Brethren of the Coast Box Set 2

by Barbara Devlin

“Aye, sir.” Mr. Shaw all but ran from the chamber.

  “You should wake her, before you release her.” Dirk produced a knife, which he gave to Dalton. “Else you risk frightening her.”

  “I would prefer to untie the gag, first.” Dalton grasped the knot and attempted to loosen the linen.

  With a violent flinch, Daphne came awake. Wide-eyed and shivering, she bucked as an unbroken horse and mumbled incoherently. How his heart ached, when he spied the sheer terror in her gaze. As Dalton tried to hold her still, she wriggled and kicked.

  “Easy, love.” He splayed his palms. “I am not going to hurt you. I only want to cut your bonds, and then we will talk.”

  When he approached, she recoiled, and he paused. After he displayed the blade for her inspection, she nodded once. Dalton reached behind her head and severed the cravat. He had anticipated a sharp rebuke delivered in her customary haughty tone, but she just whimpered, as he removed the ropes. Then he drew her into his lap and held her, as she wept and trembled without restraint.

  Mr. Shaw reappeared, bearing a tray with an ewer of water, a towel, and some rolled cotton. “Shall I tend her, Cap’n?”

  “No.” At that instant, Daphne sobbed and clung to Dalton. “I will care for her.”

  “Beg your pardon, sir.” The first mate situated the tray on the bunk and shuffled his feet. “I had no idea—”

  “Get out.” Dalton snatched a cloth, wet it, and pressed it to Daphne’s wrists, and she winced. “I know it burns, but I need to clean your wounds.”

  “Let me help.” Dirk knelt and treated her ankles. “Have you any salve, else the bandages will stick to her flesh?”

  “Top right drawer of my desk.” At last, he could bear no more of her torment, so he tipped her chin and covered her lips with his. It was a kiss meant to comfort, not to arouse, and he licked and suckled her tender flesh until she relaxed in his arms and ceased shuddering. When he lifted his head, Dalton found himself the subject of intense scrutiny, as Dirk stood there, mouth agape and brows cocked in surprise. “Not a word, brother.”

  “I shall be as quiet as the grave.” But Dirk’s smile declared what he had not stated, as he rubbed the balm to her injuries. “For now.”

  “Better?” He caressed her cheek and then smeared ointment on her wrists, which he swaddled. “Are you hungry, love?”

  “Yes.” When she rested her head to his chest, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the table. With his foot, he pulled out a chair and then sat, again cradling her in his embrace. After pouring a cup of tea, he held it for her. “Here, sweetheart. Take a sip.”

  “Oh.” She tensed and brought her shaking fingers to her chin. “My jaw is sore.”

  “Go slow.” And with that, Dalton proceeded to feed her bites of fruit, scrambled eggs, and toast, suffering her groans of discomfit as vicious marks on his conscience. All the while, he fought to ignore Dirk’s ever-present perusal. “I am so sorry, Daphne. Never did it occur to me that my men could be such bloody idiots.”

  “But it is my fault.” She scooted from his hold and walked to the stern windows. “I should not have come here.”

  “Why did you raid my ship a second time?” To calm his frayed nerves and ease the tension investing his shoulders, Dalton toyed with his lucky coin, which he pulled from his pocket and tossed into the air. “You knew I remained at the inn.”

  “I wanted to return the missing brooch, which I tucked in the center drawer, between your maps and charts.” With her arms wrapped about herself, she emitted something between a sob and a sigh. “I had hoped you would not notify the constable.”

  “You lost Lady Amanda’s family heirloom?” Dirk inquired with an air of incredulity, as he located the priceless heirloom. “I would not want to be in your boots when you tell the admiral.”

  “He did not lose it.” Daphne peered at Dirk. “My younger brother Richard stole it, so we might sell it to purchase food, as we are starving.”

  “Daphne, I know of your financial difficulties, as there is talk in the town, but I have no idea how you arrived at such dire straits.” At long last, Dalton hoped to learn the truth of her situation, as he stood. “Where is your father?”

  “Papa is—” Slowly, she rotated to look at him. Stock-still, Daphne clutched her throat, her face paled, and she swayed. Then she launched herself at Dalton, and he almost toppled to the floor. Hugging him at the waist, she squeezed hard. Before he could respond, she wrenched free and snatched his talisman from his grasp. “This is yours?”

