Enter The Brethren (The Brethren of the Coast) (29 page)

On Tuesday, they rose from bed in the pre-dawn hours to watch the sun rise.  Wednesday, Trevor spent a half-hour brushing her brown locks, only to devote three hours mussing them again, and she was not about to complain.  And Thursday, ah Thursday, now that was a memorable afternoon made special when her rogue captain made love to her on the desktop in his study.  Poor Mrs. Porter had been unable to remove the large ink stain on the back of Caroline’s dress.

“A penny for your thoughts.”

“I do not believe that time flies when you are having fun.”  Standing on the dock at Deptford, she peered at her brother and frowned.  “Rather, time flies as danger nears.”

“Don’t worry.”  Blake chucked her chin.  “Lockwood is a devil of a seaman, and Dirk will be with him.  Heaven help the French if they stumble upon those two.”

“I pray you are right.”  Inside her ermine muff, Caroline clenched her hands.

The rising sun warmed the earth, quelling the chill of the brisk November morning.  Waves splashed against the pilings, and tiny ripples formed a delicate mosaic of water in motion.  The decks of the
Hera
were alive with the activity one would expect of a ship preparing to sail, and, at the helm, Trevor shouted orders to the crew.  Mentally, Caroline rehearsed the speech that might help her discern, once and for all, whether or not her husband loved her.  It was clear Trevor wrestled with inner demons, but the cause was not equally clear.  Did he love her, or was his devotion more akin to the attachment one could muster for a favored hound?

“Will they be gone long?” she inquired.

At that moment, six cloaked figures, their faces shielded by black hoods, boarded the ship.  As members of the secretive Counterintelligence Corps exchanged greetings with Trevor, she shivered.

“Little sister, you know well enough that is a question for which there is no answer.”

“I ask because I shall miss him.”

“Your devotion is commendable.”  The teasing tone in her elder sibling’s voice was evident.  “Perhaps I can provide suitable diversions to keep your mind from wandering to less pleasant thoughts while Lockwood is at sea.  What say we take in a play?”

“You must be joking.”  Trevor glanced in her direction, and Caroline smiled.  “Your dislike for the theatre is surpassed only by your aversion to opera.”

“Be that as it may, I am willing to put your happiness before my own.”

“How magnanimous of you.”  Men scrambled into the rigging, and she knew her husband would soon depart.  Was he not going to bid her farewell?  “Blake?”

“Yes?”

“Would you kindly inform his lordship that I should like to speak with him before he takes leave of these shores?”

“As you wish.”

#

The instant his brother-in-law started in his direction, Trevor realized he was not going to escape the duty he dreaded most.  Of course, he had not intended to sail without stealing one last kiss from his wife.  “It appears I have been summoned.”

“Indeed.”  At his side, Dirk chuckled.  “And at this moment, I must confess I do not envy you.”

“Lockwood.”  Blake stood tall and clicked his heels.  “My sister begs an audience, and you would do best to ally yourself with Bony should you refuse her request.”

“Bloody hell.”  A chorus of snorts and snickers pricked his pride, and Trevor set down his charts.  “You will watch over her while I am gone?”

“As promised.”  The estimable duke leaned on the railing and folded his arms.  “I have already invited her to the theatre, and Weston will accompany her to a musicale.”

“Weston?  A musicale?”  Whistling in monotone, Dirk slapped a thigh.  “How much did that set you back?”

“A case of my finest brandy.”  Blake gazed at the sky and shook his head.  “And the widow Tremaine.”

“You have been chasing her skirts for a month.”  Dirk wrinkled his nose.  “That had to hurt.”

“But Caroline is none the wiser?” Trevor inquired as he stared at the lady in question.  Upon arrival in London, he had gathered the Brethren and relayed the full details--and his suspicions--of the incident involving the fallen casks.  “Although Cavalier has not shown his face, I do not believe we can be too careful.”

“I concur.”  His brow furrowed, Blake sighed.  “And I agree that we should not inform my sister of your concerns.  Such revelations would, no doubt, incite brazen defiance of our safeguards.”

“No doubt.”  Trevor rolled his eyes and walked toward the companion ladder.  “Gentlemen, on that note, I shall make my farewells.”

Men scurried about as he crossed the main deck.  “Check the foremost ropes,” Trevor said to the boatswain, who barked new orders to the crew.  At the bottom of the gangplank, his wife stood.  As he approached, she curtseyed.

