Enter The Brethren (The Brethren of the Coast)

by Devlin, Barbara

  “Now see here--”

  “Blake, I can explain.” She snatched the sheet to her neck.

  “You damn well will.”

  Trevor almost choked when his conquest used the aristocrat’s Christian name. It was clear the two had a history. “What is there to explain?” he asked, since nothing about the situation made sense.

  “And you will remove yourself from that bed this instant!” His foe was acting like an angry father, but Trevor knew that was not possible.

  “Excuse me,” he interrupted. “Do not yell at her, chap, or I will call you out.”

  “Too late.” Rylan continued to focus on the floor. “I am calling you out.”

  “Give me a minute to put on some clothes, and I will be happy to oblige you.” He tossed the blankets aside.

  “No.” Caroline hugged him tight. “Trevor, please, you mustn’t.”

  “What is it, darling? Are you afraid?” He cupped her cheek. “Worry not, because I will not let him take you.”

  “Oh, I beg you, do not hurt him.” Tears pooled in her eyes, and desperation permeated her features. “If you care anything for me, do not raise your sword against him.”

  Nausea swept over him, as Trevor feared his bunkmate might have formed some silly female attachment to his rival. Despite his better judgment, and bracing for her response, he asked, “Why?”

  “Because he is my brother.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Bloody everlasting hell.”

  “What is it, Cap’n?” George peered from behind the wheel, where he had taken refuge since Trevor stormed the quarterdeck with not one, but two interloping nobles, hot as a hornet’s nest, in tow. “I thought you would be happy to see them.”

  With a shudder of confusion, he stared at the engrossing figure that occupied the seat next to his during every session of Parliament. As acquaintances, they shared a love of the sea, fine cigars, well-aged brandy, and beautiful paramours. No mere mortal, the one-time naval commander, notorious for his short fuse, was known throughout the ton by many names. He was none other than Blake Thornton Deverell Elliott, fifth Duke of Rylan, Marquess of Balfour, Earl of Grafton, Viscount Pelham, Viscount Gladstone...

  And, if truth were told, elder sibling of Trevor’s delectable cabin mate.

  The prospect defied reason, yet he could not argue the validity of her personage, evidenced by her sword-wielding, curse-spitting relative. Which meant his sweet Caroline was not a courtesan-in-training, but rather Lady Caroline Elliott, highborn gentlewoman and member of one of England’s most respected families.

  Had he not said he wanted answers as to her background? Trevor would have preferred she was an ill-experienced demirep, a blank canvas for him to tutor in the sensual arts, and not a blueblood in hiding. He had expected the former, never imagined the latter.

  “George, please, shoot me.”

  Under normal circumstances, he would be quite pleased to engage in a round of verbal fencing and pointed insults, neither facetious nor serious, with the ducal duo perched on the rail at present. It was common knowledge that Damian Seymour, Duke of Weston, was Blake Elliott’s constant companion. In a world where lust for land and power had brought warriors to the battlefield, their friendship was the stuff of legend. And Trevor’s association with the pair, often described as a harmless rivalry of like-minded reprobates, extended back to his days at Oxford.

  Strange, he could not recall Blake ever mentioning a sister.

  “What, in God’s name, possessed you to permit them free entry to my quarters?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? If memory serves, you struck the last blow when you hired that toothless hag of a doxy, told her your name was Elliott, and pointed her in the direction of the Tristan and her captain.” The first mate scratched his cheek. “Where were we? India?”

  “That was a harmless prank.” Trevor gazed at the impressive vessel anchored alongside the Hera and raked a hand through his hair. “What you did may see me hanged from the highest yardarm.”

  “Nonsense.” George chuckled. “Don’t tell me the lads are in a fit over yer whore--”

  “Will you be quiet,” Trevor hissed. “Are you trying to get me keelhauled?”

  “Keelhauled?” The old salt grinned. “Who guards her, Elliott or Seymour?”

  “She is none other than--”

  “Blake.” Trevor turned in time to see the lady in question, who had been granted the privacy of his cabin to get dressed, run into the formidable duke’s waiting embrace.