  “Aye, but it is hardly fit for a young lady of character.” When she studied the crude sexual depiction, appropriately engraved on the tail end, he shifted his weight and prayed Dirk would forgo a witty rejoinder. To Dalton’s relief, his brother pretended an interest in the timbers. “You should not view such things.”

  “What is it?” She traced the jagged edge with her fingertip. “Never have I seen anything of its nature.”

  “I should think not, as it is a Roman brothel token.” Most women would have been shocked by the purposive nature of the piece, but Daphne seemed intrigued, and he could make no sense of her fascination. “Wealthy men purchased them to exchange for the particular service depicted thereon.”

  “Where did you get it?” She flipped the gold coinage in her palm. “Is it rather commonplace?”

  “I found it on the banks of the Thames, during a particularly dry summer, when I was but a lad.” Dalton had thought her an enigma, but her behavior well nigh stupefied him. “And it is very rare, as I have never seen its equal.”

  “I should have known.” She sniffed and then laughed, shaking her head. “I should have doubted you not, but I was afraid.”

  “I wager I am partly to blame for that.” He glanced at Dirk, who simply shrugged. “Will you trust me, now? I give you my word, as a gentleman, I only wish to help you.”

  “Well, of course, you do.” How she glowed when she gazed at him. “And I should have given you a chance, as even my brother Robert suggested I rely on you.”

  “Then you will confide in me?” Dalton stepped in her direction. “You will disclose your secrets?”

  “Yes.” She nodded once and mirrored his moves. “My parents tolerated each other, but their marriage was plagued by friction, much of which resulted from my father’s predilection for drinking, gambling, and loose women. We bore the toll of his questionable conduct, but none more so than my mother.”

  “My dear, I am more sorry than I can say.” He inched closer. “And I admire your courage, in the face of such adversity. So what happened to the governor? Has he run from his responsibilities, given your circumstances are grave?”

  “The situation is grim, as once mama died, papa indulged his iniquitous proclivities to excess.” When he flicked his fingers, she strolled into his waiting embrace, without hesitation. “I managed, as best I could, but my father amassed a mountain of debt, and he owes substantial markers to a local reprobate. In desperation, I bartered precious personal effects for added income, but I could not keep pace with papa’s arrears. I sold most of the furnishings from Courtenay Hall and released a large portion of our staff, to pare down our expenses, which is why I never received you in the drawing room, as it is empty.”

  “I gathered as much.” Lamenting the difficulties she had endured, Dalton speared his fingers through her hair and gave her a gentle nudge. “In light of what you have just revealed, you truly are my brave little thing.”

  “I do not feel so brave,” she replied, in a small voice. “Because I am scared.”

  “Darling Daphne, at last, I understand the extent of your burden.” In truth, his heart bled for her. “But you need not fret, as I am not going anywhere until the governor returns, and we settle his affairs to my satisfaction.”

  “But that is not possible.” She burrowed to his chest.

  “Why?” Dalton glanced at Dirk, who frowned. “Has he abandoned his family?”

  “No.” She shifted to meet his stare, and a tear tra
iled her cheek. “My father is dead.”

  #

  What a relief it had been to share her troubles, as well as her grief. As the viscount’s posh traveling coach slowed to a halt before Courtenay Hall, Daphne glanced at Dirk, who winked just then. In that moment, she decided she liked him, despite their brief acquaintance. Sitting beside her, and holding her hand, Dalton remained quiet, and what she would have given to know his thoughts.

  For a scarce second, she had considered apprising him of the brooch’s revelation, but how would he have responded? Inside, she danced a jig, and it was all she could do not to bounce in the squabs. For good or ill, Sir Dalton Randolph of London was Daphne’s one true knight, according to the curious bauble’s associative lore. And while she had never put much faith in what she had previously deemed superstitious endeavors, she pinned her future on the artifact’s mystical powers.

  When a footman opened the door, Dirk exited, followed by Dalton. Then her gallant savior turned to lift her to the graveled drive. Hicks appeared at the front entry, and soon Robert and Richard sprinted to the fore.

