The Only One

by Samanthya Wyatt

  The tightening of Giles’ muscles registered his surprise. “Good God, it’s Alex’s brothers.”

  “Blood and the devil. What are they doing here?”

  “Either to congratulate me or kill me.” Giles straightened to his full height. With unfaltering steps, he strode to the back of the church, straight for the two brothers. The first one’s expression never changed. The second one gave a menacing smile while his fists clenched, suggesting an eagerness for a thrashing.

  “What are you going to do?” Hatheridge asked.

  Morgan glanced at the younger man. “Me? Nothing.”

  “But they look ready to kill him.” Hatheridge took a step forward. Morgan grabbed his arm.

  “Do you think Giles needs our help?”

  “Normally I would say no. Those two would need more help to tip the scales in their favor.” His voice lowered. Wesley had been a member in a few of their past exploits as well as a trusted friend. When he noted Giles’ peculiar behavior, Morgan had confided the reason. “But, if they are her family . . . blood is blood. Nothing good can come of this.”

  “No. Her brothers’ appearance might actually be a good thing.”

  “A good thing? How can you say that?”

  “They just might save Giles from himself.”

  Chapter 25

  Entering a private room to the side of the church, Giles closed the door behind him. Before he could turn around a blinding pain collided with his jaw. He staggered, thrusting a hand against the wall to keep from falling.

  “You whoreson!” Ben shouted.

  Another blur, a fist to his gut. Giles doubled over.

  “By sweet holy Christ.” He gasped for air.

  “Hold, Brother. Leave some for me.”

  Recognizing Kit’s voice, he braced for another blow.

  “Stand up, you English scum. I want you to see it coming.”

  Kit was no match for his skills, yet Giles held back. Deserving of an older brother’s scorn, he steadied his legs and straightened. Rage met his gaze.

  “Not much of a fighter, Brit.” Ben stood beside his brother.

  “Have you nothing to say for yourself?” Arms raised, Kit readied for battle.

  “What are the two of you doing here?” Giles gasped.

  “Showing our soreness ‘cause we didn’t get an invitation to your wedding.”

  “You bastard.” Ben took a threatening step and hurled another punch.

  Giles’ stomach rolled at the sound of a snap.

  “Well? Is this why you jilted our sister?”

  Giles scuffed a hand over his heated face. Meeting Kit, glare for glare, he snarled, “I did not jilt Alex.”

  “Why you—”

  Kit’s arm shot out to stop Ben. “Go on.”

  “I would never hurt your sister.”

  “Yet you did.”

  After a tense silence, Giles revealed the secret he’d held close to his chest. “Alex is young. Your father convinced me her infatuation would fade, and she needed to remain with her family.”

  “So you did speak with my father,” Kit murmured. He seemed to digest that bit of news. “Did you care for her?”

  “What do you mean?” Ben bellowed. “If he cared for Alex, he wouldn’t be marrying another.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Yes.” Giles gaze never wavered from Kit. “I cared. She’s a nice girl. But she is too young for me.”

  “Then why the hell did you lead her on?” Ben shouted.

  “I have no excuse.”

  Ben threw a punch his way. Even though he saw it coming, Giles didn’t duck. Maybe if the two pounded him, he’d get through the ceremony without seeing Alex’s face. Without regretting every tear he’d caused to leak from her agonizingly grieving eyes.

  A few more punches and he fell to the floor. Christ. He hurt. How degrading, curled up on the rug. He might need to rethink his strategy of retaliation. He stretched, and new twinges made themselves known. He struggled to open his eyes.

  Kit tugged Ben’s arm. “That’s enough.”

  “Not nearly.” Ben jerked his arm free.

  “The man needs to be in one piece for his bride.” Kit growled the word in disgust.

  “Who says?” Ben glared at his brother. “She can have what’s left.”

  “I told my sister I’d give you a message. The message is this.” Kit’s voice rang as deadly as his dark expression. “If you ever come to New Orleans, do not step foot on Carmichael Plantation.”

