Brethren of the Coast Box Set 2

by Barbara Devlin

And sometime during the night, after a rigorous round of coitus, whereupon they had rattled the walls of their tiny room at a coach inn, it had dawned on Daphne that the unknown villain could destroy her, if he directed his attentions to her husband. Was that not what felled Rebecca?

  The traitor struck Dirk to lure the spy into the open, whereupon she had been kidnapped. So far, Dalton’s plans and added protections revolved around the presumption that the mysterious scoundrel would attack Daphne.

  “We are almost home, sweetheart.” As they passed through the main gate, he caressed her cheek. “Are you excited to see the renovations, despite the unfortunate circumstance of our visit?”

  “Yes, and I have a surprise for you.” She recalled her last minute changes to the plans, which converted the master suites into a single large sitting room and bedchamber combination. “And I hope you will be pleased.”

  “My dear, I like whatever you like.” He kissed her crown of curls and sighed. “You will remain close to me. You are to abstain from your charitable visits and entertain no callers. And you will forgo your morning walks and confine your movements to the estate, within sight, at all times. If you receive any correspondence from the villain, you are to bring it to me before you open it, whereupon we shall meet with Dirk and Sir Ross. Promise you will obey my edicts, until we apprehend the criminal, darling.”

  “You have my solemn vow I will do as you command.” Easing her arms about his waist, she shivered, though it was quite warm on that July afternoon. “But we will have to arrange a community party, to set things right, once our nasty business is done, else our neighbors will think me a snob.”

  “Angel, you may hold soirees to your heart’s content, once we catch the blackguard.” The coach navigated the drive and halted before the entrance, and Dalton held her in check.

  Prior to her marriage, she never would have considered allowing anyone to see her in such a compromising position. But they were in Portsea, the charming island town she adored, and London society, and its ridiculous web of rules, meant nothing in the backwater, so she kept her place. When the footman opened the door, Dalton scooted from the squabs and handed her down.

  Standing at attention, with the household staff arranged in a line, Hicks smiled. “Welcome home, Miss—er, Mrs. Randolph.”

  “Old habits are hard to break, my friend.” And she still refused to believe that Hicks or Mrs. Jones had anything to do with the reprehensible incidents. “And how are you?”

  “Quite well, ma’am.” The butler lifted his chin. “And Mrs. Jones and I have brought the personnel to almost full capacity, and we are grateful for their assistance.”

  “We hope our hires meet with your approval, Mrs. Randolph.” Mrs. Jones appeared tentative, in the face of such esteemed guests, so Daphne made the effort to hug the housekeeper, who smelled of her unique recipe for homemade soap. “Oh, it is good to have you home, ma’am.”

  “We should have tea, tomorrow, and catch up, as it has been too long.” Before Dalton discovered their reworked room, she caught him by the wrist. “Right now, I would have a bath and wash away the road dust. If you could settle the viscount and viscountess, I would appreciate it. And I will show my husband to his accommodation.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Randolph.” Hicks clicked his heels and hurried to direct the footmen.

  “My lovely wife, what are you about?” Dalton narrowed his stare. “Did you overspend your budget?”

  “I told you there were unanticipated cost overruns, and you indicated it was not a problem.” She dragged him into the foyer, up the stairs, and down the hall. “And it is too late to complain now.”

  “Indeed it is, and my brother warned me about such extravagances, when it comes to wives and wallets.” He groaned. “Wait a minute, what happened to the door to my apartment?”

  “It has moved.” She gave him a swift yank. “Permit me to give you a grand tour of your new and improved space.” With heightened anticipation, and a little bit of nervous anxiety, Daphne pushed open the double oak panels and ushered her knight into their new sanctuary. “What do you think?”

  “Good God, it is massive.” He rotated slowly, taking in the refined elegance of his signature shade trimmed in mahogany. “I could chase you for hours and never catch you.”

  Velvet drapes framed the floor to ceiling windows of the sitting room, and matching damask overstuffed chairs and a sofa blended with the crème colored chaise. Sapphire wall coverings, in the flock-tradition, featured a taupe floral ogee motif, and she had limited the accessories to the bare necessities interspersed with nautical antiques, including some resplendent spyglasses and her framed creations, which she had composed specifically for their private abode.

