Enter The Brethren (The Brethren of the Coast)

by Devlin, Barbara

  “Perish the thought.” Everett frowned. “It would take a creature of unimaginable spirit to get me to the altar.”

  “You know, I said the same thing myself. And though it was I who squired her from Dalton’s ship, it was I who was swept off my feet.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The sun shone bright through the windows at Elliott House, bathing Caroline in soothing warmth, as she trailed her palm down the oak balustrade of the grand staircase. Dressed in ivory satin trimmed in old gold, she fancied herself a princess and prayed Trevor would think himself a fortunate man for marrying her.

  Blake stood in the foyer, looking splendid in an elegant grey morning coat, and smiled as she approached. “You are stunning, my dear.” He bent his head and kissed her forehead. “Are you ready?”

  The question seemed a double-edged sword.

  Despite her qualms, Caroline had decided to let bygones be bygones and wipe the slate clean. She was going to begin anew with Trevor because, in light of their impending nuptials, there was no use dwelling on the past. If she wanted to claim the future she had dreamed of as a child, a fairy tale wedding and a husband who loved her, she was going to have to tweak her strategy. And although Caroline accepted the fact that she loved Trevor, she hated to admit he did not love her. However, that did not mean he never would.

  “I suppose it is now or never,” she said with a shrug.

  “Are you sure you wish to go through with this?” Her elder sibling cupped her chin. “Say the word, and I will hie you off to the Caribbean. On my honor, I swear Lockwood would never find you.”

  “Stop being so serious.” She clutched his wrist and squeezed a reassurance. “Thank you for caring, but I know what I am doing.”

  “All right.” Blake settled her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Then let us away.”

  They boarded the gleaming black Rylan town coach, the ducal coat of arms emblazoned on the door, and set a course for St. George’s at Hanover Square. Nervous anxiety shivered beneath her skin when the six-columned entrance came into view. She held tight to Blake’s arm as she descended the coach, entered the church, and navigated the long aisle with fashionable society in full attendance.

  And hoped she had made the right decision.

  At the altar, before the Archbishop, Caroline took her vows with Trevor at her side and Everett standing as groomsman. Tears welled in her eyes when Trevor turned to her and pledged, “My heart will be your shelter, and my arms will be your home.”

  They were only words, but Caroline was determined that someday his oath would accurately portray his commitment and their life.

  The next thing she knew the ceremony had ended, and her new husband reached for her. With a palm pressed to her cheek, he lowered his head and their lips met. Theirs was not a passionate kiss, but a corporeal affirmation filled with a silent promise and faith in the future for which she dared wish.

  With clasped hands, they strolled down the aisle amid loud applause and rousing cheers. Outside, the Lockwood town carriage waited, and Caroline skipped aboard. Easing into the cushions, she had barely settled her skirts when Trevor hauled her onto his lap and put her thoughts into words.

  “Lady Lockwood,” he purred.

  “Good heavens,” Caroline exclaimed in disbelief. “We’re married.”

  “Indeed, and not a moment too soon.” He chuckled and hugged her so tight she feared she would split in two. “Another week of courting, and I would have lost my head.”

  She cast him a pout. “Was it that bad?”

  “Worse.” Trevor nipped her nose. “Now, as you pledged to obey me, I give you your first command. Kiss me, wife.”

  That was an order to which Caroline would happily yield, and as an obedient spouse, she put all her heart into her duty. It was no small wonder she had no recollection of the remainder of the brief journey to Elliott House.

  Later, she stood, prim and poised, beside her husband in the receiving line, but her toes wiggled a salvo of nervous energy in her slippers. Carriages wheeled down the graveled drive, stopping beneath the portico to allow invited revelers to disembark, and the wedding reception began as guests assembled in the drawing room to take refreshments.

  The celebration was a harried affair, because Trevor had stated it was necessary for them to depart on the wedding trip before sundown. Thus her mother had planned a small meal for their extended family at four, and the well-wishers were soon ushered out.

