Captain Of Her Heart

by Barbara Devlin

  “No.” Quick as a flash, Alex rotated and scurried for the exit. The cool metal knob chilled her fevered palm, as she searched for the key, which should have rested in the lock. Then the meaning of the butler’s parting remark dawned, and she resorted to pounding the oak panel. “Conrad, let me out!”

  “Stop your nonsense, Alex.” Damian caught her by the waist and steered her toward her fate. “Do not make this difficult.”

  “Brother, no.” She dug her heels into the thick Aubusson carpet, to no avail. Regardless of her protests, he ushered her to the makeshift altar. “Please, do not do this to me. Our parents will roll over in their graves, if you force me to wed.”

  “You have left me no choice.” He shoved her forward.

  Jason fast approached, and she had to act, so she cast the only lifeline that remained at her disposal. “If you do this, I will never speak to you again.”

  Damian halted.

  Alex sighed in relief.

  “Do you mean that?” He toyed with a thick lock of her hair and grimaced. “You would punish me for doing my duty by you?”

  “Damian, I have no quarrel with you, and I would rather die than hurt you, but I am no disinterested spectator here.” She clutched his hand and squeezed his fingers, as she had to make him understand her position. “This scene has a predictable ending, so I must object.”

  “Am I to suffer your transgressions gladly?” How she ached for her brother, as he bore the stress of her mistakes as a morbid mask. “You would ask me to ignore the repercussions of your decision? And what of your babes? Would you make them bastards, for society to ridicule and scorn?”

  “I have thought of that, and it matters not, as I shall protect them.” In truth, her dreams for her children’s future involved fanciful birthday celebrations, play dates with the next Brethren generation, and joyous holidays. “But I would have you do nothing, as Jason does not want me.”

  “What he wants is irrelevant, and I have done nothing, as I merely hold you to the bargain you made with Collingwood, when you went to his bed.” Damian tucked a stray tendril behind her ear. “For good or ill, you made your choice, which I am compelled to honor. Were it possible, were there some measure of recompense or legal remedy, know that I would employ it, but you have left me no quarter. He is your only option, Alex. Given the babes you carry are his, Collingwood maintains all rights. You belong to him, now.”

  “So I am to be forced?” Grasping at the scarcest scrap of hope, she played her last card. “I am to be shackled in the drawing room with you and the vicar as witnesses, with no family, friends, well-wishers, or church? Is this the wedding you want for me?”

  “No. The ceremony I had envisioned for you was the stuff of fairy tales, the realm of make-believe. I pictured you gowned as befits a queen, with a tiara of diamonds crowning your head, and ensconced in our town carriage, pulled by my best team.” It was then she spied tears in her brother’s eyes. “I dreamed of the day I would escort you down the aisle at St. George’s and stand with pride as you spoke your vows. At your wedding breakfast, I would have toasted to your eternal happiness and prosperity. To know that will never happen, I am more sorry than I can say.”

  “But it does not have to be this way.” Alex glanced at Jason and rued the moment they had met. “Damian, I need never return to London. I can remain here, for the rest of my life.”

  “That is not possible, sister.” Damian shook his head.

  “Why not?” Control of her destiny stretched beyond her grasp, and she sobbed without restraint. “Please, I can serve as chatelaine, as I have acted as such for years. Why should that change?”

  “Because you were not meant to live alone.” Damian produced a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dried her cheeks. “That is a fate worse than death, and I will not allow it.”

  “But I will never be alone, as I have you and my babes,” she replied, with a whisper of optimism.

  “My darling girl, I will take a wife, when I find a suitable candidate, given I have long desired a family.” Once again, he nudged her into the breach. “My future duchess will serve as chatelaine for my properties, thus relegating you to the shadows.”

  “Perhaps you could secure a cottage.” If Alex had squandered her brother’s support, then she was truly lost. Adrift in a sea of uncertainty, she clung to the last vestiges of hope. “I would be happy—”

  “You have made your decision.” Damian paused and cupped her cheek. “Now you will uphold it.”

