One-Knight Stand

by Barbara Devlin

  “I suppose.” Cara sat upright and settled her skirts. “But you first.”

  “Well, he has held me close on more occasions than I can count. We have kissed more than a few times, and that is not all. Twice, he used his tongue,” Alex proclaimed with unabashed enthusiasm and a breathy sigh. “I get shivers just thinking of it.”

  “It sounds wonderful,” she murmured, as sumptuous visions assailed her senses.

  In a flash, Alex gave her attention to Cara. “Now it is your turn.”

  “Well, we kissed only once.” Suddenly shy, Cara lowered her chin. “But it went on for several minutes.”

  “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “Are you going to let me tell this?”

  “My apologies. Pray, continue.”

  “As I said, it lasted for some time. But while he kissed me, he--he touched my--” Cara was not sure she could admit the length of her ruin. Finally, she leaned over, cupped a hand to Alex’s ear, and whispered in confidence.

  With an expression of shock and awe, Alex gasped. “He touched your breast?” She flew from the bed. “I do not believe it. Jason has never done that to me, and it is the height of insult.”

  “Alex, please. Someone might hear you.”

  “Do not worry, there is no cause for concern. I had a footman carry you up, because Damian is at Deptford.” Alex paced before lashing out in unveiled anger. “And I thought the man wanted me. Haa!”

  “Dearest, I am sure Captain Collingwood has too much respect for you--”

  “Respect?” She halted and humphed in unmistakable disgust. “What care I for that? I have the respect of many men, and I have the respect of my staff.” With hands on hips, Alex stomped a foot. “I want passion. The damn fool sailor has played me false.”

  With a chuckle, Cara walked to her lifelong friend and grasped her shoulders. “You are being silly, and you should not compare my situation with Lance to yours with Captain Collingwood. Besides, you have only just met. What more can you expect from a man of his station?”

  “That is precisely the point.” Alex raised a finger in argument. “I made him free with my name. Surely he knows that includes the rest of me.”

  “Not so, dearest.” Cara shook her head. “A gentleman would never assume such a thing.”

  “I do not want gentlemanly love.” With a countenance of unbridled determination, which Cara could only envy, Alex folded her arms in front of her. “I want what my parents enjoyed. I want true love.”

  “As do we all.” In her brain, she revisited the horrific scene in Lance’s bedchamber, as well as the embroidered kerchief the remained tucked close to her heart. Until that instant, she’d clung to hope for the future she desperately desired with her hero. “But, perhaps, for some of us, it is not possible.”

  “Why do you say that? Because of Lady Moreton?” Alex frowned. “Lance could not be interested in her. Half the men in the ton have already had her, and I daresay she will run through both houses of Parliament before her death. The woman will probably expire on her back.”

  “Alex.” Cara cursed the telltale heat of a blush at the improper, unladylike comment. “Must you be so crass?”

  “But it is true. She makes a play for every man in the ton. Sabrina said that harridan tried to turn Everett’s head more than once--even after they married.”

  “But Everett loves Sabrina.” Cara smiled, recalling the unspoken but nonetheless powerful devotion her sister and brother-in-law shared. “He would never break his marriage vows.”

  “Well, Lance loves you,” Alex countered. “What is the difference?”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I have seen how he looks at you.”

  “And just how is that?”

  “I am not certain I can describe it.” Alex tapped a finger to her chin in an affectation of deep thought. “It is as though he is discomfited.”

  “That could be nothing more than poor digestion.”

  “Oh, you are sporting for an argument,” Alex replied with an upturned nose.

  “No. It is quite simple, really. Lance loves me as a friend, nothing more.” Cara shrugged. “After our kiss, he threatened to have me bodily thrown out of his room.”

  “He did not.” Alex looked her shock. “You must be exaggerating.”

  “Trust me, he did.” Oh, the agony of remembrance. “And I am afraid to return to Raynesford House, lest I be crudely and physically ejected from his residence.”

