Brethren of the Coast Box Set 2

by Barbara Devlin

  “Rebecca, you are with child. If you think I will risk one hair on your lovely head, you are seriously mistaken.” The viscount folded his arms. “I admire your courage and willingness to help, but I put my foot down.”

  “Excellent.” Rebecca stood. “I will be too happy to tell you just where to put your foot.”

  “Er, perhaps we should leave you alone?” Sir Ross scratched his temple.

  “That is not necessary, as we journey to Courtenay Hall.” Rebecca stomped the floor.

  “No, we do not.” Dirk rested hands on hips. “They do not require our assistance, and we would only get in the way.”

  “We could extend much needed support, and there is safety in numbers.” The viscountess lowered her chin. “And we would provide two additional voices to sound the alarm. How can you turn your back on your own brother, when the life of his wife hangs in the balance? Did Dalton not ride to my rescue, at your side, when Varringdale kidnapped me?”

  “You will not let this go, will you?” Dirk exhaled in obvious frustration.

  “When hell freezes.” The former spy met Dirk toe-to-toe and never flinched.

  “Oh, I say.” Sir Ross slapped his thighs and chuckled. “But that is your bride, Wainsbrough.”

  “And I blame you for her willful nature.” Dirk frowned, until Rebecca kissed his cheek, at which time he drew her near. “If we do this, you must abide my dictates, without fail. And as such, I forbid you to leave the estate without me. You must remain at my side, at all times, unless I am called upon to pursue the blackmailer, in which case you will stay inside Courtenay Hall. And if you violate any one of my commands, I will heat your posterior, regardless of your condition, and you will not sit comfortably for a fortnight. Do I make myself clear?”

  “I love it when you talk tough.” With a flirty titter, Rebecca gave him a gentle nudge, and Dirk blushed.

  Daphne sighed in relief, as she hated causing marital discord, and she feared the horrible affair had claimed more victims.

  So the meeting adjourned, and she pondered the future of which she had dreamed. What if their scheme failed? What if Dalton was injured, or worse, in their attempt to uncover the scoundrel?

  In the foyer, Dalton caught her by the wrist. “May I speak with you, in private, sweetheart?”

  “Of course.” As she admired her beautiful husband, Daphne shivered with dread of the unknown, and she desperately yearned for the comfort of his body. “May we withdraw to our chamber, as I would not share you with anyone, just now.”

  “As you wish.” With a dramatic bow, Dalton winked and offered his escort, which she accepted.

  The epitome of grace and elegance, they climbed the stairs and veered right at the landing. A long hall led to the west wing of the huge mansion. When they passed through the double-door entrance to their sitting room, she turned on a heel and flung herself at her man.

  Twining her fingers in his thick brown hair, she suckled his bottom lip and then launched a full-scale assault on his mouth. When Dalton broke her hastily initiated kiss, she sobbed.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Lost in a vortex of panic, as she pondered their impending date with fate, she could not bear his rejection.

  “No, angel.” To her surprise, he walked her to the chaise, sat, and then pulled her into his lap. “While I savor your impulse, and am humbled by your desire, there is something I must tell you, and I would do so before we retire to our marital bed, as I may not let you out of it until tomorrow.”

  “Oh?” In light of his sober countenance, Daphne conjured the worst conclusions imaginable. “Have you no confidence in Sir Ross’s plan? Do you doubt our success?”

  “On the contrary, I have faith in Sir Ross, and fate favors the lucky.” He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “But I will waste not a single second more and allow you to labor under a misapprehension. My darling, I love you.”

  His declaration, stark in its simplicity, rang clear with conviction, and her spirits soared. “Will you say that again?”

  Dalton favored her with his boyish smile, which melted her heart. “I love you, Daphne.”

  “I know you do.” Resting her forehead to his, she rubbed her nose to his. “I needed you to know, as I have always believed in you.”

  “Am I so worthy?” He squeezed her so tight she could hardly breathe. “Do you honestly think I deserve you?”

