Enter The Brethren (The Brethren of the Coast) (11 page)

“Pretend I am your favorite mount and ride.”

True to form, and to their mutual benefit, Caroline applied herself with the same enthusiasm with which she took to her chores--not that he expected any different.  As Trevor buried his face in her breasts, he recalled their unfinished business.

They could bloody well talk in the morning.

#

The hinges on the door of his cabin creaked, interrupting his slumber.  Trevor hugged the supple feminine body he’d spent the better portion of the night exploring, made a mental note to speak with George about the need for discretion, because the first mate was the only crewmember who dared enter the captain’s quarters without knocking, and yawned.  Whatever the reason for the intrusion, the entire French Navy could not coax him from his bunk.

The familiar hiss of steel being unsheathed brought him awake and alert in an instant.

It was a sound every warrior knew, a call to arms.  Upon opening his eyes, he found himself staring down the pointed end of a sword.  Thinking first of Caroline and her safety, he pulled her close, attempting to shield her from the unforeseen threat.  Still asleep, she muttered incoherent babble and nuzzled his chest.

“Just what are you about?” he whispered with ire.  “And who gave you permission to enter my cabin?”

Recognition dawned, confusion rode in its wake, and Trevor sat up.  Movement had him glancing toward the foot of the bed.  In a state of complete bewilderment, he looked right, then left, and wondered if he were in the middle of some horrible nightmare.

The men who had invaded his quarters were no strangers.  They were, in fact, nobles of his set, but that did little to dispel his discomfort or explain why one was being so provoking.

“What in bloody hell are you two doing here?” he asked.

Weapon unwavering, the interloper responded, “I have a better question.  What in bloody hell is
she
doing here?”

“That is none of your damn business.”

“On the contrary.”  His former naval comrade appeared quite put out.  “She is my business.”

“I beg to differ.”  Trevor would tolerate no interference where Mistress Caroline was concerned--not even from an old acquaintance.  “If you believe you have a prior claim on my lady, hear me when I say it must perforce yield to mine.”

“Is that so?”  The flat of the blade shook as the captain of the
Tristan
appeared on the verge of a violent tantrum.

“It is, because I beat you to her prize.  If she was meant for you, then I shall compensate you, whatever the price.”  Trevor held the stare of his challenger, even as the dangerous metal docked within inches of his throat.  “Careful, Rylan.  I will not relinquish her without a fight.”

“You will relinquish her with a fight.”  The notorious hothead seemed ready to explode.  “I demand satisfaction.”

“For what?”

“As if you do not know.”

The lady in question stirred in his embrace.  The blanket dropped to her waist as Caroline raised her arms above her head and stretched.  Trevor would have preferred she not bare her wares for the delectation of his adversaries.

“
Oh, my God
!”  His expression one of fury, Rylan’s face turned beet-red.

The former virgin rubbed her eyes.  “Blake, is that you?”

“Don’t forget me, kitten.”  The partner in crime addressed her in a term of endearment, sending a shiver of dark foreboding that traipsed Trevor’s spine.

“Damian?”  She peered at the figure that had been standing silent.

“
Kitten
?”  Confusion settled as a lead ball in the pit of his belly, and Trevor arched his brows.  Had he not claimed her maidenhead, he would have wondered if she had serviced both dukes.  “You know them?”

She nodded.  “Yes.”

“For the love of Christ, Caroline, cover yourself.”  The man averted his gaze, as if he were embarrassed.

The cohort behaved in similar odd fashion, and Trevor was perplexed.  “Were you meant to serve both these men?”

“Now see here--”

“Blake, I can explain.”  She snatched the sheet to her neck.

“You damn well will.”

Trevor almost choked when his conquest used the aristocrat’s Christian name.  It was clear the two had a history.  “What is there to explain?” he asked, since nothing about the situation made sense.

“And you will remove yourself from that bed this instant!”  His foe was acting like an angry father, but Trevor knew that was not possible.

“Excuse me,” he interrupted.  “Do not yell at her, chap, or I will call you out.”

“Too late.”  Rylan continued to focus on the floor.  “I am calling you out.”

“Give me a minute to put on some clothes, and I will be happy to oblige you.”  He tossed the blankets aside.

