Enter The Brethren (The Brethren of the Coast)

by Devlin, Barbara

  “My father had an old captain’s log, the first entry was in the year of our lord, 1309,” the duke continued. “There is an ancient seafarer’s oath written inside. On a moonlit night, at the twelfth hour, we came together in the gardens and pledged the same, as brothers and sisters all. To solidify our pact, we mingled our blood with a tiny nick to the finger.” Damian shrugged. “To the casual acquaintance, ours may seem a childhood fancy, but I warn you, do not take us lightly. I am her brother as Caroline is my sister. Do not think you can supplant us.”

  A palpable tension hung in the air. The mood in the room had taken a definite turn, and he had the distinct impression he had just been put on notice. He was the solitary figure on one side, Caroline and her family his opposition. The lines were drawn.

  Trevor had never felt so alone in his life.

  CHAPTER NINE

  All is fair in love and war, or so Virgil wrote.

  Caroline smiled as the familiar literary passage echoed in her ears, because tonight she would launch her campaign for independence against a certain arrogant earl. She had taken great pains to put her best foot forward for the evening, dressing in an ivory silk creation, which she wore as armor and Blake had teasingly said made her look like a Roman deity.

  Perhaps Diana--goddess of the hunt?

  The ballroom at Richmond House was filled to capacity, and the ton was in full attendance. She clutched Blake’s arm as he escorted her and their mother through the crush. Bursts of light flashed before her eyes, and Caroline realized she had forgotten to breathe in the last several seconds. Exhaling before she swooned, she craned her neck and searched for her quarry.

  Desperate circumstances called for desperate measures, and she was going on the offensive. While she had agreed to marry her errant captain, theirs was a union born of social dictums, not a bloody allegiance of the heart. And from the moment his deception was revealed, Trevor had become her adversary. When the night was over, he would know better than to toy with her heart again.

  “Oh, my dears, I believe I see my little coterie.” Her mother patted Caroline’s cheek. “Have a lovely evening.”

  “I will, Mama.” She dipped her chin. “And you, as well.”

  “Ready to face the music?” Blake winked. “I see our friends gathered near the back wall.”

  “No time like the present.” With a roll of her shoulders, she compressed her lips.

  Various notables offered their acknowledgements, many ladies vied for her brother’s attention, and several former suitors solicited dances as the Elliott siblings navigated the throng. Nearing their group, Caroline spied Trevor. But to her chagrin, he snared her senses with yet another striking mutation. Garbed in black formalwear, with a diamond twinkling at the center of his cravat, he was devastatingly handsome. Her heart skipped a beat, her pulse pounded.

  Blast her traitorous body!

  How was she supposed to appear confident when her cheeks burned as dry timber newly set aflame? In silence, she thanked God for Blake’s escort, else she would have fallen flat on her face--or bottom. And to her good fortune, a lilting adagio covered her gasp of surprise when Trevor met her gaze. Why she was surprised when he looked at her she did not know, since they were secretly engaged to wed it seemed a harmless gesture. Harmless if she ignored the gooseflesh prickling her arms. Perhaps it was because his eyes held more than a hint of mischief.

  Summoning what could best be described as false courage, Caroline held pace with her brother and stopped only when she stood at Trevor’s side. The men, engrossed in a dialogue of horse breeding, appeared not to notice she had arrived. Likewise, the ladies had their heads together, trading the latest on-dits.

  “My lady.” Trevor claimed her hand and placed a chaste kiss on the inside of her wrist. “Allow me to introduce an old friend of mine, Lord Everett Markham.”

  An imposing figure of a man stepped forward and bowed. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  His lopsided grin raised her suspicions in an instant. Had Trevor shared the details of their relationship with Lord Markham? Almost in a panic, she shot her husband-to-be a worried glance but could glean nothing from his casual countenance.

  Hoping for a little assistance from her friends, she stole a peek from left to right. To her chagrin, she realized Lady Richmond could have marched a purple elephant through her ballroom and Caroline’s lifelong companions would have feigned indifference.

