Enter The Brethren (The Brethren of the Coast) (26 page)

When the coach passed through the gates of Althrup proper, she bit her lip and squeezed her fingers.

“Stop worrying.”  A brow arched, Trevor covered her hands with his.  “You will do fine.”

In the forecourt the coach halted, and the countess of Lockwood disembarked with her earl.

The servants stood in line, waiting to greet their master and new mistress.  As she crossed the threshold into the grand foyer, Caroline gazed at the high moulded ceiling and, at its center, a magnificent crystal chandelier.  An oakwell staircase opened to a wide landing, and she spied what appeared to be an immense gallery.  Mrs. Porter and Roberts made the introductions, and she expended considerable effort to address those she could remember by name.

“Your ladyship, perhaps you would like to freshen up after the long ride and rest before dinner?” the housekeeper inquired once the staff had been dismissed.  “May I show you to your room?”

“An excellent notion, Mrs. Porter.  Ring for a bath.”  Caroline turned to her unusually quiet husband.  “My lord?”

As a Greek statue, Trevor seemed fixated on a large portrait of a proud looking nobleman that she surmised, from the noticeable resemblance, was his father.

With tentative steps, she neared.  “My lord?”

His brow a mass of furrows, he said nothing.  As though chiseled in stone, his features appeared tense.

Perplexed by his abrupt change in demeanor, she inched closer and tugged on his coat sleeve.  “Trevor?”

“What!” he barked.  “What do you want?”

Startled by his harsh outburst, she jumped.  “Forgive my interruption.  Are you unwell?”

“No.”  His tone was pure acid.

Anger radiated from his body, and she was confused to find herself the target of his ire.  “I beg your pardon, my lord.  If you have no need of me, I should like to retire to my apartments.”

Nodding once, Trevor said, “Go.”

Shock shivered over her flesh.  Caroline hugged herself and made for the stairs.  “Lead the way, Mrs. Porter.”

The housekeeper cast her a sympathetic glance, then averted her stare.  “Perhaps I should have the painting removed to the gallery, your ladyship.”

At the landing, they turned left and navigated a long hall.  Caroline said in a low voice, “Has his lordship not made such a request before?”

“Before--what, my lady?” the servant asked as she opened a door.

“I was referring to one of his lordship’s previous visits.”  Caroline swept into a chamber that immediately made her feel at home and doffed her gloves.  The countess’s suite had been decorated in the same creamy white and deep blue, the latter chosen because it reminded her of the sea and her captain, she had selected for her quarters in London.  “Has he not already declared an objection to the portrait?”

“I do not follow, your ladyship.”  Standing at the center of the sitting room, Mrs. Porter appeared surprised.  “The present Earl of Lockwood has not been in residence at Althrup for over twenty years.”

#

After washing away the road dust, and donning a shirt and buckskin breeches, Trevor stalked the earl’s apartments.  As he paced along the sidewall, the chamber seemed to collapse on him from every angle, and his knees weakened.  Everywhere he looked, memories evoked his father’s visage.  Echoes of rejections, the vehemence of an embittered and broken sire, haunted his every step.  Raking a hand through his wet hair, he lowered his chin and stared at the floor.  The successful sea captain still carried the wounds of the little boy who had departed Althrup, unwanted and unloved, so long ago.

And he hated himself for it.

“Why did I come back to this hell on earth?”

Gooseflesh pricked his arms, and he stomped toward the bed and flung himself onto the mattress.  For a few minutes, Trevor studied the ceiling, until it spun out of control, swirling into a black chasm that mirrored his hollow existence.  Hideous laughter, mocking and taunting, roared in his ears, nausea rolled his belly like the tide, and his palms dampened with perspiration.

When he had given his bride a brief overview of his ancestral home from a distance, he had thought the fiery ache in his heart, torments of his youth, had been extinguished by years of hard work, loose women, and bad ale.  But the second he entered the foyer and faced his father, albeit via a portrait, the agony of his childhood struck him as a bullet between the eyes.

“I need to get out of here.”

He leaped from the large four-poster and stopped.

“But where could I go?”

His gaze lit on the door adjoining his suite with his wife’s.  A balm for his soul was always to be had in her warm embrace.  A tumble might be just what he needed.  Trevor was already in her room when he realized he had moved.