  “But Captain Collingwood and I have no understanding.” She covered his hand with her own. “I have given him nothing.”

  “You gave him your body.” With a countenance of unutterable gloom, he compressed his lips. “Now you will give him your oath.”

  “This is a travesty.” As Damian positioned her beside Jason, Alex folded her arms. “I am dead to you, brother.”

  “As you wish.” At his terse reply, she almost swooned.

  “Lady Alexandra, it is a pleasure to see you again.” Mr. Catchpole offered a somewhat unsteady smile. “Despite the inauspicious occasion.”

  “Good day, Mr. Catchpole.” She dipped her chin. “I have no wish to wed, as there is no cause.”

  “All evidence to the contrary.” The vicar glanced at her belly, and then he removed his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I have known you since I christened you, so if you tell me this man is not the father of your babes, I will not compel you to marry, and His Grace will have to find another to do his bidding.”

  A lie danced at the tip of her tongue, along with vehement repudiations and sharp disavowals, which she suspected would condemn her to the bowels of hell had she voiced them. “He is the father, Mr. Catchpole.”

  The vicar resituated his spectacles on his nose, lifted a leather-bound tome, and opened to a marked page. “Please, join hands.”

  Jason reached for her, and Alex wrenched free. “We have joined enough.”

  With a wide-eyed expression of shock, the vicar cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today...”

  #

  Lady Alexandra Collingwood.

  As the daughter of a duke, she retained her title and rank, along with a few select terms that aptly described the angry beauty.

  Wife.

  Expectant mother.

  Jason shuddered.

  Of course, he could think of other more appropriate appellations, which no lady of character would dare articulate: Hellion, virago, termagant, harridan, and she-wolf...oh, the list was endless.

  The occasional ping of silver meeting china punctuated the silence, and despite claims otherwise, his brother-in-law had offered no felicitous toast. As he sat beside his bride in the cavernous dining hall at Penhurst, which seemed to emphasize the sparse wedding party consisting of Damian, Alex, and Jason, he mulled the day’s events.

  While Jason had answered each petition Mr. Catchpole had posed, Alex had stood tight-lipped and taciturn, which spoke volumes as to her mood, and Damian had responded in her stead. And although the good vicar had announced their union official, in the eyes of God and the law, they had shared no kiss to seal their vows, which was fine with him, as he feared she might bite off his head—or another, more estimable protuberance, given her dour spirits.

  It was her unforeseen ire that had rendered him befuddled. After all, had she not wanted to marry him? Had she not declared her love? Had she not bucked propriety and shed her societal façade, along with her clothes, and taken to his bed as a practiced seductress in her endeavors? Aside from her pregnancy and body, what had changed?

  “May I be excused?” Alex inquired in a small voice.

  “You have not—”

  “But you have—” Jason glanced at Damian.

  “Sorry, Collingwood. Old habits die hard.” Her brother frowned and averted his stare. “I defer to your authority.”

  “You have consumed almost nothing.” How could he reach his errant wife? “Think of our children.”


  “I enjoyed a large breakfast, sir.” It bothered him that she refused to look at him. “So I am not hungry.”

  “Perhaps I can tempt you with lighter fare?” Recalling Alex’s fondness for sweets, he altered his tack with his sullen spouse. As he drew a platter of desserts to her place setting, he said, “Do you see anything to your liking?”

  “Please, sir. I am rather exhausted, as it has been a trying day, to say the least.” While Jason had anticipated all manner of curses heaped on his soul, in the wake of his forced wedding, he had not prepared for the new version of Alex, blanketed in a dense mixture of reticence and disconsolation. “May I retire?”

  “All right, my lady wife.” He pushed his chair from the table, stood, and dismissed the approaching footman, as Jason preferred to assist his bride. “You may go to your room.”

