Enter The Brethren (The Brethren of the Coast) (18 page)

So she did not close her eyes.

“Lord Lockwood, how lovely to see you.”

Oh, no.  Not again.

As her mother welcomed her adversary, Caroline flinched and averted her stare.  Of course, propriety forbade her to ignore her fiancé, but why had he come to the park?  For all the years she had joined in the promenade, never had she encountered the Earl of Lockwood.

“Would you be so kind as to escort Caroline?  I must speak with Lady Northcote.”

Bloody hell, her mother was a turncoat.

Against her efforts to the contrary, Caroline stiffened her spine and gritted her teeth.  Could she not remain relaxed and composed around that man?  In silence, she uttered a quick plea to the Almighty, asking that her future husband be struck dumb in that instant.

“It would be my honor, Your Grace.”

Her prayer went unanswered.

“My lady.”  His voice was smooth as silk and shivered over her from head to toe.

Questioning her sanity, Caroline lit her gaze upon her nemesis.  “Lord Lockwood.”  She dipped her chin in a proper address.

But she paid no heed to the fluttering in her belly and the pounding of her heart.  How could she wage war against him when she could not ally her body and mind?

Trevor offered his arm.  “May I say you look very lovely this evening?”

“What are you doing here?” she snapped.

“Smile, my dear.”  He shot her a lazy grin.  “Else you will give the scandalmongers a juicy tidbit for tomorrow’s sheet.”

Though it seemed an insurmountable feat, Caroline lifted the corners of her mouth.  Together, they toured the park and, to her displeasure, appeared to have snared the avid attention of the
ton
.  She could kill her mother.

“Why are you here?”  Her tone was pure ice and more than conveyed her suspicions.

“I thought it obvious.”  The bounder had the audacity to wink.  “I am courting you, darling.”

“That is not necessary,” she replied, as she smiled at Countess Lieven and Lady Jersey.

“But it is,” Trevor purred.

“You are being ridiculous.”  Lady Ainsworth waved, and Caroline responded in kind.  “You do not want to marry me.”

“I beg your pardon.”  Her escort stopped mid-stride.  “Who said I did not want to marry you?”

Anger seared a path from her brain to her fist, and before she brought shame to her entire family, she resisted the urge to punch her husband-to-be in the nose.  Could an injured snout be passed to an heir?

“Tell me truthfully.  Before you discovered my identity, were you intending to propose upon our return to London?”

#

Faced with a question he was certain had no safe escape, Trevor hesitated.

Lying was not an option.  If it were anyone else, he would have done just that, but not with Caroline.  Expecting--demanding--honesty from her, he was compelled to surrender the same.  Braced for her reaction, he said, “Well, I would have proposed something, just not marriage.”

“As I suspected.”  She let go his arm and stormed toward Park Lane.

Mindful of their audience, of their situation, he gave a tempered chase.  At the roadside, his bride-to-be looked left, then right.  Despite her obvious ire, she appeared to have the good sense to wait for traffic to clear.  Though his gaze was focused on the flounce of her brown curls, a rumble of carriage wheels caught his ear.

He turned and spied an unmarked rig barreling down the thoroughfare.  Clad in black, a scarf shielding his face, the driver flicked the reins, as if spurring his horses.

A chill of unease traipsed his spine.

“My lady.”  By his second step, Trevor was running.  “Caroline.”

“Watch out!”  Passersby shouted in unison.

The ominous equipage lurched onto the pavement, and his future wife screamed.  He expected her to leap clear of the danger, but she appeared dazed, as she stood stock-still.  At the last possible second, he snaked an arm around her waist and lifted her from harm’s way.

The brisk wind from the runaway carriage rustled his hair as Trevor shielded her with his body.  Nearby strollers, shaking fists in the air, barked admonishments at the careless coachman.  But the rig returned to the lane and sped off, disappearing as fast as it had materialized.

On a sob, Caroline buried her face in his chest and trembled in his embrace.

“Shh, you’re all right, love,” he crooned as he cradled her head.

With an expression of worry mixed with fear, the duchess approached.  “What happened?”

“Nothing, it was an accident.”  Her concern was touching, and he was not sure he would ever become accustomed to such displays of affection.  “With your permission, I will walk Caroline home.”