  The great table in the dining room of Elliott House was cloaked in ivory damask, exquisite Sèvres china, and brilliant silver placed with expert precision. Numerous vases filled with delicate white roses sat atop pedestals about the room, and a lilting aroma wafted through the air.

  As she scooted a fried oyster across her plate, Caroline peered at her husband, who seemed to be unusually interested in her eating habits. “What?”

  Trevor smiled the sort of smile that gave her gooseflesh. “Would you care for more oysters, darling wife?”

  “No, thank you.” Did the man have a strange predilection for shellfish? “I daresay I had better stop. At this rate, you will have to roll me to the carriage.” Then she recalled he had not shared the destination of their honeymoon. “Where did you say we are headed?”

  “I did not say.” He narrowed his stare and tapped a finger to the tip of her nose. “Patience, my dear. I have planned a surprise for you, and it is one to which I am looking forward. Now, I suggest you fill your belly, because you will need all your strength for the night that is to come.”

  Oh, dear.

  While his last words were hushed, Caroline could not mistake his meaning. And his devilish chuckle conveyed he had noted the blush burning in her cheeks.

  Shortly thereafter, she was escorted upstairs to change into an emerald green traveling gown. After checking her appearance in the long mirror, she paused in the doorway of her bedchamber. Casting a misty glance about the room, she revisited not the physical furnishings but the memories of her life. The little girl who played pirate games with her brother and always saved him the last lemon tart was now a married woman, and a countess at that. Gone were the days when Blake could kiss away her pain. She would have to rely on herself to endure the trials of tomorrow.

  “Buck up, Caroline.” She stood, straight and tall, and lifted her chin. “Like Mama said, Trevor is only a man. He pulls on his breeches one leg at a time.”

  With a silent farewell, she marched forth into the hall, turned right, and then left. At the landing of the grand staircase, she halted.

  Trevor waited halfway down the steps. Spying her, he held out a hand and flicked an entreaty. “Come, love. If we do not depart soon, we are going to be late.”

  Late for what?

  Clutching her bridal bouquet of white roses mixed with daisies, Caroline descended, took his proffered arm, and neared the balustrade.

  In the foyer below, the unmarried ladies assembled. Expressions of hope danced on their faces because, according to popular superstition, whoever caught the bouquet would be the next to wed. Cara waved a greeting, then stepped out of view, only to return with a pouting Sabrina in tow.

  Once she was certain everyone was present, Caroline raised the bouquet, inhaled the sweet scent, and gave her back to the crowd. A murmur of excitement from the female throng filled her ears, and she closed her eyes and heaved the arrangement over her shoulder. The guests roared, and she whirled around in time to see Sabrina, shock investing her features, holding the flowers to her bosom.

  “She will never forgive me for that.” Caroline laughed and blew a kiss to her dear friend, who frowned and waved her fist in the air.

  “Ready to face the masses?” Trevor asked.

  “I am.”

  Together, they ran the gauntlet of rice and glad tidings. At the carriage, a footman stood at attention, and she paused to wave goodbye to her mother and brother. Wiping a stray tear from her cheek, she stepped inside the equipage that would carry her away from her family and all tha
t was comforting and familiar. Cheers erupted at their departure, and she rested her head against Trevor’s shoulder. When they passed through the formidable gates of Elliott House, she closed her eyes and bit back the fear gnawing at her gut.

  “Any regrets?” Trevor nuzzled her temple. “You can tell me, you know.”

  As she met his stare, Caroline realized her husband was in earnest. But there was something else in his gaze, something she did not quite understand. Yet she sensed a need for approval, for validation. Determination welled anew. “Not a one.”

  “Excellent,” he said against her lips.

  An encouraging desire, an aching hunger, supplanted the trepidation and nervous knots in her belly when their tongues danced. Caroline moaned her appreciation as he settled a palm to her clothed breast. In what seemed a natural response, she caressed the fast rising bulge in his wool breeches, rubbing a repetitive rhythm, until he groaned deep in his throat.

  They had been in the carriage for no more than an hour when it came to an abrupt halt.