  Again, Alex stunned him with her dejected countenance, as she bowed her head and slumped her shoulders, and he could tolerate her conduct no further. With a finger, he tipped her chin and brought her gaze to his. The wrenching anguish he spied in her blue eyes struck him as a vicious punch to the gut.

  “Rest well, sweetheart.” He was not sure why he had done it, but he pressed on her a gentle kiss. “We journey to our country home, tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.” She half-curtseyed and waddled from the dining room.

  “Collingwood.” Damian tossed his napkin on his plate.

  What now? “Aye?”

  Damian shifted his weight and grimaced. “I have taken the liberty of installing your personal belongings in my sister’s chambers.”

  “For the love of all creation—why?” Jason had reached the end of his tether. “In case it has escaped your notice, Alex detests me, and you would drive me into her bed?”

  “It is your wedding night.” Damian shrugged. “It made sense, at the time.”

  “Trust me, I am well aware of my marital state, but Alex increases.” A fact Jason could not ignore. “In deference to her condition, I would not take her without her encouragement and consent.”

  Damian focused on the floor. “But you must consummate your vows, else the union is not legal or binding.”

  “I hate to point out the obvious, but Alex and I consummated our vows in January, and the proof of our success grows in her belly.” Jason snorted. “I would assert I am irrevocably bound to your sister.”

  “Quite right.” Damian stood. “I have lost my appetite. Would you care to join me for a brandy?”

  “Brother, at this moment, I could use a bottle.” Jason chuckled and slapped Damian on the back. “How in bloody hell am I going to correct the mess I have made of my situation?”

  “There you have me, as my experience tends toward courtesans, not wives.” Damian snickered, as they crossed the foyer. “And I apologize for my heavy-handed tactics, as it was not my intent to meddle in your personal affairs. But my sister possesses a certain obstinacy of spirit, and you would do well not to discount it.”

  “Ah, yes. Her notorious stubborn streak.” Jason whistled in monotone. “We have met.”

  “Oh, Collingwood.” In that instant, Damian laughed, and the tension nagging Jason’s shoulders dissipated. “I do not envy the road ahead for you and my sister. And on that note, you have yet to sign the marriage contract.”

  In the study, Jason came to an abrupt halt. “Why does it feel as though I am returning to the scene of the crime?”

  “Perhaps because Alex looked on you as a sword-wielding executioner?” Again, Damian surrendered to uncharacteristic mirth. “I still cannot believe she ambushed you in Plymouth, and I wish you had sent her home, posthaste. Why did you delay, when you might have spared yourself your current predicament?”

  “Damian, I mean no disrespect, but I have never met anyone half so bold as Alex, and I could never resist her.” And then Jason dropped into a high back chair, propped his elbows to his knees, and rested his chin in his palms. “But the short answer is I care for her.”

  “Well said, brother, and I am delighted to hear it.” Damian retrieved a folder and set out two documents. “Have you apprised my sister of your engaged affection? It might go a long way to smooth ruffled feathers.”

  “Do I look like a brainless nincompoop?” That singular question posed the heart of Jason’s dilemma, given Alex had declared her love, and he had rejected her. “Under the circumstances, I doubt she would believe me, and I have no idea how to convince her of my sincerity.”

  “Have you considered asking the Brethren husbands for advice, as all four gave less than stellar performances in the marriage mart and should have learned something from their misadventures?” Damian filled two brandy balloons and passed a glass to Jason. “They must have some sage wisdom to impart, and what could it hurt?”

  “Damian, you are indeed the voice of reason, as the thought had not occurred to me.” Had Lance not sought such counsel in his attempt to bring Cara to the altar? “I shall compose a series of letters upon our arrival at Stratfield Manor.”

  “Then you need only sign the contract, and our business is concluded.” Damian wrote Alex’s name, then affixed his initials, and Jason scribbled his endorsement.

  “I suppose that does it.” Jason downed his brandy. “But I am for Bedfordshire. In light of the change in my accommodations, will you direct me to my wife’s quarters?”