  “I would argue the more appropriate question is whether or not I deserve you, and I adore it when you blush.” She poked him in the ribs.

  “I do not blush.” And then he compounded his appeal with an endearing pout.

  With that, she wiggled from his lap and stood. “Shall we continue this discussion in bed, as I want to be near you.”

  “Angel, I am most definitely at your service.” Dalton shrugged from his coat, when a knock at the door diverted him, to her chagrin. “Just a minute, sweetheart. Let me take care of this, while you get rid of your clothes.”

  He patted her bottom, and she kissed him hard and fast, before sprinting into their inner quarters. Kicking off her slippers, she reached around, grabbed her laces, and tugged them loose. After a few wicked twists and turns, she yanked her dress over her head. Then she bent, unhooked her garters, and removed her hose. At last, she stripped from her chemise and turned to discover her husband, holding a bouquet of roses presented in a crystal vase and watching her with unveiled intent.

  “That was some performance, Mrs. Randolph.” Basking in the heat of his admiration, she rotated for his delectation.

  “What beautiful flowers.” And a new framing alignment struck her.

  “They are but ordinary blooms, in comparison to my wife, and I ordered them this morning, to please you.” He removed a single long-stem bud, put the arrangement on the dresser, and then approached. “I know you well enough to surmise you are already planning to press the crimson blossoms, and my gift is yours to do with as you will, but this is mine.” With the soft petals, he teased her nipples, brushed her belly, and caressed her shoulder. Strolling in a circle about her, he visited each peak and valley of her body with the rose, until he wrapped his arm about her waist, from behind, and she leaned against him. “I would ask you to preserve this bud, in one of your special creations, which I would carry with me, whenever we are apart, to commemorate the day I made my declaration.”

  “Oh, Dalton.” Accustomed to his moods, she knew the beast was hungry and just how to feed him, so she framed his face. “You are so sweet. How anyone could know you and not love you is unfathomable to me.”

  “I do not give a damn what anyone else thinks. All that matters is you.” He set the rose on the bedside table and turned, just as she launched herself at him. An awkward dance ensued, as he fought to touch her, and she struggled to rip off his clothes. Naked and aroused, they sank into the downy mattress.

  Their limbs twined, as he gave her his weight. He took her lips and then claimed her mouth. Just when Daphne thought she could withstand no more, and she would explode from need, he deepened the kiss, and the bond spiraled to the heady heights of passion. And then he joined their bodies in a single forceful thrust.

  As he moved over her, on her, and within her, Dalton whispered praise and encouragement. He told her what she had done to him, how she had affected him, and, most importantly, how he could not live without her. And she clung to him, coveting the vibrant beat of his heart, which fed a compulsive urgency impossible to deny, and she knew he felt it, too.

  Minutes stretched into hours, as they savored the touch of skin to warm skin, of hands exploring, of hips coming together to form an intimate connection, in perfect alignment, until time suspended. The world stood still, as they lingered on the precipice of heaven on earth, and then they plunged, headlong, into paradise.

  #

  In the weeks leading up to the journey to Portsea Island, Dalton spent his days at Randolph House, forgoing his weekly pugilistic exercise and evening brandy at White’s in favor of extended maneuvers
, intended to broaden his bride’s horizons, in his bed. As the Season ended, and the ton retired to their country estates for the summer, the streets of London, and Mayfair, in particular, were noticeably less crowded. But he remained on heightened alert for any sign of trouble, especially after another threatening letter, with the same demands, arrived for Daphne.

  After hiring additional footmen to guard her, he forbade her from leaving the residence, which his provincial wife accepted without complaint. Given her good humor, he purchased a new lute and invited those members of his family still residing in the city for an impromptu musicale, with Daphne as the star, and how she shined. Later that same night, she gave a private performance, sitting at the end of their bed, wearing nothing but a smile, just for him.

