Brethren of the Coast Box Set 2

by Barbara Devlin

In that moment, he won her heart, once again. As tears streamed her cheeks, she resolved to concede. Whatever he desired, even if he decided to send her away, she would obey. No matter what he asked of her, she vowed to bear it. She would neither shout nor protest. She would relent. She would accept his choice, if only to make him happy. But when Dalton quieted and charged her, she trembled.

  “Oh, sweet Daphne.” With his arms about her waist, he lifted her from the floor and held her so tight she could scarcely draw breath. “My cherished backwater bride, I will let no one take you from me. And I will sort this out, I swear.”

  “So you are not angry with me?” Nuzzling his neck, she pressed her lips to his warm flesh and drew comfort from his mere presence. “And you will not leave me?”

  “What do you mean?” Relaxing his grasp, he let her slide down the front of him, and she discovered him aroused. “Of course, I am not upset with you. But I am livid with those who would cause you harm. And we are married, till death do us part, so I will never surrender you without a fight, my angel. If someone wants you, they must first go through me.”

  At his priceless admission, everything inside her flip-flopped and clenched. Daphne gave vent to a half-strangled sob, as a valiant rallying cry, and came at her husband with a force she had not known she possessed, and he stumbled backward but never broke their point of contact. Twining her fingers in his hair, she bit his lip and then besieged his mouth. Like a firestorm, they ignited.

  When Dalton settled his palms to her bottom, and pressed her hips to his, she moaned, as delicious heat simmered beneath her skin and quelled the chill of fear that had plagued her for more than a fortnight. As some sort of addictive intoxicant, he bestowed upon her intimate kisses, with his tongue delving deeper than ever before, and she craved more.

  A foreign hunger blossomed in the pit of her belly, and she yearned to assuage the heady appetite. Now she understood the temptation of desire, which the Brethren wives had recounted. Without doubt, she wanted her husband, longed to reap the rewards of his expertise, of everything he could teach her, and pleasure him, too. The knowledge worked on her in ways she could not defend against, given her innocence, and her knees buckled.

  “Easy, love.” All of a sudden, Dalton bent and swept her into his arms. “Do not be afraid.”

  In a flash, he carried her to his bed and eased her to the mattress. Stretched alongside her, he nudged her legs apart, as he wielded gentle caresses in a delicate invasion, and she followed his lead. But when he shifted and flicked up her skirts, she gasped.

  “What are you doing?” She tensed, when he placed his hand on her bare thigh.

  “Please, sweet Daphne. I will not hurt you.” He nipped her nose. “Permit me to feed you a taste, just a morsel, of the delights we can share.”

  “You promise, it will not hurt?” Pining for what she knew not, she clung to him.

  “You have my solemn vow.” To her lips, he said, “Please, angel.”

  His appeal, captivating in its simplicity, arrested her, and she could not refuse his elementary petition. And she had not wanted to refuse him. Opening to her knight, she told him with her body what she lacked the courage to say with words, and Dalton rewarded her with a lusty growl, as he took the helm and steered her into a mystical realm, where she floated beyond her mortal coil, and sight and sound yielded to touch.

  As she sampled his desire, a potent elixir not unlike the brandy that rendered her dizzy, she wallowed in the luxurious heat suffusing her in peaceful euphoria—until Dalton touched her most tender flesh.

  “Wait.” The ugly reality of her locale struck her as a cold-water bath. She jerked free and rolled to the opposite side of the bed. “I can’t do this—not here.”

  “What did I do, darling?” The sadness investing his boyish features tore at her heart. “Tell me what you want me to do, and I will do it. Just do not turn me away.”

  “But I am not rejecting you.” Somehow, she had to make him understand her perspective. Had he not demanded honesty? Had he not claimed he valued the truth? Daphne stiffened her spine and inhaled a fortifying breath. “I hate this house. I detest it and everything that happened here, before we met.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Her husband sputtered and stuttered. Then he rubbed the back of his neck and stood. “Pray, explain yourself.”

  “I want to be yours. I want to make love to you—I want it all.” Cresting on a tide of conviction, she lifted her chin. “But not here.”

