One-Knight Stand

by Barbara Devlin

  The admiral bared his teeth. “Be that as it may, I will not--”

  “Let her go, Mark.” Lady Amanda smiled and wiped a tear from her eye. “It is evident Cara has made her choice.”

  After another painfully protracted silence, Admiral Douglas shook his head and sighed. “What are your intentions?”

  Beneath such vehement scrutiny, lesser men would have faltered, but Lance would not waver an inch. “With your permission, I will take Cara home and persuade her to accept me.”

  “Oh, this just keeps getting better.” The admiral glanced right and then left, snatched the decanter of brandy from the trolley, and drank directly from the bottle. Then he wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve and inquired, “I do not imagine her virtue is in peril?”

  “She has already gifted me her virtue,” Lance responded without hesitation. “Again, sir, I mean no disrespect, but it was beyond my control. She took me while I was still abed with a broken leg.”

  Lady Amanda inhaled sharply and clutched her throat.

  To a lesser extent, feminine giggles and male chuckles formed a concert of amusement.

  “She took you?” The admiral teetered.

  “Papa, I can explain.” Cara groaned. “It was--”

  “Oh, no. Please, no more.” The admiral splayed his palms. “I will speak with my solicitors in the morning and have the contracts drawn, so you will have her home, by noon, and be prepared to sign them.” And then he lowered his chin. “Be prompt, my boy. Despite the tenure of our acquaintance, trust me, you do not want me to come after you.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” With a mock salute, Lance clicked his heels. “Upon my word, I will not fail you.”

  #

  “Papa. Mama, you must help me.” Cara reached for anything to forestall her captor, as Lance carried her from her family home. “Do not let him take me.”

  Standing as a united front, her parents waved farewell.

  When Lance shoved her inside his town coach, she scrambled for the opposite door to freedom, but her tormentor grabbed a fistful of her skirts and held her prisoner.

  “Lance, let me go.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “I will not yield.”

  “Yes you will.” Lance settled her in his lap and nipped the crest of her ear. “And you are going to enjoy every minute of it, but I would wager I am going to enjoy it most.”

  “You make no sense.” In panic, Cara searched her surroundings for a means of escape. “First you rejected me, then you proposed an honor-driven union, then you courted Alex, and now you claim otherwise. What am I supposed to believe?”

  “Point taken, darling.” Lance chuckled and smiled, his wolf’s smile. “That is why I am taking you home, whereupon I will seduce you in every way possible, until you beg me to marry you. When the sun next rises, there will be no more secrets between us. I will know all the intimate details of your existence, and you shall know mine. Then I will do the honorable by you and make you my wife.”

  “Beg, indeed.” Cara snorted and shoved the wrapped parcel at him. “And you should take back your gift, as I want nothing from you.”

  “Oh, that particular item is merely a loan, as I would never part with it.” He nuzzled her temple. “Will you not open the box?”

  “No.” Mustering her last vestiges of courage, she folded her arms in defiance. “I will fight you, I swear I will.”

  “No need to make it interesting, love.” He trailed his nose along her jawline. “I am quite aroused, already.”

  “You are relishing this, are you not?” How could she evade what he presumed was their inevitable fate?

  He smirked. “Indubitably.”

  “And I thought we were friends.” She glared at him.

  “My dear, we are a vast deal more than that, and you know it.” Lance kissed her cheek, and she shivered.

  The coach slowed to a halt before Raynesford House, and Cara almost swooned. The bane of her existence shuffled her to his side and leapt from the equipage before the footmen could assume their stations in the portico.

  “Lance, please do not do this.” She remained firmly rooted in the squabs.

  “Pick up your present, darling.” He clasped her hand in his and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “That’s my girl.”

  When she retrieved the package, he wrenched her by the wrist, bent, and once again flung her over his shoulder. Despite her protests, she ended up in the same humiliating position.

  “I can walk, you know,” she said, with her bottom in the air.