  “Caroline.” Cradling her head in his hand, Blake closed his eyes. “I thought you lost to me.”

  Despite their connection, Trevor was plagued by gut-twisting envy as the siblings hugged. His discomfort increased tenfold when she favored the other man with the same display of affection. What struck him was the change in his line of thought. During his naked dance at the point of a blade, while tugging on breeches and boots, his singular focus had been how to wrangle himself out of his current predicament.

  Because Caroline was a woman of character, honor demanded he restore her reputation. And it did not take a genius to deduce the required reparation--a daunting prospect that scared the hell out of him.

  “George?”

  “Aye, sir?”

  “Clear the deck.”

  “I do not understand your alarm.” Caroline appeared puzzled. “Why did you think I was lost? Did you not get my letter?”

  “I did.” Blake compressed his lips. “Upon my return to London, I received an urgent summons from Mama. By the time I reached Elliott House, she was on the verge of hysterics. Nothing would appease her but that I depart for Jamaica and bring you home, posthaste.”

  “Oh, dear.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “But Mama need not have worried. I explained my reasons for leaving, and she knew I was with Dalton.”

  “And you believe that made everything all right?” The elder brother shifted his weight. “I daresay my entire being shook as I read your missive. You can’t go gallivanting unescorted across the ocean on a ship filled with sailors. And considering what has happened, I do not see how you can argue your position.”

  “But nothing serious occurred, and Trevor has been a complete gentleman.” Caroline peered in his direction and smiled.

  “A complete gentleman?” Blake’s eyebrows almost reached his hairline, and he glanced at Trevor. “I found you en flagrante delecto, and you have the audacity to call him a gentleman?”

  Although Trevor had known the inevitable would come, that he would have to face the music, he had not expected the pangs of guilt assailing his conscience.

  “Explanations are in order.” Pinning him with an icy stare, Blake brushed aside the fold of his greatcoat and set his hand to the hilt of his sword. “Enlighten me, Lockwood. Why did you kidnap my sister?”

  Trevor opened his mouth to say something--anything--but Caroline cut him off.

  “Lockwood?” Her blue eyes grew wide, and she clutched her throat. “Do you know each other?”

  “Oh, we know each other very well,” Blake replied, his voice dripping sarcasm. “And there is a reason he took you from Dalton’s ship.”

  “I don’t understand.” With a familiar guileless countenance, Caroline turned to Trevor. “Why did you take me?”

  In that moment, he would make a pact with the devil to disappear on the spot. He would welcome an attack by Cavalier, would rather face the entire French fleet than admit his indiscretion. In his quest to settle a grudge, Trevor had acted rashly. And in his haste, he had injured an innocent.

  “Come, Lockwood.” Her brother arched a brow and tapped his fingers to the rail in an impatient rhythm. “Regale us with your tale.”

  For a scarce second, Trevor considered jumping ship and swimming for London. But he had never been accused of being a coward in his life and was not about to start now. “First, hear me when I say I did not know she was your sister--much less a woman of character.”

  “What do you mean you did not k
now?” Blake gave his attention to his sibling, and Trevor breathed a sigh of relief. “Did you not inform him of your name, of your connections? Did he not believe you?”

  “I did not think it signified.” Caroline paused, and though she spoke to her brother, it was Trevor she faced. “According to the Captain, he simply wanted company as he crossed the Atlantic. He said Dalton owed him money from a game of poker.”

  “You did not think it signified?” Blake slapped a fist to his open palm. “And you placed your confidence in him? A total stranger? How on earth could you be so naive?”

  “He said he was a friend of Dalton’s and mentioned Dirk, as well. They sailed together in the Navy. And the men of the watch were there; they would never have let him aboard, or in the captain’s cabin, without permission.” She shrugged. “There was no reason to fear him, as he stated, from the first, that he would not harm me.”

  “Did you see the note he left behind?” Blake asked.

  Uh, oh.

  “Note?” she replied. “He left a note?”

  “Indeed.”