  “What is your objection?” He glanced about the room. “What is wrong with my home?”

  “That is the point. This is your bachelor lodging, where you have taken any number of women, of whom I am jealous, and it pains me to admit it, but there it is.” There was no going back, so she clenched her fists. “I have no wish to join the ranks of the many. I want to be the one.”

  Dalton opened his mouth and then closed it. “Am I to understand you have no quarrel with me, and your issue is with our current location?”

  “Yes.” Rounding the footboard, she smiled. “I long to be yours, but it will never happen in this place. And I do not want to live here. I would have something that reflects our combined tastes, as a couple. I would have what is ours.”

  “Is that your sole complaint?” He sauntered to the bell pull and tugged hard. “Have you any other grievances?”

  “No,” she replied without hesitation.

  “Well, then.” To her confusion, her husband returned to his closet. When someone knocked at the door, Dalton reappeared, wearing a tan waistcoat and shrugging into a dark green coat. “Come.”

  Merton peered around the edge of the oak panel. “You rang, sir?”

  “Have the carriage readied, as Mrs. Randolph and I depart in twenty minutes.” Her knight seemed so calm, and she was anything but, as he tied his cravat.

  “Yes, sir.” The butler rushed to convey the directive, and Daphne gulped.

  “Where are we going?” She scrutinized her dress and slippers. “Should I change my gown?”

  “No, angel.” His answering smirk gave her delicious shivers. “And where we go, you will need no clothes.”

  Before she could respond, he clutched her wrist and led her into the hall, down the stairs, and into the study. At the side table, he lifted the brandy decanter and poured a glass of the stiff drink. Mid-air, she grabbed the balloon, drew a healthy draft, and choked as the intoxicant burned her throat.

  “Easy, sweetheart.” Dalton chuckled. “I want you fully alert when we consummate our vows.”

  At his casual statement, she almost swallowed her tongue. “Are we to take a room in a hotel?”

  “Sir Dalton, the coach is here.” Merton bowed.

  In the foyer, Dalton draped her shawl over her shoulders, and she tugged on her gloves. Then he steered her out the door and into their equipage. After a few brief comments to the coachman, her one true knight plopped into the squabs and hauled her into his lap.

  “Angel, do not worry.” He kissed her temple. “I will protect you, and in my absence, our family will guard you. No one will harm you. And tomorrow I will summon assistance in the matter. We will uncover the villain threatening you and bring them to justice.”

  “Dalton.” She framed his face. “I love you.”

  “I know you do, sweetheart.” He tickled her jawline with the tip of his nose. “And I truly believe I love you, too.”

  “Yet, I hear uncertainty.” And she was more than a little deflated. Daphne knew, without doubt, that her husband loved her, but she needed him to know it. “So you will tell me when you are positive?”

  “Can anyone be assured of anything?” He sighed. “I care for you, of that I am satisfied. Why is that not good enough for you?”

  “Because I want more, and I will have it.” The streets of Mayfair passed in a blur, until familiar surroundings struck her. When the coach came to a halt, her question had been answered. “We are to spend tonight at Randolph House?”

  “Indeed.” Without waiti
ng for the footman, Dalton leaped to the sidewalk and then handed her down. “It meets your requirements, as never have I brought any woman to my ancestral home. And you shall be the only lady to grace the sheets of my bed.”

  #

  Dalton had lingered in Dirk’s study long enough for Hughes to light the fireplaces and inspect the accommodations. Once Dalton had Daphne alone in his apartments, he gave her the bedchamber to prepare herself, while he untied his cravat, tossed the yard-length of linen to a chair, doffed his coat and waistcoat, and sat to pull off his boots, in the sitting room.

  To his amazement and mortification, he was as nervous as a giddy green lad with his first woman. On the tallboy, the brandy decanter called to him, as a sultry summons, but he opted to forgo the liquid courage, as he required all his faculties and what remained of his tattered self-control, to survive the deflowering he had planned. And he wanted nothing to dull his senses when he docked in her honey harbor.

  “Hello, my one true knight.” His wife loomed in the open entrance to the inner sanctum, and once again she stunned him.

