Enter The Brethren (The Brethren of the Coast)

by Devlin, Barbara

  It was as though the world had opened up and swallowed him whole. Terror gripped his shoulders, clenched his gut. Laughter echoed in his ears, and a cold emptiness settled in his chest. In that instant, Trevor was no longer a man but a lost little boy--rejected and unloved again. And at his feet, his heart scattered in countless pieces.

  “Are you unwell, Lockwood?” Lord Sheldon touched his arm. “You are quite pale.”

  “Your concern is unnecessary.” Trevor flinched and retreated. “I beg your pardon, but I must be on my way.”

  The cool November air offered a welcome relief from the smoke-filled club as he stepped outside. Myriad tortuous thoughts swirled in his head, and he leaned against the wall for support. Denial charged his senses and bolstered his resolve. Why was he taking Lord Sheldon, a rake of the worst caliber, at his word? The troublemaker had to be wrong. And Trevor would not convict his wife without testimony to the contrary.

  After collecting his rig, he made for home. Like a madman, he drove his team through the crowded streets. As he pulled in front of the townhouse he shared with Caroline, footmen rushed forth to take the reins. The foyer was quiet as he entered, and Trevor realized his wife would not be expecting him so early in the day. Roberts appeared and collected his hat, coat, and gloves.

  “Is the countess in residence?”

  “Yes, my lord.” The butler bowed. “Her ladyship is in the study. Shall I inform her of your arrival, your lordship?”

  “No.” He was already walking toward his domain. “I will announce myself.”

  As he neared the study, Trevor noted the door was ajar. Voices emanated from within, and he halted when a decidedly masculine chuckle filtered into the hall. Hugging the baseboards, he crept closer--and almost shouted alarm when he spied his reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall.

  “We must be careful now that Trevor has returned to London.”

  At Caroline’s warning, a wave of nausea rocked his belly, and he feared he might be ill.

  “Does he suspect anything?” the stranger inquired.

  “No, and I intend to keep it so.”

  The remainder of their conversation was lost in a haze of confusion and rage. Stealthily, he slipped into an alcove in hopes of discovering the identity of the interloper.

  The door to the study opened, and Caroline entered the hall. “Same time next week?”

  None other than Lord Darwith gave chase. “If it is convenient.”

  “Let us plan on it, barring any interference from my husband.” Caroline pressed a hand to her chest. “I am so excited, I fear I shall not sleep a wink until then.”

  “Then you are pleased with our enterprise?” his rival inquired.

  “Oh, yes.” The smile she offered her former suitor brought Trevor to the brink of tears. “Now, allow me to show you out.”

  Once the happy couple disappeared from sight, he calmly walked down the hall and ascended the back stairs to the second floor. Not a maid or footman lingered, and to his infinite thanks, he crept into his private chambers unnoticed.

  There, free from prying eyes, Trevor sank to the carpet and wept.

  #

  The clock chimed the midnight hour, and Caroline set her book in her lap and stared at the door of the corridor leading to her husband’s suite. According to the butler, Trevor had taken to his bed, pleading a sour stomach, early that evening. Although she had attempted to check his condition after dinner, a footman posted in front of his receiving room refused to grant her entry--per the earl’s orders. Worried, concerned for his health, she decided to ignore his wishes and inched from her bed. After pulling on a robe, she slipped into the diminutive passage. At the other end, she turned the knob and cursed when the hinges creaked.

  The earl’s apartment was dark save the light from the fireplace. Caroline peered at the four-poster and was nonplussed to find it empty.

  “What do you want?”

  She jumped.

  “Trevor?” She gazed at nothing. “Is that you?”

  “Of course. This is, after all, my home.”

  Following the sound of his voice, she located him, brandy balloon in hand, fully dressed, sitting in an overstuffed chair before the hearth. “Are you much improved?”

  “Never better.” As he set his glass on a side table, his sinister chuckle gave her gooseflesh. “Enlightened even.”

  “Enlightened?” Caroline tiptoed to a position that afforded a view of his illuminated profile. “I do not understand.”