  “Care to dance, my lady?” She shivered as Trevor expelled his warm breath over her ear. “It would be my honor.”

  Did he have to sound so genuine?

  Caroline was certain her efforts would be much easier if he were an insufferable boor.

  “Oh--yes, but no, I mean not now--I was saving a waltz for you, my lord.” For her plan to work, she had to reserve a waltz. The country-dance would not suit her strategy.

  “Why limit ourselves?” He inclined his head and grinned his wolf’s grin. “We can always dance again.”

  Guilt nagged her conscience, and she worried her bottom lip. “Actually, we would rouse undue curiosity and speculation were we to indulge in excess of one turn on the floor this night. Anything more would be tantamount to a declaration.”

  Her prey frowned. “And it would be too soon to make such a statement?”

  “Indeed.” The disappointment in her voice seemed so sincere. Perhaps she possessed a talent she had never before tapped.

  “Very well, until the waltz.”

  Caroline sighed her relief.

  “Oh, I say.” Everett stepped forward and offered his escort. “Allow me to indulge you this dance, my lady. I am sure Lord Lockwood will not mind.”

  She almost swallowed her tongue.

  “You are too kind, Lord Markham.” Her stomach clenched, and tension invested her spine as Trevor’s friend led her to the dance floor.

  “You must call me Everett.” He bowed. “So, do tell, how are you acquainted with my old chum?”

  Caroline just managed to stop herself from spilling the contents of her belly on his elegant coat. She searched her mind, a convenient explanation not too far from the truth formed in her brain. “Oh, I am not that familiar with Lord Lockwood. He served in the Navy with my brother. In fact, Blake introduced us.” Pleased with the ease of her delivery, she relaxed.

  “Really?” Everett smiled a little too sweet for her liking. “Trevor conversed with His Grace the other day at White’s, and I got the distinct impression your sibling is not altogether too fond of him. Could it have something to do with your impending nuptials?”

  Bloody hell, the blackguard knew!

  Because her betrothal had yet to be announced, there was no other explanation. In a flash, she became giddy with panic, tripped on her toes, and clutched his hand.

  “Calm yourself.”

  The words fell over her in a whisper. When she inclined her head and peered at her partner, she was favored with a cat-that-ate-the-canary-smile. The rake was positively--incorrigible.

  “Fear not.” Everett chuckled and arched a brow. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  In a valiant effort, Caroline tried to dispel his infuriating--but correct--assertion. “I do not know of any secret requiring such assurances.”

  “Of course not,” Everett replied with glib supremacy. “That is why you are as white as a sheet, and my normally cool-headed friend is glaring at me as would a jealous husband.”

  “My lord, do you not think the decorations charming?” She focused on the wall, vowing not to meet the nosy noble’s stare. But his mocking laughter filled her ears, and she bit her tongue against a slew of inventive curses.

  The music ended, and Everett returned her to Trevor, who was now deep in conversation with her brother, Damian, Lance, and Dirk. He acknowledged her with an innocent smile and went back to his discussion. Caroline was ready to hit him. How dare her fiancé leave her at the mercy of that annoying man?

  An elbow in the ribs caught her attention. “Good heavens, Sabrina, s
top it,” she said.

  “You know, Lord Lockwood is not half bad. He is very handsome in a rugged sort of way. Do you suppose his friend is a captain, too? They are not at all like these perfumed dandy peacocks we have been forced to endure. I might have to hie myself off on someone’s ship to find my own husband.”

  “Shhh.” Caroline held a finger to her lips. “Careful, Brie, someone might hear you.”

  “Don’t get snippy with me, and you are the one raising your voice.” The youngest Douglas clasped her hands in front of her. “Do you really have to marry him?”

  Just then, Alex, Cara, and Elaine joined the conversation.

  “Have you kissed him yet?” Alex whispered, wide-eyed with wonder.

  “Oh, do tell,” Cara added, as Elaine nodded her enthusiasm.

  Since she was the first to embark on a betrothal, her friends no doubt had numerous inquiries. Problem was, the Netherton’s ballroom did not seem an appropriate venue for such intimate dialogue. But in assessing her friends, Caroline realized there would be no avenue for escape.

