“Then does it not stand to reason Thomas would want the same for you?” Jason pointed for emphasis. “Or was he a selfish, mean-spirited bastard?”
“Careful, Collingwood.” Anger charged every nerve. “I would run through bigger men than you for such insult.”
“Forgive the offense, as none was intended,” Jason replied with a casual wave. “Pray, continue.”
“As a lad, Thomas was never without a smile or a mischievous caper.” Lance could not help but grin as he reminisced fonder times. “Had my posterior heated more times than I can count as a result of his pranks.”
“Sounds like quite a gadling.”
“Oh, he was handful.” Lance resituated a chair beside Jason’s, weighed his anchor, and chuckled. “He thought nothing of skipping Latin to play in the woods near Eton.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Thomas had a particular dislike for the dead language. Although, if I remember correctly, he was a devil of a poet.”
“Really? A romantic, too?”
“Aye. We both had wicked crushes on—” Lance swallowed hard.
“You both had crushes on Cara, did you not?”
And there it was, the source of his conundrum, plainly spoken, out in the open, at last.
“I think I understand your perspective.” Jason massaged the back of his neck. “In a sense, you view your relationship with Cara as a betrayal of your cousin’s memory?”
“Because I survived that day, which in and of itself was an incredible gift, I inherited his title, and all its trappings, so I do not believe I have the right to expect anything else.”
“Lance, may I speak freely?”
He arched a brow. “When have you not?”
“Point taken. Allow me to submit, since I am not one of your lifelong companions, and not likely to tell you what you want to hear, that I have witnessed more sensible rationale in a berserk mule.” Jason added, “Though you may be as stubborn.”
“Go to hell,” Lance spat.
“I may in time, however, at the moment my pleasure in life is to cause you no end of torment.” Jason chucked Lance’s shoulder. “At least, until you accept the folly of your logic. Do you really believe the nonsense you spout?”
“Consider my situation. I survived the incident, which claimed my best friend’s life. I hold his peerage and now, after a series of unplanned and unexpected events, stand to marry the woman we both adored from afar.” Lance downed the contents of his glass and frowned. “How am I supposed to feel?”
“Overjoyed? In love?” Jason shrugged. “Aroused beyond all imagination?”
Lance emitted a groan in frustration. “I am being serious, and you are making jokes.”
“Ah, but you mistake me, friend. I am serious. If Thomas were half the person you claim, then you should know, were he alive, he would be the happiest for you.”
“It is easy to say that when I am here, and Thomas is dead.”
“And so should you be, as you have one leg in the grave. I would wager Thomas would not approve of your extended mourning.” Jason stood, stretched his back, and yawned. “I am for Bedfordshire, but I would leave you something to ponder. Guilt is a powerful emotion, brother. It numbs your senses and impairs your vision, shrouding your reality in a dense cloud of regret, which further impedes your capacity to reap the rewards of life. Would you condemn your lady to the same fate? In regard to Thomas’s death, Cara is blameless, yet your actions punish her, as well.”
Hours later, as Lance sat before the fireplace, Jason’s words echoed in his brain, again and again, as a taunting refrain. The mantel clock sounded the hour, and soon the sun would rise. Lance retrieved a candle and, with a purposeful stride, exited his study. In a matter of seconds, he crossed the foyer and skipped up the stairs. At the landing, he halted.
The vast gallery, a sea of Prescotts past, bespoke a rich heritage of military prowess, male pride, and the spirited ladies who claimed their hearts. He paused at the portrait of his cousin before he realized he had moved.
With wild curls jutting in all directions, in defiance of fashion, a garish red short coat, an impish grin, and his favorite hound sitting at his feet, Thomas seemed to gaze at Lance. Painted when his cousin was the tender age of three and ten, it was the last artwork commissioned of the original heir to the marquessate of Raynesford.
Lance smiled.