  “Well, there you are. Lance loves you,” Alex proclaimed with conviction.

  “He ordered me from his chambers, from his sight, because he loves me?” Cara gave vent to a snort of skepticism. “Pull my other leg.”

  “Hear me out.” Alex grasped Cara by her wrists. “Had the kiss meant nothing, had he viewed you only as a friend, then he would not have been angry. Surely, his reaction means something.”

  “It does,” Cara stated flatly. “He sees me as a friend, nothing more. He is angry because that kiss never should have happened.”

  “I prefer my interpretation.” Alex frowned. “It bodes better for you.”

  “I prefer the truth.”

  For a pregnant moment, both stood mute.

  Suddenly, Alex snapped her fingers. “I have got it.”

  Cara jumped. “What?”

  “The answer to your dilemma.”

  “Alex, I have no dilemma.” She sighed impatiently. “Lance most assuredly does not love me, so nothing more need be said.”

  “Cara, I love you as a sister, but I propose, where Lance is concerned, you are afraid to discover the extent of his feelings.”

  It was her turn to frown. “Go on.”

  “Come back to Raynesford House--”

  “No--”

  “Let me finish.” Alex stared at the ceiling and squeezed her fingers. “I am asking you to help me tend Lance. You will never be alone with him.”

  Cara mulled the possibility. “To what purpose?”

  “It will show us how he feels about you.”

  “How so?” In silence, Cara pondered the situation, because, however disastrous her predicament, she remained firmly entrenched in her belief that Lance was destined to be hers. “I do not follow.”

  “It is simple, really.” Alex grinned her cat that ate the canary grin. “We shall both take care of him, and if he needs something, you shall fetch it. While it matters not that I am alone with him, we shall take great pains to be certain that the two of you never enjoy a private audience. At best, we might discover he harbors a deep and abiding devotion for you. At the very least, you may mend fences and be friends again.” She shrugged. “Surely that counts for something?”

  “I do not know.” What if their efforts resulted in further disillusionment?

  “Come on, Cara.” Alex elbowed her ribs. “Give it a go.”

  Against her better judgement, Cara acquiesced. “All right.”

  #

  The door to Lance’s bedchamber fast approached, and Cara swayed and splayed her arms for balance, while her ears pealed a carillon of warning. In a reflexive gesture, she placed her palm over her heart and, thereby, the embroidered kerchief. Any minute, she was certain she would swoon.

  “Come on, you can do it,” Alex whispered in her ear.

  “Oh, dear.” Cara grimaced and bit back the bitter nausea welling in her throat. “I think I am going to be unwell.”

  It had taken four days to muster the nerve to return to Raynesford House, and now she reconsidered her decision. Why had she let Alex talk her into their foolhardy plan, which had her standing outside the door of the room she looked on as a torture chamber?

  The answer was simple.

  As much as she tried to deny it, to herself and Alex, Cara held tight to the smallest bit of hope that her friend was right. That Lance considered her something more than a childhood companion. And perhaps, with a little luck, he would one day call her wife.

  “Be strong, Cara. Just as you always are, and I promise I wi
ll not leave you alone with him.”

  “I must be insane to hatch this scheme.” Cara inhaled a deep breath and rolled her shoulders. “Where is Elaine?”

  “I sent her to Sabrina’s.” Alex gazed at the floor. “The poor dear is suffering nightmares.”

  “If memory serves, she endured the same after Thomas passed, too.”

  “I know. I thought it best to get her out of the house for a while.” Alex cast a lopsided grin. “And Brie can make the sun shine on a cloudy day.”

  “All right.” Cara chuckled, and the tension gripping the whole of her frame abated. “I can do this.”

  Determined to stay the course, she turned the knob and marched across the threshold as a soldier going into battle.

  “Morning, Miss Douglas. Lady Seymour.” Dr. Handley dipped his chin and set his hat atop his head.

  Call her a coward, but Cara refused to look at Lance, preferring instead to focus her attention on the doctor’s amiable, decidedly unthreatening expression of welcome.

