”

  “And you are afraid to invest the minutest amount of faith in me?” Why had he appeared the injured party, when he had wronged her? “Am I not worth the risk?”

  “I asked the same of you, in some fashion, last January, in Plymouth.” Alex sniffed and peered out the window. “We both know how that turned out.”

  “So you refuse me?” Jason replied in a morbid tone.

  “On the contrary, sir.” With all the determination she could muster, and that was not saying much, in light of her near-complete devastation, she met his stare. “The chance is yours to win or lose, with no guarantee of cooperation or success, as you have no right to make such demands.”

  “May I inquire why my honorable request is met with such unfriendly terms?” In that moment, he pressed his palm to her belly.

  “When I ventured to Plymouth, I did so with a noble purpose, a sincere desire to set things right between us, with no assurances.” For the umpteenth time, visions of those most happy days spent in the cottage evoked a plaintive cry. “You posed your challenge, conditions you devised as a means of punishment for my sin of omission, and I think it safe to say I surpassed your requisites. And you know how you rewarded my efforts.”

  “And it is your turn to mete retribution?” He arched a brow.

  “No, as I harbor no such spurious motives.” Alex wiped a stray tear. “I act in the interest of self-preservation and nothing more. What you ask, given our history, I simply cannot give you, at least, not now. My children take priority.”

  “All right. It will not be my first voyage into unfamiliar and unwelcome waters.” Then Jason grasped the hair at the nape of her neck and kissed her hard. “Mark my words, I will win you back.”

  CAPTAIN OF HER HEART

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Darling, wake up.” Jason nuzzled Alex’s temple, as she slept in his lap. “We are home, sweetheart.”

  Studying her in deep slumber had fast become one of his most treasured pastimes, as he could pretend, if only for a moment, that their situation was as it had once existed between them. In light of the conditions by which he pursued reconciliation, he had lingered in a chasm of desolation in the wee hours of the morning, until a brilliant plan formed in his brain.

  How he longed for his Alex, the brazen young debutante who had flirted with him, propriety be damned, the seductive sylph who had lured him to bed with come-hither stares and take-me smiles, and the shameless siren who had lusted after him every bit as much as he had her. Yet he could not turn back the clock.

  But what naval man possessed a bounty of knowledge regarding pregnant, scorned women? And then he recalled Damian’s advice, which Jason had actually discounted, and it had occurred to him that his newfound family featured incomparable resources. Trevor, Everett, and Dirk were fathers, and each had stumbled on their path to the altar.

  “Wake up, my lady wife.” With a renewed sense of purpose, he nudged her nose with his, as the coach halted at the entrance to his humble estate. “Alex, we have arrived.”

  At last, she stirred. With a healthy stretch and a yawn, she blinked. “Are we at Stratfield, already?”

  “You dozed for the past four hours, love.” The footman opened the door, and Jason handed her to the graveled drive. “How fares your belly?”

  “Much better, thank you. The dry toast worked wonders.” And then she gazed on their country home. “So this is Stratfield Manor? How many bedrooms are there?”

  “Indeed, it is our primary residence,” Jason stated with pride. “And it has sixteen private chambers, rather small by your usual standards.”

  Made of red brick, with mullioned windows across the face, the building boasted the modest vernacular-Baroque tradition. The grand structure, the largest and most sumptuous he had ever owned, situated amid a copse of oaks trees. The edifice featured an upturned frieze beneath an inviting double-door entrance pediment, all of which Jason had favored the moment he had seen it.

  “I never said that.” Alex peered left and then right. “How many servants do you employ, and why are they not assembled to welcome us?”

  “Oh, they are gathered, as there are just the two—”

  “Just the two?” She emitted something between a sob and a sigh. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “What?” Confused, he scratched his cheek. “I am one man. My needs are simple, as am I. Must I remind you that I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth?”

  “And do you lack a brain, as well?” And there it was, a flash of his fiery Alex, and he could have cried. “Damn silly fool, you might have given me some warning. I can’t manage a household this size with only two servants. Are you trying to kill me? If you care not for me, have you no concern for our children?”