  “No?” He stood and stormed toward her. “You do not understand, my innocent wife?”

  “Trevor, what is wrong? You’re frightening me.” Folding her arms, she shivered. “Roberts said you were ill. Shall I summon a doctor?”

  “Darling, there is no cure for what ails me.” Anger poured as molten lava from his impressive frame. “Except to rid myself of the source of my distress.”

  “And that would be?”

  “You.”

  Whatever Caroline had expected him to say that was not it. Grasping the back of a chair, she steadied herself.

  “My lord, it is obvious you are upset--”

  “Upset?” He gripped her shoulders and shook once. “I am bloody well furious.”

  “So I g-gather,” she stuttered as he shoved her away. “What have I done to displease you? What is my crime?”

  “Where were you last night?” Trevor raked a hand through his hair and lowered his chin. “Why were you not home when I arrived?”

  “I told you, I saw a play.” She bit her lip and added, “But I would rather have been here to welcome you than any place else in the world.”

  “How touching.” His demeanor dripped sarcasm. “So you attended the theatre--and nothing more.”

  The ugly reality of her situation hit Caroline between the eyes.

  “There is more.”

  “What? Speak up, love.” He cupped an ear and leaned near. “I did not hear you.”

  On an exhale, she virtually shouted, “I said there is more.”

  “The truth, at last.” Trevor sketched a dramatic bow. “Pray, continue.”

  “During an intermission, Lady Darrow invited me to participate in what she called a cultural review.” Caroline took a tentative step forward. “But I swear, once I discerned the purpose of the gathering, I left.”

  “And why did you not tell me?” he asked too calmly for her liking.

  She crossed and uncrossed her arms. “Because I had hoped to spare you any unnecessary embarrassment in regard to my mistake.”

  “How thoughtful of you.” He narrowed his stare. “Shall I describe how I danced a jig when Lord Sheldon informed me of your mistake?”

  “No.” The mystery was solved, panic rang in her ears, and Caroline shook her head. “You should have learned of it from me. And you have my solemn promise, in the future, I will apprise you of all my activities.”

  “How reassuring.” Trevor retrieved his glass, downed the contents, and poured himself a refill. “But why do I not believe you?”

  “My lord, you have my word as a lady--”

  “Your word as a lady?” Venting a primal roar, he hurled the brandy balloon into the hearth. Flames flared when the intoxicant ignited. “You may have the face of an angel and the garb of a noblewoman, but you are nothing more than a common harlot.”

  Afraid, confused, Caroline skittered behind a chair and sank her fingers into the cushion. “Trevor, please--”

  “What? Have I hurt you?” Like a jungle cat preparing to strike, he circled. “Enjoy the farce you have made of our marriage, for you have no one to blame but yourself.”

  Though she wanted desperately to assume the sum of her transgressions had been aired, she replayed the hours since his return. What had she missed? What piece of the puzzle that piqued her husband’s ire eluded her grasp?

  “My lord, I sincerely apologize for venturing into Lady Darrow’s residence. But I cannot imagine that my brief appearance warrants such harsh treatment.”

/>   “You think not?”

  “No.”

  “And what of Lord Darwith?” With his back to her, Trevor rested his hands on the mantel. “Did you tell him of your foray, or was he in attendance as well?”

  The world shifted beneath her feet, and Caroline swayed. She tried to respond, to voice a defense, but could summon no rebuttal. Slowly, her angry spouse rotated and pinned her with an icy glare.

  “Guilt is etched all over your pretty face.”

  “I can explain,” she whispered. “Give me a chance to explain.”

  “Make it good.” With hands on hips, he arched a brow. “Your last effort was quite tedious.”

  “Despite our past, Lord Darwith and I have forged a friendship.”

  “And you enjoy his company?”

  “I do.” She dipped her chin. “But there is nothing illicit in reference to our relationship.”

  “Your relationship!” Trevor turned and, with a single sweep of his arm, sent the mantel clock, a framed portrait, and two candlesticks flying. “I will listen to no more of your lies.”