  Barefooted, wearing nothing but her sheer chemise, with her blonde curls draped about her shoulders, she could have been mistaken for a practiced seraph, if not for the telltale wringing of her hands. And never had he known a lady could blush from top to toe, but his provincial bride colored beetroot red, and he could not help but laugh.

  “You are beautiful, my angel.” When he eased to the edge of the chaise, she halted him with an upraised palm.

  “Please, do not get up on my account, as I would join you.” Confused, he reassumed his position amid the cushions, as she sat beside him. “Might I ask a favor?”

  “Sweetheart, you may have whatever you wish.” He winked. “As I am in a mood to indulge your every fantasy.”

  “Perfect.” She scooted closer, until she nudged his thigh with hers. Then she settled her gaze on the robust bulge at his crotch. “I have never seen a naked man before.”

  “I would hope not.” Her fascination fueled an already wicked erection, and he shifted his hips beneath her ardent scrutiny. “Our bodies are rather different, but we are fashioned to link as one, and the union is quite natural.”

  “Will it hurt?” She bit her lip, and he almost spilt his seed.

  “No, angel.” It was, perhaps, a testament to the depth of his regard and her influence over him that the mere discussion of coitus had him teetering on the brink of sweet release. And her surprising but most welcome curiosity only fed his hunger. “If you follow my lead, and do exactly as I say, you should feel only pleasure, as most virgin’s pain stems from anxiety.”

  “That is what the Brethren wives said.” How earnest she seemed, as she studied him. “May I?”

  Now that request he had never seen coming.

  Incapable of forming a coherent response, he nodded. To his shock, he damn near exploded, when she unhooked his breeches and drew back the placket.

  “Goodness, now I know why Sabrina calls it the one-eyed pirate, as it looks rather angry.” That gem of brilliance was just the levity he needed to break the tension investing him. As she inclined her head and made an in-depth study of his most prized protuberance, he gritted his teeth. “Might I touch you?”

  She was going to kill him.

  “My dear, I am yours to do with as you will.” Brave words from a man on the verge of shaming himself and his sex. When she grasped his length, he tensed and groaned, and she recoiled.

  “Was that bad?” She fidgeted. “Did I injure you?”

  “No, sweetheart.” He wrapped an arm about her shoulders, toyed with a lock her of guinea-gold hair, and kissed her temple. “It is just that I have dreamed of you, like this, so many nights. Now that you are here, I can scarcely believe the reality.”

  “And what is this?” She smeared the drop of moisture about the plumb-shaped tip. “Is this normal?”

  “It is perfectly normal.” He closed his eyes. “And it means I desire you, so very much.”

  To his infinite thanks, she emitted something between a sob and a sigh and set her mouth to his in an inexpressibly endearing affirmation—just as she worked him. With her fledgling assault, he grabbed her wrist. On the second tug, his gut clenched, and on the third, he let fly an effuse volley, which shot forth in a jetting rush. Covering her hand with his, he dropped his head against the back of the chaise and taught her how to milk him dry, as he grunted and groaned in blessed relief.

  After what seemed as hours but was only a few blissful minutes, he resurfaced from the exhilarating oblivion to discover his wife smiling at him.

  “I did it.” Spattered with the proof of his ardor, she all but bounced with enthusiasm. “I am a veritable Delilah.”

  “Oh, I would say you did it, all right.” Dalton chuckled, as her good humor was infectious. “And you have no idea how much I needed that.”

  “And now I know I can satisfy you.” Was it his imagination, or had she appeared proud of her accomplishment? “I feel so powerful.”

  “Did you ever doubt it?” When her ebullience faded, he sat upright. “Daphne, you must know I desire you.”

  “But Lady Moreton said I could never satisfy you as she satisfied you,” she murmured.

  “Angel, I hope this does not make you think ill of me, but I am aroused by the mere sight of you.” Standing, he secured his breeches, shrugged from his shirt, pulled her from the chaise, and led her to the bedchamber. “The subtle rush of your breath, the gentle lilt of your voice, the slightest glimpse of your blue eyes, and I am inspired to the heights of passion such as I have never known. I would argue the opposite is true, as no woman could ever satisfy me as you satisfy me, and we have yet to make love.” In seconds, he untied the ribbon and whisked the soiled chemise over her head. Then he knelt before her and pressed his face to her belly. “I am your most unworthy servant, Mrs. Randolph. But I shall endeavor to deserve you, every day, for the rest of my life.”

