Cassandra shook her head, sending her curls falling into her face. "No! No, Papa, don't do that. Please don't do that. Lisette should go, probably, as she should never have to see her father again. But I can't leave you, and I know Morgan would never agree, or Mariah or Fanny. Oh, and Elly! Papa, she can't leave. Not with the baby coming in another month."
"I agree. Odette and Eleanor will have to remain here."
"But, Papa, if Elly stays, why should the rest of us go? Elly will want us here with her, I'm sure. And how could any of us be so far away, not knowing what's happening here at Becket Hall? No. I won't go. I won't, Papa."
"I lost your mother…"
"I'm not my mother, Papa. I'm me, Cassandra. And we know he's going to strike at us this time. We're prepared, we're ready."
"Are we?" Ainsley asked, as if posing the question to himself. "Edmund excels at treachery, and we're preparing for a frontal assault. A battle, a war. I've agreed to all that we're doing, but I'm not certain any of it means anything."
"Then we can stay?" Cassandra asked, pushing her question as her father looked up at the portrait of her mother. "If you really don't believe he's going to attack us, there's no reason for us to go, is there?"
"Oh, he's going to attack, Cassandra," Ainsley told her, looking at her, his usually bright eyes unaccustomedly dull. "Soon. I only wish I knew how."
"It doesn't matter how," Cassandra said bracingly, leaning against his shoulder once more, praying her father had now given up the idea of sending her away from Becket Hall, away from Courtland. "You'll defeat him. There can be no possible other ending."
CHAPTER FOUR
COURTLAND WALKED ALONG the shore with his head down, the brim of his hat shielding him from the wind, his unquiet thoughts occupying all of his attention.
She'd kissed him.
Christ Almighty, she'd kissed him!
He hadn't seen it coming, hadn't suspected she'd ever do anything like that.
And the hair? She'd looked so grown-up. Not prim, definitely, but not the child he was used to seeing, doing his best to dismiss as a perennial pest, God bless her, believing herself in love, when she was too young to know love. Wasn't she?
Eighteen. Cassandra was eighteen.
He was, he thought but couldn't know for certain, thirty-one.
Ridiculous! Unacceptable!
God. She'd kissed him.
Worse, he had almost kissed her back, almost put his arms around her, drawn her closer against his body.
Taught her how to kiss.
Which, he knew, would be disastrous, if her inexperienced, almost clumsy attempt had been enough to send him reeling like some raw youth.
He stopped, bent to pick up a few stones, held them in one hand as he began tossing them, one by one, into the sea. He threw hard, launching the stones as if they were his thoughts, his damning, betraying thoughts.
And then he hesitated, his arm drawn back, as something Cassandra had said to him danced lightly in his brain.
We thought.
That's what she'd said, wasn't it? The idea to put up her hair hadn't been hers alone.
We.
"Damn it!" he said, throwing the stone past the third line of waves making their way toward the beach. His shoulder hurt, he'd thrown so hard, and he dropped the rest of the stones, began walking parallel to the water once more.
This is what happened when all the Becket women gathered in one place. Trouble. Mischief. Deviltry.
And he knew who the ringleader had to be. Morgan. The woman was a mother now, a countess. You'd think she would have curbed her deviltry at least a little bit, become more sober, circumspect. Then again, look at whom she'd married. Ethan was almost as bad as she was. If their twins grew up to be half as troublesome as the two of them, it would be only simple justice.
Courtland turned to his left, making his way across the beach and into the main street of Becket Village, home to the crews of the
Black Ghost
and the
Silver Ghost,
those who had survived the massacre, and paused, as he always did, to look at the mermaid masthead carved so many years ago by Pike, the ship's carpenter, and set deep into the sand, looking out at the sea they'd all forsaken.
Pike had been dead these past five or more years, a victim of the Red Men Gang, and the reason Courtland had first donned the black mask and cloak of the Black Ghost and ridden out to protect the local smugglers, little knowing that the Red Men Gang had been headed by Edmund Beales.
Life was so odd, and it seemed to travel in circles, as Ainsley was prone to say, each one drawn smaller than the last, until the past and present collided.
Courtland mounted the wooden flagway, heading for The Last Voyage, the one place Cassandra could not follow, and the pint or two of ale he felt necessary at the moment, hesitating only when he heard hoofbeats coming toward him through the misty dusk.
"Chance," he said, waiting until his brother dismounted from his large stallion, Jacamel, and stepped up on the flagway. "You're alone?"
"Rian and Ethan are somewhere behind me," Chance said, lifting his hat and pushing back his nearly shoulder-length blond hair that had escaped the ribbon he used to secure it at his nape. "Our brother handles the new mare well, but Ethan insists the two still have to get to know each other better, especially since Rian's learning how to direct Miranda only with his knees."
"Leaving his hand free to hold a sword or pistol," Courtland said, nodding his head. "If anyone can do it, Rian can. Although I question his choice of name for the mare. Miranda?"
"Lisette chose it. If she'd told him to call the damned horse Mud Fence, he would have done it. She holds quite a bit of power over our youngest brother," Chance said as they entered the tavern. "I don't know that I like that."
"Because she's Beales's daughter? She proved her loyalty, Chance. Hell, she tried to kill the man."
"Granted. But she also helped keep Rian in France for months after he could have returned to us, with us believing him dead all that time. She only had her epiphany about her father when he killed that servant who tried to help her, or so she says. We have no proof the man is dead."
Courtland lifted the two mugs Ivan poured for them and carried them to a table in the corner. "I believe her," he said before taking a long drink from the mug. "And so do you. What else bothers you about Lisette?"