  “But I am telling the truth.” Despite attempts to the contrary, Caroline sobbed uncontrollably. “Please, you must believe me. Nothing untoward occurred.”

  “Nothing untoward occurred? You have made me a cuckold.”

  “No. I am innocent.”

  Trevor made for the door, and she followed in his wake.

  “Wait. Where are you going?” She clutched his elbow, but he wrenched free.

  “I intend to seek comfort from this house of misery in a cultural review.”

  A weight settled on her chest, and she could not breathe. “Do you...am I to understand...you would break our wedding vows? You would take another to your bed?”

  “I will do as I damn well choose.” He set the oak panels wide but halted when she tugged hard on his coat sleeve.

  “Do not do this, I beg you,” she said as he loosened her hold with a flick of his wrist. “I shall never forgive you.”

  “Should I convey your regards to Lady Darrow?” he called over his shoulder while he strolled down the hall.

  At his caustic remark, she emitted a soft cry and ran after him. “Trevor, if you involve yourself with another woman, your ship will never again dock in my harbor.”

  “As you wish.” He descended the grand staircase without a backward glance.

  “I mean it.” Caroline clung to the balustrade. “You may go to the devil.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, Trevor turned and smiled.

  “Madame wife, I am already there.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “You know, there are eleven rooms in this residence, not counting my own, and each has a remarkably comfortable contraption called a bed.” Everett chuckled. “Did you find it necessary to compound your misery by sleeping on the sofa?”

  Trevor peered beyond the edge of his coat, which he had used as a blanket to buffer the chill of his friend’s study. “How would you like to live out the remainder of your days without benefit of teeth?”

  “No improvement on your mood, I see.” After tying back the drapes, Markham rocked on his heels and clucked his tongue. “Do tell, what offense landed you on my doorstep last night?”

  Sitting upright, Trevor shielded his eyes from the sunlight and yawned. “What makes you think I did something wrong?”

  “Why else would you be here but for trouble in connubial paradise?” Everett plopped into a high-back chair, rested his elbows on his thighs, and grinned. “Come now, confession is good for the soul, or so some say, and I could use a little levity this morning. Besides, your wife is the sort of woman who brings out the worst in a man--his conscience. So, what have you done?”

  “Not that it is any of your business, but Caroline is no saint.” He pulled on his top boots. “I am the injured party.”

  “And I am a virgin queen.” With an expression of unveiled skepticism, Everett rolled his eyes. “Give over.”

  “Blister it, Markham, cease your prattle.” Standing, Trevor walked to the windows and gazed at the sidewalks below. “I am without blame and would much prefer to suffer in silence.”

  “Easy there, mate. But you are in a state.” His friend’s chuckle bubbled over into gales of laughter. “Did you hear that? I am a poet, and I did not know it.”

  “A regular Shakespeare.” Trevor winced as his impromptu host collapsed in a fit of hilarity. “I should have stayed aboard the Hera.”

  “Why did you not?” Everett cocked his head. “Or is my humble abode the preferred substitute for the proverbial dog house?”

  For a split second, Trevor considered admitting he had first sought refuge on his ship but thought better of it. Just how ridiculous would he appear if he conceded the fact that his sea accommodations served as a hellish reminder of his wife? In the solitude of his cabin, memories of Caroline’s lusty cries of completion reverberated on the walls and filled his ears. The silken sheets on his bunk evoked a sensation similar to the brush of her velvety skin against his, and the scent of her perfume lingered on the pillows as a sultry summons his body was only too eager to answer. What on earth had possessed him to spend his wedding night dockside?

  “Trevor?” Everett placed a hand on his shoulder, all humor aside. “What has happened?”

  Betrayal left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he swallowed hard and peered at his lone ally. “While I was at sea, my wife ventured into the realm of the demimonde.”

  Markham averted his stare.

  “Everett?” They had been as brothers for years, and Trevor could read his chum like a book. “You know something.”

  It was a statement, not a question.

