Enter The Brethren (The Brethren of the Coast)

by Devlin, Barbara

  “Fire away.” At the hearth, Trevor checked his watch and adjusted the clock on the mantelpiece. “You have my undivided attention.”

  For good or ill, she had to make a stand. “Well, it is about your bed--”

  “Really?” The quick change in his demeanor, from nobleman to barbarian, gave her gooseflesh, and he returned to her side in an instant. “And you think me insatiable.”

  Good heavens, her wolf was preparing to pounce. Caroline realized she had erred and sought to clarify her position. “Trevor, I want--”

  “Shall I have a tray sent to my chambers?” Taking her hands in his, he brought her fingers to his lips. “I will feed you, myself.”

  Oh, no. Now she was getting distracted.

  “I beg your pardon, your lordship.” In the doorway, Roberts bowed. “Dinner is served.”

  Saved by the butler.

  “Wonderful.” Yes, Caroline was retreating, but only for the moment. Accepting her husband’s proffered escort, she said, “I am famished.”

  “Indeed?” As they navigated the oak-paneled hall, Trevor bent his head and whispered, “I do not know why, since you have already had dessert.”

  “My lord.” She elbowed him in the ribs. “You are shameless.”

  “So what else is new?”

  Upon entering the dining room, she cursed her bad luck. Footmen perched in every corner, so her intimate proposition would have to wait. Heaping platters evidenced Mrs. Coomb’s culinary acumen, and Caroline wished she possessed the patience to savor the delectable fare. But she plowed through five courses like a farmer during the fall harvest.

  “Would you care for another helping, my dear?”

  “No, thank you.” With a hand to her full but unsteady belly, she sat back in her chair. “I believe I have eaten enough.”

  In silence, Trevor draped his napkin over his plate, stood, and again offered his arm. “In the future, I shall have the cook prepare an additional afternoon meal. I will not have my countess looking wan.”

  Touched by his concern, Caroline’s confidence soared. But as they reached the foyer, she could summon no words to initiate the conversation in which she was desperate to engage.

  Gazing at the marble floor, she shuffled her feet.

  Trevor cleared his throat.

  “Have you--”

  “I suppose--”

  Her husband smiled, and Caroline responded in kind.

  “Ladies first.” He nodded once.

  “No, please.” Curling her toes in her slippers, she clasped her hands. “You were saying?”

  “There must be...I am sure...no doubt you have some needlepoint that requires your attention,” he said with a frown.

  The gruff demeanor had returned, and she changed her tack.

  “Actually, I had thought to peruse the library.”

  “Oh?” His eyes lit up as a child on Christmas morn. “Perhaps you would consent to keep company with me in the study? Would you care for a brandy?”

  Was it possible?

  Did Trevor think she would reject him?

  “My lord, that is a wonderful idea.” Though his suggestion played right into her pocket, his obvious relief at her acquiescence was a salve to her conscience.

  Once they were ensconced in the study, her husband dragged two chairs in front of the hearth. At a side table, he lifted a decanter and filled two glasses, then joined her before the fire.

  “Have you any plans for tomorrow?”

  “Mrs. Porter wants to go over the household accounts. Everything appears to be efficiently run, but there is always room for improvement.” Fortified with a healthy gulp of liquid courage, Caroline peered at her perplexing spouse. “Why do you ask?”

  “I should like, very much, to show you the estate. Perhaps we could tour the village? If memory serves, there is a tavern that serves hearty fare. We could have lunch.” With an expression that cried for acceptance, he said, “If you are too busy, we can do it some other time.”

  “I shall postpone my meeting for the day after tomorrow.” Her heart sang, and she smiled. “Because there is nothing I would rather do than spend the day with you.”

  “Excellent.” With undisguised enthusiasm, Trevor all but flew from his seat. “We shall depart after breakfast.”

  The long-case clock signaled the hour.

  Intuition told Caroline that this was the opportunity for which she had been waiting. “I have need of a favor.”