“No.”  Caroline hugged him tight.  “Trevor, please, you mustn’t.”

“What is it, darling?  Are you afraid?”  He cupped her cheek.  “Worry not, because I will not let him take you.”

“Oh, I beg you, do not hurt him.”  Tears pooled in her eyes, and desperation permeated her features.  “If you care anything for me, do not raise your sword against him.”

Nausea swept over him, as Trevor feared his bunkmate might have formed some silly female attachment to his rival.  Despite his better judgment, and bracing for her response, he asked, “Why?”

“Because he is my brother.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Bloody everlasting hell.”

“What is it, Cap’n?”  George peered from behind the wheel, where he had taken refuge since Trevor stormed the quarterdeck with not one, but two interloping nobles, hot as a hornet’s nest, in tow.  “I thought you would be happy to see them.”

With a shudder of confusion, he stared at the engrossing figure that occupied the seat next to his during every session of Parliament.  As acquaintances, they shared a love of the sea, fine cigars, well-aged brandy, and beautiful paramours.  No mere mortal, the one-time naval commander, notorious for his short fuse, was known throughout the
ton
by many names.  He was none other than Blake Thornton Deverell Elliott, fifth Duke of Rylan, Marquess of Balfour, Earl of Grafton, Viscount Pelham, Viscount Gladstone...

And, if truth were told, elder sibling of Trevor’s delectable cabin mate.

The prospect defied reason, yet he could not argue the validity of her personage, evidenced by her sword-wielding, curse-spitting relative.  Which meant his sweet Caroline was not a courtesan-in-training, but rather Lady Caroline Elliott, highborn gentlewoman and member of one of England’s most respected families.

Had he not said he wanted answers as to her background?  Trevor would have preferred she was an ill-experienced demirep, a blank canvas for him to tutor in the sensual arts, and not a blueblood in hiding.  He had expected the former, never imagined the latter.

“George, please, shoot me.”

Under normal circumstances, he would be quite pleased to engage in a round of verbal fencing and pointed insults, neither facetious nor serious, with the ducal duo perched on the rail at present.  It was common knowledge that Damian Seymour, Duke of Weston, was Blake Elliott’s constant companion.  In a world where lust for land and power had brought warriors to the battlefield, their friendship was the stuff of legend.  And Trevor’s association with the pair, often described as a harmless rivalry of like-minded reprobates, extended back to his days at Oxford.

Strange, he could not recall Blake ever mentioning a sister.

“What, in God’s name, possessed you to permit them free entry to my quarters?”

“Why wouldn’t I?  If memory serves, you struck the last blow when you hired that toothless hag of a doxy, told her your name was Elliott, and pointed her in the direction of the
Tristan
and her captain.”  The first mate scratched his cheek.  “Where were we?  India?”

“That was a harmless prank.”  Trevor gazed at the impressive vessel anchored alongside the
Hera
and raked a hand through his hair.  “What you did may see me hanged from the highest yardarm.”

“Nonsense.”  George chuckled.  “Don’t tell me the lads are in a fit over yer whore--”

“Will you be quiet,” Trevor hissed.  “Are you trying to get me keelhauled?”

“Keelhauled?”  The old salt grinned.  “Who guards her, Elliott or Seymour?”

“She is none other than--”

“Blake.”  Trevor turned in time to see the lady in question, who had been granted the privacy of his cabin to get dressed, run into the formidable duke’s waiting embrace.

“Caroline.”  Cradling her head in his hand, Blake closed his eyes.  “I thought you lost to me.”

Despite their connection, Trevor was plagued by gut-twisting envy as the siblings hugged.  His discomfort increased tenfold when she favored the other man with the same display of affection.  What struck him was the change in his line of thought.  During his naked dance at the point of a blade, while tugging on breeches and boots, his singular focus had been how to wrangle himself out of his current predicament.

Because Caroline was a woman of character, honor demanded he restore her reputation.  And it did not take a genius to deduce the required reparation--a daunting prospect that scared the hell out of him.

“George?”

“Aye, sir?”

“Clear the deck.”

“I do not understand your alarm.”  Caroline appeared puzzled.  “Why did you think I was lost?  Did you not get my letter?”