  The threat rang loud and clear.

  Giles would be a dead man if he did.

  The doors slammed behind the two sailors. Gasps and loud whispers flooded the chapel.

  “What was all that about?” Carstairs asked as he strolled up to Witherspoon.

  “Appears the two sailors turned out to be the brothers of a girl Nethersall trifled with in America.”

  “The devil you say.”

  “Trifle is not a word I would use within Nethersall’s hearing,” Sedgewick stressed. “He’s likely to strangle your ballocks.”

  “Or put lead through your gullet.” Hatheridge spoke from beside him.

  A side door opened and Giles emerged, looking a bit ruffled. Hatheridge quickly glanced to the front church doors. Morgan’s large frame appeared next. He motioned.

  “Good God. Nethersall’s cravat is off-center.”

  “You and your bloody cravats. Can’t you see the man has a mark on his jaw?”

  Excusing himself, Hatheridge hurried to Morgan.

  “Seems we have a bit of a pickle.”

  “You want me to go after those two?” Hatheridge glanced at the church doors Alex’s brothers had just exited.

  “No. We have a bigger problem. There’s not going to be a wedding.”

  Before he could give a whoop, Morgan grabbed him by his bloody cravat.

  “Discretion, my good man. Giles is on his way to inform the bride. I will gather Pendorgrass. I need you to have Sedgewick relay to the guests the bride has a case of the jitters, and the wedding will commence as soon as her mother deems the girl ready.”

  “But you just said . . .”

  Morgan yanked on his neck cloth. “Did I not mention discretion?”

  Hatheridge nodded and Morgan released him. He smoothed his cravat with a steady hand.

  “As soon as you inform Sedgewick of his duty, join me in the bride’s chamber.”

  “‘Tis positively scandalous!” Lady Pendorgrass whined as she held the back of her hand to her brow.

  “This is an outrage!” Pendorgrass roared. “You will not leave my daughter at the altar.”

  Handkerchief clutched in his fingers, Giles wiped a smear of blood from his lip. This was not going well. Attempting to reason with Harriett’s father was akin to communicating with a raging bull. The similarities were endless. Including smoke flaring from his nostrils.

  But then, he did just jilt the man’s daughter.

  A fist came storming at his face. Giles landed on his backside.

  Bloody hell.

  Few people mustered the courage for a confrontation with a duke. He’d not considered Pendorgrass a fool. After the confrontation with Alex’s brothers, he could barely stand. And here he was on his arse again. But he’d had enough.

  There was a certain thrill in knowing one’s opponent at a disadvantage. Old money and nobility empowered him with a notable amount of forbearance, and if he so chose, clemency. Morgan stepped between the two and thrust out a hand to Giles. Leave it to the blasted Earl of Whetherford to find this amusing. God knew he wished he could.

  “Stay out of this.”

  “I’m merely a bystander.” Morgan gave a smirk. “Allow me to p
ull you up?”

  Giles accepted the extended hand and heaved to his feet. Pendorgrass, still in a tirade, took a threatening step forward.

  “I suggest you think before you consider striking me again.” Giles’ voice rumbled with warning. He’d allowed the man one punch. He would countenance no more.

  Pendorgrass stuttered and shook. The man was no fool. Giles might be at fault, but he was a duke. Into the bargain, he was taller and carried extra muscle.

  “You made a pledge. You signed documents.” The man’s jaws puffed out as words sputtered from his mouth. “I demand you honor your agreement.”

  Harriett sat on a chair beside her mother, not showing a smidgen of emotion. She stared straight ahead, her eyes empty. The porcelain doll devoid of any reaction—he’d expected crying, screaming, stomping her foot. But nothing. He suddenly realized he’d escaped a life of desolation.

  Her mother, however, was the epitome of a body in torture. Her high-pitched wail echoed off the walls in mournful sounds, howling her grief.

  God’s blood, what utter gibberish.

  “I’m sorry, Pendorgrass. We do not suit.”