  “You have not seemed so inclined.” The amusement in his voice caught her off guard. “Besides, I like it better this way.”

  “Well, I do not.” She smacked his rear.

  He responded, in kind. “You should have thought of that when you refused my proposal.”

  Cara cursed the searing burn of a blush as he navigated the entrance stairs.

  “Good evening, your lordship.” Her shame tripled at the butler’s greeting.

  “Good evening, Banks. Wish me merry, because Miss Douglas is going to be my wife.” Lance rotated to afford Cara a view of the distinguished manservant. “Say hello to your new mistress.”

  The butler bowed. “On behalf of the entire household, I wish you great joy, Miss Douglas.”

  “Say goodnight, darling,” Lance said as he crossed the marbled foyer.

  “Goodnight, darling.” It was only when Banks covered his mouth and nodded, that Cara realized her error. She was not sure what she had expected, but the butler closed the front door and went about his business, as if the sight of his master conveying a woman to his bedchamber in full view of the staff was an everyday occurrence.

  Due to his injured limb, Lance carried Cara upstairs at an interminable pace, and she prayed they made it in one piece. But as it dawned on her that they neared his private apartments, she composed a speech she hoped would spare her further heartache.

  Returning to the scene of the crime brought her pangs of remorse mixed with guilt. When her hero shut the door, turned the key, and locked her inside his domain, fear set in with a vengeance. But to her surprise, he bent and stood her upright.

  “Now, before we commence the test of wills, I would have you open your birthday present.”

  “Lance, I would not--”

  “For the love of all creation, open the bloody box.” He tugged the folds of his cravat, drew the yard-length of fine linen from his neck and tossed the strip of cloth to the floor. “If you are not convinced of my affection, even after you have seen what is inside, then I will release you.”

  “Have I your word, as a gentleman?” Skeptical that an inanimate object could change her mind, she pulled the bow from the parcel.

  “I will summon the coach, myself, and return you to your family.” He doffed his coat and waistcoat. “Open it--now.”

  Quivering beneath his uncharacteristic loss of temper, Cara tore the blue paper and lifted the lid. Her ears rang, her heart pounded in her chest, her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor.

  In her tremulous grasp, nestled in a bed of white cotton, rested a familiar wooden figurine. Although the paint had long since worn away, from countless rubbing, no doubt, and the surface was smooth, the shape was unmistakable, and she recognized it in an instant. It was the little turtle she had given him all those years ago.

  The night he almost died.

  The night they shared their first kiss.

  “You still have it?” The implication was unequivocal, the meaning irrefutable, and her mind struggled to embrace his silent pledge even as her heart rejoiced.

  “Of course.” He sat beside her.

  “But--why?” She traced the lines and curves of one of her most cherished collectibles.

  “Perhaps for the same reason you kept my handkerchief.” Lance inclined his head and winked. “The one I gave you in Hyde Park, when I taught you to ride and claimed a kiss in payment for services gladly rendered.”

  “You remember?” she asked, in a
ghost of a whisper.

  “Dearest and loveliest Cara, I forget nothing where you are concerned.” He removed the turtle from the box, placed it in her palm, and closed his hand over hers. “Wherever I have traveled, however far, whatever I have done, however perilous, whomever I have faced, whether friend or foe, I have never been alone, as you have always been with me--in my heart.”

  With something between a sob and a sigh, Cara lunged, knocking Lance backwards. Sprawled atop him, she kissed her knight with all she had and for all she was worth. Comforting warmth eased the tension investing her nerves, and her skin tingled. Her hero’s modest but monumental gesture was exactly what she needed to accept his proposal of marriage.

  And it had to happen just like that.

  It could not have been rehearsed, could not have been planned. It could not have been a best guess or a shot in the dark. Though the journey had been long and painful, in the end, she had to admit it was well worth the wait.

  “You are wearing too many clothes, sweetness.” Lance rolled her to her side. “And you have yet to formally accept my offer of marriage.”

  “Did I miss something?” She scored her fingers to the back of his neck. “Because you did not ask the question, at least, not tonight.”