  “Of course, and you must promise to write me, from time to time, and tell of my sister and your heirs, as I fear she may never forgive me.” Damian walked Jason to the door. “At the top of the stairs, turn left. On the other side of the gallery is a long hallway. Alex’s apartments are the third entry on the right.”

  “Brother, I shall dispatch regular correspondence, and once I repair the damage to our relationship, I will encourage her to contact you, too.” They shook hands. “And thank you, for hearing my side.”

  “Well, I could not kill you, as I would have orphaned my future niece, nephew, or both.” Damian grinned. “I wish you luck, as you will need it.”

  In mere minutes, Jason navigated the chasmal residence and loitered at the portal of Alex’s quarters. Nervous as a green lad with his first whore, he thought he might knock. Then again, it seemed unwise to provide his spitfire bride warning of his presence. Cursing uncharacteristic indecision, he at last turned the knob and set wide the oak panel.

  A fire in the hearth warmed and illuminated the sitting room, which featured a large wingback chair and a daybed piled high with pillows. But he had no interest in the furnishings.

  An entry to the left opened to another, much larger chamber. An impressive four-poster, the most massive he had ever seen in a woman’s quarters, held pride of place at the center of the back wall. To his surprise, the bed was empty. A fireplace bathed the room in soft light, and just then he located the object of his affection, standing before the only window with the drapes still tied.

  Moonlight cocooned her in a silvery glow, which rendered all but invisible the silk creation she wore. Similar to the attire with which she had taunted him in Plymouth, the diaphanous gauze only emphasized the tempting cleft of her bottom. In a flash, Jason recalled what he had done to her luscious derriere in vivid detail, and he gritted his teeth against a groan.

  When Alex inclined her head and hugged her pronounced belly, something inside him seized, and his gut clenched. Had he thought her beautiful? The term seemed insufficient, as he found her breathtaking. Focused, determined to right the wrongs of the past, he crossed the floor, slipped his hand beneath her long locks, closed his fingers about the hair at the nape of her neck, tipped back her head, rested a palm to her belly, and kissed her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  In soft, subtle sashays, Jason loved Alex with his mouth, and she could have cried. It was so wonderful to taste her captain again, and then his rejection intruded on their delicious interlude, haunting and taunting, and she withdrew.

  “Why are you here?” She tottered to the mantel and gazed into the blaze. “And why did you kiss me?”

>   “Just correcting your oversight, love.” His rich baritone melted over her, like honey on a hot scone, and left nothing untouched.

  And, oh, what she felt.

  “I do not follow.” How often she had dreamed of their wedding night, yet her fantasy had never included a forced marriage and an unplanned pregnancy. “What have I neglected?”

  “I believe it customary to seal the marital vows with a kiss, or would you argue otherwise?” Was her husband flirting with her?

  “Well now you have had your kiss.” And Alex wished she had donned a more conservative robe. “So you may take your leave, and I shall see you in the morning. I wish you a pleasant rest, sir.”

  “Not so fast, my fetching bride.” Jason chuckled, in that sensual rumble that sent delicious shivers over her flesh. “As my personal belongings have been moved here, compliments of your brother, I will sleep here.”

  She gasped in horror at the prospect, because she could resist so many things, but randy Jason—oh, no. “But—you can’t mean to take me in this condition.”

  “Would you like me to try?” He grinned, and the ice encasing her heart fractured.

  “Of course, not.” She lied, as her body never failed to respond to his flirty summons.

  “Are you sure, because you do not sound very certain of yourself?” Her naughty husband trailed a finger along the curve of her cheek, her jawline, her neck, and then he traced imaginary circles on her décolletage. “And I am most definitely at your service, my dear wife.”

  “Yet you love me not.” She grasped at a lifeline, to forestall his lusty assault, because if he touched her in that place at the apex of her thighs, he would have her.

  “Perhaps, not.” With a mighty frown, he dropped his hand to his side. “But I desire you.”

  And there it was, the source of her torment and shame, plainly spoken. “That was never enough for me.”