The Most Unlikely Lady

by Barbara Devlin

  Everett remained stock still until the elder Douglas exited. Sabrina cleared her throat. He stared at her from the corner of his eye. She seemed to find the hem of her sleeve infinitely fascinating. He clasped his hands behind his back. She shuffled her feet.

  Bloody hell, they were getting nowhere.

  He searched his mind for an explanation to make sense of her reticence, but he thought his course reasonable and sound. “Sabrina?”

  “Yes?” She peered at him through her lashes.

  Everett inclined his head. “Do you like the flowers?”

  “They are very nice.” She rocked in place.

  Yet she seemed displeased. “But--”

  “They must have cost a fortune.” She walked to the table and stroked a delicate bud. “And I do not require such frippery.”

  “What does that matter?” Thoroughly befuddled by her utter lack of response, he grasped at the slightest clue to decipher her demeanor and followed in her steps. “It is only money.”

  “Perhaps.” She frowned. “But you could have purchased an armload of daisies for much less.”

  “Is this a discussion on economy?” With a finger, he tipped her chin, bringing her gaze to his. “Or are you trying to tell me you prefer daisies to roses?”

  “I am sorry.” Sabrina swallowed hard. “But I do so love daisies.”

  “Duly noted.” With a roll of his shoulders, Everett relaxed. Her displeasure with his first gift had nothing to do with rejection and everything to do with personal preference. “From now on, I shall bring you daisies.”

  “I must sound rather churlish.” Her brow a mass of furrows, she cast him a precious pout. “Are you angry with me?”

  The urge to feast on her rosy lips was compelling, but he managed to stay his course and settled for a subtle trace of her cheek with his finger. “No.”

  “Why are you courting me?” Sabrina asked in a small voice and then closed her eyes.

  Everett was positive he had just been punched in the gut. Letting his hand fall to his side, he turned and clenched his jaw.

  Could he tell her the truth?

  That their union would set his parents on end? Indeed, Sabrina was just the sort of woman his mother would reject as a suitable wife for her youngest son. And that fact, alone, made his chosen bride-to-be all the more irresistible.

  But there was something else.

  He had noted a mysterious, altogether unique quality in her, evoking fond memories he could not quite place, from when first they met. Although they had conspired to bring two friends together, it was he who had lost his wits. Unlike most women, she had never fallen at his feet or been an easy mark. No, she mocked him at every opportunity, and he adored her for it.

  In short, she made him laugh.

  But would she mock his admission of admiration?

  Everett adopted what he hoped was a cocky grin and faced his most unlikely lady. “Because it is what I wish.”

  “Why?” Her beautiful features were invested with confusion and a mystical essence that defied recognition.

  “Does it matter?” As he seized on the perfect rejoinder guaranteed to get their encounter back on track, he shrugged in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “Suffice it to say you will, one day, be my wife. Get used to the idea, my dear. I will be your lord and master.”

  “Lord and master?” Her eyes flared--just as he had known they would. “You forget yourself, sir. I submit to no man.”

  “You will submit to me.” Everett smiled with devilish delight. How he loved rankling her. “It will make the taking of you all the sweeter, my saucy Sabrina.”

  “I am not your Sabrina.” She pressed a palm to her bosom. “I am my own person.”

  With a chuckle, he raised a hand and caught her other fist, mid-air. “My dear, you really must curb your propensity for violence.”

  “Ooh!” Sabrina wrenched free. “Get out!”

  Everett strolled to the door, laughing all the way. “I will be back,” he said over his shoulder.

  #

  Her dress was the epitome of femininity, which left Sabrina feeling quite naked. Gowned in crimson, with her raven hair piled in loose curls atop her head, she chewed her lower lip. It was a nervous habit her mother had long bemoaned and one Sabrina could not break. But she couldn’t help herself, because she was certain her suitor would think she had worn the dress for his benefit, a point of fact she would deny until her last breath should anyone ask.

  Determined to portray an air of unperturbed aloofness, she could not help peering at Everett from the corner of her eye. Had he found her attractive? Was that why he wanted to marry her? His bold declaration in the drawing room had both stunned and infuriated her--until that morning.