  Trevor broke their kiss. “We have arrived.”

  Still simmering from their heated embrace, she blinked her surprise. “Already?”

  “Indeed.” He grasped the latch, opened the door, and exited the coach.

  “But--what are we doing here?” she asked as Trevor handed her down. “Are we sailing?”

  His reply was a shrug and a mischievous grin.

  Curiosity set in, deeper and deeper, as they walked amid the shadows of the mighty vessels berthed at Deptford, the private dockyards of the East Indiamen. Since Trevor had accepted a Nautionnier knighthood, he now anchored with the family shipping business, which had been incorporated into the East India Company and provided a ruse for the Brethren, so she knew the Hera would be docked there.

  When Caroline spotted his ship, what listed in the rigging gave her pause, and she froze in her tracks. If she harbored any lingering doubts concerning her decision to marry Trevor, they disappeared in an instant. Because hoisted to the main topgallant stay was a festoon of evergreens. A wedding garland was a centuries old custom of the British Navy to announce the marriage of a crewmember. As a child, she had seen countless such expressions and always pretended they were for her.

  But that wedding garland was truly hers.

  Her vision blurred by happy tears, Caroline peered at Trevor. “You did this?”

  “Aye.” He dipped his chin. “I hope you are pleased.”

  Before she embarrassed herself, she buried her face in his coat and mumbled, “Thank you.”

  #

  Trevor bent his head and kissed the crown of his wife’s chestnut hair. The apprehension gripping his shoulders eased, and it appeared his bride would not be offended by a wedding night aboard his ship.

  The gesture was purely symbolic.

  Since they had first made love aboard the Hera, it seemed a good omen to begin married life there, too. His cabin was familiar, comfortable, and might do much to help Caroline relax.

  Being in his trusty bunk would bloody well help him relax.

  What was it about bedding a married woman--his own wife--that had him shaking in his boots as he ushered her up the gangplank?

  A small contingent of his crew, with some accompanied by their spouses, stood in attention at the waist of the main deck. George clicked his heels and saluted. “Welcome aboard, Cap’n.”

  While his first mate made the introductions, Trevor looked on in pride. Caroline took the time to greet and thank each woman who had assisted with the preparations for their stay, and he was pleased that she did not consider such business beneath her station. After checking with the watch that would guard the ship for the night, Trevor whisked his bride into his arms and set a course for his quarters.

  He had some consummating to do.

  #

  Candles bathed the cabin Caroline knew so well in soft light, and a vase filled with roses sat on the small dining table. On the massive bed in which they had shared one memorable night, a burgundy counterpane had been turned down to reveal pure white linens. At the soft click of the latch, gooseflesh covered her from head to foot.

  “Alone at last, Lady Lockwood.” Trevor’s arms encircled her waist, and he nibbled the crest of her ear.

  “Yes, we are,” she said on a shiver. “What would you like to do first?”

  “I beg your pardon?” His lips blazed a trail to her neck.

  “We could play a game of cards.” Despite her efforts, she failed to wrench her gaze from the bed. “Or perhaps you are hungry? Should I go to the galley and--”

  “I think not.” He began untying her laces, leaving no doubt as to his preferred activity.

  “Trevor?”

  “Yes?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Is it not obvious?” He slipped the wool from her shoulders. “I am undressing you.”

  “I gathered that.” The fabric bunched at her hips, and he skimmed his palms along her curves. “But--why?”

  “My dear, you ask the most perplexing questions.” The gown fell in a pool of green on the floor. “Just how do you propose we consummate our marriage?”

  “The same as other properly wed people,” Caroline whispered, though she knew not why. “In our nightclothes, beneath the covers. And don’t forget to douse the lamps.”

  “Where on earth did you ever get such revolting notions?” Trevor chuckled as he tugged the ribbon of her chemise and sent it to join her gown.

  Clad only in her stockings and garters, she kicked off her slippers. “Well, Alex has a book--”

  “A book?” Trevor grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Just what have you been reading?” he inquired with a naughty smirk.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me.” She folded her arms and tried to forget that she was, for all intents and purposes, naked. “This is serious.”