  “No, I know nothing.” Everett strolled to his desk.

  Trevor followed in his wake. “Liar.”

  “Now, see here.” With both palms atop the blotter, his friend leaned forward. “What has or has not occurred in your marriage is none of my business.”

  “It is if you possess information pertinent to my situation.” Trevor folded his arms and planted his feet. “Tell me what you know. Did you see them together?”

  “If you are referring to what I think you are referring, then--yes.”

  Without a word, Trevor dragged a chair to the center of the Aubusson rug and settled himself. “I am listening.”

  Likewise, Everett sat behind the desk and scowled. “I am not a bloody scandalmonger.”

  “Would you rather be mum in your grave?”

  His countenance sobered, Markham appeared genuinely hurt. “Are you truly threatening me?”

  “No.” Trevor huffed out a breath and shook his head. “You are the only friend I have.”

  “Come now. You are making too much of this.” Everett steepled his fingers and furrowed his brow. “Caroline was at Lady Darrow’s for, at most, a half-hour.”

  “You were at Lady Darrow’s?” He leapt to his feet. “What, in God’s name, were you doing there?”

  Markham narrowed his stare and compressed his lips. “The same thing you have done on many previous occasions.”

  Trevor opened, then closed his mouth and returned to his seat. “Sorry, old chap. Forgot myself.”

  “I should say so.” Everett tugged at the folds of his cravat and cleared his throat. “If I may continue--”

  “Please do--”

  “Uninterrupted.” The usually composed nobleman produced a handkerchief and dabbed his temples. “Pray, indulge me. Upon my arrival at Lady Darrow’s, your countess posited a misinformed, though altogether more virtuous, motivation for attending our inauspicious gathering.”

  Trevor rubbed his chin. “I do not follow.”

  “Do you not?” Everett smiled. “Your naïve bride had not the faintest notion in regard to the purposive nature of our cultural reviews.”

  “How can you be certain of her confusion?”

  “Because the look on her face when I revealed the truth was somewhat similar to the expression you are sporting right now.”

&
nbsp; A portion of the weight on his chest lifted, and Trevor sighed. “Go on.”

  “In any case, she set Lord Sheldon on his heels, and I rather fancy the arrogant ass is still smarting from the sting of her rejection.”

  “You heard this?”

  “With my own ears.” Markham surrendered to a series of guffaws. “Bloody hell, but you would have been proud.”

  “Perhaps. What happened next?”

  Everett met his stare. “She bade me summon her carriage, which I did.”

  “And?” Trevor perched on the verge of his seat.

  “After an apology to Lady Darrow, your countess departed, reputation intact, posthaste.”

  Trevor pressed a fist to his mouth and traced the pattern on the carpet with his gaze. So Caroline had not defiled their vows on that particular night. Concerning Lady Darrow’s party, his wife had not lied.

  But what about Lord Darwith?

  “All right, with that settled, why so gloomy?”

  Trevor glanced at his inquisitive friend. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You appear as if you have just lost your best hound.” Everett sat back in his chair and propped his boots on the edge of the desk. “What have I omitted?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Out with it, Lockwood.”

  What could he say?

  How much should he share?

  “My wife is having an affair.”

  The mere act of voicing his concern provided a small measure of relief. When Everett flapped his arms in the air, then toppled to the floor, Trevor enjoyed a smidgen of humor.

  “Are you daft?” Markham scrambled to his feet and righted his coat. “The woman is in love with you, although such reasoning defies the limits of perspicacity.”

  “Wonderful.” Trevor slapped his thighs, stood, and paced before the fireplace. “I have been disgraced, cuckolded, and you make jokes.”

  “Wait a minute, old boy.” Everett stepped in his path. “Are you serious?”

  “Unfortunately, I am.”

  Despite the humiliation and anger, Trevor detailed the events of the previous day, focusing on the discovery of his wife with Lord Darwith.

  “So neither of them was aware of your presence.” Everett scratched his head and frowned. “And yet their conversation, if it occurred as you described, remained decidedly innocuous.”