  “If you promise not to breathe a word of what I tell you, I shall entertain your queries.”

  Alex leaned in. “We shall be as silent as the grave.”

  The remaining ladies nodded their agreement.

  Caroline shrugged and asked, “What is it you want to know?”

  Like a military salvo, the questions came in rapid fire.

  “Have you kissed him?”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “What is it like?”

  “I have heard some men use their tongue.”

  “Where did you sleep aboard his ship?”

  “Have you seen him naked?”

  “Slow down, one at a time.” Caroline paused and inhaled deeply. “Yes, I have kissed Lord Lockwood--numerous times. And yes, I enjoyed it, although I cannot say why.”

  “How did it make you feel?” Cara asked, her voice tinged with nervous excitement.

  Now that was a question she had to ponder. Since the women were as sisters to her, Caroline was compelled to answer honestly. “I could hear my heart pounding in my ears, and a strange warmth permeated my body. It is rather similar to the first time you drink brandy--but without the choking.”

  “Ahem. I hate to intrude, but I believe I have this dance.”

  Good heavens, she had been so involved with her friends she had not recognized the first strains of the waltz. Her grand moment had arrived. Pressing her palm to Trevor’s arm, she took one step and flinched.

  “Oh dear, I seem to have twisted my ankle.” Caroline prayed her ruse was convincing. “Brie, would you be so kind as to act in my stead?”

  “That is not necessary.” He placed a hand at the small of her back. “If you are hurt, you should sit. Allow me to escort you to the chaise.”

  “Nonsense, I insist you go on without me.” She glanced at Brie and winked. “Please, Sabrina.”

  “Are you sure?” Her lifelong friend appeared perplexed, and Caroline knew why.

  “Positive.” Retreating, Caroline stifled a giggle. “Besides, this will give you two an opportunity to become better acquainted.”

  “As you wish.” She bit her tongue as Brie grabbed Trevor by the elbow and led him to the slaughter.

  #

  Trevor did not know what to make of his intended’s curious behavior. Instead of taking her ease in the nearest seat, she strolled along the rear wall sporting a grin that made the hair stand at the nape of his neck. Nothing made sense--until he engaged one Sabrina Douglas in a waltz.

  The rather eccentric young woman had a devil of a unique talent. Every turn--hell, every step, she trounced his toes and any other inch of his feet she could reach. It would be a miracle if he ever walked limp-free again. And while he had never been partial to orchestra music, he found a new appreciation for the stuff in that it concealed his grunts and groans of discomfort.

  “Sorry about your toes, Lord Lockwood.” Sabrina cast him a knowing smile. “Can’t imagine why Caroline imperiled you so. Everyone knows I dance with the grace and ease of a cow with its hooves stuck in the mud.”

  The mental fog was beginning to clear, and Trevor chuckled. How could anyone not admire such frank honesty? “Do not fret, Miss Douglas. You’re doing fine.”

  Her guileless admission told him she had been an unwitting accomplice in whatever game his fiancée was about. Making a note to pair her with Everett at the first opportunity, he trudged forth. Upon his deliverance, he went in search of his charming future wife. But his angel was noticeably absent.

  The dinner bell sounded, and he decided to adjourn to the dining room without his bride-to-be.

  “Lord Lockwood.”

  Trevor turned to find Sabrina’s elder sibling waiting for him. “Yes, Miss Douglas?”

  Cara inclined her head and smiled. “Caroline asked me to accompany you into supper.”

  Suspicion nipped at his heels. “I hope she is not unwell?”

  “Oh, it is nothing like that.” With consummate grace, Cara accepted his proffered arm. “She is taking a breath of fresh air and will join us in a moment.”

  A brief scan of the thinning crowd in the ballroom confirmed his intended was not present. He wondered what Caroline was planning next. “I am at your service, Miss Douglas.”

  Trevor soon found he was also at Cara’s mercy.

  Seated at the head of a long table, he was flanked by the Douglas sisters on one side, Alex and Elaine on the other.