  “You would never have to catch me, my darling husband.” She hugged him from behind. “Because I am yours for the taking.”

  “And I do so love that about you.” He covered her hands with his. “So show me your lair of licentious iniquity.”

  “Our lair, my naughty knight.” In the inner sanctum, she paused before the footboard of the massive four-poster. When Dalton strolled to the bedside table that would be his, given their usual preferences, drew from his coat pocket the small oval frame in which she had pressed his rosebud, and situated the keepsake in pride of place, she inhaled a shaky breath. “Are you pleased?”

  “How could I not be, when you planned it.” In that instant, she shed the last concerns regarding the hastily sketched remodel. “And constructing dressers in the expanded closets was a stroke of brilliance.”

  “But how could—you knew.” And just like that, her sails deflated. “Who told you?”

  “Sorry, angel.” He gifted her the lopsided grin that never failed to melt her insides. “Mr. Benson let it slip, when I approved the closing disbursements. Your alterations were included in the final sketches, and Mr. Dumas was quite put out, given he had kept your confidence to the very end, and I did not want to spoil it for you.” Dalton flicked his fingers, and she ran to him. “But it gave me hope, such as I had dared not covet, as we had yet to consummate our vows, so I said nothing.”

  “Well I know you have not seen everything, as I procured a few items once we returned to London.” She led him to the wash area, tucked behind a half-wall. “Does it meet your requirements, sir?”

  “Great heavens, that tub looks as if it could seat four people.” He patted her bottom, as had become his habit, of late.

  “Only two, actually.” Resting her palm to his chest, she found solace in the steady beat of his heart. “Will you join me for a bath?”

  “There is nothing I would prefer more.” After claiming another kiss, which was far too brief for her, he spanked her derriere and said, “But first I should confer with Sir Ross and Dirk, to make sure there are no loose ends. Then I shall return and ravish you, so prepare to be conquered.”

  “You prepare, sir.” Daphne stuck her tongue in her cheek and batted her lashes. “As I just might vanquish you.”

  “Angel, I look forward to it.” With a wink, he swaggered from their apartments.

  After the footmen delivered the trunks, Daphne supervised the unpacking. The last items had just been stored, when the maids began filling the huge tub. In search of something sheer to inspire her husband, not that he required stimulus, she opted to await his presence in his primary choice.

  But the ugliness of blackmail intruded on her musings, and she strolled to the windows to admire the familiar landscape, which had always soothed her soul. She wasn’t sure if weariness from the journey or the monumental task looming at the fore had ravaged her nerves, but she soon succumbed to a fit of tears.

  Giving herself to the misery, she sobbed without restraint, in the privacy of her room, until the tension eating at her gut abated. So much had happened, so much had changed in so little time, and now some unforeseen rogue threatened everything.

  “Daphne, are you in there?” Through the haze of despair, a cherished voice called to her.

  With arms
splayed wide in welcome, she charged into the sitting room and flung herself at her youngest brother. “Richard.”

  “How I missed you, Daph.” The gadling hugged her tight. “And why are you crying?”

  “Oh, it is stress from our predicament.” She rued involving her sibling in the horrid affair, but it could not be avoided. “But I am better, now that you are here. And how are you?”

  “Fine, I suppose.” Shuffling his feet, he shrugged. “It has been lonely here, without you and Robert. But I had a letter from him, and he sounds content, in service to Beresford. Yet he longs for Portsea and our simpler days.”

  “Me, too,” she responded, with a sigh.

  “Don’t worry, Daph.” Richard kissed her cheek. “Everything will be all right, as I will protect you.”

  “My, but you have grown in the months since I first departed Courtenay Hall.” In play, she chucked his chin. “And I am so proud of you. Have you given any thought to Dalton’s offer to finance a formal education? You always dreamed of attending university, and it would be a wonderful opportunity for you.”

  “Do you wish to be rid of me?” At his frown, she retreated a step. “Am I to be packed off, like Robert?”