  “Ah, my lady is displeased?” He rubbed his nose to hers, stood, hauled her from the floor, and clutched her hands in his. “Darling, were my legs capable, I would kneel before you. But my injury still smarts, and I would walk down the aisle with you, on our wedding day. So, tell me true, Miss Cara Felicity Douglas. Will you marry me?”

  She shrugged. “It depends.”

  “On what?” He narrowed his stare and looked on her as a warrior preparing to lay siege to his latest conquest.

  “The inducement.” She kicked off her slippers and gave him her back. “Can you help me out of my gown?”

  “Now that is an offer I dare not refuse.” As Lance unlaced her dress, he trailed his tongue along the skin at the nape of her neck. “You know, the Brethren husbands advised me that, as an aphrodisiac, love is sans pareil, and I am inclined to agree, as I may be erect until the New Year.”

  “How romantic.” Wearing only her chemise, Cara giggled, unfastened his shirt, slipped it from his shoulders, and dropped it to the floor.

  “Sugar kisses wants romance?” He removed his Hessians and then unhooked his breeches. “How about this? I want to lick my favorite wine from your nipples, and sip champagne from your navel, until you scream with pleasure.”

  “That will do nicely, my hero.” Without hesitation or shame, she whisked the chemise over her head in a single fluid movement. In a vague sense of déjà vu, she recalled the first time she had stood naked but proud in his bedchamber, when her hopes had been based on a girl’s fancy. Now, her actions bespoke the love and devotion of a woman, and she decided his gesture merited more than a one-word affirmation. The answer, when it came to her, seemed so obvious. “With my body, I thee worship.”

  Lance sent the breeches to join the discarded garments and then splayed his hands. “With my heart, I thee adore.”

  Cara all but ran into his embrace. “From this day forward you shall not walk alone.”

  He rested his forehead to hers. “My heart will be your shelter.”

  “And my arms will be your home.” She smiled.

  “So you will marry me?” he asked, with a boyish grin.

  “I believe you promised my father that you would convince me to accept your suit, and I am prepared for the assault, my lusty lord.” Cara retreated and then climbed into bed. Reclining amid the pillows, she struck a seductive pose. “Persuade me.”

  #

  The sun shone bright on the crisp December day that Cara married Lance, at St. George’s Church in Hanover Square. Despite the impending holidays, the ton turned out en masse to witness the wedding of Miss Cara Felicity Douglas to Lance Fortescue Prescott, sixth marquess of Raynesford.

  With Jason at his side, Lance looked on in pride as his bride, escorted by her father, made a spectacular entrance and held all in attendance enrapt as she walked the aisle.

  Before the archbishop, they took their vows, and he could not suppress a grin as Cara repeated the very portion of the ceremony with which she had accepted his proposal, that memorable night in his bedchamber. And the charming flush in her cheeks told him she knew exactly what he was thinking.

  After running a gauntlet of well-wishers outside the church, they repaired to Raynesford House for the wedding breakfast, where champagne flowed, and the happy couple were toasted and roasted.

  “So Jason was never interested in Cara?” Blake scratched the back of his head and glanced at Damian, who merely shrugged.

  “No.” Lance chuckled. “He was only helping my wife catch my attention.”

  “Rebecca told me there was something going on between those two long before Jason entered the picture.” Dirk rolled his eyes. “Her spy instincts, you know.”

  “Bloody hell.” Dalton tossed his familiar lucky coin. “If she ever imparts such vital information about me, I would know it, so I might run in the opposite direction.”

  “Sooner or later, it happens to all of us.” Trevor rocked on his heels. “You will not escape the preacher’s noose.”

  “Well I opt for later.” Damian elbowed Blake. “What say you, brother? Time to chase some skirts.”

  “So, have you spoken to Alex?” Lance bit his tongue when Collingwood scowled.

  “No.” Jason peered at the lady in question. “And I do not intend to until I can do so without losing my temper, else I might say something I regret.”