As lads, they bore strong resemblance, so much that many in the ton had speculated as to Lance’s true parentage. They had shared a common height, comparable carriage, and matching lopsided grins. The only physical trait that distinguished them was their eyes. Lance sported emerald green and Thomas a vivid blue.
But it was their personalities that truly set them apart. In short, Lance and Thomas were diametrical opposites. Whereas he always played by the rules, and walked the straight and narrow path, Thomas lived on the edge—always flouting the limits of good society.
Lance liked to think they had struck a fine balance. While he provided discipline, tempering his cousin’s outlandish antics, Thomas brought a little color into his world, if not his backside.
And if Thomas could see him now, Lance knew his cousin would be disappointed. Ever the rebel, Thomas would take Lance to task for being so bloody noble. Jason, god bless him, was right.
Lance had been living in the past for too long, carrying burdens that existed only in his mind. And as clouds veil the bright rays of sunlight, shrouding the earth in grey gloom, he had enveloped his own destiny in the oppressive shadow of guilt.
“If you can hear me, brother, know that I am so sorry if I have caused you additional pain, and how I wish you were here. Please, be at peace, as I believe I have found it, at last.”
In that instant, the weight of the world, so long perched on his shoulders, seemed to evaporate, and Lance exhaled a sigh of relief. It was high time he picked up the reins of his life and rode hell bent for leather toward the future.
And his future was Cara.
ONE-KNIGHT STAND
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The sun shone brightly on the anniversary of her birth, in sharp contrast to Cara’s mood, as she had shed a river of tears mourning the future she had planned with Lance. When the first members of her odd extended family arrived promptly at eight, she positioned herself beside her mother.
“Good evening, Alex.” She exchanged a peck on the cheek with her erstwhile ally.
“Happy Birthday.” Alex’s smile morphed into a frown. “Oh, my. But your face is puffy. You must have a terrible cold.”
“Yet you remain the loveliest of ladies.” Damian clicked his heels, bowed, and offered a beautifully wrapped package. “I have come to pay homage to your beauty, my dear Cara.”
“Ignore him.” Alex rolled her eyes and smacked her brother on the arm. “I believe his new ladybird has a fondness for Shakespeare. He has been spouting all manner of useless drivel for the past fortnight.”
Damian stood tall and adopted a mock pout. “Now I resent that, Alex. Really I do.”
“There she is.” With arms splayed wide in welcome, Sabrina waddled across the threshold. “Cara, I have missed you so. Why have you not visited me?”
“I would have, dearest, but Everett said you needed your rest.” Cara bent to make allowance for Brie’s well-rounded belly. “And how is my little niece or nephew coming along?”
“Oh, I am doing fine, as is the babe. You mustn’t worry about us.” Sabrina hugged Cara and whispered in her ear, “What happened with Lance? You must tell me everything.”
“Hello, sister.” Everett smiled at Cara as he embraced Sabrina from behind and patted her most protuberant part. “Is my wife not the most beautiful creature of our existence? And look at the size of her. Daresay my son is going to be as hale and hearty as his father.”
“You are quite the proud papa, Everett.” Cara laughed. “Thank you allowing my sister to join us.”
“Allowing?” Sabrina humphed. “He does not allow me to do anything. I decide where I go and do not
go.”
“Of course, you do, darling.” Everett winked at Cara, kissed the top of his Brie’s head, and gently ushered her into the foyer.
“Felicitations on your birthday.” Rebecca presented Cara with a beribboned parcel. “And I hope to hear additional good news, tonight.”
“What additional news?” Dirk inquired, with a perplexed expression.
“It is none of your affair,” Becca replied, with a wink.
“Then let us find you a comfortable chair, darling.” Dirk gave his wife a gentle nudge. “I would not have you overtire yourself.”
“Now there is the prettiest birthday girl in London.” Blake strolled into the foyer, with Dalton in tow, carrying a wrapped gift.
“Why you grow more beautiful with each passing year.” Dalton placed a chaste kiss to her forehead.
Blake followed suit in similar fashion. “Tell me, my dear, when are you going to stop holding half the men of our set in suspense?”