By the window, Caroline reclined on a
chaise
.  As he approached, he discovered she was asleep.  With her cheek resting against her palm, and classic features sublime in repose, she could pass for one of Botticelli’s angels.  Though a quilt covered her body, his imagination supplied a vivid picture of the svelte form he had spent the better part of the night surveying with his tongue.  Careful not to disturb her slumber, he eased to the foot of the
chaise
.  Slipping a hand beneath the blanket, he stroked a shapely calf.

“You never should have married me.”

Guileless, unafraid of her own raw vulnerability; he could not fathom why she wanted him.  Beautiful, sweet, and generous, she deserved more than a shell of a man, yet that knowledge did not dull his desire to sate his senses in her velvety flesh, nor had it kept him from the altar.  Walking his fingers along the curve of her leg, he caressed the back of her knee.

“You do not know what I am.”

Caroline shifted, and he froze.

On a moan, she wrinkled her nose, and then appeared to relax.

“One day I will hurt you.”  In an unconventional warning, Trevor gripped her ankle.  “And you will leave me as has everyone else.”

A soft cry passed her lips, and he released her just as she opened her eyes.

“My lord, is something wrong?”  Caroline sat upright and yawned.  “You look quite pale.”

The quilt dropped to her waist, and, to his delight and much needed distraction, his wife was clothed only in a sheer robe.  “What have we here?”

“Hmm?”  His blushing bride peered at her state of dress, or lack thereof, and reached for the quilt.  “Oh, dear.”

“No, do not hide from me.”  He clutched the end of the blanket and tugged in the opposite direction.  “I am savoring the view.”

“Trevor.”  With a half-hearted kick, more playful than serious, she yanked on the cover.  “What will the servants say?”

“Who cares?”  The lusty feminine cry with which she never failed to herald her release would provide his staff with plenty of juicy gossip.  He wanted to hear her shout with ecstasy--now.  After wrestling the quilt from her grasp, he tossed it to the floor.  “We are married.”

“But, is it proper?”  Caroline licked her lips and appeared to have noted that his shirt was open.  “We always have...relations in the dark.  Should we not wait for night?”

“You little fraud.”  In one swift move, he scooped her into his arms.  “You do not want to wait, do you?”

As he carried her into his chamber, she shook her head.

“I thought as much.”  Trevor chuckled and deposited her in his bed.  How was it possible for a woman to blush from head to toe, he wondered as he divested Caroline of the robe?  “My dear, if you must offer some excuse to those who would inquire, though I doubt anyone will, simply say that we took a nap.”

“But I have already napped.”  Her skepticism was palpable, and she blinked.

“Then you are going to keep me warm.”  After stripping off his shirt, Trevor unfastened his breeches and marveled at her innocence despite the fact that he had claimed her virginity months ago.

“My lord, you are almost twice my size.”  Inclining her head, she clucked her tongue.  “Who would believe such nonsense?”

“Caroline, are you going to argue with me for the remainder of the afternoon?”  With his breeches at his thighs, he sat on the edge of the mattress and dropped his drawers.

“I was only--”

Her mouth fell agape, and her protest died when he stood and faced her in fully aroused glory.  How he enjoyed flustering his highborn bride.  “You were saying, my dear?”

“Y-you are insatiable,” Caroline whispered while averting her stare.

“Get used to it.”  On all fours, Trevor climbed atop the bed, nudged her knees apart, and settled his hips to hers.  Although he did not love his wife, and never would, he could make love to her.  “Because for the next couple of hours, you shall be my pillow.”

#

When Caroline checked her appearance in the vanity mirror prior to dinner, the subtle flush in her cheeks from an afternoon of vigorous lovemaking was still evident.  Dressed in a low-cut red gown, chosen to bolster her arsenal as she prepared to launch an offensive, she descended the main staircase and strolled into the drawing room.  An impressive rumble in her belly signaled a voracious hunger, or a wicked case of nerves, and she was glad her husband had not yet presented himself.

Tonight signaled a new beginning in the campaign to win Trevor’s heart.  In order to have any chance of success, she had to persuade him to allow a monumental breach of etiquette.  At issue was a centuries old practice, a stricture governing the marital household.

Hands settled at her waist, and warm lips caressed the top of her ear.  “That was a memorable nap.”