“Of course.”  His soon-to-be-mother-in-law cast him a timid smile.  “I will come, too.”

“That is not necessary, Mama.”  The lady of the moment inched from his hold.  “As Lord Lockwood said, I am fine.  A bit dusty, perhaps, but none the worse for wear.”

“If you are certain you are unharmed.”  The duchess cupped her daughter’s cheek.  “I shall be along shortly.  Why do you not ring for a bath?  I can send word to the Hogarts that you are not feeling well, and I will have Cook prepare your favorite dessert of strawberries and cream.”

“That sounds lovely, Mama.”  He was surprised when his intended accepted his proffered arm.  “Enjoy the promenade, and do not hurry on my account.”

In silence, Trevor squired Caroline to Elliott House.

His mind was anything but quiet.

Unanswered questions swirled in his brain, and uneasy conjectures and suppositions nipped at his heels.  Was he panicking?  Was he making too much of something that amounted to nothing more than a minor mishap?

The ever-aloof butler set the doors wide as they ascended the entrance stairs.

In the foyer, Trevor asked, “Is Rylan in residence?”

“His Grace is in the study, your lordship.”  The manservant bowed.  “If you will follow--”

“I will show Lord Lockwood to the study.”  Caroline tugged at his elbow.  “Why do you want to see Blake?”

As she steered him into the hall to the right, he pondered the situation.  Since he did not want to alarm her, he needed a distraction.  “We are supposed to meet at White’s, and in light of your unfortunate accident, I expect to be late.”

“You can’t be serious.”  Caroline arched a brow and wrinkled her nose.  “There is no need to fuss.  As you told Mama, I am fine.  Yes, I am a bit shaken, but it is nothing that a long soak in a hot bath will not cure.”

Trevor wanted to caution his bride-to-be.  Wanted to warn her of a danger of which he did not know.  He was not sure what motivated his sense of urgency, his well-honed instincts.  But something within him stirred.

Words, the echo of an angry threat, reverberated in his ears.  An image of a masked coachman, the scoundrel’s gaze fixed on Caroline, flashed before his eyes.

“Here we are--”

The sharp edge of desire lanced through his belly, and Trevor pulled her into a little alcove near the door she indicated.  He was not certain why he did it, what moved him to attack, but he pounced on his intended right there in her home.

On a groan, he covered her lips with his in a communion of soul-deep passion.

With implicit caresses, he skimmed her curves.  Desire shivered over his flesh as Caroline pressed herself to the evidence of his arousal in untutored wantonness.  When he settled a palm to the swell of her breast, she gave a gasp of surprise into his mouth.  Her hands fisted in his hair, holding him to her in a frantic embrace.  How he ached to lift her skirts and take her against the wall, to savor her cries of pleasure--

“
What in bloody hell is going on here
?”

His lady flinched at the bark of her brother’s booming baritone and tried to pull away.  But Trevor tightened his hold and cradled her head with his hand.  He made no attempt to hide the fact that they had been kissing.  For some reason he could not fathom, he stroked her cheek with his thumb in a scandalous display of affection.

“We need to talk.”  He met the hotheaded duke’s stare.  “Now.”

“What are you about?”  His eyes flared, and Blake lowered his chin.  “By all that is holy, I swear if you were not betrothed to my sister, I would see you at dawn.”

“Stop shouting, Blake.”  Caroline inched from Trevor’s grasp and faced her elder sibling.  “I was simply showing Lord Lockwood to your study.”

“Via the path to ruin?” her brash relation retorted.

“I beg your pardon?”  In a gesture that was becoming quite familiar, his future wife folded her arms and compressed her lips.  “As you pointed out, we are betrothed.  Lord Lockwood can hardly spoil that of which he has already partaken.”

At her bold rejoinder, Trevor just managed to suppress a snort of pride.

Her brother stood, mouth agape, and shock evident in his visage.

“Go upstairs.”  He patted her cheek and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead.  “Blake and I have business to discuss.”

“As you wish.”  Caroline smiled.  “I will leave the telling of the incident in the park to you.”

“What incident?” the duke inquired.

“Pray, a moment.”  Trevor studied the elegant sway of her hips as she strolled down the hall.  At the end of the corridor, his fiancée cast him a glance before disappearing around the corner.  Good God, did she not know what she did to him when she looked at him like that?