  “Of course, love.” At the side table, he refilled his glass. “Whatever I have is yours to command.”

  Staring at the flames in the hearth, she uttered a silent prayer. “I was wondering about your bed. I mean--my bed. That is to say--our bed.”

  Bloody hell, she retired the field without firing a single shot.

  Save the crackling wood in the hearth, the room grew as quiet as a tomb.

  “Caroline, was that a question?”

  The lines had been drawn, the gauntlet thrown. Slowly, she stood and faced her adversary, the possessor of the prize she wanted most. Amusement danced in his stare, and she crossed her arms. “Don’t you dare laugh at me. This is important.”

  “What is important?” he inquired with hands in the air.

  The cat was out of the bag, so she was not going to retreat now. “Where we sleep.”

  On a groan, Trevor rolled his eyes. “I am missing something. What is so important about our accommodations?”

  Embarrassment gnawed at the tangled nerves in her gut, but she remained firm. “My parents shared a bed.”

  “No doubt they did, love.” With a devilish grin and an exaggerated swagger, he neared. “Else you would not exist.”

  “You misunderstand.” Caroline searched for the words, the correct phrases to reinforce her cause. “My mother and father slept together even when they were not begetting children. I want us to do the same.”

  Trevor paused, mid-stride. “You wish to pass every night in my chamber?”

  Let the battle ensue.

  “Yes.”

  “But--it simply is not done.” Her usually cocky captain appeared quite flummoxed, but not so much as to render him incapable of flanking her argument. “Surely polite society frowns on such an arrangement.”

  Ah, there was the flaw in his defenses.

  “Are you not the same man who delights in breaking the dictates of the ton?” She took a single step forward. “I had thought you would relish the chance to thumb your nose at propriety.”

  “You have me there.” He mirrored her move. “Be warned, I snore.”

  “As I recall, I tolerated that aboard the Hera.” Mama, God bless her, had been right. The male sex was an easy mark, and she took careful aim. “Do you not want me?”

  “We both know I do.” Trevor grasped her waist, brought them toe-to-toe, and proof of his desire beckoned even now.

  Victory was in sight; she lifted her chin and inched closer. “Then what is your objection?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose I have none.”

  “So it is settled.”

  “Aye.” His palms skimmed her hips and cupped her bottom. “Hereafter, you shall share my bed.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  And in the game of love: advantage, Countess of Lockwood.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  September gave way to October, the wind blew from the north, and leaves turned in a dazzling autumn collage of orange, gold, and brown. Having opted to remain in the country, rather than return to London for the end of the Season, Trevor fell haphazardly into a somewhat comfortable coexistence with his wife.

  For the most part, his priorities revolved around two passions. The first, a secret love of agricultural management, surprised his bride because he had devoted so much time to the sea. He spent hours studying crop reports with various land agents, read books on tilling and fertilizing, and had even presided over regular meetings with the tenant farmers. Perched atop his favorite stallion, he became a frequent fixture in the estate fields. But it was
his second passion, involving the cultivation of decidedly more feminine terrain, which often occupied his thoughts to the detriment of all else.

  Easing back in his chair, Trevor propped his feet on the desk and smiled.

  Although Caroline possessed a sensuous nature that rivaled his own, she had yet to break free of the societal dictates under which she had been reared. Innocence and inhibition combined to stifle innate curiosity, and her desires were often conveyed in shy whispers and hesitant gestures. Tonight, if she allowed it, he was going to show her how to--

  “Trevor?”

  “Yes?” He nearly fell out of his seat. “What is it?”

  “This just arrived by messenger.” Pretty as a picture, the lady of his fantasies neared the desk and handed him an envelope. “I am sorry if I startled you, but it looks important.”

  “Through with your meeting?” Trevor asked as he broke the familiar seal and unfolded the correspondence.

  “Yes.” She nodded with unabashed enthusiasm. “And I am pleased to announce that I have been elected chairperson for this year’s Harvest Moon Festival.”