  When the daisies arrived.

  Every hour, on the hour, the bell sounded. An army of deliverymen, bearing armfuls of daisies in every conceivable color, appeared at her doorstep. By noon, the staff ran out of vases and had resorted to using pitchers from the kitchen, and her bedchamber resembled a hothouse.

  The Netherton ball was the first major event of the Season, and the ton turned out en masse for the fete, as had the Brethren of the Coast. They were five men who served the Royal Navy in silence, and five women who stood by their side in greater secrecy, from five noble families. Long ago, on a moonlit night, they had gathered to pledge an oath of fellowship; and their childhood vow had stood the test of time.

  Recently, two had married. Lady Caroline Elliott had wed Trevor Marshall, Earl of Lockwood. And last year, Dirk Randolph, Viscount Wainsbrough, married Lady Rebecca Wentworth, as was. If Sabrina had her way, she would be the third member of the Brethren to tie the knot. And she wondered who would next join the ranks of indentured servitude, as she considered the marital state.

  She had been suspicious of Cara’s friendship with Lance Prescott, but nothing had come of their liaison, so she discounted such beliefs. And as he was, for all intents and purposes, family, her idea seemed a ridiculous notion. His cousin, Elaine Prescott, had not appeared to set her cap for anyone, in particular. Neither had Damian Seymour or his younger sister Alexandra, Alex for short. Dalton Randolph and Blake Elliott seemed far too popular with the ladies to narrow the field to one.

  “You are woolgathering, my saucy Sabrina.” Everett carried out the ‘S,’ which gave her gooseflesh.

  “I am not.” Although she resolved not to look at her tormentor, she flinched when he expelled his breath to her neck.

  “Dance with me.” He slipped his arm about her waist, and her knees buckled.

  “No.” Despite her refusal, he drove her to the dance floor. And then Everett pulled her close, and her skirts brushed his thighs. Together, they whirled.

  “May I say you are very beautiful tonight.” His voice was smooth as silk.

  Sabrina gazed, uncaring, at the throng. “Thank you.”

  “Dare I ask if you donned this luscious ensemble for my benefit?” Again he teased her, and she ignored the bait.

  Yet his question coiled in the pit of her belly, roiling her insides, and a sharp denial tickled the tip of her tongue. But since she doubted she possessed sufficient strength to deliver the rapier retort without embarrassing herself, she settled for silence.

  “Will you not face me, my saucy Sabrina?” He chuckled. “Or are you still sulking?”

  “I am not sulking.” She would not meet his stare, though she felt it, as warm honey enveloped a hot scone. And she cursed herself, because her meek tone belied her conviction. What power had the man wielded to muddle her senses whenever he loomed in her presence?

  The music stopped, but they continued to navigate the crowd, and before she knew it, Everett steered her through an opening in a pair of velvet drapes. The black of night enshrouded her, and she blinked. It was a small, private balcony, overlooking the gardens below. Her wicked lord cornered her against the railing and placed a hand on either side of her.

  “You are absolutely succulent in that gown,” he purred. “I coul
d nibble on you all night.”

  “Might I suggest a turkey leg?” She glared at him through the darkness. “It would provide more sustenance.”

  “But I prefer your lips.” The glint of his teeth betrayed his smile, and then he pounced.

  Sabrina was going to protest, but his naughty mouth smothered her pitiful complaint. She was going to resist, but somehow her hands became entwined in his hair. She was going to retreat, but instead she charged her errant suitor.

  Good heavens, the man could kiss.

  #

  “Everett.”

  Sitting in the reading room at White’s, Everett dropped the copy of The Times he had perused and stood to welcome his childhood school chum, and the only man he had ever called friend. “Trevor, old boy, how are you?” They shared a vigorous handshake.

  “Fine.” Trevor Marshall, Earl of Lockwood, commandeered the opposite seat. “Life could not be better.”