  “What is serious?” He pinched her bottom and winked.

  “Etiquette.” Caroline swatted his hand and retreated to the center of the cabin. “According to our social standing, we must engage in marital relations as would any other noble couple.”

  “How boring.” Trevor followed in her wake. “And impossible.”

  “Why impossible.” She took two steps back. “Can you not see? I am only trying to be a good countess.”

  “Do me a favor.” He doffed his coat and tugged on his cravat. “Just concentrate on being my countess.”

  “I do not follow.” The shirt hit the floor, and Caroline sought to further the distance between them but became trapped against the bed frame. Though she told herself not to stare at his bare chest, she inclined her head and ogled him anyway. “You wish me to be bad?”

  “Yes.” His voice was thick with passion and poured over her like marmalade on a hot scone. “But only with me.”

  “Oh?” As he bent to pull off his boots, the muscles in his arms flexed. Good heavens, she had forgotten how beautiful her husband was without clothes.

  “And as you so kindly pointed out, we are married.” Trevor rested his hands on his hips. “Therefore, we are licensed to do as we choose, especially in private.”

  “Really?”

  “Truly. And right now, I am in the mood for some good, clean, naughty fun.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Caroline flew at her captain, speared her fingers through his hair, hugged him tight, and bit his lip.

  “Slow down.” Trevor chuckled, scooped her up, and eased her to the mattress. “We have all night, Lady Lockwood.”

  “How I love the sound of that.” She heeled his flanks. “Say it again.”

  “Lady Lockwood.” Trevor kissed her neck. “Lady Lockwood.” He laved her bare breasts. “Lady Lockwood.” Inching lower, he dipped his tongue in her belly button. “Lady Lockwood.”

  As his lips brushed the inside of her thigh, Caroline parted her legs. She knew what was about to happen, he had done this before. But when her husband suckled her most intimate flesh, she thought she would s
hatter into a million pieces. Fire danced in her veins as he draped her knees over his shoulders and gripped her bottom. And while he seemed calm and composed, she longed to scream but feared the crew might burst into the chamber and interrupt his spectacular ravishment. Instead, she sank her teeth into the fleshy side of her hand.

  Oh, it was good to be a wife.

  #

  A muffled feminine cry sounded the alarm, and Trevor prepared to wage a sumptuous war. Caroline was the most succulent confection he had ever tasted, and her pleasure song drove him to the edge of insanity. Slowly, deliberately, he devoured her skin, soft and sweet as a ripe peach. Retracing his earlier path, he unfastened his breeches, hooked his arms behind her knees, covered her mouth with his, and penetrated his bride in a single swift thrust.

  And stopped.

  Once again, a mysterious restraint reined him in, kept him from ravaging his wife. A force he did not recognize, an unrecognizable power from within, held him in check, compelled him to savor her body as if for the last time. When she scored her nails across his back and wiggled her hips, Trevor shivered and could have cried. Was it possible that Caroline desired him as he desired her?

  On a languorous refrain of slip and slide, he released her legs and reared up on his elbows. Her breasts jostled in rhythm and a subtle gasp sounded in concert with his thrusts. Some day very soon, he was going to ride hell bent for leather between Caroline’s thighs. But for now, he was going to relish the bounty in his arms as he would a fine port.

  And make love to her until she screamed.

  #

  It was in the wee hours when Trevor next stirred, and while some lamps still burned in his cabin, most of the candles had guttered. Relaxed, sated to his toes, he inhaled deeply. Then he realized a plush female body was stretched beneath him and recalled the identity of the woman. Rolling to his side, he gazed at Caroline’s sleeping form and frowned.

  How had he forgotten to remove her garters and stockings?

  Had they not consummated their vows twice--in case the first one had not taken? He was certain he had stripped her bare, and it was obvious from the wrinkled mass near one ankle that he had attempted to complete the task. Worse, a check of his person revealed he had only succeeded in inching his breeches to his knees.