“My lord, the weather is fair.  Surely that bodes well for your mission?”

“It should.”  He resisted the urge to toss Caroline over his shoulder and convey her to his cabin.  “But the tide awaits no man, and I must cast off.”  Expecting a river of tears, Trevor steeled himself for the deluge, but her expression bore no hint of distress.

“Then I wish you safe journey.”  She extended a gloved hand.

Like an idiot, he accepted her gesture, as would a proper gentleman.  “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome.”

He stared at her.

She stared at him.

“I have something--”

“I wanted to give you--”

Blast his clumsy hide, it was as though Trevor had returned to courtship hell.  “Ladies first.”

Caroline bit her lip.  “After you, I insist.”

“All right.”  He retrieved a small parcel from his pocket.  “This is not much, just a token of my esteem.”

“Oh?”  She took the gift and unfolded the brown paper.  “Why, it is lovely.”

And then his wife burst into laughter.

“Would you care to tell me what about my painted image is cause for convulsive hilarity?”

“My lord, you misunderstand my reaction to your surprise,” she said through a few lingering giggles.  “You see, it appears we are on the same page.”

He arched a brow.  “I do not follow.”

“Perhaps this will make things clearer.”  Caroline produced a similar-sized package.

When he unwrapped the framed miniature of his bride, Trevor chuckled.  “Which artist did you use?”

“Mr. Bainbridge.”  With his portrait clutched to her bosom, she sidled near.  “And yours?”

“The same.”  Tension eased from his shoulders, and he met her inquisitive stare.  “But even a master could not do justice to the genuine article, love.”

“Oh, Trevor.”  The dam broke; Caroline trembled visibly and seemed fragile as a porcelain doll.  “I miss you already.”

And his current state mirrored her sentiment.  Despite the inclination to hold her in his arms and offer a modicum of comfort, he did not move.  Clinging to the reins of self-restraint, he turned toward the ship.  “I shall see you soon, dearest.”

“Wait.”  She caught his wrist.  “You will be careful?  You will come back to me?”

Sunlight flickered on the water, and he gave his attention to the silvery shimmer.  He had made many journeys, why should this one be any different?  “Depend upon it.”

“Know that you carry my heart with you,” she said in a shaky voice.

And he looked her straight in the eyes.

With admirable strength, his wife lifted her chin.  “I love you.”

Hers was the sweetest confession he had ever heard.

Although Caroline had uttered the words on their wedding night, never had she declared herself to his face before God and everyone present.  The combination of her charming expression and statement embodied the solution to his quandary.  This departure was unique because, prior to this day, no one had ever bothered to care whether or not he returned.  The implications were overpowering.

Bereft of speech, and his pulse racing, Trevor struggled to breathe.  Operating on instinct, he enveloped Caroline; as would a drowning man grasp a lifeline.  And just as fast, he set her at arm’s length.  Not until he gained the quarterdeck did he chance a glance at his bride.  The emotions ravaging his senses would not abate, and he waged war against himself.  Trevor could not be more adrift were he in the middle of the open ocean without a ship.

Caroline truly loved him.

“She does not look happy,” Dirk whispered as the first mate bellowed the order to make sail.  “You should have provided some reassurance.”

“I am not a man of maudlin romanticism.”  On the dock, she blew him a kiss, and he waved.  “I would rather be keel-hauled.”

“That can be arranged.”

#

The drawing room at Marlborough House was warm and inviting, and ladies filed in after a lavish six-course meal.  Caroline pressed her palm to her very full belly and peered at her brother, who was whispering in a young conquest’s ear.  No doubt the blushing woman was the current prize in his passionate pursuits and the reason he kept stealing Caroline’s opera glasses during their earlier outing.

To his credit, Blake called on her every morning, making breakfast at Elliott House a regular walk down memory lane.  Together, along with Damian, and sometimes Lance and Dalton, they rode through Hyde Park and raced along Rotten Row.  True to his word, her elder sibling escorted her to the Adelphi on Drury Lane on Wednesday.  And tonight, he had obtained a box for the production of
Don Giovanni
.  But despite the companionship from her friends and family, she was lonely.  And worse, a mere sennight had passed since Trevor sailed.