  “You are disgusting.” Since Trevor’s wedding, he had become unutterably besotted with his wife and new son. In that instant, Everett imagined Sabrina carrying his child, and the mere thought warmed him to his toes. He envisioned her round as a pumpkin, sitting on his lap, as he pressed a palm to her belly and felt their babe moving within her for the first time. He would, no doubt, dote on her shamelessly. Indeed, she would make an excellent mother for his heirs, except he would teach them to dance.

  “I do not know to what you refer.” Grinning from ear to ear, Trevor propped an elbow on the armrest and rested his chin on his hand. “But my boy is already quite the rapscallion.”

  “You positively gush, but I am happy for you, really I am. And I was surprised to receive your missive.” He considered the shine of his boots, as his feet still smarted from the previous night’s foray on the dance floor with his bride-to-be. “Is everything all right? No trouble in connubial paradise, I hope.”

  “It is Caroline.” Trevor frowned. “She asked me to speak with you.”

  “Oh?” Everett had not appreciated the sound of that singular declaration. “Whatever for?”

  “Well, mind you, if it were anyone else, I would not dream of interfering. But I have an affinity for sleeping with my wife.” He grimaced. “I do not care for being locked out of my own bedchamber. So here I am.”

  Arching a brow, Everett smiled. “Spill it, my friend.”

  “Well, not that it is any of my business.” Trevor shifted in his seat. “But she wants to know if you are serious about Sabrina Douglas.”

  He thought of his most unlikely lady, of the sweet kisses they had shared on the balcony at Netherton House. He could still taste her luscious lips, which had tempted him beyond reason. In his mind, he revisited the shapely curves of her body, when she had pressed herself against him, as a wanton siren, how her unschooled hands reached and groped in desperation, and her sultry moans of pleasure, which had led him to make licentious use of four fingers and a thumb in the wee hours of the morning.

  “I do not believe it.” Trevor signaled a waiter. “And I need a drink.”

  “What?” Everett snapped to attention.

  “I know that look.” Trevor leaned forward and narrowed his stare. “You have it bad.”

  Beneath such disconcerting scrutiny, he reclined and crossed his legs. Just as fast, he uncrossed his legs and folded his arms. “I have--what?”

  “And you deny it.” With one finger Trevor pointed, as if preparing to make a grave accusation, and shook his head. “My God, you are taken with Sabrina Douglas. Wait till I tell Caroline.”

  “You will do no such thing,” Everett hissed. “Do you want to ruin the rest of my life? You can’t give a woman that sort of ammunition, regardless of the facts in opposition. I don’t care if she is your wife.”

  “Aha.” Trevor grinned. “So you admit it?”

  “I admit no such nonsense, but you are sworn to secrecy, in any case.” He scowled. “You may tell your lovely, nosy wife I am in earnest. I intend to marry Sabrina, because she makes me laugh, if only I could get our courtship on calm seas.”

  “What do you mean?” Trevor smirked. “Is she being difficult?”

  “I do not think the answer is that simple.” Everett rubbed the back of his neck and frowned, because he was still uncertain of his intended’s willingness to marry him and was losing sleep over his predicament. “I have sent her flowers, bundles of them, if you must know. I have bought her chocolates, monogrammed stationary, and a set of lace handkerchiefs. Yet none of my gifts have produced the usual reaction. I had to waylay her at the Netherton ball just to sneak a kiss.” He slapped his thigh. “The woman is frustrating beyond belief.”

  “Wait a minute.” Trevor stuck his tongue in his cheek. “Are we talking about Sabrina Douglas?”

  “The very one.” He sneered.

  “Stationary and handkerchiefs?” Trevor snickered. “You are using the wrong bait, my friend.”

  “What?” Everett scooted to the edge of his seat. “I do not understand.”

  “If you wish to impress Sabrina, try buying her a fishing rod or, better yet, a new foil.” Now Trevor had the audacity to laugh. “But beware, she parries like a bloody pirate.”

  #

  “My lord, it is beautiful.” Sabrina squealed with delight. With the practiced expertise of a master swordsman, she challenged an imaginary opponent. “En garde.”