“Lockwood, if you are finished ogling my sister, I would appreciate an explanation.”

“Of course.”  Trevor blinked.  “Might I trouble you for a brandy?”

“Indeed.”  Blake ushered him into the ducal domain.

As Trevor settled into a chair before the large desk at the back of the sumptuously appointed study, his soon-to-be-in-law lifted a decanter and filled two glasses.  Blake offered him a balloon and perched on the edge of the desk.

“What has brought you here, Lockwood?”

After a healthy gulp of brandy, Trevor detailed the sword fight aboard the
Hera
and the death of Henri Cavalier at Caroline’s hands.

“You exposed her to Cavalier?”  Blake slapped a palm to his thigh.

“Not willingly.  I left her in my cabin with orders to lock the door behind me.”  Trevor rolled his eyes and shook his head.  “The next thing I knew she was dancing across the decks with a pirate.”

“And she killed him.”  Blake stood upright and speared his fingers through his hair.  “That is not good.”

“But that is only half of it.”

The duke narrowed his stare.  “There is more?”

As the nobleman’s demeanor grew darker by the minute, Trevor relayed the event in the park.  “Blake, I can see that you are concerned, but you must know Cavalier would have to be insane to venture to London.  It is too ridiculous to believe he will carry out his threat to Caroline’s person.”

“And yet your first instinct was to seek my counsel.”  Downing the contents of his glass in one impressive swallow, Blake poured himself another brandy.  “Caroline was very young when our family first clashed with the Cavaliers.  She would not understand the significance of her actions and the danger in which she has placed herself.”

“What are you telling me?”  Tension invested his frame, and Trevor rubbed the back of neck.  “Do you suspect the accident with the carriage was intentional?”

“Aye,” Blake responded.  “As do you, or you would not have thought it important enough to mention.  Jean Marc Cavalier is as driven as he is ruthless.  If he has discovered my sister’s identity, I have no doubt he will seek his revenge at any cost.”

“But he is the most wanted blackguard on the seas.  Were he caught on our shores, he would be given a fair trial and hanged.”  Trevor set his balloon on a side table and rested his elbows on his knees.  “The man is without honor.  And I cannot imagine his brother’s life is worth so great a price.”

“His brother
and
his father.”

Trevor leapt from his chair.  “What?”

“You see, our sire killed his.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The following morning, Caroline pondered the actions of one handsome sea captain.  What was she to make of Trevor’s odd behavior the previous evening?  After the impromptu tryst in the hall outside Blake’s study, and their subsequent discovery by her hotheaded brother, Trevor had consented to join the family for dinner.  How shocked she had been when she entered the drawing room and found her fiancé waiting to greet her.  He had been attentive, charming, and quite like the affable host whose company she had enjoyed aboard the
Hera
.  The experience left her uncertain of her chosen path.  A knock on the oak panels interrupted her thoughts.  “Come.”

She was surprised when her mother peeked around the edge of the door.  “Have you any prior engagements for today?”

“None.”  In a single brisk move, Caroline closed the book she was not reading and settled the musty tome in her lap.  “I had thought to catch up on my study of court portraiture.”

“Excellent.”  Smiling the sort of smile that made the hair stand on the back of Caroline’s neck, her mother entered the room, and shut the door.  “Though I regret taking you away from what I am certain is a stimulating endeavor, you and I are overdue for a chat.”

In an instant, Caroline’s suspicions were confirmed, and she stood.  “Mama, what have you done?”

“Come with me.”  Her prying parent swiped the book from her grasp and tossed it on the chair Caroline had occupied, then caught her by the wrist and led her into the sitting room adjoining the bedchamber.

It was too late when Caroline realized she had plunked down, in a rather unladylike fashion, in the cushions on the
chaise
near the window overlooking the gardens below.  In an attempt to reclaim a scrap of proper deportment, she smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her skirts.  “All right, Mama.  What is it you wish to discuss?”

As usual, in taking her seat, her mother adopted an elegant posture one would expect of a duchess and had no doubt on many occasions moved those in the
ton
to question the authenticity of their blood connections.  “I must confess my true motive in insisting Lord Lockwood court you in public.  It was my intent to determine the depth of his affection for you, as I have always hoped you would marry for love.”