  So he had found himself endeavoring to identify all manner of delights to oblige his bride. But Daphne was not like most women. Whereas society ladies preferred expensive jewels, furs, and clothes, his wife’s tastes leaned toward the utilitarian, as evidenced by his latest purchase, which he knew would please her.

  “You wished to see me?” Ah, there she stood, gowned in another mourning dress that failed to diminish her inner light, which flared every time she looked him.

  “Come in, sweetheart.” Sitting at Dirk’s desk in the study, Dalton pushed back the chair and slapped his thighs. “Join me, here.”

  “Should I lock the door?” she inquired, with a winsome blush.

  “Are you not the naughty minx?” He whistled in monotone. “But I prefer you that way. And while I love your idea, and we will not abandon it entirely, we are expecting our solicitor, and I would gift you a present before he arrives.”

  “What have you done now?” Though she attempted to appear vexed, she had not fooled him for a second, as she stepped about his legs and settled in his lap.

  He handed her the wrapped item. “Open it.”

  “Dalton, you make me feel terribly guilty, as I have given you nothing but pressed flowers.” She untied the ribbon.

  “Trust me, you have given me plenty.” He waggled his brows and patted her bottom, and she swatted him, in play. “And I must make some attempt to keep pace.”

  She peeled open the brown paper and squealed with unmasked joy. “They are beautiful, and the pages are lined. Oh, thank you.”

  Any other woman would have raised holy hell, had their husband given them a matched set of leather-bound ledgers, albeit embossed with roses, for documenting household accounts, as a treat, but his sensible bride clutched the books to her chest, as priceless treasures, and kissed him. “Given you have always maintained the governor’s holdings, including Courtenay Hall, I had wondered if you might want to manage ours, as my duties for the Brethren often call me to sea.”

  “You would have me record our expenditures and supervise our stores, beyond the usual duties of chatelaine?” She looked so hopeful, as she rocked her hips, that he could not tease her.

  “That and more, if you are amenable.” Of course, he doubted her not for a second.

  “I should be uncontrollably excited to assist you.” She flipped through the crisp parchment and toyed with the bright red silk bookmark. “If you will show me your methods, I would be content to continue your archives as you prefer.”

  “I would appreciate that, more than you realize.” In that moment, she glowed. “And I would sail, safe in the knowledge that you are at the helm of my hearth and heart.”

  Then you can teach me.” She leaned against his chest. “And I shall be your most ardent pupil.”

  “A fact you have already proven to my everlasting gratitude.” That should garner a pleasant reaction. And not to disappoint him, Daphne rested her head to his shoulder and pressed her palm to his chest.

  “I do love you, Dalton.” She nibbled his neck. “And I am so glad I boarded your ship that night.”

  For a while, he simply held her. Attuned to her emotions, which had taken a desolate turn, he rubbed her shoulders. “It will be all right, Daphne. I will let no one harm you. And if all else fails, we will pay the extortion.” A knock at the door intruded on their brief interlude, and he stood, carrying her with him. As Daphne rounded the desk to occupy one of the Hepplewhite chairs, he said, “Come.”

  “Mr. Mortimer is just arrived for Sir Dalton.” Hughes bowed and ushered in the solicitor.

  “Thank you, Hughes.” Dalton extended his hand in greeting. “Good to see you, Finlay. May I present my wife, Daphne.”

  “Sir Dalton, congratulations on your nuptials.” The short, squatty-bodied man dipped his chin. “And it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Randolph.”

  “Please, permit me to make you free with my name, sir.” She glanced at Dalton, then to the legal expert, and then back to Dalton. “Should I leave you?”

  “No, as this appointment concerns you.” Dalton reclined in the leather high back chair and crossed his legs. “Have you drawn up the papers I commissioned?”

  “Indeed, sir.” Mr. Mortimer opened his folio and set various documents atop the blotter. “Everything is just as you requested. It took some research, on my part, but I believe legal precedent supports your position. So we need only your signatures to certify the agreements.”

  “Will you explain to my wife what I have asked of you?” Dalton was about to make a major move on his part, and he wanted Daphne to know exactly what he expected for their future.