  As his prospective bride executed a series of maneuvers, Everett surmised she could overcome any adversary. And although her reaction met his expectations for a courtship offering, it had not been brought about by the usual inducement. Then he reminded himself that Sabrina was a most unlikely lady.

  “I thought, perhaps, I would join you in a light workout.” He displayed his foil. “If you are so inclined.”

  “You wish to fence?” Her eyes sparkled, as if he had just gifted her a diamond necklace or another exceedingly expensive bauble, and she all but bounced with excitement. “With me?”

  “Indeed.” He nodded once and smiled in earnest. “I understand it is one of your favorite pastimes.”

  “I will have to change.” With uncharacteristic timidity, she bit her lip and shuffled her feet. “But I shall hurry--I promise.”

  “No worries, love.” He chuckled. “I shall await your return.”

  She turned to leave but, without warning, whirled and launched herself at him, and Everett barely had time to drop his foil. Winding her arms about his neck, Sabrina giggled and showered his face in kisses.

  Now that is more like it, he thought.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Two days later, Everett and Sabrina circled the floor in the drawing room of her home.

  “One, two, three--ouch!” Everett closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against the pain. He was certain that crunching in his boot was another broken toe. After tripping through the ballrooms of the ton with her the past few nights, it had seemed a good idea to help his lady with her waltzing. Now, with another ache in his foot, he was not too sure of his plan.

  “I am sorry, but it is your fault.” Sabrina retreated a step and frowned.

  “My fault?” He gazed in bewilderment at his bride-to-be. “How can you blame your preference for dancing on my feet on me?”

  She rested hands on hips. “You hold me too tight.”

  He opened his mouth and then clamped it shut.

  Was Sabrina so naïve she could not understand that proximity--particularly the closeness partners could achieve without offending those present--was the point in regard to waltzing?

  “Why not just carry me?” She gestured, wild and ungraceful, and gave him her back.

  “I thought you liked it when I held you tight.” Regaining his composure, and feeling quite the devil, Everett smiled. He swaggered near, bent his head, and whispered in her ear, “Do you not enjoy having my arms about you?”

  “You are shameless.” In a flash, Sabrina whirled, and her forehead collided with his nose. She tamped her fingertips to her brow. “That hurt.”

&n
bsp; On a groan, he tugged a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and pressed it to his offended appendage, which bled profusely. “Are you injured?”

  “No--oh, dear. Here, let me help you.” Taking him by the elbow, she guided him to sit on the sofa. “Tilt your head back. Good heavens, you are a bleeder.” Biting her bottom lip, she giggled.

  “I am so glad I could provide you with a bit of entertainment, Miss Douglas.” His words might have been terse had the cloth staunching the red flow not filtered them.

  “Do not be cross, as I did not know you had come to stand behind me.” She offered him a somewhat remorseful grin. “You should not have sneaked up on me.” Standing between his outstretched legs, Sabrina leaned forward and set a palm to his cheek. “Are you feeling all right?”

  When she brushed the insides of his thighs, sending flames shooting through his loins, Everett clenched his jaw. Before he could do or say anything, she unbuttoned his coat and pushed the wool aside. His future wife edged precariously within reach, and he swallowed hard. Could she not feel the searing heat in his groin?

  “Sabrina, you should not tempt me.” He summoned unimpassioned thoughts.

  “Are you in pain?” Her innocent expression evidenced she remained oblivious to his condition--and the threat to her own person. “Shall I loosen your cravat?” Bringing a knee within striking distance, she knelt into the cushion of the sofa, nudging the swell of his healthy erection. She jerked her head down and stared, blinking in unmasked fascination.

  Everett glanced at the door. If her father were to walk in right then, their ridiculous courtship would cease, and their wedding would, no doubt, take place posthaste at the unfriendly end of a sword. As long as he survived the admiral’s initial reaction, Jolly Roger intact.

  “It looks awfully big.” She appeared awestruck.

  “Thank you.” He was pleased with her assessment. “I will take that as a compliment.”

  She inclined her head, as she continued her study of his most male member, from the bulge in his breeches. “I thought they were all small and soft.”

  He winced, as that was every man’s worst nightmare. “I beg your pardon?”