Chance smiled, toasted Courtland with his own mug. "I'm that transparent? Rian told me that, once this mess is over, he and Lisette will go to New Orleans, to claim land and money left to her by her grandfather. That makes two now, you know, with Spence and Mariah heading for Hampton Roads. I've never considered myself particularly sentimental, but I find I dislike the idea of having two of my brothers on the other side of the ocean."
"Not just Rian and Spence," Courtland said, looking into his mug. "Ainsley has purchased property in Hampton Roads. A boat-building company he acquired at no small price. He'll be leaving us, too, taking Cassandra with him."
"Ha, that is a piece of news I already knew, thanks to Julia, although I won't believe he'll leave here until he actually sails away," Chance said, and then smiled. "But if he does, you'll go, as well. According to my wife, Callie wouldn't have it any other way."
"Cassandra has nothing to say about where I go, what I do."
Now Chance grinned. "Oh, brother mine, you're as thick as you ever were. Maybe I should have knocked you down more often. But I suppose, as your brother, I should warn you— the ladies are plotting your demise. Julia says it is to keep their minds away from thoughts of Beales, but I think they're using our old enemy as an excuse to cause mischief."
Courtland lifted his hand, and Ivan brought him a fresh mug. "I already figured that out, earlier. Cassandra put her hair up today. She looked ridiculous."
"Did she now? You know, I've always thought she'd grow up to be a pale imitation of Isabella, but she hasn't. She's her own person, and even though she's my sister, I can say with a clear conscience that she is a very lovely young woman. If we were to take her to London for a Season, she'd have half the eligible gentlemen clogging up my drawing room every day. Maybe all of them."
"And that's where she belongs," Courtland declared hotly, wishing he didn't sound so angry. "Not here, not with me. Fanny was the same way with Rian, believing herself in love with him, until she met Valentine. Proximity. That's all it is, but Cassandra refuses to believe me when I tell her so."
"Which you do, daily," Chance pointed out, accepting a second mug from Ivan. "You know, our Alice is only ten now, but females, I believe, are females. And do you know what I've learned from my daughter? The more I tell her she shouldn't have something, the more she wants it."
"Meaning?"
Chance shrugged. "Meaning, brother mine, that maybe it's time you stopped protesting so much. Give Callie a small taste of your attention— and not the doting uncle, brother, father, whatever you think you are, but the
man.
Once you stop treating her like a child, perhaps she'll stop acting like one, and leave you alone."
"Do you hear yourself? What you're suggesting? I can't do that. My God, man, she's Ainsley's daughter."
"I'm aware of who she is. I can remember Isabella. God, she was beautiful. Inside and out. I was mad for her at seventeen, and so were you, following her like a puppy hoping for a treat. That's probably how Callie sees you. I don't know why, you're such a stodgy old nag, but she truly believes herself in love with you."
"Who's in love with whom?" Rian Becket said, pulling out a chair and sitting himself down even as Ivan brought him a mug of ale. Even mussed, coated with road dust, he had the look of a young Greek god. "Tell me everything, and don't leave out any of the juicy bits. Quick, before Ethan comes in to tell you how I fell off Miranda and bruised my pride."
"You fell off a horse?" Courtland looked at his brother, visually checking for injuries. "You've never fallen off a horse. Rian, maybe you're pushing too hard."
"And there she goes— Mama Courtland, believing herself in charge of everyone," Chance said, lifting his mug. "Rian lost an arm, not his wits. He'll master the horse, just give him time. And a few falls, if that's what's needed."
"Thank you, Chance," Rian said, grinning at Courtland. "Now, who's in love with whom? And note my use of
whom,
which I think reflects very well on Ainsley's incessant lessons over the years."
"Callie thinks she's in love with Court here," Chance supplied quickly.
"
Pfft!
And here I thought you were going to tell me something that isn't already abundantly clear to everyone, and has been since the little hellion entered her teenage years."
"You know," Courtland said sourly, "I came here to drink alone. I should have known better."
"Never drink alone, Court," Rian warned him. "Not when we're here, more than ready to increase your misery. Did you know the ladies have been giving Callie lessons in how to seduce you? Lisette told me last night. Her contribution, by the way, was to tell Callie to toss any maidenly shyness to the four winds. I blush to think what else she said, and didn't repeat to me. When it comes to love, women hold all the cards, and we men can only pretend to have any say in the matter. Hullo again, Ethan. What kept you?"
"Your Miranda seems to have picked up a stone," the Earl of Aylesford said, seating himself. Having ridden the same roads as Rian and Chance, Ethan looked as if he'd just finished a long session with his valet; nattily dressed, every blond hair sleekly brushed back from his finely-boned face. A man could look at him and see a well-dressed, amiable fool of fashion— and that man would very, very wrong. "I walked her up to Jasper at the smithy. I'd like to say he met me halfway, carried Miranda on his back the rest of the way, but none of you is probably deep enough in your cups yet to believe me."
"Don't think my giant couldn't do it, if pressed," Rian said, grinning. "Have I told you how he carried both Lisette and me out of that burning house, running with us both as if we were no heavier than feathers?"
"Twice," Courtland said.
"Three times, at the least," Chance added. "Although I still chuckle over the cannon, I'll give you that."
"No matter what, he's quite a find," Ethan said. "And I'd trust any of my horseflesh to him. In fact, I've already considered stealing him away from Waylon, who promised to break my head if I so much as tried."
"The day may come when Jasper does take you up on the offer to be part of your horse farm, Ethan," Courtland said, trying to keep the men concentrated on any subject other than him and Cassandra. "Once everyone feels free to leave Romney Marsh, much of this village may cease to exist, having served its purpose."
It was a valiant try, but Chance must have seen through it, for he said, "Court is all a-twitter because Callie might be sailing off to Hampton Roads with Ainsley, leaving him to molder here, dying of a broken heart."
