Brethren of the Coast Box Set 2

by Barbara Devlin

  While the maid loosened the gown, Alex pulled the pins from her hair. After stepping from the dress, she bent, unhooked her garters, and rolled down her stockings. Wearing only her chemise, she grabbed a brush and smoothed her wayward locks.

  “You are dismissed, Lily.” Alex perched on the mattress. “Enjoy your day.”

  With a vivid blush, the maid curtseyed. “You, too, your ladyship.”

  Alone, Alex drew the slip over her head and flung it to the floor. Naked, she crawled to the middle of the expansive four-poster, fluffed the pillows, reclined on her side, and draped her hair over her shoulder.

  Like a man on a mission, Jason barged into the room, met her stare, licked his lips, and smiled. As he neared, he doffed his cravat, coat, and waistcoat, but nothing else. Instead, he unfastened his collar, unhooked his breeches, and worked his length, and she ignited. Then, without warning, he grasped her ankles, dragged her to the end of the mattress, bent, and entered her in one powerful thrust.

  And so the voluptuous assault commenced.

  For the next three hours, Jason took Alex against the wall, on the floor, against the corner post of the footboard, bent over the washstand, in the bed, on the two-seater bench, atop the table, and in the overstuffed chair in the sitting room.

  Later, they lounged in a much deserved, soothing hot bath.

  Sitting between his legs, she rested her head to his chest and sighed, as he toyed with her nipple.

  “I missed you.” He pressed his lips to her temple.

  “Really?” She squeezed his thighs. “I had not noticed.”

  “I wager you will, tonight, when I return from the debriefing.” He caught the crest of her ear with his teeth. “As I shall make love to you, until dawn.”

  “Only until then?” She sniffed. “My captain can do better.”

  “What a demanding little thing I have married.” He lifted her into his lap. “But I would have you no other way, love.”

  “Then consider that my welcome home gift to you.” She shifted, found the perfect angle, and joined their bodies.

  “That reminds me, I have my customary offering to your incomparable beauty.” Leaning over the edge of the tub, he retrieved his rucksack, which rested on the floor, and drew a curious object from the bag. “For my bride, as I was at sea for our first such special occasion, as husband and wife.”

  “How remarkable.” The octagonal-shaped box, made of mahogany, reminded her of their private apartment at Stratfield Manor. But the contents quite took her breath away. Clusters of colorful flowers filled the container, and a pink heart rested at the center, holding three delicate blooms. An outer circle boasted the phrase: Forget me not when far away. “Why, the flowers are comprised of tiny sea shells. Never have I seen anything like it.”

  “Then you are pleased?” Jason inquired, in an earnest tone.

  “I love it—and you.” True to his promise, her nautionnier knight never forgot her. Whenever he returned to England’s shores, he always arrived with an expression of devotion. She peered over her shoulder and then kissed him. “Captain of my heart.”

  “How I live for that.” He rocked his hips, she clenched her muscles, and he hissed, as he initiated the delicate dance. “And I would have been surprised were you familiar with such artwork, as it is a sailor’s valentine. The tars make them for their sweethearts. When I first commissioned in the navy, I knew not where I belonged. As I was lowborn, I had nothing in common with the pedigreed midshipmen, but neither did I blend with the noncommissioned hands. An old kitchen mate taught me the craft, but I always threw them in the trash, as I had no sweetheart, so you are the lone recipient of my handiwork.”

  “Darling, I treasure it.” She tilted, assumed control of the mating ritual, and he tensed beneath her. “But what is the significance of the three flowers, within the heart?”

  “There is one for each of my loves.” He quickened his pace, and the water sloshed. “You and our sons.”

  “Perhaps we should save this for our children, as it is the appropriate number, and you can make another one, just for me, on your next journey.” She bit her lip and allowed the words to penetrate his thoughts.

  “But we only have two—”

  Alex knew the precise instant Jason realized the significance of her statement, as he stilled, and his countenance sobered. Then, to her unutterable amazement, he bowed his head and closed his eyes.

  “Oh, no.” With great care, she deposited the unique valentine on the floor, twisted in his lap, and framed his face. “Jason, please. Do not cry, as this is most wonderful news.”