  “Where have you been?” Robert grabbed her by the shoulders, shook her twice, and then hugged her. “God, Daphne. I thought the worst.”

  “What did you do to my sister?” At her left, Richard kicked Dalton in the shin. “If you hurt her, I will kill you.”

  “Easy, pup.” Dirk yanked Richard by the shirt collar. “We are not your enemies.”

  “Undisciplined gadabout.” With a wicked grimace, Dalton massaged his offended appendage. “I ought to heat your posterior.” To Dirk, Dalton said, “You have no idea of the amount of trouble these two are capable of causing.”

  “Oh, no.” Dirk glanced at the sky. “I would have no idea.”

  Richard waved a clenched fist. “You try it and—”

  “Boys, please.” She wagged a finger in warning. “Richard, behave yourself.”

  “Miss Daphne, you gave us such a fright.” Mrs. Jones wiped a stray tear. “What happened to you?”

  “Let us gather in the back parlor, and I will explain everything.” To the housekeeper, Daphne smiled and said, “Will you prepare tea and refreshments for our guests, while I change clothes?”

  “Of course.” Mrs. Jones curtseyed and ushered everyone down the hall. “Gentlemen, please follow me.”

  In the foyer, Dalton lingered and caught her about the waist. “Are you all right, sweet Daphne?”

  “I assure you, I am fine.” When he bent his head, she lifted her chin, met him halfway, and kissed him, as she gazed into his amber eyes. “And even better, now.”

  “There’s a girl.” He claimed another quick buss. “You are an extraordinary woman, Miss Harcourt. More so than I had realized.”

  “Thank you, Sir Dalton.” She leaped and smacked her lips to his, before sprinting upstairs, and he chuckled in her wake.

  In her private apartment, she kicked off her slippers, wiggled out of the breeches, and doffed her lawn shirt. At her armoire, she opted for the same pale yellow morning dress she had worn the day she met her one true knight. At her vanity, she loosened her topknot and brushed her thick locks, as she wanted to be pretty for her dashing protector.

  “Miss Daphne, let me help you.” Mrs. Jones rushed into the chamber. “Your young man just told us a hair-raising tale. What on earth possessed you to undertake such an adventure on your own?”

  “You know, very well, I had to return the brooch.” She adjusted the bandage on her wrist. “And I could not, in good conscience, involve my brothers.”

  “But you could have enlightened me or Hicks.” Mrs. Jones scoffed. “What if you had an accident, fell out of the boat, and were swept to sea?”

  “You could have done nothing to prevent it, and your concern is unwarranted.” Daphne revisited Dalton’s tender care, when he found her in his bunk. “As the oldest in this family, it was my responsibility to restore the antique to its rightful owner.”

  “And now it is done.” Mrs. Jones pinned an unruly curl into place. “So why are Sir Dalton and the viscount here? What do they want with you?”

  “I am not entirely sure.” Daphne assessed her appearance. “Let us join them and find out.”

  Retracing her steps, she turned right in the foyer and strolled down the hall. When she entered the morning room, Dalton and Dirk stood. In silence, she strolled to the tea trolley, poured a cup of the steaming brew, and claimed a seat on the chaise.

  “Your brother tells me he wishes to enlist, and his is a noble cause.” The viscount rubbed his chin. “Given his age, it would be to his credit to purchase a commission, without delay.”

  “How, when we have no money?” Daphne glared at Robert, as he had just compounded her shame. “It is all I can manage to keep food on our table.”

  “But your plan is entirely unrealistic.” Robert slapped his thighs and stood. “We cannot conceal our plight for another two years, and even if we could, there is no guarantee the King would appoint me governor. Plus, Harold desires the position, as well as your hand in marriage.”

  “That I will not accept.” To her relief, Dalton moved to sit beside her, as she needed his strength. “You deserve a man who cares for you, not for the office.”

  “But Harold is a Harcourt.” She pondered the possibility, as she counted her cousin a friend. “And Harcourts have presided over Portsea Island for centuries, yet I had hoped you would follow in father’s footsteps.”

  “While I loathe disappointing you, I must admit I covet other aims, Daphne.” Robert folded his arms. “I wish to join the military, and I have made no secret of that desire.”