“I did.”  Blake compressed his lips.  “Upon my return to London, I received an urgent summons from Mama.  By the time I reached Elliott House, she was on the verge of hysterics.  Nothing would appease her but that I depart for Jamaica and bring you home, posthaste.”

“Oh, dear.”  She clasped her hands in front of her.  “But Mama need not have worried.  I explained my reasons for leaving, and she knew I was with Dalton.”

“And you believe that made everything all right?”  The elder brother shifted his weight.  “I daresay my entire being shook as I read your missive.  You can’t go gallivanting unescorted across the ocean on a ship filled with sailors.  And considering what has happened, I do not see how you can argue your position.”

“But nothing serious occurred, and Trevor has been a complete gentleman.”  Caroline peered in his direction and smiled.

“A complete gentleman?”  Blake’s eyebrows almost reached his hairline, and he glanced at Trevor.  “I found you
en
flagrante delecto
, and you have the audacity to call him a gentleman?”

Although Trevor had known the inevitable would come, that he would have to face the music, he had not expected the pangs of guilt assailing his conscience.

“Explanations are in order.”  Pinning him with an icy stare, Blake brushed aside the fold of his greatcoat and set his hand to the hilt of his sword.  “Enlighten me, Lockwood.  Why did you kidnap my sister?”

Trevor opened his mouth to say something--anything--but Caroline cut him off.

“Lockwood?”  Her blue eyes grew wide, and she clutched her throat.  “Do you know each other?”

“Oh, we know each other very well,” Blake replied, his voice dripping sarcasm.  “And there is a reason he took you from Dalton’s ship.”

“I don’t understand.”  With a familiar guileless countenance, Caroline turned to Trevor.  “Why did you take me?”

In that moment, he would make a pact with the devil to disappear on the spot.  He would welcome an attack by Cavalier, would rather face the entire French fleet than admit his indiscretion.  In his quest to settle a grudge, Trevor had acted rashly.  And in his haste, he had injured an innocent.

“Come, Lockwood.”  Her brother arched a brow and tapped his fingers to the rail in an impatient rhythm.  “Regale us with your tale.”

For a scarce second, Trevor considered jumping ship and swimming for London.  But he had never been accused of being a coward in his life and was not about to start now.  “First, hear me when I say I did not know she was your sister--much less a woman of character.”

“What do you mean you did not know?”  Blake gave his attention to his sibling, and Trevor breathed a sigh of relief.  “Did you not inform him of your name, of your connections?  Did he not believe you?”

“I did not think it signified.”  Caroline paused, and though she spoke to her brother, it was Trevor she faced.  “According to the Captain, he simply wanted company as he crossed the Atlantic.  He said Dalton owed him money from a game of poker.”

“You did not think it signified?”  Blake slapped a fist to his open palm.  “And you placed your confidence in him?  A total stranger?  How on earth could you be so naive?”

“He said he was a friend of Dalton’s and mentioned Dirk, as well.  They sailed together in the Navy.  And the men of the watch were there; they would never have let him aboard, or in the captain’s cabin, without permission.”  She shrugged.  “There was no reason to fear him, as he stated, from the first, that he would not harm me.”

“Did you see the note he left behind?” Blake asked.

Uh, oh
.

“Note?” she replied.  “He left a note?”

“Indeed.”

When Blake retrieved a folded piece of parchment from his waistcoat and handed it to his sister, Trevor thought he would swoon like a woman.  He knew what she held, even without inspecting it, and his goose was jolly well cooked.

As Caroline scanned the missive, her shoulders sagged, and her mouth fell agape.  When she lifted her chin and gazed at him, the agony marring her lovely features struck Trevor as a bolt of lightning, skewering his miserable hide.

“You wrote this,” she stated in monotone.  “You left this for Dalton?”

Though something inside him screamed a denial, he nodded once.  “Aye.”

“When I dropped anchor in Jamaica, Dalton was emptying his stores in preparation to come after you.”  Blake scowled.  “As I was carrying nothing but ballast, I set sail at once.  I have been chasing your wake for weeks and had almost given up hope of finding you when a storm hit.  It was a lucky break, because the
Tristan
is a heavier ship and better suited to foul weather.  With the canvas hardened in, I knew I would catch you.”