  “Indeed?” As Caroline continued to spout details, he digested the contents of the letter. After several minutes, he realized the study had grown eerily silent. When he glanced up, he discovered himself the object of intense scrutiny.

  “So, how goes the unpacking?” Caroline opened a large trunk filled with his belongings. “Do you need any help?”

  “If you have nothing better to do, be my guest.” She did not fool him for a second.

  “I suppose the lot will fall to me, should there be a matter of importance to which you must attend.” She bent and retrieved a stack of bound ledgers. “Where shall I put these?”

  “On the second shelf.” He motioned to a bookcase on the sidewall.

  “Of course, if you require privacy, I can enlist the aid of the staff and organize your study when you take your afternoon ride.” A parcel of worn documents in tow, she inclined her head. “And these?”

  “Fourth shelf.” He tossed the parchment on the blotter, steepled his hands, and wondered how far she would go with her poorly executed ruse. “And I have no intention of leaving you alone in my personal domain, love.”

  “But I do not wish to keep you from...whatever you may be about.” On her next fishing expedition, she vented a groan of exertion and straightened with a leather bound tome in her clutches. “Good heavens, but this is heavy.”

  Bloody hell, his wife had just stumbled upon his collection of etchings.

  Trevor bolted from his chair. “I have received my first assignment from Admiral Douglas.”

  She gazed in his direction but maintained a tight grip on the licentious volume. “When do you depart?”

  “I ship out in a sennight.” Acquired during his last visit to India, the erotic art depicted sexual acts, some of which even the most hardened seaman would hesitate to ask of a doxy, in vivid detail and would no doubt send his highborn bride into an apoplectic fit.

  “Oh, dear.” Easing the book to her lap, Caroline propped her elbows atop the cover and rested her chin in her palms. “I knew it would happen eventually, but I had not expected you to be called into action so soon.”

  “Since the run on Buçaco, the war has intensified.” Perhaps under the guise of conversation he could wrestle the startling pictures from her fingers without piquing her interest. “Wellington is locked in a standoff with Massena. The French Army has withdrawn from the lines of Torres Vedras and taken a position between Santarém and Rio Maíor.”

  An expression of concern invested her delicate features. “What is your mission?”

  “I shall be transporting members of the Counterintelligence Corps to the Continent--”

  “How terrible.” She buried her face in her hands. “You will be carrying spies.”

  “Darling, I accepted this responsibility. And while I lure the French Navy from Portugal, Damian and Lance will be delivering supplies and reinforcements.” He sat beside her. “Even now, your brother is braving treacherous seas to support the cause.”

  “I know.” Caroline lifted her head and gazed at him through tear-filled eyes. “But, somehow, this feels different.”

  “Do not fret. Dirk will accompany me, per the admiral’s orders.” Spying an opportunity, Trevor reached for the tome. “Here, let me take that from you.”

  “No. I can manage.” She brushed aside his offer of assistance. “I promised to help organize your study, and that is what I shall do.”

  “If you insist, you may put the book on the third shelf.” Exhaling in relief, he slapped his thighs, stood, and lent his support as she rose from the daybed. “So, your preparations are going well for the festival, I presume?”

  “Yes, they are.” Her gaze widened and, to his chagrin, she returned to her seat. “And I have a favor to ask.”

  “I am all ears.”

  “I should like, very much, to invite our family to stay with us the weekend of the festival.” Clutching the volume to her chest, Caroline set her chin on the edge of the cover. “They are your relations, too, and it will only be for two days.”

  “I have no objections.” Trevor uttered a silent prayer for divine intervention. If he had to, he would burn the expensive bachelor’s indulgence, posthaste. “But remember, we shall be returning to London shortly thereafter.”

  “Splendid. I will send the invitations at once.” Just then, she peered at the heavy book and trailed her fingers along the gold embossed binding. “My, what incredible craftsmanship.”

  Trevor was positive his goose was cooked. “Yes, it is quite rare.”