“Nap?”  Inclining her head, she gazed at the man foremost on her mind.  “But you did not sleep.”

“Those are the best kind, darling.”  Through her dress, he pinched her bottom.  “Shall we schedule a repeat performance for tomorrow?”

Oh, dear
.

“My lord, that sounds lovely.”  Passion battled with a genuine desire for food, and Caroline feared she might waste away if he did not let her eat.  “But there is something I need to discuss with you.”

“Fire away.”  At the hearth, Trevor checked his watch and adjusted the clock on the mantelpiece.  “You have my undivided attention.”

For good or ill, she had to make a stand.  “Well, it is about your bed--”

“Really?”  The quick change in his demeanor, from nobleman to barbarian, gave her gooseflesh, and he returned to her side in an instant.  “And you think me insatiable.”

Good heavens, her wolf was preparing to pounce.  Caroline realized she had erred and sought to clarify her position.  “Trevor, I want--”

“Shall I have a tray sent to my chambers?”  Taking her hands in his, he brought her fingers to his lips.  “I will feed you, myself.”

Oh, no.  Now she was getting distracted.

“I beg your pardon, your lordship.”  In the doorway, Roberts bowed.  “Dinner is served.”

Saved by the butler.

“Wonderful.”  Yes, Caroline was retreating, but only for the moment.  Accepting her husband’s proffered escort, she said, “I am famished.”

“Indeed?”  As they navigated the oak-paneled hall, Trevor bent his head and whispered, “I do not know why, since you have already had dessert.”

“My lord.”  She elbowed him in the ribs.  “You are shameless.”

“So what else is new?”

Upon entering the dining room, she cursed her bad luck.  Footmen perched in every corner, so her intimate proposition would have to wait.  Heaping platters evidenced Mrs. Coomb’s culinary acumen, and Caroline wished she possessed the patience to savor the delectable fare.  But she plowed through five courses like a farmer during the fall harvest.

“Would you care for another helping, my dear?”

“No, thank you.”  With a hand to her full but unsteady belly, she sat back in her chair.  “I believe I have eaten enough.”

In silence, Trevor draped his napkin over his plate, stood, and again offered his arm.  “In the future, I shall have the cook prepare an additional afternoon meal.  I will not have my countess looking wan.”

Touched by his concern, Caroline’s confidence soared.  But as they reached the foyer, she could summon no words to initiate the conversation in which she was desperate to engage.

Gazing at the marble floor, she shuffled her feet.

Trevor cleared his throat.

“Have you--”

“I suppose--”

Her husband smiled, and Caroline responded in kind.

“Ladies first.”  He nodded once.

“No, please.”  Curling her toes in her slippers, she clasped her hands.  “You were saying?”

“There must be...I am sure...no doubt you have some needlepoint that requires your attention,” he said with a frown.

The gruff demeanor had returned, and she changed her tack.

“Actually, I had thought to peruse the library.”

“Oh?”  His eyes lit up as a child on Christmas morn.  “Perhaps you would consent to keep company with me in the study?  Would you care for a brandy?”

Was it possible?

Did Trevor think she would reject him?

“My lord, that is a wonderful idea.”  Though his suggestion played right into her pocket, his obvious relief at her acquiescence was a salve to her conscience.

Once they were ensconced in the study, her husband dragged two chairs in front of the hearth.  At a side table, he lifted a decanter and filled two glasses, then joined her before the fire.

“Have you any plans for tomorrow?”

“Mrs. Porter wants to go over the household accounts.  Everything appears to be efficiently run, but there is always room for improvement.”  Fortified with a healthy gulp of liquid courage, Caroline peered at her perplexing spouse.  “Why do you ask?”

“I should like, very much, to show you the estate.  Perhaps we could tour the village?  If memory serves, there is a tavern that serves hearty fare.  We could have lunch.”  With an expression that cried for acceptance, he said, “If you are too busy, we can do it some other time.”

“I shall postpone my meeting for the day after tomorrow.”  Her heart sang, and she smiled.  “Because there is nothing I would rather do than spend the day with you.”

“Excellent.”  With undisguised enthusiasm, Trevor all but flew from his seat.  “We shall depart after breakfast.”

The long-case clock signaled the hour.