  “Morning, Dr. Handley.” She composed a proper curtsey. “How fares our patient this day?”

  “Very well, Miss Douglas. Due in no small measure to your fine care, he should be able to get out of bed in a sennight. Though the splint will remain, we can put a little weight on the leg. I shall give you further instructions for his recovery, Monday next.” Picking up his familiar black leather bag, the grey-haired physician bowed. “Good day, ladies.”

  “Alex, why do not you show Dr. Handley to the door?” Lance suggested, and Cara flinched.

  Inwardly, she cursed herself. It was obvious her hero wanted to speak with her in private, and she had no intention of allowing that to occur, at least, not yet.

  “By all means, permit me the pleasure.” Poised to perfection, Cara inclined her head and smiled.

  “How very kind of you, Miss Douglas.” Dr. Handley paused and offered his arm in escort. “But it is not necessary, I assure you.”

  “It would be my honor,” she responded, as she clutched the crook of his elbow.

  As soon as they entered the hall, Cara swore the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders, and, in some respects, it had, because despite the fact that she had not so much as peeked at Lance, his interest in her attendance had not escaped her notice. She imagined his potent green gaze focused in her direction, and it threw her off balance. Perhaps she required additional days of preparation in order to withstand his presence?

  While the doctor chatted about nothing, Cara concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, lest she trip. How ridiculous was it that a man who, as a child, had begged her to read to him on stormy nights, because he feared thunder, now intimidated her. Of course, he had long since gotten over his anxiety.

  She wished she had gotten over him.

  “Thank you for the joy of your company, Miss Douglas.” Dr. Handley bowed. “I shall see you Monday.”

  After shutting the door, Cara whirled about and stared at the second floor landing. At a turtle’s pace, she crossed the foyer and set her palm to the polished oak balustrade. For a long while, she gazed at the first step of the grand staircase and revisited her strategy.

  When she embarked on her quest to claim Lance’s heart, she had not considered the effect such endeavors might have on their friendship. In truth, her efforts had jeopardized, if not destroyed, their lifelong rapport. Now, common sense demanded she confront the risks.

  In the carriage, en route to Raynesford House, Alex had encouraged Cara to remain strong. The younger Seymour had extended no words of caution, leaving Cara alone to contemplate the permanent alteration, for good or ill, in her relationship with Lance.

  In brief, she examined her options. She could flee, but was that really a choice? Alex would be disappointed, but she would understand. As for Lance, the implication would be unmistakable. She could no longer bear his company, much less the sight of him, especially once he took a wife.

  But how would the Brethren, as a whole, react to the sudden division in their ranks? To her knowledge, none in their group had ever comingled. In light of her current situation, she understood why.

  Though she had but one sister on which to base her opinion, Cara regarded the knights of the Brethren as something akin to brothers, in truth. They were, for all intents and purposes, big, loveable, sometimes heavy-handed, but with the best intentions, older male siblings.

  Except for Lance.

  What she harbored for him was different. Indescribable.

  With her hero she experienced an undeniable connection of the intimate sort, one that stirred an unfamiliar fluttering in the pit of her belly, a bond that reduced her legs to mush and set her heart pounding in her chest at the mere sight of him. When their hands touched, oh, what she felt. Delicious heat coursed her veins, setting her skin alight.

  And she had thought he felt it, too.

  It physically hurt her to think that he had not shared what she considered a compelling attachment, which had long ago breached the limits of harmless child play. That it had been an illusion. A mistake. One she had made and was honor-bound to correct.

  However unpleasant, that was the other alternative.

  She could return to the scene of the crime, so to speak, help Alex care for Lance, and do her best to repair the damage she had done to their friendship. In the dark recesses of her brain, where she was always honest with herself, she worried that they would never be the same, would never share the companionable silences, the comfortable dances, the easy conversation. Cara was positive those days were gone, and she was more than a little sad at their passing. She remained haunted by what might have been had he given her a chance.