Cara shuffled her feet. “I beg your pardon?”
Dalton cocked his head and cast a mischievous, lopsided grin. “What he wants to know is when you are going to settle down and marry some lucky but undeserving chap?”
“Perhaps she has already made her selection.” Trevor escorted Caroline across the threshold. “And she keeps it a secret.”
“Do not tease her, Trevor.” Caroline elbowed her husband in the ribs. “And all women have secrets.”
“Some more than others,” Lance replied, as Elaine clutched his arm.
“I hold no store.” In an effort to conceal her shaking hands, Cara smoothed the skirts of her emerald velvet gown, and reminded herself she had nothing to fear. For better or worse, her course was fixed, and she would not deviate from her plan. “Do not feel you must stand on formality, as there are refreshments in the drawing room.”
“Happy birthday, sister.” Elaine bounced with unconcealed excitement. “Are we the last to arrive?”
“Indeed.” Cara nodded. “But we are family, so punctuality is of no concern.”
“Then, if you do not object, I should like to see Sabrina, as it has been ages since we last met.” Elaine arched a brow. “I believe Everett would deny Napoleon entrance were the general to show up on his doorstep and beg an audience.”
“I would wager you are correct.” Cara could not help but giggle. “But it is only because he loves her, so I cannot fault his behavior.”
“Ah, love can turn the most sane man into a blithering idiot.” Jason smirked. “Happy birthday, my dear Miss Douglas. May I introduce a friend?”
As only Lance loomed in Jason’s wake, Cara blinked in confusion. “I believe we have already met—twenty-six years ago, today.”
“That may be, but do you really know him?” Jason asked.
“As well as I know myself.” Cara mustered a smile, even as her heart fractured. “Good evening, Lance. I am honored by your presence.”
“I would not miss the celebration of your birth for the world.” Lance inclined his head, searched her eyes, and cupped her cheek. “Are you feeling better? No ill effects from the impromptu bath in the Huxley’s garden?”
“I am quite well, I assure you.” Cara shivered beneath his touch, but his levity put her at ease. “Do not be concerned on my account.”
“I have a gift in homage to your beauty.” He leaned close and in a low voice said, “But I would prefer to give it to you in more private surroundings.”
“I am sure that is not necessary.” How she ached, as reality beckoned with a vengeance. “Your attendance is my boon, my hero.”
“As we are all present, shall we gather in the drawing room?” Her father slapped Lance on the back. “So glad to see your improvement, my boy.”
While Lance chatted with her parents, Cara grabbed Jason by the elbow. In a hushed tone, she said, “I must speak with you.”
With a brow arched in question, Jason dipped his chin. “Of course.”
“Come with me.” Cara glanced over her shoulder and then steered him down a side hall. After a quick check to ensure their privacy, she drew Collingwood into the small alcove just outside her father’s study.
“Captain, you have been so kind, and I shall always be grateful for your assistance.” A shiver coursed her spine, and she inhaled a deep breath and recalled her well-rehearsed speech. “I owe you a debt I fear I can never repay.”
“Forgive me, Miss Douglas.” He appeared perplexed. “What are you about?”
“It concerns our arrangement.” If she stopped now, she might never resolve her predicament, and she had to put an end to the insanity. “I am no longer in need of your services.”
“Ah, your reluctant suitor has come to his senses, at last.” Jason grinned and squeezed her fingers. “Somehow, I knew he would not disappoint you.”
“As much as I wish it were so, I must confess the opposite is true.” A dull ache weighed heavy in her chest, yet Cara persevered. “My suitor is no more.”
“What?” Jason blinked and sputtered. “But—you must be mistaken. I do not understand.”
“My beau has quit his campaign. It seems he has lost interest, at least, in me.” Hers was a humiliating admission, and Cara gazed at her clasped hands. “Therefore, you are free to continue your courtship of Alex, unfettered. You will make a wonderful husband.”