  “My one true knight, you are more than worthy.” In that moment, his wife bent and caressed his cheek. Then she retreated, eased to the mattress, and flicked her fingers in entreaty. “Now make me yours.”

  Again, she astonished him with her overt surrender, but he should have expected no less from his bride. Dirk had called her formidable. Surely, that was an understatement. After divesting himself of his breeches, he sat on the edge of the four-poster and brushed the hollow between her breasts with his knuckles.

  “I need you to listen carefully, as I want you to know what I am going to do, so I will not startle you.” Dalton glanced at the table, collected all manner of items that might function as projectiles, and either deposited them in a drawer or relocated them to the dresser. “In order to prepare you, I am going to kiss you, right here.” With caution, he grazed the supple flesh at the apex of her thighs. “Have I shocked you?”

  “No.” Despite her response, she appeared nervous. “Rebecca insists there is much to recommend it.”

  “She discussed such behavior with you?” Bloody hell, he needed to attend more tea parties. “And your actions in the sitting room—who told you of that?”

  “The Brethren wives sought to allay my concerns, and I am grateful for their counsel, else I might have swooned just now, so do not be angry with them.” She squirmed. “And Alex swears Jason raves about what she calls naughty finger work.”

  “Upon my word.” At that, Dalton burst into laughter. “But I never knew my sisters engaged in such licentious conversations.”

  “You would be surprised.” Her eyes flared, as he assumed a comfortable position between her legs, which he pushed further apart.

  Slowly, he bent and expelled his breath to her soft little curls, and she shrieked. Watching his every move, she moaned, as he flicked his tongue to her taut nub. But when he probed her pliant folds, and delved deeper still, she grabbed a pillow and hugged it over her face. Savoring her unique essence, he licked her slowly, in a monotonous cadence, letting her adjust to his tempered invasion.<
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  A series of muffled sighs played an arresting accompaniment, and he worked himself, in concert. At last, she relaxed and stretched her limbs, heavy with diverting languor, and he knew she was with him.

  Dalton reached up and slid the pillow from her grasp. With her lips parted, her breathing had slowed, and her lushly lashed lids were closed, so she had not noticed he had removed her makeshift shield. Fastening his mouth to the jewel of her desire, he suckled hard. She cried out, and he flipped her onto her belly, so he could pay homage to her shapely backside, which he had admired the night of their initial acquaintance aboard the Siren. How he cherished the memory of her glorious derriere, as she had bent over the stores in the hold.

  Sparing not an inch of her succulent bottom, he indulged every fantasy he had conjured during their courtship. And again, his wife serenaded him with a priceless audial tapestry of pants and sighs he would carry to the grave. When he feared he could take no more, he rolled her onto her back, closed his lips about her tender core and pressed on her a decadent massage intended to entice and arouse. With every swirl, swish, and swipe of his tongue, she all but melted into the downy surface, until telltale rigidity signaled she had soared into rapturous paradise.

  Moving swift and sure, Dalton rose above her to witness her virgin release, and uncharacteristic tears blurred his gaze, as Daphne stared at the canopy, clutched her throat, and emitted an achingly sweet scream. Settling his hips to hers, he bent and kissed her rose-tipped breasts, as she whimpered, lost amid the throes of ecstasy. Perfectly positioned, he claimed her in a single powerful thrust.

  And so it was done.

  Forever, Daphne was his, and her untried sheath enveloped him in scorching slick heat. Summoning patience, and resting on his elbows, he framed her face and set a slow and steady rhythm, as he waited for her to join him in the dance.

  At last, she peered at him. “So I am yours?”

  “Yes, angel.” He rubbed his nose to hers and showed her how to lift her heels and hug him with her thighs. “You are mine, and I am unequivocally yours.”

  With an expression of wonder, she wound her arms about his neck and bestowed upon him a feminine smile, and Dalton Randolph, rake, rogue, Nautionnier knight, and the lucky one, was lost.