  “You’re telling me this now? She’ll be ruined,” the man shouted, and shook his fist. “I forbid it. Do you hear me? I forbid you to back out.”

  Giles never bowed to outward displays of fury or extreme agitation. However, no man challenged him and lived to crow victory. His back teeth ground with indignation.

  “Forbid?” Giles voice sounded calm, even to his own ears, even as his temples throbbed anew in anger.

  “The scandal. Tongues will wag. Harriett should not be shamed so. She deserves better.”

  “She deserves a good husband. It will not be me.” He spoke each work slowly and distinctively so none would doubt his meaning.

  “Scandal will not touch my daughter.” Pendorgrass flailed his hands about. “Duke or no, you will not shame her. I challenge you to a duel.”

  The room stilled in deafening silence. Giles’ jaw locked, his muscles stretched taut. His chest rose and fell in controlled fury.

  “If you are stupid enough to entertain such a thought, have the good sense to keep your challenge behind your tongue.” His voice ground out cold as frozen ice. The impulse to pummel the man so strong, he nearly accepted the idiot’s challenge. Any man with half a brain knew he would kill Pendorgrass with little effort.

  Pendorgrass’ bluster sizzled like a punctured air balloon.

  A bystander no longer, Morgan stepped forward in the role of peacemaker, correctly sensing Giles’ tight control, defusing a powder keg ready to explode. “Come now, Lord Pendorgrass. There is no need for a duel.”

  Pendorgrass seemed to hesitate. But his pride demanded bluster. “This will leave my good name hanging in the balance. The gossip.”

  “All will be well once the rumormongers have had time to forget. Or a new disaster takes this one’s place.”

  Keeping his extended fighting skills under wraps gave the misconception Giles was not a dangerous man. However, Morgan knew different. His interference to placate the man gave Giles the time he needed to calm his fury. He maintained his even breathing, but when he spoke, the tone of his deadly voice commanded submission.

  “A duke’s influence will go a long way in fulfilling your political dreams. Most beneficial to you.” Giles offered the man a bone to soothe his ruffled feathers. “You will agree, Pendorgrass, I am more valuable as an ally, rather than an adversary.”

  Pendergrass gasped. He understood well, the significance of Giles’ words.

  “I am a duke. The ton will follow my direction.” A considerable amount of power came with the title he held. His dukedom more than most, due to his father’s lordly life. Of course, substantial wealth aided their supremacy. Giles never used his lofty might. But now he wielded his influence like a bold banner. Pendorgrass’ political ambition—and preserving his wellbeing—would have the man falling over his feet to accept Giles’ bidding.

  “Let us retire to another chamber where we can discuss this as gentlemen. Give the ladies their privacy.” Morgan nodded toward Harriett and her mother. Morgan’s wife held the old dragon’s hand and tried to shush her to a reasonable volume. Harriett did not appear troubled in the least. He planned to apologize personally to the girl—if Pendorgrass allowed him near her after their discussion.

  Alex’s brothers showing up when they did merely gave Giles the sting he needed. Of course he didn’t want to marry Harriett. Depriving himself of the one he truly desired only festered and made him more bad-tempered. Morgan’s words had taken residence in Giles’ mind, and the bloody wretchedness of his decision had been feeding on him all day.

  The fact the brothers arrived at all was a good sign. Hotheads meant to protect their sister, or perhaps, take their pound of flesh from the man who broke her heart. Did he dare hope Alex still had feelings for him?

  He’d been a sod of an ass.

  Pendorgrass deliberated for a moment and gave a sharp nod. To continue in this vein, he would commit social suicide. Not to mention the wrath of a highly esteemed duke.

  Scandal must never be associated with the Duke of Nethersall or the Litscomb family.

  Roll over in your grave, Father.

  If he had a chance of Alex forgiving him, the imminent scandal would be worth it.