  “Of course, not.” Her blood ran cold at the thought. “How could you suggest such a thing? And Robert begged for a commission, which you well know.”

  “You are right.” Richard ambled toward the door. With his hand on the knob, he peered over his shoulder. “I will speak with Sir Dalton about his proposal.”

  “We only want you to be happy.” How she adored her sensitive brother, as he always bore the weight of the world on his coat sleeves.

  Alone, Daphne hugged herself, returned to the bedchamber, and shut the doors behind her. Wafts of steam rose from the surface of the bath, and she kicked off her slippers. Wrenching left and then right, she untied her laces and stripped her gown and chemise. Then she removed her garters and hose. Naked, she crawled atop the huge four-poster and stretched across the luxurious counterpane of sapphire satin. Closing her eyes, she grinned, sank into the mattress, and wondered just what salacious tactic her husband would employ to rouse her, upon his return.

  #

  Three days later, Daphne strolled into her chamber to resituate her coiffure, because her one true knight destroyed her style during a rollicking lovemaking session in the hayloft of the old barn. Midway through the erotic escapade, Dirk and Sir Ross had entered the stables, to ensure their horses remained at the ready. As a result of the unexpected interlopers, Dalton and Daphne had achieved glorious completion only after countless minutes in heated, panting, groping, intensely silent endeavors.

  It was with such flirty musings dancing in her brain that she discovered a now familiar missive propped against the mirror of her vanity, with her name inscribed on the envelope, and she cried out in horror. Without hesitation, she ran to the bellpull and gave it a yank. Pacing, she peered left and then right, as she feared the villain might jump from the shadows or a hiding place. In seconds, she checked the wash area, behind the half-wall, and their respective closets, and discovered them empty.

  “How may I help you, Mrs. Randolph?” Daisy, the new lady’s maid curtseyed.

  “Tell Hicks I need to speak with my husband and Viscount Wainsbrough, here, in my quarters, at once.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Trembling, she scanned the immediate vicinity and then ran into the sitting room. The polished apartment, decorated with love and hope for a charmed future, had become a refuge, wherein Daphne and Dalton often lingered, sans clothing, and discussed their shared dreams. Just then, Dalton charged through the double-door entry, with Dirk, Sir Ross, and Rebecca in tow.

  “Daphne, what is it?” With a worried expression, her husband walked straight to her. “What happened?”

  “I have had another note from the blackmailer.” She pointed. “It sits atop my vanity.”

  “Bloody everlasting hell. The bastard was in our home?” Dalton set her aside and stormed into the inner chamber. “Sir Ross, will you do the honors?”

  “Of course.” The head of the Counterintelligence Corps produced a leather pouch from his coat pocket, from which he retrieved tweezers and picked up the correspondence. With great care, he opened the envelope and removed the folded parchment. “Damn, he is good. We have but two hours to plan our delivery, and he claims Daphne knows the locale.”

  “What does it say?” Dirk inquired.

  “I am puzzled.” Dalton scratched his chin. “He has reduced his demands by half, asking for only twenty-five-hundred pounds. What do you suppose is his purpose?”

  “He may mistakenly believe it will be easier to spend the smaller amount, without rousing suspicion.” Sir Ross snickered. “But that is his first blunder, as the notes are marked.”

  “It commands us to place the amount in a small bundle, near a large oak by a stone wall, along the road to Eastney.” Dalton met her gaze. “It is the tree beneath which we took our ease, after concluding your charitable visits, that day in March.”

  “The very one.” And so the criminal tarnished another cherished memory, with his nefarious schemes.

  “Then Daphne and I will remain here, with Mrs. Jones and Richard.” Rebecca framed Dirk’s face. “Please, be careful, as I love you, and you are quite irreplaceable.”

  Likewise, Daphne hugged her husband. “You presume Hicks is involved, and I do not agree, but I would ask you to use caution, as I love you, too. And I need you.”

  “It will be all right, my angel.” Dalton held her, as if for the last time, and her fear spiraled to vaunted heights. “One way or another, this business will end tonight. But keep watch for Hicks, as he must depart to collect his boon, unless he works in concert with another.”