  To his good fortune, however, Caroline inched from the daybed, appearing none the wiser. As she strolled to the sidewall, she smiled. “Then I shall be extra careful.” With an unladylike grunt, his wife hoisted the erotic anthology to the shelf. She took a step back.

  And stopped.

  “Oh, my.”

  Blast his miserable hide. The location Trevor designated put the bloody collection, with a bawdy picture front and center, right before her nose.

  “Caroline, dearest. Would you ring for--”

  “Are they doing what I think they are doing?” She retrieved the lascivious catalogue. “What is this?”

  “Nothing. It is not fit for my countess.” He attempted to flank her inquiry but was too late. “Darling, you do not want to look at that.”

  “Yes, I do.” She regained the daybed, deposited the damning work in her lap, and opened to a marked page featuring a particular position he had previously studied for sheer inventiveness.

  Expecting shock and disapproval, Trevor was nonplussed when Caroline continued to peruse the lurid depictions. With each successive illustration, her breath grew rapid, and she tugged at the lace collar of her gown. For him, the subtle rise and fall of her bosom, coupled with furtive glances in his direction, proved an affecting experience. It was as though he was viewing the pictures for the first time, and a vicious erection roared to life in his breeches.

  He leaned close and stared over her shoulder. “They are called etchings.”

  “You’ve done that to me.” Her emphasis held a hint of excitement.

  “I have.” He nodded once. “And if memory serves, you liked it.”

  “But what about this?” She pointed to the opposite page, which featured a woman performing a similar act on a man. “I would never have conceived of putting that in my mouth.”

  “Some men find it very pleasurable.” At her guileless admission, Trevor could not help but chuckle. “Do not gainsay it until you have tried it.”

  “You want me to do this?” Was it wishful thinking on his part, or did Caroline seem a willing pupil? “You trust me to hold you between my teeth?”

  “Aye,” he responded without hesitation. “But I would not recommend using your teeth, love.”

  She licked her lips. “Then how does one go about it?”

  Now that was a lesson Trevor was ready to provide. “D
o you recall the afternoon I took you to Gunter’s?”

  “I do.” Inclining her head, Caroline narrowed her stare. “We sat beneath the maples and ate ices.”

  “Well?” When he said nothing more, she blinked. He arched a brow, and her cheeks turned a lovely shade of red.

  “I believe I understand.” In a deflating move he felt all the way to his loins, she slammed the book shut and stood. “Are you quite busy, my lord?”

  “No.” Disappointment was a bitter pill in his throat, and he frowned as she handed him the volume. “Why?”

  She strolled toward the door. “Join me for a nap?”

  Frustration evaporated in an instant. If he was not careful, he was going to drool.

  “That is an offer I dare not refuse.”

  In the entryway, she averted her stare and said, “And bring the etchings.”

  #

  “Spread your legs a little wider, and center your hips. Much better.” Trevor parried and deflected Caroline’s button-tipped foil. “Keep your knees bent, but not too much.”

  “Like this?” Silently vowing not to repeat the same mistake, she checked her place on the terrace and thrust again. To her chagrin, he evaded her attack and followed with a perfect riposte, which clipped her arm. “Bloody hell.”

  “Stay low to the ground.” Her husband chuckled, and then engaged her once more. “You are weaker than I am, but more agile, so try to capitalize on your advantage.”

  “All right.” As Caroline assumed the correct stance, she studied the foil Trevor had designed especially for her and grimaced. “Ouch.”

  “What is it, love?”

  “A nasty carpet burn on my...lower back.”

  “Sorry, darling,” he said, though he looked not the least bit repentant.

  “No apologies necessary,” she said with a giggle. “We shall simply be more careful the next time.”

  To wit her incorrigible green-eyed dragon wiggled his brows.

  After passing the afternoon in his chambers recreating several acts depicted in the book of etchings--on the bed, in the chair, on the floor, and against the wall, he had gifted her the sleek weapon. But what thrilled her most was his declared intent to share something with her outside his private quarters.