  Chapter 26

  Gulf Coast 1828

  When Giles caught his first sight of New Orleans, more than the Sea Sorceress rocked beneath his feet. He was momentarily staggered. Unmindful of the waves lapping at the ship’s hull, the heavy weight on his chest grew more burdensome. With a slight jerk, he shook back his hair into the gently stirring wind. His arm muscles tensed as he rested them on the rail, gazing out at the blue-black sea.

  Feet braced on the swaying deck, he stood alone while men scurried around, preparing for mooring. In the encroaching darkness, miniature lights speckled the looming dock. After weeks of relentless soul searching and revisiting his priorities—the ravings of his mind assessing his life’s values—he contemplated his decision. Not that he’d reconsidered. Then months of putting the damning actions in motion. There was only one woman for him. But how to reach her?

  If you ever come to New Orleans, do not step foot on Carmichael Plantation.

  Would the threat be tangible after all this time? Whether he brought pandemonium down upon himself was yet to be known. But see Alex, he would.

  He would curse himself for a fool, but he was beyond foolishness. His cronies thought him stark raving mad. Except for his friend, Morgan. Comrades for years, each had faced their demons and conquered their fears. Morgan reminded him that he had but one life to live. His life was no life at all without Alex.

  His, for a lifetime.

  Determination gave him strength. Love gave him purpose. He could not muddle his chance of a reunion.

  Alex’s galling brothers had warned him off, yet he had the intense urge to dive into the skirmish and get the fracas over with. His more reasonable side advised a ruse. A stratagem. If her brothers were determined to stop him, he should contemplate a plan of infiltration. God knew he’d had plenty of experience during his emissary years.

  His entire countenance felt energized in a way he’d not experienced since his spying days. He missed the thrill. The thought of thwarting her brothers sent his blood thrumming. He couldn’t wait.

  Anxious to see Alex, his mind drifted down a path of conjecture. It would seem he was as stubborn as his father. Giles could only blame his acceptance of a nobleman’s duties drilled into him since birth. Following society’s dictates, like a horse with blinders, he’d unconsciously followed the rules expected of the aristocracy. Months of performing his role as a duke, accepting his place among the ton, and then the preparation for a wedding. Thank God he’d escaped his blunder.
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  Then more months passed, allowing Pendorgrass his moment of pomp and glory while Giles fulfilled promises. Giving the man his backing was no problem. The hardship was in the waiting.

  Nearly three years since he’d seen her. He wondered if Alex would look the same. She’d been so young. Surely, she’d matured. Filled out. Blossomed. More beautiful than he could imagine. A spirited girl, he wondered if her blood still ran wild, if her tempestuous nature endured.

  God Almighty, he wanted to see her. Smell her. Hold her.

  Soon.

  Shouts from the first mate jerked him back to the present. Sailors rushed to carry out their orders. With a great whoosh, the wind-filled sails dropped from the swaying masts high overhead.

  While residing at Morgan’s shipping residence, he would hire runners, or whatever they were called in the colonies, to snoop around the Carmichael plantation. Spy on Alex and her bothersome brothers. Investigate her actions, if she had a beau or anyone of interest—God forbid. Joe should have knowledge of some spies or investigators who would gather information. To meet his end goal, he could settle for a few days in Morgan’s Colonial home.

  As if his thinking had conjured up the man, Joe stood proudly waiting at the Langston Shipping dock. Hair blowing in the rousing wind, feet braced apart, he had the appearance of any ship’s captain. Men scurried with large ropes securing the Sea Sorceress to the widely spread pillars. The ship lurched as she bumped against the oak wood supports.

  Giles took a position at the ship’s rail as the plank lowered. Joe scurried around the sailors, a huge grin on his wide lips.

  “Welcome, Mister Giles.”

  “Hello, Joe.” Giles shook the extended hand and slapped Joe on the back with his other. “Excellent to see you.”

  “Good sailing?”

  “Can’t complain.” Although he did wish the sea to hell a few times in his hurry to arrive. Impatience was a virtue not associated with his hunger to see Alex.