  “Of course I care, but my mother cooked and cleaned, on her own.” How he loved baiting his society bride. “Are you telling me—”

  “And did she run a sixteen-room manor?” Alex folded her arms and tapped her foot in an impatient rhythm he remembered with fondness.

  “My childhood home more closely resembled the cottage in Plymouth.” A charming flush colored the apples of her cheeks, and he could scarcely resist stealing a kiss. “Now, allow me to introduce our staff.”

  “Are you the butler?” Alex stepped to the fore.

  “Ah—well, I suppose so.” The tall and lanky codger, with salt and pepper hair, winked at Jason. “I do open the door, from time to time.”

  “My lady Alex, meet Gertie and Arnold.” He dipped his chin and chuckled. “They have been friends of mine for years.”

  “Gertie?” His wife opened her mouth and then closed it.

  “It is short for Gertrude, ma’am. But no one has called me that since I was a wee babe.” The diminutive and chubby maid bowed like a man. “Welcome to Stratfield Manor. May I call you Alex?”

  “Gertrude, forgive my forwardness, but may I inquire after your full name?” From the set of Alex’s shoulders, Jason realized he was in trouble.

  “Gertrude Mathilda Phipps.” Poor Gertie shuffled her feet. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I meant no offense.”

  “It is all right.” His bride smoothed her skirts and sighed. “Are you the housekeeper, Mrs. Phipps?”

  “It is Miss Phipps, ma’am. I never married.” Gertie elbowed Arnold. “We are brother and sister. And as to whether or not I am the housekeeper, I do not rightly know.”

  “Mr. Phipps, Miss Phipps, I am so pleased to make your acquaintance. In a proper English residence, ‘your ladyship’ or ‘my lady’ is the appropriate form of address for an individual with my rank, and I shall call you as is appropriate and respectful of your station. To permit otherwise would risk subjecting you to ridicule or censure by our future guests, and I would spare you such embarrassment. And as chatelaine of Stratfield Manor, all decisions involving the estate house management fall to me.” Then Alex walked up the entrance stairs. “Miss Phipps, let us have tea tomorrow, and we will discuss my requirements for an efficient and organized staff. And why are there no flowers in the beds?”

  “Do I look like a gardener?” Jason caught the wary glances Gertie and Arnold exchanged. “And I have been at sea these six months.”

 
; “So I must hire gardening staff, as well, given the grounds are in a state of utter disrepair.” Alex came to an abrupt halt in the foyer. “Why are there buckets on the floor?”

  “The roof leaks, my lady.” Arnold laughed. “If we forget to put out the buckets, or we are caught unaware, the house will flood.”

  “Phipps, show the footmen to the master suite, so they may deposit her ladyship’s trunks.” So the first impression was not the best. No doubt Alex would have the estate in order within a fortnight.

  “Right away, Jas—er, what should I call you?” Phipps rubbed the back of his neck and narrowed his stare.

  “Captain Collingwood will suffice,” Alex responded. “And Miss Phipps, kindly unpack my trunks, and I shall join you shortly to supervise.” Then his bride pinned him with a heated glare. “May I see you in the study, Jason?”

  “As you wish, your ladyship.” He sketched a mockery of a bow and then stood as escort. “May I show you the way?”

  “The threadbare carpets must be replaced, along with the worn wallpaper.” Alex wrinkled her nose as he steered her down the hall to the left. “There are cobwebs and dust covering every painting. And I can’t even fathom what it will take to restore the shine to the floors, as they look as if they have not had a good cleaning in the last one hundred years.”

  “I am sure you can manage it.” That should provoke the full-fledged return of his spitfire. “And here we have my private domain.”

  “Oh, dear. I had hoped for a small measure of improvement.” She sat in a high back chair near the hearth, and a cloud of dust enveloped her. Coughing and sputtering, Alex stood. “Has none of the furniture been covered?”

  “Did you expect me to take care of such tedium?” Jason shrugged.

  “Then everything is ruined.” Much to his dismay, she cradled her head in her hands and sobbed. “What in the world possessed you to bring me here? I am grateful our babes are yet unborn, as the dangers this broken down shack you call a manor presents to their health and welfare are too disconcerting to contemplate.”