  “Your brother is right.” The viscount compressed his lips. “While I admire your dedication to duty, the King must be apprised of your father’s demise.”

  “Is there not some other way?” She wrung her fingers. “And what of Courtenay Hall? This is our home, and we have nowhere to go.”

  “Excuse me, Miss Daphne.” Hicks cleared his throat. “But Mister Harold Harcourt is just arrived. Shall I show him to the study?”

  “No.” Dalton took her hand in his and squeezed. “Bring him in, as he may help us resolve some of our quandary.”

  “Very good, Sir Dalton.” Hicks dipped his chin.

  “Oh, no.” She tensed, as that was the last thing she needed. “What is he doing here?”

  “I sent my man for him, as your relation may settle part of your problem, and we have no time to waste.” Dalton massaged her knuckles with his thumb, and she relaxed, to a degree. “Worry not, as I promised I would not abandon you.”

  “All right.” Swallowing her trepidation, she reminded herself he was her one true knight. Then she leaned close and whispered, “But I am still afraid.”

  “Forgive my informal attire, Viscount Wainsbrough.” Harold loomed in the entrance and bowed. “I was inspecting a bridge on the south end of my property and only just received your summons. Thought it best to ride straight here, as you said it was urgent.”

  Dirk and Dalton stood to exchange pleasantries.

  “That was very kind of you.” Dirk glanced at Mrs. Jones and nodded. “May we offer you a spot of tea?”

  “No, thank you.” Harold hitched his breeches and eased to the sofa. “Must confess I am rather curious, as your vague note conveyed little information, but I suppose it safe to presume it has something to do with Governor Harcourt’s whereabouts.”

  “Father is dead.” Robert draped an arm about Richard’s shoulders, and her youngest brother stared at the floor. “I found him in the rose garden, face down, over a month ago. We had thought him merely unconscious from too much drink, which was not uncommon. But he had an empty bottle of laudanum in his clutch, so we suspect he abused the substance to his own end.”

  “Bloody hell.” Harold snapped to attention and met her gaze. “Daphne, why did you not tell me?”

  At seven and twenty, and the eldest of four, Harold had always been a cherished and reliable friend. With bright blue eyes, sandy brown ha
ir, and a sturdy frame, he was the catch of Portsea Island. What girl had not fancied herself his bride? In short, none but one, as Daphne had never considered her cousin anything more than a lifelong chum.

  “I did not wish to burden you, Harold.” The expectant shame threatened to overwhelm her. “And I could not risk your reputation, should our situation erupt in scandal.”

  “But we are family.” Resting elbows to knees, Harold leaned forward. “And our parents presume we shall wed, so you have should have known you could rely on me.”

  “Harold, any woman would count herself fortunate to have you as her husband.” She swallowed hard.

  “But not you.” Her cousin smiled. “May I ask why you refuse my suit?”

  “Because you love Ellen, the butcher’s daughter, and everyone knows it.” For the second time that day, she spilt one of her closest guarded secrets, and it was such a relief. “I could not, in good conscience, allow you to sacrifice yourself for my benefit.”

  “Given we speak candidly, you should know the townsfolk are aware of your father’s less than virtuous habits, as well as your role in governing Portsea.” With a sigh, Harold shook his head. “You have assumed responsibilities that were not yours to carry, and your character does not hinge on your father’s, God rest him. Know that whatever you decide, I will support you. And if you require my pledge, I will marry you, Daphne. Although my heart belongs to another, we would get on well, you and I. Never would I treat you as your father dishonored your mother.”

  “She will not call upon you to meet that obligation,” her true knight declared in an acerbic tone. Was it her imagination, or had Harold annoyed Dalton, somehow? “But I would have my brother write the King and ask to have you appointed interim governor, if that is amenable to you.”

  “Sir Dalton, nothing would please me more.” Harold shifted his weight. “But what of Courtenay Hall and the governor’s debts?”

  “You know about that?” In that moment, her heart fractured.

  “Dear Daphne, you know, very well, that Portsea is a small community.” Harold cast an expression of pure sympathy. “The more apt question is who is not aware of your financial difficulties.”