  But she quickly reminded herself she was entirely to blame for her predicament.

  I never should have kissed you.

  “May I be of service, Miss Douglas?”

  In surprise, Cara gasped, flinched, and, without hesitation, took the first step. Clutching the balustrade, she gazed over her shoulder. “No, thank you, Banks. I was just showing Dr. Handley to the door.” With a dip of her chin, she turned. “I shall return to his lordship.”

  “Very good, Miss Douglas.”

  As she ascended the stairs, she counted her reasons for embarking on her campaign. Never had she wavered in her belief that Lance was destined to be her husband, as her indecision lay in how to achieve her dream. After all, they had known each other since they wore christening gowns. She had nothing to fear of him, because he would never hurt her, at least, not intentionally. And she owed it to her friends to resolve their differences, to bridge the gap she had inadvertently created with her ill-fated pursuit.

  Standing before the door to Lance’s bedchamber, she prayed for strength, adjusted the embroidered kerchief tucked in her bodice, turned the knob, and entered the fray.

  To her relief, Lance remained where he had been since the accident, in the middle of the great bed. Valiantly, she forced the unwelcome visions of Lady Moreton from her head. Alex smiled and dipped her chin. Cara located a chair on the opposite side of the room, near a large window.

  With the grace and elegance borne of years of practice, Cara perched on the edge of the seat. Hoping her face portrayed the essence of serenity, and her posture personified unflinching confidence, she swallowed hard. And although she inclined her head in his direction, she averted her gaze.

  “And how are you today, Lance?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “What a lovely tray,” Lance replied, as Alex set his noon meal before him. Briefly, he scanned the fare before wrinkling his nose. “May I have some salt for my chicken?”

  “I will get it,” Cara offered and sped from the room.

  Surreptitiously, he cursed as she departed. When she returned, minutes later, she handed a silver shaker to Alex, who passed it to him.

  He frowned. After a pause, he asked, “Where is my latest edition of the Mariner’s Mirror? I should like to peruse it while I dine.”

  “I believe I s
aw it downstairs, in the drawing room.” Alex gazed uneasily at Cara. “Blake and Damian took it with them when they visited earlier.”

  Cara all but leaped from her chair. “Then I shall retrieve it, at once.”

  Again, Lance swore as she withdrew.

  In truth he had no interest in the quarterly journal of nautical life, he just wanted to see how many more concocted errands Cara could endure before swooning from exhaustion. To his infinite frustration, she seemed to possess the enviable stamina of a young lad. Since returning to aid Alex in his recovery, she had done everything she could to avoid his unreserved and exclusive company. And he had seized upon every conceivable excuse to get her alone.

  All he wanted to do was talk to her. The tension between them was palpable, and he simply could not bear it any longer. Why? Because Lance missed his lifelong friend, though he would deny it should anyone dare ask. An invisible but nonetheless excruciating chasm had sliced through him, and he ached with an arduous emptiness.

  He wanted to set things right, wanted to atone for the stolen kiss and his unforgiveable reaction. And he needed to explain the visit from Lady Moreton. Needed to assure Cara there was nothing between him and the attractive but importuning ace of spades. Why? Now that was a question for which he had no answer.

  Just then the door opened, and Cara reappeared with the requested item. “Here it is,” she called out in a cheery little singsong.

  Once again, in a ridiculous practice, she passed the journal to Alex, who gave it to him. Bloody hell, he had a broken leg--not the plague. Would she have no direct contact with him? Absently, he scanned the cover and stifled a groan of delight.

  “This is the July issue.” He sniffed and set aside the periodical. “I have read it.”

  “Oh?” Cara bit her lip, and he fought uncharacteristic humor. “It is the most recent.”

  “No, it is not.” He shook his head. “The latest quarterly just arrived. The October issue is most current.”

  “Could you not have said as much before I went in search of it?” She slumped, and her shoulders drooped visibly. “You did not specify.”