  “Sorry, darling. I missed this moment, with our first babes, and I fear you have turned me into a milksop.” He chuckled, as a tear trailed his cheek. “So we have another Collingwood in the making?”

  “That is all right, as I wept, too, when Dr. Handley made the confirmation.” Now he favored her with an inexpressibly tender kiss, which he abruptly ceased, to her dismay.

  “Sweetheart, while I adore my heirs, I would set the world at your feet, if you give me a daughter just like you.” He hugged her tight. “My gorgeous wife, I am so glad I married you.”

  “But you have already given me the world.” She nuzzled his neck. “And all I want is you.”

  Then, to her shock and confusion, he wrenched hard and held her at arm’s length.

  “Bloody hell, Alex, you should have told me of your pregnancy, given I just waylaid you, as a randy barbarian.” Then Jason winced and raked his fingers through his hair. “And when I think of how I handled you, when I bent you over the washstand and took your bottom, I was deuced rough.” Then he groaned. “And we broke the damned chair—really, you should have said something.”

  “What, and have you temper your delicious assault?” She glanced at the crumpled piece of furniture, which sat askew, with a broken leg and a splintered armrest dangling, and giggled. “Not a chance, and I can purchase another chair. But I shall never forget your genius maneuver, involving that new two-seater bench. Just thinking of it gives me shivers, and I can’t wait to use it, again.”

  “I have a confession to make, as I cannot, in good conscience, take credit for that gem of brilliance.” He frowned and cupped her cheek. “Dirk gave me the idea, but I never should have employed that tactic, given your delicate state. Did I hurt you, angel?”

  “No, as I enjoyed every minute of your naughty invasion.” Now she rotated fully, bringing them chest-to-chest. Dropping her knees to either side of his thighs, she rocked, and he grabbed her derriere. With a shriek of elation, she rode her man hell-bent for leather to a fiery finish, as water splashed the carpet.

  When she, at last, collapsed in Jason’s embrace, he lifted her from the bath. With a towel, he dried her, as though she were a priceless treasure, and carried her to bed. As soon as her head hit the pillow, Alex dozed. Fanciful visions and whimsical vignettes invested her dreams, weaving a cherished future, which once had persisted only in the realm of fantasy. Minutes later, she roused, when Jason kissed her.

  “Rest, my darling wife, as you need to recover.” Garbed in gentleman’s attire, he reached beneath the covers to caress her flat belly as he rubbed his nose to hers. “When I return from the debriefing, we will dine in our sitting room, whereupon I shall feed you every morsel, as you lounge in my lap, and then I intend to make love to you, gently, all night.”

  “We shall see about that, the gently part, I mean.” She twined her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him close for another kiss. “And is that a promise?”

  “You may depend upon it.” Then he drew her lip into his mouth and suckled her tender flesh. “I love you, Alex.”

  On her bedside table, he had placed the precious sailor’s valentine beside the miniature replica of the Intrepid, which he had given her at Stratfield Manor, and the journal in which she kept her collection of his original, ribald poetry. Never had she journeyed without the irreplaceable keepsakes. Countless times, during their unconventional cou
rtship, she had envisioned such tender scenarios, and at last, Alex had won the much-desired prize. Cupping his cheek, she smiled. “And I love you, Captain of my heart.”

  THE LUCKY ONE

  THE LUCKY ONE

  PROLOGUE

  The Ascendants

  England

  The Year of Our Lord 1315

  “Waste not thy breath, brothers, as I have no need of thy advice. And I am remarkably skilled in the sensuous arts.” Straightening the collar of his tunic, Morgan smirked. “Unlike the three of thee, I harbor no fear of the weaker sex, given my prurient pedagogy. No doubt my bride will count herself most fortunate in the hands of a past master, and I foresee no trouble pleasing her, between the sheets.”

  The married friends, including the newlywed Morgan, gathered in their favorite dank tavern to toast the day’s nuptials, and Arucard fretted for the cocky young knight. Regardless of the combined wealth of experience in spousal affairs, which Arucard, Demetrius, and Aristide sought to impart, with the best of intentions, the most junior member of the Brethren of the Coast refused to heed their sage counsel.