“Wait a minute.” Jason rolled his eyes. “I do not believe this is happening. Are you telling me your hesitant hero has declined to marry you—that you have conferred with him directly, and he has refused you?”
“Not exactly—”
“Then you have not spoken with him?”
“No.”
“You know, war is much simpler than this game we play.” Jason sighed. “Cara, regardless of your deductions, and evidence to the contrary, for which I must own part of the blame, your conclusion is woven of whole cloth.”
“Jason, I know a vast deal more than you when it comes to my intended.” She compressed her lips. “Well, my former intended.”
“How did I end up in this position, dispensing advice to the lovelorn?” He groaned. “I should have stayed in the navy.”
“Please, if I may be frank, you must not think me ungracious, as I appreciate all you have done to aid my ill-fated campaign.” Just how many fractures could her heart withstand, she mused. “But I have to accept the reality of my situation. The man for whom I set my cap does not want me, and it is past time I move on with my life.”
“Cara, you are so very wrong.” Jason stood and paced the hall. Then he paused. “Promise me something?”
Despite her better judgment, she replied, “It depends on what you ask of me.”
“Give me your word, as a lady, that you will meet your prospective groom, and allow him the opportunity to explain himself. On my honor, I vow you will be glad of it.” Jason repositioned himself beside her. “He is in earnest.”
“You know.” It was a statement, not a question.
He opened and then closed his mouth. “Aye.”
Now her shame was complete. “How did you guess?”
“We inadvertently discovered your plot after Lance threatened to kill me, when he thought you ill-used.” Her erstwhile ally chuckled. “And we consumed an impressive amount of brandy in commiseration of our folly.”
“So Lance knows everything?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Jason tugged his cravat. “It was that or a dawn appointment at Paddington Green.”
“Oh, dear.” The once confusing pieces of the puzzle suddenly made sense. “And your behavior, of late? You were trying to make Alex jealous.”
His features hardened. “Indeed.”
If she had ruined Alex’s chances with Collingwood, Cara would never forgive herself. “But—why?”
“Because she lied to me.” Jason folded his arms and snickered. “I had thought to offer for her, but now I am unsure she possesses the qualities I require in a wife.”
“But I demanded she keep my secret, so you must not punish
Alex for my indiscretion,” Cara explained. “Her only thought was to help me. Is that not worth something?”
“Given our relationship, Alex should have confided in me.” His harsh expression conveyed a world of angst and testified to the depth of his hurt. “She could have had faith in me.”
“And yet I forbid her from sharing the truth, so I, alone, am to blame for her duplicity.” At last, the damn burst, and the tears flowed. “I am so sorry, Captain. If you are angry with anyone, be angry with me.”
“Dearest Cara, I understand the noble motives behind your enterprise. Please, do not cry.” Jason produced a handkerchief, cupped her chin, and blotted her cheeks, with care. “And Lady Seymour will suffer her day of reckoning, if she hopes to have a future with me. But, at this moment, there are more pressing matters to be settled between you and Lance.”
“I dread the prospect.” Cara hiccuped.
“You need to speak with him.” Jason clutched her hand in his and brought her knuckles to his lips.
“Captain, you should not—”
“What in bloody hell is going on here?” As a manifestation of her final downfall, Cara’s father dominated the hall, with his chin hovering at dangerous heights, hands on hips, and a narrow stare that left Cara shivering in her slippers.
In an instant, she recognized the imperious posture and the lethal anger it bespoke, because she had seen that stance on occasions too numerous to count. But his ire had only been provoked by Sabrina’s most grievous infractions. Never had Cara been subjected to such wrath.
“Papa, it is not what you think.”
“In my study—now.” Her father pointed for emphasis, as if she were unfamiliar with her surroundings.
Without hesitation, Cara stood. “Yes, sir.”
“I should return to the drawing room,” Jason stated. “I shall leave—”
“You, too,” the Admiral replied.
“Of course, Admiral.” Jason tugged his collar and cleared his throat. “I should be happy to accommodate you.”
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