  “Do not be too hard on her. From what Cara imparted, Alex’s heart was in the right place.” Lance checked his timepiece. “Brothers, I have done the pretty, long enough. I have an important engagement with my bride, so if there are no objections, I shall search out my wife.”

  “Go to it, man.” Everett raised his glass. “Take comfort in the fact that you will not have to run her aground, as I did with her sister.”

  “Oh, I say.” Trevor thrust his chin. “Caroline and I almost broke the bunk in my cabin.”

  “There is nothing like your wedding night.” Dirk slapped Lance on the back. “My Becca practically attacked me, and I still have the scars to prove it, but it hurt so good.”

  In the wake of such bawdy thoughts, he located Cara surrounded by the Brethren women. After making their excuses, he steered her to a corner of the chasmal ballroom and sheltered behind a vase filled with hothouse roses.

  “What is it?” She frowned and adjusted his cravat. “Is something wrong?”

  “Today? Of course, not.” He traced the delicate pattern of Alençon lace, from which her gown was fashioned, and lingered dangerously near her décolletage. “I thought we might make our escape.”

  “I see.” She cast him a flirty smile, which warmed him to his toes. “What did you have in mind, my hero?”

  “A strategic tack.” Lance scanned the crowd and cupped her cheek. “As I fear we will never make it out of here if we stay together.”

  “So you suggest we divide and conquer?” Cara pressed her lips to his palm.

  “Precisely.” He hugged her close at the waist and kissed her forehead. “You exit the main doors, and I will leave via the terrace and re-enter the house through the back parlor.”

  “All right.” She clucked her tongue. “Sounds like a very smart plan.”

  “Do not tarry, lady mine.” With great reluctance, he released her. “As I shall await you in our bedchamber.”

  “Until then, my lusty lord.” She pinched his bottom, and his Jolly Roger saluted.

  It took him a few minutes to wind his way through the crush of revelers, but Lance was a man on a mission, and he hoped he would make it to his apartments before Cara. So he was surprised to find her in the gallery when he stepped onto the landing at the top of the grand staircase.

  “What are you doing?” For the briefest moment, a nagging thought entered his brain. Did
she covet unrequited feelings for Thomas?

  “I was just thinking.” She stared at his beloved cousin’s portrait. “The one thing that would have made this day even better would have been if Thomas were here.”

  “I know.” Lance snaked an arm about her waist and rested his chin atop her head. The pangs of guilt returned as he realized he had spared nary a thought for his cousin in the week preceding his marriage. “I miss him, too.”

  “He would no doubt have teased me endlessly.” She giggled and covered his hand with hers.

  He frowned. “Why is that?”

  “Because, even as children, he knew I harbored a wicked crush on you,” she declared with a wistful sigh. “Oh, he was a mischievous gadling.”

  “How could he know?” Confused, Lance turned her in his embrace. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.” Cara grinned, averted her gaze, and fingered a mother-of-pearl button on his coat. “He caught me spying on you, one summer at Pembroke, while you were bathing in the pond.”

  “Well are you not the naughty minx?” Of course, he would not divulge the fact that Thomas had discovered Lance, in similar circumstances--doing the same thing. Lance burst into laughter at the absurdity of it all.

  “Stop it.” She pouted. “I was a young girl, and you must admit our bodies are very different. It is only natural that I would be curious.”

  “You have quite the wild streak, sugar kisses.” He bent his head but halted. “Wait a minute. When did this happen?”

  “You mean the first time?” she asked, with an expression of cherubic innocence.

  “I beg your pardon?” He opened his mouth and then closed it. “The first time? There were more than one instances?”

  “I like watching you.” She shrugged. “I always have, and I expect that will never change.”

  “You are the vixen.” He grinned and dropped his hands to the twin swells of her bottom. “Who would have thought it?”

  “I will take that as a compliment.” She kissed his cheek. “You know, I secured his silence by not revealing his infatuation with my sister. He had composed an ode to her beauty.”