  “Hast thou spoken with her?” With a huff of impatience, Aristide cast a wary glance at Arucard. “As it was only yesterday, when thou didst apprise me that ye had shared no conversation with thy new mate.”

  “Which does not bode well for nurturing affection.” Arucard stiffened his spine. “Trust me, thou wilt need that.”

  “And the loss of her maidenhead can be a very traumatic, not to mention dangerous, escapade for ye, both.” Demetrius elbowed Aristide in the ribs. “Just ask our brother, hither.”

  “Very funny.” Aristide frowned. “I admit I had a rough start, but I found my way in the matrimonial bed, soon enough. Need I remind ye of the recent birth of my son? And my Dion and I endeavor to produce another, every morning and night.”

  “Ah, it is good to be a husband.” Demetrius snickered, as he and Aristide clinked their mugs. “And my Lily increases, with our second offspring, as we speak.”

  “As does Isolde.” With a surge of pride, and sweet memories of his naughty maneuvers in the attainment of that much-cherished goal, Arucard waggled his brows. “And the begetting is half the fun, when thou dost expend the effort to do it right.”

  “Which is wherefore ye must not squander thy concern on my behalf.” Morgan smoothed his hair and preened. “As I have never failed to rouse my whores.”

  In the process of downing half of his last bit of ale, Arucard choked violently. “Art thou out of thy mind?”

  “What?” The boastful gadling cast an arrogant smile. “One woman’s body is the same as the next, and I shall play my Hawisia’s anatomy as a finely tuned instrument, just wait and see.”

  Aristide blanched. “Yes, but thou hast no—”

  “Then we wish ye merry, and we should not delay ye.” Arucard raised his tankard in toast, and, with his foot, beneath the table he kicked Aristide in the shin. “To Morgan and Hawisia. May thy wedding be every bit as blessed as the union I enjoy with Isolde, as Demetrius favors with Athelyna, and as Aristide delights with Dionysia.”

  “I will drink to that.” The shameless scamp winked and drained his mug. “And now I bid ye good rest, as I shall require all my strength for the night to come.”

  As his fellow Nautionnier Knight exited the tavern, Arucard chuckled. “Poor bastard.”

  “Wherefore did ye not apprise him of the obvious?” Demetrius frowned. “Thou dost comprehend the significance of his statement, dost ye not? He confuses wives with doxies.”

  “Indeed, I understand, and I leave it to him to discover the difference.” Arucard grinned. “As he is sporting for a much deserved, long overdue comeuppance, who am I to deny his mate such joy?”

  “In that I will not argue, but what of the misfortunate, unsuspecting lady?” Aristide grimaced. “Art we not honor-bound to save her?”

  “Think about it, brothers.” Arucard inclined his head. “Given what we know of the female temperament, particularly in regard to the portentous loss of maidenhood, and Morgan’s misplaced confidence, whose skull dost thou believe in greater peril—his or his bride’s?”

  For a few seconds, Demetrius and Aristide pondered the situation. At last, they met Arucard’s stare and burst into unrestrained mirth.

  “God’s bones, but I will grant ye that.” Aristide rubbed the back of his neck. “Yet I would not wish such misery on the worst enemy of my acquaintance. But Morgan can never claim we did not try to intervene, in a sincere desire to save his bumptious hide. Now I can only hope he survives, as I am left to wonder to what lengths he will resort, in his quest to capture her prize.”

  “Canst thou not imagine it? My sweet Isolde damn near scared me to death with her cry of the banshee, when I did naught more than remove my belt.” Slapping a thigh, Arucard collapsed in uncontrollable jollity. “The soul of patience, I attempted to allay her concerns, and she came at me with my old halberd. I intended to spend the dark hours in the solar, with one eye open, for fear she might finish the deed, but she relented. And I would argue she alarmed me more than I alarmed her.”

  “Thou dost think that bad?” Demetrius arched a brow. “Lily barricaded the door to our chambers. When I tried to climb through the window, she bit my fingers. We did not consummate our vows for two months.”

  “Two months?” Arucard whistled in monotone. “And I thought it took us forever.”

  “Oh? Do tell.” Demetrius rubbed his chin. “How long was it for ye?”