  When Blake retrieved a folded piece of parchment from his waistcoat and handed it to his sister, Trevor thought he would swoon like a woman. He knew what she held, even without inspecting it, and his goose was jolly well cooked.

  As Caroline scanned the missive, her shoulders sagged, and her mouth fell agape. When she lifted her chin and gazed at him, the agony marring her lovely features struck Trevor as a bolt of lightning, skewering his miserable hide.

  “You wrote this,” she stated in monotone. “You left this for Dalton?”

  Though something inside him screamed a denial, he nodded once. “Aye.”

  “When I dropped anchor in Jamaica, Dalton was emptying his stores in preparation to come after you.” Blake scowled. “As I was carrying nothing but ballast, I set sail at once. I have been chasing your wake for weeks and had almost given up hope of finding you when a storm hit. It was a lucky break, because the Tristan is a heavier ship and better suited to foul weather. With the canvas hardened in, I knew I would catch you.”

  “But, I do not understand.” Caroline again read the missive. “Why would Trevor take me?”

  “Do you recall Dalton’s story involving a pilfered paramour?”

  “Yes, he was quite full of himself.”

  “Well, he is the bounder Dalton crossed.” Blake curled an arm around her waist. “He thought you a whore. In recompense, he drugged the crew and kidnapped you with seduction as his sole objective. Did you not see their bodies strewn about the deck?”

  “He wrapped me in a blanket for my protection--or so he claimed.” She frowned, and Trevor felt it all the way to his toes. “I saw nothing.”

  He glanced at the sky, rolled his shoulders, and exhaled a breath in a failed attempt to alleviate the tension investing him. How was he ever going to get himself out of this mess? “I can assure you, had I known her connections I never would have taken her.” The last was said with a wealth of meaning he prayed Blake and Damian comprehended.

  “What?” Caroline gasped; she searched his eyes as their gazes met. “After everything we shared--” She bit her lip and appeared on the verge of tears. If she cried, Trevor knew he was a dead man.

  “Why did you not apprise him of your personage?” Blake asked with unveiled irritation.

  At her sibling’s prompt, she masked her sadness behind a haughty façade no actress on Drury Lane could best, and thereby saved his skin. “I had sought to protect my identity and our good name.” Caroline swallowed hard and continued to stare as if he had three heads. “If it were known that I had sailed without proper escort, with a man--friend or not--our family would be ruined.”

  As the brother and sister quarreled, Trevor wondered if the situation could get any worse.

  “Of all the senseless, ridiculous, imbecilic...Caroline, do you realize this situation might have been avoided had you simply revealed your identity?” Blake railed. “My God, woman, what were you thinking?”

  “Well, that is fine. Blame me for this.” She glared at her brother and thrust her chin in the air. “I had been kidnapped. For all I knew, he could have held me for ransom. But he promised to deliver me safely to London, if only I agreed to be his mistress for the voyage.”

  “If only you agreed to be his mistress? Oh, I can guarantee you will be much more than his mistress.” Blake stood as an impressive sentry. “He will make you an honorable offer, else I will stew his gullet.”

  Trevor tugged on his shirt collar, because his predicament had just gotten worse.

  “You can’t mean that.” Caroline fisted her hands in her brother’s shirt. “I know you too well, you would never force me to wed. And he is not suitable.”

  “I beg to differ.” Her sibling scoffed. “He is an excellent candidate for a husband.”

  “You must be joking.” She teetered, and for a moment, Trevor thought she might faint. “He is a-a sailor.”

  “Aye.” Blake inclined his head. “As am I. What is your point?”

  “I was referring to his station.” Caroline averted her stare. “Or lack thereof.”

  Now that comment raised his hackles. How dare she attempt to cast a slur on his heritage? Just as fast, Trevor reminded himself she was not aware of his background.

  “Wait a minute.” Her brother wiped his face with his hand. “Do you not know of his--”

  “Your sister is not privy to my position.” Trevor paused, wondering how to phrase his reason for keeping her in the dark. “Since I assumed she was a woman of loose morals, and she did not correct my assumption, I thought she might try to take me for money.”