  After an intense strategy session, Dalton, Dirk, and Sir Ross set out to catch the blackmailer, while Daphne, Rebecca, and Mrs. Jones gathered in the drawing room to await the outcome.

  “Everything will work out, fine, Daphne.” Despite her reassurance, Rebecca paced before the hearth. “Dalton has Dirk and Sir Ross, and I would wager the scoundrel has never faced such an impressive front.”

  “Well I am nervous, nonetheless, and nothing soothes my spirit like balancing the stillroom accounts.” Daphne jumped to her feet. “If it will not offend you, I will retrieve my ledger from the study and complete the task in your company, else I may lose my mind and run amok.”

  Rolling her shoulders, she stepped into the hall and searched for Hicks, but her friend was not present, yet she assumed it a coincidence, as she did not doubt his loyalty. In the foyer, an audial summons at the main entrance brought her alert, as the men had departed almost fifteen minutes ago. Holding her breath against the chill of unease seeping to her marrow, Daphne opened the front door and peered outside. A gust of wind cooled by the sea, as the evening sun loomed on the horizon, buffeted her cheeks, and she was surprised to find no one. Glancing down the drive, she wondered if she had imagined the sharp rap of the knocker—until she spied another telltale envelope on the threshold.

  In a flash, she bent, snatched the missive, shut the heavy oak panel, and secured the latch. Then she tore into the correspondence, read the message, and sobbed.

  Mrs. Randolph,

  If you have received this note in the company of your allies, do not permit them to read it. Should you value your brother’s life, tell no one of the contents herein. I have Richard in my possession. Bring 2,500 pounds to the old barn on the back of your estate. You have ten minutes from the time this warning was remitted, else I will kill young Richard.

  A wave of nausea swept over her, as she pondered her gentle sibling in the custody of a ruthless villain. Her initial instinct was to obey the evildoer’s demands, but then she recalled Rebecca’s story. Once her captor had revealed his identity, he had to kill her to conceal his crimes. Daphne’s mind raced, and she made her decision, just as Hicks appeared.

  “Mrs. Randolph, I thought I heard—”

 
“You did.” Quick as a wink, she grabbed the butler by the wrist. “Accompany me to the drawing room, as we have no time to spare, and my brother’s life hangs in the balance.”

  #

  As he charged the lane he recalled so well, with the tall grass swaying in the wind on either side of the verge, Dalton replayed every detail of the rushed plot. He veered left, then right, and then left, again, until they neared the water’s edge, when they steered inland. Driven by determination to protect his wife, he pushed the stallion harder and faster, until the large oak came into view.

  “Hold hard, men.” Sir Ross drew rein on the hilltop overlooking the meadow. “We can gain an excellent survey of the terrain from this vantage, and we are early, so we should take the opportunity to reconnoiter. Tomorrow, the bastard will dance at Beilby’s ball for his treachery.”

  “What would you inspect, given the lay?” Dirk steered his mount to a small overlook. “The countryside is flat, and there are no homes or out buildings.”

  “You are correct.” Using his spyglass, Dalton scrutinized every shrub and fence line for any sign of a suitable hideaway. “Given we have the high ground, the blackmailer has no advantage.” And then a chill of dread settled in his chest, and he tried but failed to brush off the dark sense of foreboding. “Something is wrong.”

  “Listen.” With his head inclined, Sir Ross pulled a pistol from his waistband. “Someone comes through the field at our flank.”

  Dalton turned his horse, just as Hicks spurred a bay to jump a low-lying stone wall. “Well, well, look who is here.”

  When the butler glimpsed them, he waved frantically, with an envelope clutched in his fist. “Sir Dalton, you must come home, quickly. Mrs. Randolph received another letter, and it brings ill tidings.”

  After unfolding the well-known stationary, Dalton swallowed hard. With every sentence he read, he plummeted into a new and more tormenting form of hell, as he realized he had been duped. But what struck him, as a wicked punch to the gut, was Daphne’s plea, in her graceful script, which he recognized from her ledger entries, written at the bottom of the parchment.