Due to the end of the Season, most of fashionable society, including her mother, resided in the country.  So when the invitation to the Marlborough’s dinner party arrived, she posted her acceptance in a flurry of anticipation and excitement.  Had she known the Viscount and Viscountess Darwith were also on the list of attendees, she might have reconsidered.

At that moment, the butler rolled in the tea trolley, and Lady Marlborough neared with Caroline’s sworn enemy in tow.  “Lady Lockwood, I believe you are acquainted with Lady Darwith?”

With a smile, Caroline lifted her chin and waited.

Slowly, very slowly, her nemesis curtseyed.  “Countess.”

A surge of triumph roared through her veins, newfound confidence strengthened every muscle, and Caroline wanted to shout for joy.  How satisfying it was to be recognized as the hag’s noble better.  Averting her stare, she said, “But of course.  Lady Darwith and I are old friends.”

“Excellent.”  The hostess poured two cups of tea.  “Then I shall leave you to enjoy your refreshments and conversation.”

“So unfortunate that Lord Lockwood could not join us.”  The serpent slithered close.  “What did you say has kept him from our gathering?”

Sensing an attack, Caroline raised her defenses but held her ground.  “I did not say, but if you must know, he is at sea.”

“Really?  So soon after your wedding?”  With a smug expression, the shrew compressed her lips.  “One might assume marriage does not agree with his lordship.”

“Such is the price for the wife of a sea captain.”  The witch may have thought herself the victor, but Caroline had yet to fire her guns.  Taking careful aim, she let fly her answering salvo.  “Oh, I forgot.  You did not wed such a man, so you would not understand.”

“
Well
.”  Eyes as wide as the saucer in her hand, the termagant retreated two steps.  “I beg your pardon, Lady Lockwood.”

“No pardon necessary, Lady Darwith.”  The sweet taste of success danced on her tongue, and Caroline moved in for the kill.  “You are dismissed.”

As the de-fanged and defeated she-wolf stormed toward the sofa, a group of women engaged in gossip nearby exchanged what appeared to be looks of approval and dipped their chins in unison.  And across the room, Blake raised his glass and winked.

Indeed, love was an invincible shield.

Yes, Caroline considered Trevor the source of her mettle and vigor.  Even now, from far away in some unknown location, his presence reached out and warmed her heart, touched her soul.  An unfailing support, an invisible fortification protected her from every conceivable danger.  Should fear beckon, a single glance at his miniature could banish the chill of trepidation. And although her husband had yet to voice his declaration, something on which she refused to dwell, she had not lost faith.  Hope burned bright as the sun in the match and the man.

On the thought, Caroline mingled among the guests.

“Countess.”  After executing a stiff curtsey, Lady Trowbridge backed Caroline into a corner.  “What is this nonsense I hear?  Your husband has gone to sea?”

“He has.”  She nodded once.  “But it was a business matter of much importance.”

“Humph.”  The old widow adjusted the fuchsia turban on her head.  “There is nothing so important as providing an heir to the earldom.”

Embarrassment burned in her cheeks, and Caroline cleared her throat.  “You have my solemn vow that I shall endeavor to address the deficiency upon his lordship’s return.”

“See that you do.”  Lady Trowbridge peered at the empty cup in her hands and frowned.  “I need more tea.  If you will excuse me, Lady Lockwood.”

“Of course.”  As the quirky character headed in the direction of the trolley, Caroline laughed and started toward the windows.

And walked straight into Lord Darwith.

Blue eyes, with a few more wrinkles at the corners but no less animated, twinkled.  With guinea-gold hair and austere, deadly handsome features, her onetime love had changed little since their ill-fated courtship.  But now, a man with chestnut locks kissed with more shades of brown than she ever knew existed stirred her blood.  And she preferred green eyes that shimmered like precious emeralds.

“Good heavens.”  Somehow, she managed not to spill her tea.  “Forgive me, my lord.”

“But it is I who am to blame.”  Clutching her forearms, her former suitor kept them from falling to the carpeted floor.  “A thousand pardons, Lady Lockwood.”

“The fault is entirely mine.”  She noticed her brother, a stern look on his face, approaching and waved him off.  “I did not watch where I was going.”

“My lady, you are too kind.”  After righting his coat, Lord Darwith bowed with an elegant flair she remembered well.  “Countess, it is a pleasure to see you again.”