  “Three weeks.” Arucard scowled, as he recalled the vicious suffering that denoted that time. “The most painful, gut-wrenching, frustrating, and exhaustive twenty-one days of my existence.”

  “Ah, but I would presume the end of the delay more than compensated for thy hardship.” Averting his gaze, Aristide sighed. “My Dion is a seraph.”

  “And what of ye, brother?” Arucard asked Aristide. “We know of thy rocky start, aside from thy bloody injuries.”

  “Do not remind me.” Aristide winced. “After the assault, and retracing my steps, given my egregious exercise in monumental stupidity, when I apprised my wife that I had been forced to the altar, it took this mountain stag a month to stir her waters. But she was well worth the wait, as Dion holds my heart.”

  The men shared sly smiles in companionable silence.

  Arucard peered over his shoulder and then gazed at the husbands. “My money is on Hawisia.”

  Demetrius groaned. “Mine, too.”

  “Well I am not so foolish to side with Morgan, as I know better.” Aristide snorted. “So whither does that leave me, as we cannot all favor the mare in this race?”

  “Perchance we should adapt our contest to the unique situation.” Arucard calculated the possibilities. “How long dost thou suppose the gadling will last, at her hands, in light of his haphazard and downright dangerous temerity?”

  “I would say in the time it takes to drink two more tankards of ale.” Demetrius propped an elbow on the table. “But no more, as I would satisfy my wife, when I return to her. She is quite the demanding little thing, but I am not complaining.”

  “I do not concur, given the boy’s questionable talents.” Aristide narrowed his stare. “Morgan possesses knowledge with which none of us were endowed, when faced with the same terrifying circumstances, so I believe he has the advantage. I give him three tankards, before he rejoins us.”

  “And what of thee?” Demetrius gave Arucard a gentle nudge. “Hast thou another guess?”

  “Indeed, I do.” As Arucard examined the contents of his mug, he pondered Morgan’s pomposity and wondered how Isolde would have responded, had Arucard employed such stratagem. “Brothers, I stake my claim on the minutes it takes me to consume my current beverage.”

  In unison, Demetrius and Aristide blinked.

  “No.”

  “Thou must be joking.”

  “But I am quite earnest.” Laughing, Arucard flagged a passing bar wench and signaled for another round. “We wi
ll need four tankards, please.”

  “Thou dost order Morgan’s drink?” Aristide slumped against the table. “How canst thou be so certain of the outcome and that ye will prevail?”

  Demetrius scratched his forehead. “What hast thou not told us?”

  “Naught have I withheld.” Arucard shrugged. “But I know Morgan, as dost ye. In light of his misplaced confidence, and what we know of our respective wives, how dost thou suppose Hawisia will respond to his bawdy machinations and impudent inclinations?”

  For a pregnant moment, his fellow knights sat, stock-still. Then, in concert, Demetrius and Aristide collapsed in convulsive hilarity.

  “So what is the winner’s boon?” Wiping a tear from his eye, Demetrius sniffed. “Two groats?”

  “A pound?” Aristide inquired.

  “How about the losers pay the night’s debt?” Arucard assessed the minute amount of ale in his mug and realized he may have overstated his deduction. “After all, I am as much—”

  “No.” Aristide chucked Demetrius on the shoulder. “Look, brother.”

  “Sad sack of ignorance.” Demetrius emptied his tankard and tossed a few coins into the mug. “I do not believe it.”

  Then Aristide pulled a decent sum from his money pouch and added to the collection. Before Arucard could react to their retorts of surprise, and their generous offering, Morgan reappeared. Plopping to the bench, the newlywed groom grunted, glanced at the collective of drinks, and claimed a flagon.

  “Art thou all right, brother?” Arucard queried, in a low voice.

  “Wherefore dost thou ask?” Morgan scowled.

  “Thy nose bleeds.”

  THE LUCKY ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Descendants

  Portsea Island, England

  March, 1814

  The diminutive, hooded thief, bearing a rucksack over his shoulder, skulked along the waist, hesitated for a scarce second, and then scampered below decks and into the cargo hold. Following in the scoundrel’s wake, Dalton Randolph hugged the shadows and grinned, as the unknown gadling lifted the lid on a barrel and retrieved several potatoes.