  Eyes flaring, Caroline whirled on him in a flash. “How dare you say such a thing?”

  Once more, Blake raised his sword.

  In light of the current threats to his person, it was obvious he had not spoken wisely.

  “Hold hard.” Damian stepped between them. To Trevor, he said, “You really should quit while you’re ahead.”

  “It was an honest mistake.” He held up his palms. “And she never once gainsaid me.”

  “Let me at him,” Blake hissed.

  “Not until he restores her reputation.” Damian peered over his shoulder. “That, I believe, is our primary intent.”

  “All right. He can speak his vows.” Blake hugged his sister. “Then I will kill him.”

  “You are not making sense.” Caroline blinked in an owlish fashion. “Papa will roll over in his grave if you force me to the altar. And Trevor does not want to marry me.” She cast him a curious glance. “Do you?”

  “Well--”

  “What he wants is of little consequence. He is governed by the same precepts, my dear,” Damian explained. “As such, he will have to make amends.”

  “You’re a member of the peerage?” she inquired.

  The quarterdeck was as quiet as a tomb.

  Tension grew in the silence.

  “Perhaps I should do the honors.” Damian swept an arm in an exaggerated flourish. “Lockwood, may I present Lady Caroline Elliott.”

  Looking Caroline straight in the eye, he stood tall. “Trevor Reed Marshall, sixth Earl of Lockwood at your service, my lady.” Wanting to make a good impression, if that were still possible, he sketched his most elegant bow.

  “You’re an earl?” Eyes wide as saucers, Caroline put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, dear.”

  “Oh, dear? Is that the best you can manage?” Blake ground out. “I found you in his bed--naked. Tell me he forced you, and I shall dispatch him to his maker this instant.”

  “He did not force me. I gave myself of my own free will.” Caroline stomped a foot to the deck. “And stop repeating everything I say.”

  For a scarce moment, Trevor thought of intervening on her behalf, but, in the interest of self-preservation, he remained quiet. The other duke on deck raised a brow and appeared to be fighting a smile, laughter, or both. He wondered what the man found so funny.

  “I beg your pardon.
” Blake pressed a palm to his forehead and looked to be on the verge of an apoplectic fit. “You allowed yourself to be compromised?”

  “Yes.” Caroline wrinkled her nose as she answered.

  Blinking wildly, her brother seemed stunned. “For the love of all creation, why?”

  “Because I wanted him,” she declared with the unabashed forthrightness that Trevor always found attractive. “And he wanted me.”

  In that second, his respect for her grew by leaps and bounds. For some unknown reason, he could not stop himself from grinning at her. But his confidence waned when he spied the pain in her expression. “Caroline, if you will hear me--”

  “Or so I thought.” She chuckled, self-mockingly. “I should have known better than to believe in him. I see now his only interest lay in the revenge he sought. He did not want me,” Caroline stated with palpable bitterness, which scored a direct hit to his moral center. “Once again, I was a pawn in another man’s game.”

  Recalling the conversation in his cabin, her heartbreak at the hands of a blackguard, Trevor felt the worst sort of heel. He ached to take her in his arms and apologize, to reassure her that, no matter what, everything would be fine.

  “Good God, Caroline, tell me we are not back to that.” Blake rolled his eyes and sighed. “It was your first Season. You have got to put that mess out of your mind. You can’t allow one incident to ruin your whole life. You must move on. And you should have let me kill Darwith.”

  “Darwith?” Trevor’s mind raced. “That was you?”

  With the cry of a banshee, Caroline leapt at him, but her brother simply lifted her from the deck and jerked her back to his side.

  “Let it go,” said Blake.

  Trevor may not have known Caroline as long as her brother had, but he recognized what was shaping up to be a grand female tantrum.

  “Do not tell me how to feel, it is my life.” Standing toe to toe with her sibling, hands on hips, Caroline frowned. “Besides, this is your fault.”

  “My fault?” Blake stared down his nose, his stance mirroring hers, and Trevor wondered if he should offer a bit of advice to the duke on how best to manage the strong-willed woman. “Nothing would have happened if you had stayed home where you belong.”