  “Mrs. Randolph, these records extend to you the right to make financial decisions on your husband’s behalf, in his absence.” The solicitor marked the page. “This item represents your husband’s last will and testament, providing for you a generous per annum, along with principal occupancy of Courtenay Hall, as well as any future London residences procured during the tenure of your marriage, until your death. As you well know, English law forbids women from owning property, so the deed to your family’s estate shall remain in trust, until such time as any male children reach full maturation and can thus be endowed, given your eldest brother has expressed no interest in the ancestral home. Should the union produce no male children, then the real estate would be supervised by a qualified surviving member of Sir Dalton’s family.”

  “You would do that for me?” Daphne asked, in a small voice.

  Dalton picked up the pen, dipped it in the inkwell, and signed his name. “It is done, my angel.”

  “Well then, my business is concluded.” Mr. Mortimer resituated the parchment in his folio. “These copies are for your records, sir. I shall file everything with the proper authorities, in the morning. If I can be of further assistance, please, do not hesitate to call on me.”

  “Thank you, Finlay.” Again, they exchanged the customary male handshake, and Dalton escorted the solicitor to the door. He closed the oak panel and turned—right into Daphne’s kiss.

  “You fear the worst, when we journey to Portsea.” She clung to him, and he cursed himself for frightening her. “Else why would you apply for a will?”

  “My dear, your assumptions are incorrect.” When she turned the key in the lock, she caught the attention of every inch of him, and a few lethal ones in particular. “In light of our wedding, I had to update my will to include provisions for your care, but I have no plans to die anytime soon. However, I am a military man, subject to the whims of His Majesty. I can be called upon, without notice, and I would not leave you unprotected, so the will is for my peace of mind.”

  “And the financial arrangement?” She appeared skeptical, as she bit her lip. “What purpose does that serve?”

  “That, my sharp bride, is a vote of confidence, and I thought the added responsibilities would please you.” And he knew well her game, so he had pleased her. “Do you wish me to rescind the powers I have bestowed upon you? I suppose you could use the ledgers as a personal journal, if you like.”

  “Oh, no.” She gasped, when he bent and swept her into his arms. “I want to help you, if you will have me.”

  “Then that settles it.” He sat her on the blotter, nippe
d her cute little nose, flicked up her skirts, unfastened his breeches, and situated himself between her thighs. “Now, if you have no more questions, I should very much like to make love to you on my stodgy brother’s desk.”

  Those were the last coherent words uttered for the next hour.

  THE LUCKY ONE

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The journey to Portsea Island, the site of her ancestral home, had been interesting, to say the least, for Daphne. When her husband had insisted they take their own coach, despite the fact that the viscount’s elegant equipage would have seated the entire party in lush comfort, she had been confused. Until they departed the city, proper, on the first leg of the two-day trip, and he lowered the shades and enacted another titillating tutelage for the next several miles. She would never look at their rig the same again.

  “Well that was inspiring, my angel.” At her side, Dalton restored his clothing and hooked his breeches.

  “You are insatiable.” And she would never complain, as she smoothed her skirts and re-secured her bodice.

  “I am in love.” With his arm about her shoulders, he kissed her hard and fast. “And you knew that when you married me.”

  “What—that you were in love or that you were insatiable?” She shrieked, when he tickled her. “Stop, as I can just imagine what our driver thinks we are doing in here.”

  “Both.” He pulled her into his lap, cradled her head to his shoulder, and chuckled. “And I would wager he knows exactly what we are doing in here, as well he should, given we are newlyweds.”

  With a sigh, she relaxed in his embrace, as the passing Portsea landscape declared they neared the grand estate, and he hugged her tight. The tenor of his passion had intensified, as they counted down their date with destiny, and his underlying urgency had, in turn, fed her desire, which had spiraled beyond her ability to control it. Thus she sought comfort in his body at every opportunity, and, chivalrous knight that he was, he indulged her.