  In rapid succession, they hurled question after question at him. And to his dismay, theirs was the sort of interrogation designed to bring a man to his knees--or to the brink of insanity.

  “How old are you?” Elaine inquired.

  “Have you ever been in love?” Cara asked.

  Alex leaned forward. “Do you like to dance?”

  “Are you a fisherman?” The last query came from Sabrina.

  He shuddered. Were he aboard his ship in the middle of a raging storm and faced with such an examination, he would swim for shore. Movement at the opposite end of the table caught his eye.

  With a gloating smile, Caroline raised a glass in what was no doubt a mocking toast.

  Trevor realized this was her way of throwing down the gauntlet. Lucky for his bride-to-be, he was more than ready to pick it up. He shook his head and laughed. With the patience of a saint, he answered each and every inquiry. Then, he retrieved his balloon of brandy and saluted his fetching fiancée.

  Let the games begin.

  #

  A week later, Trevor had reached the end of his tether.

  His stubborn future wife had resisted his every effort to woo her. How in bloody hell was he supposed to romance a woman he had not danced or dined with in a sennight? He had tried everything he could think of to put their relationship back on track, had even solicited Everett’s assistance in cornering his quarry. But regardless of his attempts to curb Caroline’s rebellion, she remained a step ahead of his game. Consequently, their courtship had digressed to a comedy of errors.

  Determined to strike an accord with a certain chestnut-haired termagant, he trudged up the stairs to Elliott House with a peace offering and raised a hand to knock on the door, when it suddenly opened. Faced by a rather stiff looking character, he suppressed a smirk and handed his card to the butler.

  “This way, my lord.” The voice held as much personality as a tabletop.

  Trevor was shown to the drawing room. He stopped in the doorway where the duchess stood, as chaperone. She turned and flashed him a dazzling smile.

  Even at her age, Her Grace of Rylan was a striking woman. As if by magic, the visage he studied transformed into that of an older, more mature Caroline. The duchess spoke, the image of his intended faded, and he snapped to attention.

  “Lord Lockwood,” she whispered. “I thought it best to maintain appearances in allowing these gentlemen to pay call on my daughter. You need not worry, I daresay she has shown greater enthusiasm when faced with havin
g a tooth extracted.”

  Smug satisfaction welled in his chest. Perhaps he had been mistaken, and it would not be so difficult to win her over. But what if Caroline was planning another trick? Peering into the room, he spied the source of his confusion dressed in lavender and seated on a sofa.

  One of her callers--and a clumsy buffoon at that--recounted a harrowing tale of hunting and horsemanship so utterly unbelievable as to make the stories by the Brothers Grimm pale in comparison. Trevor remained rooted in the doorway, positive he might be ill at any moment thus necessitating a quick escape, and endured a truly painful ode to Caroline’s blue eyes. As he struggled to ignore the syrupy sentimental ravings, he took note of the floral bouquets, offerings to his soon-to-be-wife’s beauty no doubt, perched atop various pedestals around the room.

  The unfortunate suitors did not stand a chance.

  Caroline was his. Already promised.

  So why was he wound tight as a clock spring?

  Glancing at the small box he held in his hand, he wondered self-consciously if he had erred in his chosen gift.

  Thankfully, before another embarrassing and overzealous oratory could begin, she met his stare.

  “Lord Lockwood?” Caroline rose from the sofa. “What a wonderful surprise.”

  All eyes settled on him as he entered the drawing room. “My lady,” he said as he bowed.

  With noticeable aloofness, she inclined her head. “Do join me, my lord.”

  Did she intend for him to crouch on the floor? “I would love to, but every seat appears occupied.”

  “Why do you not take a position next to Caroline,” Her Grace suggested.

  In that instant, Trevor decided he rather liked his future-in-law.

  “Of course.” Caroline averted her gaze, resituated herself, and patted the cushion at her side.

  A warmer reception would have done wonders for his grating nerves. The other hopefuls shot him sullen glares, as not one of them had been given such an honor. However, he was feeling quite confident as he handed her the little box.